Valentine's Day redux!

Well isn't it nice when you get your sleep, the temps go up to a decent winter level, you move your body a lot, flowers arrive, and you have nothing more urgent on your plate for the day than a ski outing with your sweetie, and time to reconfigure (yet again!) some future travel adventures? Yes it is.

Sure, I did begin the day with reading news and commentary to the news and commentary to the commentary. But then I put it aside. For a good many hours. And the day unfolded in the gentlest manner. And I fell captive to its seductive quiet. Peace reigned in the farmhouse.

I do have some photos, because a lot of snow fell last night and it of course brightened the landscape considerably, even if it was not a sunny day.

I had scheduled an early grocery delivery and Ed was sleeping in today. The driveway, therefore, remained snow covered. I could have woken him. Or, I could have heaved open the door to the shed where we keep the blower, which I sort of know how to operate. But instead, I chose to hand shovel the entire driveway on my own. I know at my age I should take care, but I felt energetic and the snow wasn't that heavy, so I went at it. Yeah!

Breakfast (still with the old flowers, but with my Valentine sweetie!)

(I glanced out the window and noticed that it was snowing again -- just enough to cover some bare spots, not enough to undo my driveway efforts.)

 

We returned briefly to The Topic, but Ed was in a fairly upbeat mood (he rarely goes up or down, but his machine design is going so well that he actually is tipping upwards these days!). His response to my report on news stories? Well, when Obama was elected, gun sales skyrocketed. He seems to have scared some people. Now, with Trump, gun sales are down again, so that's a good thing. On the other hand, anxieties about the Constitution are high. Maybe we'll get lucky and our fears will be for nothing.

Okay, I'll stay with that for the day.

Of course we go skiing. Of course we do! To the forest! 

And then I'm back with my scheming and planning. I am so very aware that my travels may be receding as the years progress and the body twitches and the worries multiply. And so every trip becomes important and deserves full consideration. (Or let's face it -- I just really do love the process of scheming and rearranging!)

In the evening I cook cabbage soup. A real central European dish very much at odds with the predinner drink -- champagne! (I had opened a half bottle of champagne yesterday and my drinking behavior is such these days that I much remains. Besides, it's Valentine's Day redux!)

Oh, and the much delayed flowers finally arrived and despite their torture (remaining on the truck in the cold for all those days), they seem to have survived.

Such a good day. And yes, I am so very grateful for all that went well for us today!

with so much love...

Happy Valentine's Day?

Yes it is!

Despite  a very slow start to the festivities. 

There was the night. Sleepless again. I may be reading too much, but in the middle of the night I decided I am not doing enough. Doing what, you ask? Well, advance planning in case things tumble with the speed of a rolling stone. I talk to Ed about this (yes, in the middle of the night). I mean, I'm one of those ancient types who is living off of a government social security check, and a state government pension check, and some savings invested in the market. No gold bullion under my mattress. And not much diversification And a heavy reliance on a functional government bureaucracy! There's not room for error here. So, I spin and fret and bug Ed, even though he keeps saying "go to sleep." 

I did want a nice breakfast today. I planned to have extra nice flowers delivered yesterday. Each year I pick one treat: sometimes chocolates, sometimes flowers, sometimes bubbly wine... this year I threw in my dice behind flowers. 

They did not arrive.

Not yesterday, not this morning. Many apologies from the flower people but hey, you cannot decorate your morning table with apologies. Ah well, I have the grocery store bouquet and though it's old, it's still nice.

I feed the animals. It is cold. Very cold.

To add warmth to our morning Valentine's Day meal, I bake my VERY BEST blueberry muffins.

And while I'm baking, Ed gets a call from the people working on his machining design. It's an important call: the project is nearing completion and they have a bunch of good test results coming in, so I don't blame him for taking the call. I mean, it will be nice to put the new model into production if the company stays afloat (you know -- despite the market chaos). Still, I ate our special Valentine's Day breakfast without my goofy Valentine.

And then I went back to reading the news, ostensibly to stay informed, but of course, I am, if anything, too informed. So much so that I can't sleep at night. And it's too cold to go skiing or walking or to do anything outdoors, and don't tell me that it's all in the clothes -- stepping out feels... cold.

 

Here's where things turn around a bit: in the warm quiet of our living room, I thought about how good these years have been for me. How many kind people there are in my everyday. How luck has been with me for a long while now. And on top of everything -- there is now snow outside.

I worry about this country, I really do. Being poorly informed never served anyone well and we are a nation of very under-informed people. The complexities of life in the 21st century grow steeper and deeper, and we remove ourselves from expertise because it's far easier to pick up a piece of gossip from a friend than to dig in and try to understand why the world moves in the way it does. It reminds me of the days of Copernicus who proposed a theory of the universe that was at odds with the conventional thinking, and of Galileo who then was put under house arrest for defending the Copernicus model. I imagine there was a lot of support for doing away with Galileo. Complexity is always so unattractive. It messes with your life and it's hard to unscramble. Seems that we've been fighting science for hundreds of years now!

 

In the afternoon I pick up the Valentine babes. 

They spend the entire time in the car negotiating with me how much Valentine candy they can sample. Yes, Valentine candy, because it seems that simply handing out Valentines to your classmate is so... yesterday. Today you stick on a treat or a small gift of some sort. Oh, nothing big and nothing too sweet, but still, you have to wonder -- isn't it better to just hand out cute little V Day cards? With the inclusion of treats, the Valentines themselves were definitely not the star attraction.

And finally, Valentine's Day evening.  

 

 

I defrosted two tiny lobster tails and I bake them in the scampi style, along with two ears of corn for Ed and myself. 

 

 

No flowers, no gifts or cards. Just us, once again content, because it's snowing hard outside and here we are -- safe and warm, and together. With so much love.

Happy, happy Valentine's Day. 

investing in something without a quick return

One (of many) conclusion I've drawn from reading and watching news analyses is that we are a nation with a short memory and with a oversized craving for instant gratification. Now, Ed has been counseling me to back away from so much news reading and news thinking (and thus news writing), and I am going to follow his advice today, tomorrow and maybe through the weekend. Read once, put it aside. Done. But some thoughts do stay with me and the one about instant gratification bounced around, then simmered to the surface again as I opened my emails this morning. Remember when I signed onto a bunch of cooking newsletters a few weeks back (in an effort to diversify my reading portfolio and introduce new foods into my rotation)? Well, this morning, Tamar Adler ("the Kitchen Shrink") delivered into my mailbox the perfect way to poach a chicken breast.

Do you know how easy it is to have your chicken meat crimp over itself, giving you a tough, dry piece of rubber? Yes, if you ever boiled chicken breasts, you know what I'm talking about. Turns out all you have to do is put this piece of meat into boiling water (no salt! but you can throw in other aromatics if you wish), turn off the heat and leave it there, covered of course, for twenty minutes. And if you keep it in longer, because you're ancient and you forgot to set the clock, or whatever -- no prob! Let it rest like that for up to an hour (I'm told)! It still will be succulent and tasty for your salads, tacos, etc.

The point is that doing things in anticipation of a better outcome down the road (subscribing to newsletters that maybe someday will deliver something worthwhile) should be in our nature. And yet, we demand instant gratification.

Okay, so it snowed yesterday and last night. Beautiful, fluffy snow.

 

 

But it is very very cold outside and this isn't the end of it, because it is only going to get colder next week. Think Polar Arctic bone-chilling air. Yep, coming our way.

Getting Dance to go outside (for bathroom duty!) is difficult. I finally forced her out after what must have been at least 24 hours of failed effort. As a reward, we waited breakfast for her! (She loves to join us at the table, even though she gets no food out of the deal. Today, she reveled in playing with the pussy willows.)

Afterwards, well, I peaked at the newspaper again. Mistake. I read this article (another gifted one for you). Unfortunately it reminded me of that other period in my life -- living in an undemocratic country, where so many felt compelled (for actually good reasons) to show loyalty to a regime they privately did not support. The article addresses the question of why influential people stay silent, even as institutions and laws in their country are being ripped apart with the speed of lightening. Read it if that topic interests you. I just nodded my head throughout. So familiar! And here's the warning that comes with it: autocratic rulers are insatiable. Give in once, and they're not done with you. And after a while they will suck you dry. And in a country where collective action is uncommon, the autocrat will prevail. So, that was definitely not a cheerful moment. Ed and I should have at this point gone skiing, but it really is too cold and besides, Ed had to wait for a call from the Wall Street Journal (he was being interviewed on the subject of tariffs). Good excuse to stay home and stare glumly at the wall.

Well, not exactly. The sunlight is brilliant. The landscape is beautiful.

Again, I am reminded of Poland: in the years I lived there, so many of us took to the mountains, the forests, the fields and meadows. We were a nation of walkers. And those habits stayed with us, even as we rid ourselves of despots and returned the nation to a democratic system of governance. So maybe Ed and I should double down and get out even more? 

Maybe. When the temps get out of the "greatly below freezing" range.

I pick up Snowdrop today. We were to go downhill skiing but I deemed it too cold. I'm sure she thought I was being over protective, but honestly, the winds are strong and the temp never climbed above 12F (-11C) and that just seemed to me to be too harsh. So we stayed in the farmhouse. (To which she walked tossing her jacket aside...)

We are starting in on the sequel to a very good book and that has us busy for ... several hours! (Yes, ice cream and short sleeves. Yes, in this weather. She is a winter girl alright!)

Evening -- I drop off the girl.

 

 

Crisp, cold. I had made a frittata yesterday. Reheat and eat. And brace for more snow. Yes, I admit it -- I like it. But of course, even now, I have to gripe about the weather: it's too cold!

with love...

smoke and snow

Keeping an eye on things: that's what I'm doing. Making sure I'm understanding what's really happening. Not being blinded and arrested in my tracks by the smoke that is deliberately there to confuse and to instill worry. All that, and watching the snow swirl around us this morning! I'd say I have my work cut out for me.

So about that snow... It starts off meekly.

 

Well that's good. I want to drive downtown to the bakery: time to restock our croissant supply and maybe get a fresh loaf of bread for Ed. 

The traffic does start to crawl when the snows come down. Yes, you would guess as much: people need to be careful, right? Maybe, but I do think the roads become flooded with cars then: it just gets crowded, as if people are in a hurry to get things done before accumulations become significant.

By the time I come home (nearly an hour later!), Ed has to go off to do a work call, so I eat my delicious croissant alone.

Once Ed is done with his stuff and comes back for his own breakfast,  we resume our ongoing conversation about "what's next." At our age, you'd think "what's next" deserves little air space. Most ancient people stay home until they can't, at which point they are moved to institutional care. I suppose you can also move in with your kids, but I don't know a single person on the planet who'd want to do that. Or maybe you could go to jail for some nefariously committed sinful act. Those are your choices. (I do know one person who sold his house and went on to live on a boat but I'd say that's not a viable option for most of us.) So what are we even considering?

I suppose broadly speaking, we just want to stay in our bubble of a quiet life and take care of ourselves as best we can. Imagining scenarios under which we would have to make changes to our farmette life is not unusual for us. I remember tracking Covid early in 2020. We knew pretty quickly that we would be heading toward isolation. Our own, if not everyone else's. You just had to look at the numbers in China and then France (first cases: back in January of that year) to understand that this country was going down next. Or, last year we talked about what would happen to the cats if one of us died. Well, specifically, if Ed wasn't around anymore. Or, more recently we considered what we would do with the farmette cats if bird flu spread rapidly to the outdoor feline population. We tend to speculate: what if this, what should we do if that. We are both good at calm proactive planning. And so we are spending some time on that kind of musing and ruminating now. Not only and indeed, not at all about cats this time!

...While the snow falls and the smoke fills our news feeds and battered souls.

In the afternoon I head out very slowly to pick up the kids.

They, of course, are thrilled with the snowfall, as well they should be. We haven't had any this year at all!

We have a short time at the farmhouse and we spend most of it on getting to a riveting climax in a book. (Sparrow again stays with his Legos, but yesterday he talked about the characters in the book, referring to them by name. Clearly he is listening, though he pretends otherwise.)

And now I have an evening of quiet. It's still snowing and when I step outside, the silence is gentle -- as if someone were turning down the volume very slowly, leaving you with the last fading notes of a good song. With a goodnight, and a sigh, allowing myself to be content for now...

with love...

 

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...