"but it's the little things!"

Nothing like having your own words thrown back at you. Unintentionally, but still...

Every once in a while, Ed and I need a reset. I suspect most couples our age do, though maybe most dont bother, thinking that with time, you adjust to whatever the next stage of your life is like. Indeed, if asked, Ed would say that he needs no such thing, that we're fine taking each day as it presents itself. I beg to differ.

We had our built-in restart buttons all along of course. Beyond the trivial -- like saying good morning to each other in some lovely fashion, as suggested in the "35 things" article I linked for you two days back -- we went deeper. An example: we had breakfast. An important ritual for me, as you know -- in its careful preparation, in opting to get us off to a healthy start (oatmeal with loads of fruits), or sometimes to get us off on a pleasurable path (croissants!). We talked about the day before us. We took our time.

And let me just stay with the breakfast example (even though it's one of many): over the months, Ed's sleeping schedule shifted and I would have to wait way too long to get breakfast going. Or, I'd wake him and he'd oblige, stumbling down, half asleep, to nuzzle the cats and sit across the table. Increasingly, he wasn't really hungry for the oatmeal or croissants. Just the fruits. And then Covid came and we had a pause in contact and when we resumed, he slept late, didn't feel hungry for oatmeal, for croissants, for fruit, for anything. When he came down (late!), he'd be physically present and that's about it. And so today I had to ask myself -- what's the point?

Alone, I put on music or NPR podcasts. I take stock. I eat when I want to -- like before 10 a.m. But the easing and flexing of this ritual is not as important as the question that comes up for me: what have we done to replace it?

Giving up a ritual is pricey. The loss of effort is pricey. You become two ships, sailing in the same ocean, but with separate crews and captains. Not totally inattentive, of course. You're vaguely aware of what the other ship is doing because you don't want to crash into each other, and you want to wind up in the same place at the end of the day or week or life, but your overlap, though fundamental at some deeper level, on a daily basis, is actually pretty trivial.

This is what I told him when he did come down in the morning. His answer? But we do everything together! 

Say what? Can I have a concrete example? 

We're in each others presence all day long!

Yes. How comfortable. Bonded emotionally, leading intellectually separate lives. Which is, I suppose, natural for two people who have such different interests. Nothing new there. But this is why we need rituals and resets.

But why? -- he asks. You know I just love the little things!

Ha! Right back at me!

 

Since it is going to be beastly cold for the next three days, we absolutely feel compelled to take a walk today. In our favorite park. The wind is already picking up and the temps are dropping as we speak. The Siberian blast coming at us tonight is hailed as the coldest in forty years. Don't I know that time, forty years back! It was January, the dates identical to ours now. I was about to give birth to our second child. And it was cold! To her benefit I think: my delivery doc, the same one who had helped deliver my older girl, decided to come in that day because, as he said it -- I cant do anything else on such a cold day. In those days, you felt like you actually had your doc by your side (rather than whoever fate handed you at critical junctures of your life). And when we left the hospital a few days later it was still cold! Wind chills like you wouldn't believe. You had to feel grateful: 100 years earlier, even if you had a well heated home, you had no way of getting there without experiencing that wind. 

Our walk today was crisp! But nice.

I talk through resets using a lot of words, Ed does them with gestures. Sooooo different, in soooo many ways and yet, here we are, chugging along. With so much love.

coasting

I'm pretending it's spring and that I am train hopping on some complicated trip. That is my morning. The season deceit is easy -- we have this weird day, where suddenly the temps shoot up ten degrees above freezing, before being pushed out by the coldest front of this century, coming at us from Siberia this weekend. Thanks, Siberia. The train hopping? Well it's time to finalize some travel for spring and somewhere in the middle of the night I finally decided on how to handle a complicated travel trajectory. More on that in March. Suffice it to say that I devoted many hours to familiarizing myself with another country's train reservation system. Each country is different and though you can simplify things for yourself by merely reserving on some platform that gathers them all under one umbrella, why would you do that, when you can have fun imagining yourself in that country and figuring out how to do things like a local!

All this after a walk to the barn to feed the animals...

And a breakfast with a still sleepy Ed...

By noon, I slam down the computer and say "let's go!" There is no way I'm going to skip a walk today. We head for our county park. Blustery winds, but who cares! It's a glorious day for walking!

The sky, with a few delicate clouds, is at once delicate and stunning. We pause several times to admire it.

And then it's time for me to pick up the kids.

I can tell it's Friday: they're not tired, but I sense this need to just let loose a little. Away from the demands of school, of anyone really. 

I dont start in on a new book. Eventually, Snowdrop wants to reread a few chapters of a war story. Sparrow is glued to his Lego figures. 

 

And so ends this transition week -- from a confusion of illness and isolation, to our usual days of walks, kids, and yes, evenings: time for a movie for Ed and me tonight, on the couch, together, over bowls of hot veggie soup.Well, that's sort of how it's supposed to go, but he's not yet fully with an appetite, so no soup for him, and the movie -- one I'd been saving, because it felt so up my alley (A Real Pain, about these two guys, cousins, who travel to Poland to get to know the country their beloved Jewish grandmother had once called home). Half way through, I propose that we finish it another time. It may have been right for me, for obvious reasons, but not so much for Ed. Two guys grappling with their relationship to the past, to the present, to each other? No, I decided I'm better off watching it at another time, on my own.

I turn it off, I go to the kitchen to wash up my few dishes, I come back. He's asleep already. So yes, it's still really a transition week. We're past Covid, but we're not totally back to... well, the way we were before the new year set in.

with love...

get ready for the plunge

We get this teaser -- a day, two days actually, when for the first time in many weeks the temps will creep up to just above freezing. It's as if we're reminded what pre-spring will feel like (great!), only to get slapped down immediately after, with the biggest Arctic blast yet. (Monday will give us a high of.. 0F, or -18C. And we'll be starting that day at -11F, or -24C. Still wonder why I spend so much time thinking about, talking about, writing about the weather? It's never just boringly mild!)

 

 

 

The sun's out -- another benefit to the morning (it will cloud over by noon). But, but... are we back to normal yet?? Yes we are. Ed finally tested negative. True, he doesn't sound normal, but then, even simple colds have a way of lingering if you're, well, our age. Covid really knocked him down and he has taken his time to return to his normal only-two-naps-per-day schedule.

I have a morning appointment and some small errands to run, and I again make the mistake of doing this before eating breakfast. It all takes longer than I could possibly have imagined and so I sit down to my "morning meal" at noon. But here's the glorious upside -- Ed is now up and hungry for lunch and he comes over to the farmhouse freely, maskless, and whips up some eggs for himself while I churn out my oatmeal. Together at last!

He wants to go for a walk, but honestly - I'm out of time. If there is one thing I've learned, it's that I need to manage my days with greater care. I understood that fully this morning as I paced the very tiny clinic room because my doc was 30 minutes late. I could not sit still. What is wrong with me?! Since when do 30 minutes matter this much? That, capped with a "scold" from my doc ("no judgment here, but might you be overdoing it a little?"), gave me the strength to say no to packing in a walk, in between straightening the farmhouse and picking up the kids. I am reminded a little of the New Yorker cartoon, where the woman says -- "my calendar's pretty full, but I can squeeze you in between my post-holiday burnout and my midwinter blues." No, I do not have midwinter blues and by American-employed-young-mother standards, I live a life of leisure and decrepitude, but honestly, the day can get pretty full around here very quickly. One appointment and a few errands can kill a morning for me and, well, there is no afternoon downtime to recover the lost hours.

A quick read, a bit of writing and I'm off to get the kids.

In the car, I ask about their day. Sparrow's is a happy one: first tooth fell out, he wrote a letter to the tooth fairy. Snowdrop is less tickled with the events of her day. She tells me emphatically - I wish there was a girls' school, without boys. With the exception of you, Sparrow! You could go. Maybe one or two other boys. But not the others! 

I hate to ask, because I can guess, but I give her a chance to list her grievances: why? 

They ruin everything! In music class, the song sounded so pretty and then all the boys start making noises and singing badly on purpose, on purpose!! And it sounds awful. It's so frustrating! 

All the boys do that that? 

All! And in PE, we are on the volley ball unit. The girls just stand there because the boys just steal all the balls. Grab them before a girl can get to it.

What does the teacher do?

He tells them to stay in place, but they don't.

Well, you can feel sorry for the teacher then! You know, they just want to teach their subject, and bad behavior messes with that. Anyway, one lesson of school for you is how to get on with life despite difficult people, because, you know, difficult people are always in the mix. Ask your parents!

At least they dont push each other and beat each other up and make weird noises! (I'm thinking maybe they do, metaphorically speaking... )

To tone down her fury at all fourth grade males, I do remind her that of the two kids who cause most trouble, one happens to be a girl. 

Yes, but she is so much trouble that she requires a special assistant! The boys in music class -- they just do this stuff on purpose.

Listening to this discussion, Sparrow pipes up from the back seat -- in your all girls and all boys schools, what would you do with non-binary kids? The boy is raised in the 21st century alright.

At the farmhouse, we finish reading the book, they play. Sort of together. She's drawn to classic legos because he's shown such an interest in them and he's drawn into story telling because she always spins something that just pulls him in.

 

Their playtime is my catch up time. I make inroads on the veggies for a soup tonight.

And now it's the evening and Ed is back in the farmhouse. I cook our favorite soup, we turn on a movie. A mushy one. His choice. And he stays awake for it. Just barely, but who's counting!

with love...

Is January half done?

People up north tend to hate this month. (Then we move on to February and they hate that one even more.) It rarely pleases. In years when we had more snow, you'd hear a lot of groaning about the need to shovel. Without snow? People like me complain ceaselessly that our winter-long cross country skiing is getting to be a thing of the past. Sometimes there are unexpected warmups. That seems so wrong, so people complain. Arctic blasts, like the one this week and the even bigger one next week? Well yeah! Being hit with shards of glass in the face (which is what it feels like) is no fun. And it all lasts so many days! Too many days! Nor does spring follow! You know what does follow? February -- another month of the same.

January 15th -- today -- can only bring one of two reactions: fantastic! We're half done with it! (Glass half full.) Or: unbelievable! We're only half way through. (Half empty.) I think I'll straddle the middle: we're gettin' there! 

January has great virtues for me: it's a slow down after the mad rush of December holidays. And it is a real slow down from outdoor work on farmette lands. Ed and I are obviously not farmers, but from April through October we have endless projects that need our attention. Some of them -- like lily snapping for me -- are daily ones that take a lot of time. Some are heavy duty digs. Some, like weeding, are exasperating in their infinite demands. Yes, I love spring best, but I love that January requires of me only one gardening chore: to pick the plants and seeds I want to put in come spring time.

And here's a January bonus: we do not have to check for ticks.

 

It is cold once again. Ed is still in the sheep shed, saying "I'm better!" but sounding the same. So I eat breakfast alone, digging into the warmed cinnamon roll from Madison Sourdough.

(my trilogy of scrumptiousness!)

And here's my very own anecdotal evidence that January has a way of getting to you: I pick up the kids at school and as usual, we review the day, starting with a positive -- what great thing happened today? Each has something to relate, so that's good. But as we continue with our drive, Snowdrop says -- I wish it were summer. Now, this is a girl who loves the cold and claims to be a winter person at heart (she attributes this to having a January birthday). And yet, January is threatening to make a summer lover out of her! 

 

Since I'm feeling upbeat and kids have had good outcomes in school, I want to offer them something uniquely special, even as we've used up our treat stops for the week, so it can't be food. I have just the thing: kids, you want to go to the car wash with the rainbow soap? (The car is terribly salted-over and dirty).

Yes!! 

It takes so little...

 

 

 

 

At home, we near the end of a very fun book (The Library Girl) and even Sparrow, who usually loses himself in his next Lego building project, can't resist listening in. 

It shouldn't surprise me of course, but it always does -- children's literature can be truly amazing: imaginative, clever, fast paced, with well developed character,s and most often with satisfying endings. There will come a time when these kids wont be so enraptured with me reading books out loud. I'll probably have to sneak some for myself then! We've hit some real page turners this past year. Wonderful stuff.

 

In the evening Ed comes over, and this is how the day ends -- on an up-note, despite January, despite the cold, despite the short days and lack of snow. We eat reheated stuff and watch something very British -- a form of escape I suppose, to a place where Januaries never quite get this freezing and Februaries reveal snowdrop flowers, and Marches bring out the bluebells. Oh, but all their winter rain! I'll stick with our deep freeze, thanks. Who knows, maybe we'll even get snow. Someday.

with love...

bits of normal, and a croissant

I feel this winter like I'm on a bobsled rushing toward the great unknown and every time I think I've reached an stable surface, it picks up speed again and continues. Fun much of the time, exhilarating sometimes, and a bit terrifying. So today I put the brakes on. A forceful slowdown should follow. Enough for me to smell the roses, sorry, croissants. No roses on a bobsled run!

Covid has thrown in a few random twists and turns and we got another one today as Ed woke up with still a bouncing fever (from normal to elevated to normal to elevated...) and quite likely a continued positive reading. Not only did we not meet up yesterday, but we will be careful again today because the kids will be here and I have to keep the house clear of germs. Ed equals germs.

Put together the disappointment of not spending time with him, along with the even colder weather (I head out to feed the chickens when it's just 1F/-17C), and you can get pretty mopey fast. It's like hitting a particularly difficult stretch in your bobsled run.

So after feeding the huddled-in-the-barn girls...

... I go out and buy some croissants. First ones this year.

(driving to town: yes, the lake is finally frozen for the duration; the freeze date was on January 5th, which is neither late nor early)

 

Ah, croissants... heaven on earth!

 

Really, there is such joy in biting into one. Along with the milky coffee of course. 

Like everyone, I'm sure, I am really tired of reading about all the ways I can and should actively improve my life (in terms of better food, less or no drink, and more movement), so I reluctantly and with a very big eye roll open up the story in the NYTimes today titled 35 Simple Health Tips, ostensibly guaranteed to "improve my life." The article is two days old so maybe you've seen it, but I've been busy, so I give it a go just this morning. And I like it! Oh sure, I groan at the ones that are so repetitive it hurts -- drink less, eat more lentils. Yes, great, thank you, I've heard each at least twenty times already in this week alone. But there are some sweet ones that make me smile and for this reason I'm using my gift quota yet again and giving you the link here so you can read it for free. I mean, wake up and greet your pets with a loud good morning? That's just lovely! Read through them! (The advice givers, by the way, are mostly people of repute and experience in matters of well being.)

It most definitely is a slower morning for me. Intentionally so. And as I set my eyes on a couple of hours of downtime, I think back with a smile to Sparrow's parting words last night as the young family packed up to head for home. He said with great conviction -- "when I grow up, I want to be a grandfather! It's so great! You do nothing, then you see your grandchildren, then do nothing again!" 

Oh to be six once more! (After the hugs and goodbyes last night, I turned toward the mess in the kitchen and the playroom, setting aside some leftover seafood pasta and a piece of cake for Ed, cursing the dishwasher which is underused, but decided nonetheless just then to have a malfunctioning piece in the detergent compartment.) 

 

Ed had to skip the birthday dinner, but he does come over at midday to pick up food and to visit with me. He masks and sticks to the kitchen, brushing Dance who loves loves loves having a good comb-through. 

And then he leaves and I tidy and wash and cut up fruits for the kids and do everything that isn't nothing!

I pick up the kids after their school day. 

It's Sparrow's turn to select a "treat of the week" and as so often before, he picks ice cream. Snowdrop is delighted. On this cold, cold day, the kids are thrilled to stop for ice cream!

And it is still really freezing out there! We never moved out of the single digits F (so never above -13C). But the sun sparkles like a million diamonds on the smattering of snow, and we are all getting better here, at the farmette, and isn't that just grand!

 

Ed comes over in the evening. It's another fragment of normal: I cook shrimp with kimchee, we settle in to watch a show. He does fall asleep halfway through it, but hey, he's here, spread out on the couch, for a good part of the evening. Yes, lovely bits of normal.

with love...

normal

Well it's about time: I'm Covid negative, Ed has finally shed his fever (though he does still have a faint positive line). 

On the one hand, I was never very ill. The literature confirms that past infections do strengthen your overall immunity, and I've had Covid twice before. Nonetheless, I was a walking caldron of infection. And Ed? I'd say he slept through much of his illness, but oh my, did he sound awful in his awake moments! All that is (fingers crossed) in the past. We wake up on a new platform of good health.

But I think about Covid and how it continues to cause problems for so many, in part because so many choose to ignore its unique dangers. Not vaccinated, never testing, they spread the virus in the same way that they spread colds before. And in many ways, I can't blame them, because I know how disruptive to your life it is to admit that you have Covid. For Ed, for me, Covid came at a fairly good time. Some postponements, some scrambling for child care, but really, no great loss resulted from our isolation. But here's a hypothetical: I know a couple who just embarked on a voyage of a lifetime: 150 days, halfway around the world. If one came down with Covid the day before leaving, would she (or he) really say -- I guess we should not travel. Maybe another year..., losing money, losing a life's dream. Would you do that? Isn't it easier not to test and say "it's probably just a light cold?" 

I suppose I favor the middle ground: when they can, at only a small cost to themselves, it would be so good if people would isolate. But if they must head out, because, well, it's 150 days of travel and after a week they will be fine -- wouldn't it be good if they could at least minimize the risk to others? Masking, avoiding public gatherings as much as feasible, that kind of thing. It's not a perfect situation, but Covid is not a perfect virus. We can't help much of its spread (because we aren't aware of being contagious initially), but we can do so much more to help curb its pernicious desire to infect as many as it can.

We also wake up to bitter cold and it will only get worse: next week will be colder still. But, let's take one day at a time. I appreciate the sunshine! So do the chickens -- despite the bone chilling Arctic air, they head out toward the garage. I greet them with leftover crumbs from the poppy seed cake. (Do chickens get high on a concentration of poppy seeds? Well, they deserve their moment of joy!)

Breakfast, still alone, still healthy.

And then I kind of lose it, time wise. I've had an easy ten days, but now I am back to a schedule and today's is especially complicated because we will finally be celebrating Snowdrop's birthday (without Ed, who has to hang out in the shed all day to keep the house free of his germs). I refrained from baking a cake until I knew for sure I'd be negative. So I have to bake one this morning. And I have to do some initial dinner prep. And I must clean the house and wipe down surfaces Ed might have touched yesterday. 

Suddenly time slips away from me. I'm not used to hurrying! A rough draft of a post should be in the works by the time I pick up the girl at school, but there was no time for a rough draft and I'm doing it now, in the car, on my lap, waiting for her to come out from school.

Too, I had selected a recipe for a chocolate cake I'd never tried before (by Yossy Arefi, whom I know from her books and publications). And I tweaked the ingredients. Some random commenter suggested an oil substitution (olive instead of canola) and I went with that, in addition to using a cocoa that seemed awfully... intense. And I started in on the whole project very late in the morning because the recipe is rated as easy and heck, I'm a skilled baker.

(Dance watches: don't you love the way cats tuck in their paws snugly under their chest?)

This was all plain foolish. Bottom line, the clock ticked, I had no time for a walk, a lunch, anything actually. And I had to start in on frosting a still warm cake (that looked... awfully dark). Ever put buttercream frosting on a still warm cake? 

Lessons never learned! 

But I made it! (She wanted chocolate, but not flourless, frosted with fluffy frosting, not glaze or ganache, and importantly: decorated with candied violets!)

And now finally I pick up the girl. She is so very happy to be returning to normal routines!

At the farmhouse, she reads...

 

 

 

... I cook, we read, I secretly frost, I cook some more, we read again, she eats, we keep on reading. We had dropped a story in midstream back on their last day of school in December and it was so good to get closer to a resolution!

And toward evening, the whole family comes over for a very belated birthday celebration. It is good to see them again!

(Snowdrop got her presents finally; the boys got some new books...)

(Sandpiper needed a little help with the story line...)

(the girl joins her mom and me for some catching up in the kitchen...)

(dinner)

(cake!)

Happy, happy belated birthday to you! And so many more!!

Ed was to come back to the farmhouse when everyone left, but last I heard, he fell asleep in the shed early. So not quite a full throttle return to normal yet, but we're getting there!

with so much love...

for the better

If you have lived for at least seven decades, you'll agree with me on this: life, in so many ways, for so many of us, has gotten to be so much easier.

There are the obvious: I spent the first three years of my life (and many summers after) in a home with no electricity or running water and of course, no phone service. I'm sure you'll think those times to be positively ancient, so let's roll forward a little and take it out of rural postwar Poland, which, admittedly, struggled. When I was a young adult, living now in the U.S., travel was hard, no matter how you wanted to move from point A to point B. No air conditioning in cars. Smoking people everywhere -- on buses, trains, planes. Not unusual to have a seatmate puffin away next to you. And suitcases didn't have wheels. You lugged everything you traveled with. No credit cards to pay your bills away from home. Cash or travelers checks only. Dont get me started on the hassle of arriving at foreign city with American Express travelers checks. What a pain. I'm not going to mention the absence of the internet and all that entailed. Your young imagination can probably still conjure up that world. But really, I could write a book about all the life's improvements, from three point seat belts and crumple zones in cars to microwaves heating up your soup in the kitchen, on and on, but let me just pause on one wonder and it is in the word "write."

Sometime in the middle of the night I thought about how many times I corrected sentences/thoughts/ideas in yesterday's Ocean post. The fact is that the written word is, for me, like music. I can feel when it doesn't sound right. I can't always make it passable let alone great, and in music, I can do nothing at all with it, but surely I can tell when a sentence falters. If I start in on a post early, you can be sure I will have gone back to it and corrected it ten times over. When I worked on my book, I rewrote sections every time I went back to that Great Writing Project. Maybe everyone does it, and surely most bilingual people are sensitive to language nuance, or maybe it dates back to my early years in New York when I confidently proclaimed that when I grow up I want to be a journalist. I've paid attention to writing, even as I have lived a life of language confusion, traveling as I did between Warsaw and New York all my younger years.

I lay awake thinking how easy writing is now that we have computers to smooth things over for us -- keep drafts, fix mistakes, do quick edits, and importantly, they allow us to publish our writings so that they can be put out there quickly, while still relevant. As you know, I started blogging 21 years ago. You have to think it's important to me or else why would I devote so many hours of every single day on this project. And it boggles my mind that it is something I could not have done at another time in the past. It is entirely a product of change and innovation. My life, made so different, and for me, so much richer, because times have changed so much. I wonder -- what will my grandkids do that will be totally important to who they are that can't even be imagined yet? I'm excited for them, for the possibilities that we do not realize are there, percolating, waiting for their moment.

Today is dreary and the temps are hovering around freezing and I feel like this Covid slog has been going on for too long here at the farmette. 

Still, Ed says once again that he is "better." He sounds the same to me, so maybe it's a bit of wishful thinking on his part, but to prove it, he puts a bit more energy into the day. Not only does he do the morning chicken duty, but he asks -- want to go out for a walk in the park today?

Yes I do.

First, of course, there is breakfast, still alone. 

But by noon he is here and we're bundling up for our first walk together since... New Year's Day!

There is a gusty wind, and the landscape has neither the look of winter, nor fall, nor spring -- it's just stuck in the harsh reality of bare trees, frozen earth, against a gray sky. But the prairie is golden...

... and those bare trees do whisper their secrets as I pass among them -- we are there for you, we are there for you... 

I'm thrilled to be back in their midst.

Ed of course follows this with a deep sleep on the couch. But maybe he is better? He managed that half hour walk, if not at a breakneck pace, then at least at his steady, forceful gait.

For lunch? I go Polish today! I had a grocery delivery this morning and among the goodies was a jar of herring (in vinegar). For that German seeded bread. With the leftover poppy seed roll I'd gotten over the holidays from Delaney's in New York. So this:

To be honest, I prefer my combination Kind/Cliff granola bars and I will return to them again, just as I will bring back my beloved croissants in the morning. For now though, I'm playing with being extra mindful during my confinement so that I don't go berserk. With a touch of nostalgia for my Polish past thrown in for good measure.

Evening. Still alone. We'll both retest tomorrow and I expect us to both be negative. I mean, I'll be on day 10 of the infection. Ed? Day 13th. Let's move on already, okay? Honestly!

with love...

joy, in trouble

Joy can be complicated. When you're a kid, you dont think much about it. You're giddy with joy when they announce a snow day (closed schools). You bubble over with excitement the night before Christmas or before your birthday. You clap your hands with glee when your grandma says yes to ice cream or french fries after school. Then comes teen angst and doubt trickles in. Am I really happy? What does it mean to be happy? Why am I not happy? And when you're an overwhelmed working parent, you understand that joy comes in fleeting spurts: a free hour to yourself, a snuggle with your kid over a good book, the end of school and thus the end of homework nagging and lunch making. A work project finished. Time to plant a flower. A walk in the forest, a coffee with a friend.

When you're past your employment years and way past your parenting-of-a-young child years, you have time to unravel all those intricate and convoluted layers of life and you begin to understand that you actually have to fight to find, and then too, to preserve joy. 

Let's just stay with food for a bit longer. I wrote a lot about it yesterday -- how so much of what we enjoy turns out to be horrible for you and how much harm you're doing to yourself if you stick with your candy bars and UPFs, and win,e and, well, just about everything else that's not growing in your organic farmer's fields. I don't deny that this is all true. All that stuff lining grocery store shelves is to a degree harmful. But how much can we ignore the joy that at least some of it brings us? I was thinking of my mother, who spent most of her senior years as a type 2 diabetic. (She died this September at age 100.) And yet, each time I moved her -- to senior living, then to assisted living, then to another assisted living, and finally to the nursing care facility -- I'd find stashes and stashes of candy bars in her fridge, her suitcase, her closet. I would discard most of them, not because I wanted to deprive her of sweets, but because there was just too much. In her final move, she was no longer mobile and she could not make her way to the cupboard where I kept her candy bars. I would offer them to her when I came to see her, but she was not interested. Me, handing it over to her as a largess did not give her the same guilty pleasure as eating it on her own did, straight from her hoarded loot. You could say that she deteriorated because she was physically weak. I'd say she deteriorated rapidly because she no longer had any iota of joy in her life. And that included not being able to wheel herself over to the shop that sold those illicit candy bars, which she presumably ate on the sly.

Today, finally, I came across something in my readings that tried to balance out the avalanche of press on the harms all around us. It's an article in the NYTimes about wine (again, I'm gifting it for you so it's free; it actually appeared three days ago, but it is SO BURIED at the bottom that I missed it). I'm seeing in it something of what I feel about joy: a message that it's complicated and nuanced and you have to be studious, and smart, and certainly careful in how you look for it, but you cannot stop the search!  

Since I know most of you will not read the link (or listen to it, as it's a podcast), I pulled out a couple of sentences that I find especially strong (again, this is from a guy who studies and writes about wine, and it is in response to the Surgeon General's proposed cancer warnings on wines, beers and all other alcohol, but you could substitute it with any number of pleasures -- for example, my mother's candy bars):

I’m here to say that there is so much beauty and meaning in consuming a small amount of wine, that to have that bigfooted by threats and warnings, like the ones we’re seeing now that lack so much nuance, is really disappointing and frustrating because it’s going to drive so many people away from a truly magical experience. ...

In a life that risks becoming stripped of a certain kind of magic, because we’re trying to protect ourselves out of existence, I want you to think about what your glass of wine is and advocate for that and keep that alive in your lives, because that flame is precious. And there are certain things in our modern existence that really threaten it.

So yes, of course, we should have access to the science, we should care about harm (mom! those candies are not good for you! dad! you drank too much, to the embarrassment of your whole family!), but should we run scared into a dark forest and stick with foraging wild berries and nuts to keep us primed for a healthy tomorrow? You know, I read passages in a book about a French detective that describe his pause in the middle of an investigation for a swig of coffee and a bite into a fresh croissant. The world melts for him. He is made whole bu it. This, to me, is the other side. The world melts for me as well when I break off a croissant piece with my milky coffee. I feel his joy, just as I feel my own in the mornings when I go rogue and eat pastries.

I wish it were easier. I wish a glass of wine or a Negroni wouldn't disrupt my sleep, nor put me inline for cancer treatments, and I hope Ed never has a fatal bike or motorbike crash (over 1000 are killed in bike traffic accidents and more than 6000 in motorbike ones in the US each year), and I wish going to Paris would not leave such a carbon footprint, and that croissants weren't all about butter and white flour, with added sugars in jam. But as I said, joy is complicated and I think you have to unravel it for yourself and come to terms with what is good for your body and what is good for your soul, but do not, please do not leave out of it the discussion joy. Please. 

[To stick with wine, here's a proposed by me warning on wine bottles, but really anything else that you may want to ingest even as you are told it may be bad for you: wine, in addition to harming your fetus should you be pregnant, and killing innocent bystanders should you choose to drive after consuming it, may increase your chances of addiction, and it may increase your chances of disrupted sleep and slightly increase your chances of disease. Excessive drinking, as defined by your age, gender and physical characteristics will definitely harm you and everyone else within spittin' distance of your inebriated self, so don't do it! However, a reasonable amounts of it, with due consideration for your physical and mental health and your surroundings, may well increase your pleasure in life, raising your level of well being modestly, or even greatly, depending on how much care and wisdom your give to the act of its consumption.]

Overnight, there was a new dusting of snow. Nothing significant, but still, enough to have me take that half hour morning walk outside.

(the chickens stand on one foot at a time to keep those icy toes from freezing)

(Friendly, why are you in a tree? Running away from Pancake again? Okay, let me provide an escort back to the house...)

(we planted these trees when they were literally an inch tall)

A little around farmette lands, but mostly around the new development. Why there? Well, because I am so isolated from humanity that I actually welcome some signs of human life. I give gusty hellos to people brushing off the snow from the sidewalks.

I do test myself for Covid today and the upshot is that I detect, with all lights on and with my best magnifying glasses, the faintest possible "positive" line. This does mean that I am not 100% free of it and so I postponed tomorrow's birthday dinner yet again, moving it to Monday. I want not even a vague shadow of a line. I want certainty. Ed and I have kept to our isolation for so many days -- I'm not going to blow it now.

And it is because of the isolation and the absence of demands on my days that I'm playing this healthy game of daily movement, no matter what (even if it had to be in pacing the living room of the farmhouse for a few days), and of healthy breakfasts (I haven't had a croissant since... 2024!), and of boring lunches with seed bread and hummus. It's become a fun game -- to mind my habits during this prison sentence! I'll show them who's boss of my body!

Breakfast? Oatmeal based.

Ed visits in the afternoon once more. Still sleeping a lot, reading some, under a quilt, on the couch. It feels as quiet with him here as it is when he retreats to the shed. His is a much longer Covid and were it me, I'd be in the clinic by now checking things out, but Ed is not persuadable, at least not today, and so I watch him rest and hope tomorrow we'll see noticeable improvement.

 

Then dinner. Chili, because it will last for several days.

 

It surely is a weird start to the New Year for us, but I've had worse! And the house is warm, and I turn on the TV once more, still alone, so picking out stuff that would cause Ed to yawn. How about Escape to the Country on BritBox? I'll let you know tomorrow what I think of it.

with love...

missing snow and eating well

This wont go down in Madison's history as the least snowy winter. That fun designation belongs to 1901-02, at which time Madison got all of 4 inches of snow. But we are dangerously close to being in the record books! Right now we're in the second spot (since they began keeping score in 1884), with only about 10 inches of snow thus far. But of course, we will get more this winter, right? Right?? To give you some perspective, our snowiest winter was 2007-08, when we had over 110 inches (so almost 10 feet of it!). Oh, I remember it well... It was a mess. It was beautiful.

This morning I woke to a scant dusting of snow. Enough to put a little crunch under my step. Enough to have to sweep off the walkway to the farmhouse. Ed fed the cheepers again, but by the time I got notice of it, I was bundled and out anyway. 

 

 

That's okay -- I feel strong enough to venture out into the great big world. I head for the new development that abuts farmette lands. Walking there, you can look back at the farmette barn, the silo, the toppling box elders and tall but fragile willows.

The fact that I love my morning pre-breakfast walk tells me that I am feeling stronger. I haven't yet retested for Covid, but I'm hoping for a first negative tomorrow. With that, I should be able to return to Real Life by Sunday. In the meantime, I'm at war with the lethargy aspect of Covid!

Breakfast? Alone, but with a candle and with a wonderful video clip to amuse me, sent by Bee, who understands...

 

I know this wont last, but for being quite sick, I have had a very healthy and active January thus far. Oh, the irony of it!

Ed, on the other hand, is still down and out. His big movement for the day? An afternoon walk to the farmhouse, then, a few hours later, a return to the sheep shed. 

Not only is he not particularly mobile, but, too, food, especially the healthy kind, does not tempt him. (Losing his sense of smell doesn't help.) At the same time, the topic of healthy eating keeps creeping up on me (more like pounding at me), relentlessly, daily. Mon Dieu! How I would love to see articles about the pleasures of sinful, delightful, joyful eating! Instead, my Inbox is full of this other stuff. The NY Times is hammering away at changing eating habits, eliminating UPFs (ultra processed foods), as is the Wash Po, and the New Yorker, even the Economist, and they're from across the ocean. I'm besieged. How I hate that I now have to doubt my granola and most certainly my oatmeal-seeded protein bars!

I cave under pressure and try a new approach to lunch. Away from Kind bars to... well, what? I already eat plenty of fruits (breakfast) and veggies (supper). Aside from the PB&J sandwich (which I love, but I can see the health police going after me for all that sweetness and now, too, for stocking up on -- oh horror! -- packaged bread), I've never quite understood the American lunch. Poles often eat their main meal in the afternoon. The French? Well, when I observe them in their crowded cafes, they're scarfing down meats, seafood, lentils, cheeses, with maybe a glass of wine, finished off by a coffee, with a sweet nibble.

This wouldn't play here.

I take out some German dark seeded bread. I spread some hummus over it. I throw in a mini Kind bar for dessert.

You call that a good lunch? Meh. It wont last. 

 

 (chickens, enjoying bits and pieces of the great stuff: croissants, baguette, old granola bars, cinnamon rolls...)

Toward evening I trim Ed's hair (on his request). Yes, he was beginning to look like the flying nun, with tufts of white sticking out on both sides of his head. I know the science -- I wont get sicker touching his scalp. Still, some objective bystander might say that I did a rushed job. 

And then he returns to the sheep shed and I take out yesterday's fish and yesterday's asparagus and make up a salad and think about turning on Emma. Four Austens in a row? Can't do it. It's not going to be a movie night here at the farmhouse. Maybe tomorrow!

with love...