Tuesday calm

It is literally the calm before the storm, except this time, I am in fact referring to a meteorological phenomenon: we're to get blasted by some precipitation tomorrow and then again on the weekend.

Might it finally deliver some snow to this parched landscape?? Maybe.

For now, we have what I would call a lacy snow dusting. I suppose it adds interest to the familiar walk to the barn.

Okay, perhaps not a whole lot of interest.

Ed is down for breakfast rather early. The good thing about his unexpectedly prompt appearance is that once he is in the kitchen, I turn off the radio. And so I only digested half of the news stories for the day! This is perfect: I feel informed but not overwhelmed!

There is every reason in the world to take a walk today. Sunshine, a cold day but one that doesn't knock you down. And yet I don't. Living entirely by the book, filling my day only with things that are good for me hasn't exactly been my style in life. In this way I remind myself I am human: for every good for me act (oatmeal this morning!) there is a lapse and a slack (no walk!). I sit back and enjoy the sunlight through the window. And think about spring planting. (Big question: should I go back to shrub roses? I mean, it's a real dilemma!)

February is the month when our favorite greenhouses (Kopke's and Natalie's) start their annual plantings. It's hard to believe that in two months I'll be putting new lilies and heliopsis and phloxes into the ground. The difference between a February day and an April day is huge! It feels good to know that the first daffodil will likely bloom April 1st.

In the meantime, can I show off my indoor tulips and fragrant hyacinths once again? They look especially radiant in sunlight!

Here's another thing to think about: did you know that this week is registered as Random Acts of Kindness week? True, the company that reminded me of the designation was just trying to get me to buy their goods, and my act of kindness included deleting them from my email cache, but after doing that I thought -- well so what if it's not widely observed? If even only a million people took up this call and did a million random acts of kindness this week, wouldn't we all be the better for it? 

My own act of kindness included taking the kids for ice cream after school. Perhaps not so random and well you might ask if I would have done it anyway, but the fact is that today, I really did not want to do it. It's a bother, it's too cold and it's expensive. But, I pushed myself and there you have it: two happy kids:

(At the Chocolate Shoppe)

In the evening I reheat the last of the chili. In pacing the kitchen floor (listening to the news again), I think, too, about how little I've strayed from repeating suppers week after week, month after month. And you know what? This isn't going to be the month for straying or innovating. It just isn't. More for repeating and serving all that you know will be loved. Your small contribution to keeping things calm. And happy. Where you can.

with love...

Monday blast

Peace in your heart these days is fleeting. I wake up to a sun-filled winter day, but instead of feeling rested, satiated and joyful, I listen to the news while fixing breakfast and crumble.

(sunshine on a cold day)

(breakfast of treats from Chicago)

I share my anxieties about our future with Ed, but of course, he knows them, feels them, deeply.

So much destruction, malicious intent, hateful indifference to the deep suffering -- how can you look away?

I'm not one who will look away. At the same time, I have to find calm. I have to sleep at night. I have to make this a happy space for the kids and yes, adults too, who pass this way. The farmhouse, Ocean -- they have always been happy spaces. Can they continue to provide that despite everything?

I scour the writings of others to help me find my way back to calmness. Let me tell you what I found and liked. 

First, there is Margaret Renkl's column in the New York Times today (gifted to you so you can read it for free). Then, too, in a comment to her column, I found a poem by Wendell Berry. Do you know him? He is now around 90. A writer, a Kentuckian, a framer. An environmentalist who often talks about sustainable food. About nature. Here's his poem titled "The Peace of Wild Things:"

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Finding that needed balance in nature is not new to us, but so often we forget to remember! Forget that it's always there take care of our aching souls. 

And so of course, Ed and I take a walk. In the prairie, along the edge of the forest.

A walk among grasses and trees, standing tall despite the onslaught. Helping each other, creating protective spaces for so many. It's a lesson in humility. Teaching you, encouraging you to do your bit, because really, there's a lot of kindness you can generate and share, even on days when it seems like kindness, effort on behalf of others -- are disappearing commodities.

They are not. It only seems that way.

(my forced bulbs on the windowsill...)

 

 

In the afternoon I pick up just Snowdrop. (Her brother has other commitments.) 

Rare is the day that she does not come out of school in a happy, bouncy saunter. I do know that one reason she likes coming to the farmhouse is that it is a place of few demands. The hours she is here give her a whole lot of freedom to do as she likes. True, we usually read, but that is by her choice. Today, I had to remind her that she does have some work that needs her attention and honestly, as she gets deeper into her school career, that freedom to just exhale once school is out will be cut back substantially. And that's a shame. Personally, I greatly disliked most of the homework my kids had to do in their middle and especially high school years. I thought it was too much, too irrelevant, too wasteful of precious childhood hours. True, this was before the time of personal phones and computer screens. I suppose I prefer wasted homework hours than wasted screen time and social media hours. The farmhouse has been blissfully free of either for them. Maybe it can remain that way. I doubt it, but one can hope!

She dances today and so after dropping her off for her class, I go to the nearby (to her studio) grocery store. Evening shopping is at once tiring, but, too, it is a big pleasure for me. Day is done, everything looks delicious. And when I do finally get home, all I have to do is reheat yesterday's chili and make a salad. And not talk about all that's going on right now. Save that for... tomorrow!

with love...

one more day

Out my window, this morning, a baseball field in winter.

My visits to Chicago follow a familiar pattern -- one that my girl knows I love. I quickly grab a coffee at Steingold's Bagel Shop downstairs (I'm staying at the Zachary Hotel in Wrigleyville Chicago).

And then I Uber over to my daughter's home, where she has a bowl of oatmeal ready and waiting.

This morning she has embarked on an ambitious cooking project -- to make (her first) pierogi, with me casting a critical eye.

I loved my grandmother's pierogi. She made them all -- with cabbage and mushrooms (my favorite), with cheese and potatoes, with blueberries. My mother wasn't a cook so she never made them and I myself wasn't keen on introducing them to my young very American family. I made them maybe once. Enthusiasm was tepid and so I never made them again. (Ditto bigos, ditto stuffed cabbage.) Still, I'd been at my grandmother's side while she rolled them, stuffed them, arranged them neatly on her large wooden board. They're not hard to make, albeit they take time.

And so I keep an eye on the project now, though of course, my daughters are fabulous cooks and need no real help from me. Juniper and Primrose are eager to take part and even my son-in-law dusted off his (partly) Polish roots and helped roll and stuff some.

 

We didn't cook them this morning. Juniper needs the pierogi for a school "international day" and they'll put a couple to the test this afternoon. But they're looking good! (Stuffed with potatoes, cheese and onion, we call them "Ruskie," though more recently people have taken to labeling them "Ukrainskie.")

 

We go out to brunch at Middle Brow. Familiar, favorite, beloved. 

And my daughter doesn't end things there. She suggests an outing to nearby Daisies -- another favorite! We pick up bakery treats for home and a strong coffee for me, for the drive back.

And there it ends. A beautiful birthday weekend. And I have the same feeling on the ride back that I always have: the car is flooded with my music favorites, and I think back, and I think forward, and I miss this young family so much already! One minute I'm tying ribbons for Juniper and pinching pierogi and the next I'm behind the wheel, on my way to the farmhouse, even as their days will continue and Juniper will nap, and then Primrose will likely do an art project, and dusk will turn into evening, and they'll start thinking about getting ready for the week before them.

I'm sure til the last visit I ever make to Chicago, I will always feel this loss as I pull away, at the same time that I'm not unhappy: I know they have a strong and joyful family life and I have no doubt that it will continue thus.

Besides, I do look forward to getting home to Ed.

There's plenty of sunshine on my drive back and I have this idea that I should stop along the way at our local park for a quick jaunt up and down our favorite trail. I need the movement. The clear head. One last reflection on how good it all was. 

And then I pull up to the farmhouse and Ed is at the door greeting me and he shouts out -- hey gorgeous, want to go out for a walk? I have to laugh. I just did that! But we go out again, together. Same trail, same sunshine, same comfortable recounting of events. Same love.

 

 

 

I'll end with that. We dont watch football, so our evening is much like any other: I make a pot of chili. We settle in on the couch, content.

with so much love...

about time!

My younger girl's birthday is in January. I cant always celebrate it with her on the very day of her birth because she has lived in another city since she was 18 and so it's not possible for her to drop everything for a visit from an eager mother. Even this year, though I made myself very available closer to the actual date, scheduling a get-together proved to be difficult. She had conflicts, and then I got Covid and that emptied out the calendar some more. It isn't until this day that I can drive over and give her a fortieth birthday hug. And yes, it's late in the game! The Zodiac calendar has moved away from Capricorn (her sign) a long time ago! Indeed, it's about to move from Aquarius (the next sign) onto Pisces (the one after)! Neither of us follow that stuff, but still, it's indicative how far from her birthday we are right now. And yet, here I am, getting up way way way before dawn, loading up the car with her presents, feeding the cats quickly (Ed! you do the chickens!), getting behind the wheel and heading for Starbucks (I need my coffee!), then turning the car south, to Chicago, to celebrate her day.

Since we had plenty of time to plan out my visit, I have before me quite the wonderful two days. And it all begins downtown. 

(so little traffic early on a Saturday morning!)

 

(driving underneath the El reminds me of my youth: I bought my first very very used car when I lived in Chicago as a graduate student; taking it downtown gave me my first taste of moving around by car in American cities) 

Remarkably, we both arrive at the agreed upon parking garage at the same time. Primrose has a dance class nearby and their routine has her go to class while the parents and Juniper hang out at the Art Institute waiting for her to be done. So this is how it works today: we walk the older girl to her dance class, then her dad stays in the studio, while Juniper and her mom and I walk over to the Art Institute. Do you know the museum? It's fantastic! It has one of the best Impressionist collections anywhere! The young family signed up as members of the museum, and they get this privileged entrance at an early hour, before the general public comes in. I get to join in as their guest.

But first, Juniper insists we walk over to the Bean.

Oh, the Bean! So much fun in one shiny Bean!

(I can still lift the girl!)

From there, to the museum. I'm tearfully grateful for this quiet moment among these canvases. (I'll restrain myself here and just show you four images of our beautiful half hour among the best of the best.)

As members, they also have access to a place where you can get refreshments. This is where we wait for Primrose to be done with her class.

We eat lunch, and then Primrose wants to show me her favorite museum displays.

 

 

 

Do you recognize this next piece? A stained glass window by Chagall. This was my one moment of remembering the brutal destruction taking place in our country right now. Why? Well, I was of course a United Nations kid. (Read about it in my book,  Like a Swallow.) I first learned about Chagall when I visited (repeatedly!) the U.N. in those very young years. The New York U.N. headquarters are home to a large Chagall, full of symbols of peace and love. The window in Chicago very much reminded me of the UN piece. And I had to think how far we've strayed from its message in recent days...

We leave the museum.

And now we have an extra treat: right across the street there is a new ice cream shop and these guys know it well -- it's a branch of a favorite from across the ocean! We get ice cream. I get ice cream! You can get three flavors just as a "single scoop!"

Back to the Bean, because Primrose wants her turn to play with the reflections.

We then go to their house for the afternoon. Juniper still likes to nap and this gives us a chance to hang out and catch up. And once the little one is up, we do a full scale celebrations: presents, snacks, delightful minutes of family! 

(This book was for Primrose, from Paris and it totally pulled her in.)

 

 

For dinner we head out for dinner at Antico. It's classic Italian and warm and lovely to boot. A perfect meal over which I can say happy birthday to my Italian loving girl (she, like me, learned Italian just for the heck of it).

(yes, of course I had to tell them it's "her birthday!")

 

Such a beautiful and full day! I could not be more thrilled with this visit to Chicago. Could not!

I decided it's easier for everyone if I stay at a hotel for one night and so I make my way afterwards to my new place of choice-- the Zachary,  across the street from Wrigley Field. Not that you can see it tonight, but it's there!

If I ever wanted a distraction from the country's chaos right now -- this is it. Your family will do that for you -- lift you up and take you away into beautiful places, full of magic. And love. You let go of the rest, at least for the moment, and oh, it feels so so good...

with lots of love...

 

that's us

We are that country. Throwing money down a swampy river until it sinks: investing first in the health of the poor disease stricken unvaccinated hungry (for decades now), then cutting them off in mid-meal mid-medication dose mid treatment, throwing the rest away, just to show how... what, mighty we are? Mighty stupid. We are that country.

Ed says over breakfast that we did help pull China out of poverty and to an extent, India as well. But I'm not talking about a grandiose vision of a good life for all. I'm talking about hungry children and the growth of pathogens. We are the country of people who can sleep well at night, pulling the plug on food and medicine (and let the remains flow down a swampy river) for children. That's us. Not reshaping, reimagining, reinventing better paths, perhaps less expensive, perhaps more targeted, but instead, dumping it all, wasting it (because there is no one anymore to distribute expiring medications, no refrigeration to keep fresh and viable that which is there), just because. (Why exactly? I do not know. But we are that country.)

Well, I for one did not sleep much last night. Ed asks -- is it the news? Is it that I have a lot on my plate right now? I can't tell. Since I've been back from France, I have felt like I am rooted to a seat in a movie theater, watching one horror flick after the next. I suppose sleep is going to be elusive for a long time.

 

It's cold but not that cold. The wind has died down, but I need to investigate the damage it did to farmette trees last night. Ed said he heard a crash, but I find everything is still standing. That's a good thing!

Breakfast, lovely, in love, pleasant, until we go on to That Topic. 

And soon after, a Zoom call with my law school friends. We've been through a lot together, but honestly this month ranks high on the unimaginable becoming imaginable and indeed a reality.

I'm ticking off events of the day here on Ocean -- haircut next... I ask my old reliable hair cut person -- do you think that in the half hour I've been here, my hair has turned even more gray? It looks like that to me!

 

Lunch after,  a quick French lesson, and then I pick up the kids.

Today is one of those days where she has to be at a violin lesson toward evening and he has to go home with parents, but I linger for just a few minutes at the drop off point, just to catch up with the mom, because, well, it's been so chaotic that the small details of daily life have fallen off the radar just a little. 

And now I am home. We were to have a snow storm tomorrow, but it's projected course has shifted to the north of us, which is a very good thing because I am to be out on the road again and I dont need slick highways to move me along. I get ready for an early departure, I scramble some eggs, make salads and exhale. With Ed, on the couch.

It's been some week.

with love...