holiday

If you celebrate Easter -- happy Easter. May there be chocolate eggs and storybook bunnies in your day. May you find joy.

I was told in Grindelwald that tradition has it that there will be a snowstorm right around Easter. And I know they did have one just a day or two ago. Well, tradition has it here in south central Wisconsin, that there will be cold wet weather on Easter. I don't wake up to it, but it gets here soon enough.

What I do wake up to is a sick Ed (some bug, not Covid) and a fairly decent morning out there. Maybe I can get some stuff done today after all?

Breakfast: Ed gets up for it but just barely. 

We talk about trees -- a recurring topic. I push for some pruning, he resists. And since he has veto power, nothing much happens until the next time I bring it up. (He claims to have given in plenty of times. I do not remember this. I only remember my failed efforts!)

As if to compensate for his stubbornness though, he asks me if maybe I'd like to eliminate the wide path between two beds that do still get a reasonable amount of sunshine. We don't use the path much, but navigating flower fields without one can be tough. Nonetheless I agree to it. More space for growing things! It is an offer I cannot refuse.

After breakfast I head out to Kopke's Greenhouse. I need to start filling the tubs with baby annuals.  This is always a risky proposition because it is entirely possible to get a frosty night all the way until mid May, but I'm going to bet against it. We're due for a warm up!  Gardening is a chancy thing. (Let's hope I'm right.)

I drive up to the greenhouses too early. Different holiday hours! Well that's okay, I can go for a quick walk along a nearby trail and wait for them to pop open their doors at 9:30. 

It is a very successful shopping adventure. Eighteen pots and tubs to fill and I think I've got now the foundational plant for each.  And the greenhouses are empty today! I suppose people are Eastering it up. Me, I cannot imagine a better way to spend this morning -- among flowers, with hope for the season before me.

 

Toward the end of the afternoon, the young family comes over (at long last!) for dinner... 

 

 

 

... and for an Easter egg hunt. I'm not the hider, the dad is. I gave him free reign of farmette lands, so long as everyone stays away from the flower fields!

Since Ed is feeling pretty down and out, he stays away from our gathering. Looks like he'll be staying away from a bunch of things today and tomorrow! (More on that later.)

The young ones leave, I tidy up and I sit down in my usual preferred spot on the couch. Time to think a little -- about the years leading up to this day, about the days going forward. This is what I love to do on the eve of my birthday. 

There is, of course, a lot to process: it's not been a calm year for Americans. And yet, in our coming together (and I do feel that there is energy in the movement to oppose the horror show), I see hope. The destructiveness, the hatred and evil in those that promulgate it -- they're having their moment, but I'm confident it wont last. All the good stuff  -- the wisdom, sound knowledge, concern for the welfare of your neighbor, of our planet  -- they're on our side. They're not going anywhere.

It feels good to be on the right side of history.

with love...

a day of gardening

When I first began to aggressively engage in gardening (I was 30 years old and we had purchased our first wee house with a patch of lawn out front) I had this image, borrowed from magazines of English gardeners: you had your neat little tool set, painted green maybe, you purchased your baby plants, you cleared some space for them, put them in, as birds chirped and sun rays warmed the back of your neck. Or maybe you'd wear a sun bonnet -- so attractive! Straw, definitely.

Let me describe the reality, the details of which I'll take from my morning work today.

On my early walk to the barn, I survey the flower fields. I should never step outside in spring without putting on gloves, because always, always, I'll reach for weeds and my hands will get crusted with dirt immediately. No matter. Things are looking good out there (they always look great in spring!). 

Let me hurry up with breakfast. (Finally: I took the shears to his beard!)

And get going with today's first big time planting regimen. 

I'd listed all the perennial plants I have to put in and I noted where they may go. This is a rough outline. Reality will often shift things around once I start digging.

I have three roses to plant (again, what was I thinking??). Two are trailers and come bare root, so they have to be soaked and importantly, the hole for them has to be big.

One by the house. The soil quickly turns into clay as I dig away. I kneel on my one good knee. I keep at it. I'm still congested, so I need to pause to attend to that every now and then. I put in the rose. The crown should be covered. It's not. I dig it out and return to digging. Ed had brought over some compost, but the wheelbarrow cant be put into the dense flower fields with new growth everywhere, so I have to get up and get some every now and then. No big deal, unless you are two days short of 72.

One plant in. The next one -- I chose a place next to a stump. The stump is wobbly and I decide it's better to take it out now before the roots of a new plant get established. Out comes the stump. I'm panting, but I manage to put in the second bare root rose. I carry buckets of water over. Sure, there's a hose, but uncoiling it for two plants? Not worth it. Sneeze, snort. Go over to the wood chip pile, load up a bucket of those, disperse them over my work, watch the chickens scratch them out of place. Chickens! Go elsewhere! They ignore me. They've long learned that where there is a shovel in my hand, there will be worms.

Pause to use the facilities. Oh, what's this? The first baby tick of the season on my hand! Well, at least I found it. 

And now it's noon and all I've done is put in three roses (what was I thinking??) and one clematis. My tools are scrappy, the creeping bellflower weed is again threatening all my flower fields, and the branches of all the farmette trees are shading too many of my plants. 

 

Gardening is hard work. So why do it? I honestly cannot say what drives me to it. But this much is true: I cannot imagine a spring without planting. Like with travel, I have to think that at some point I wont be able to continue. But that seems as remote to me as a day without a milky coffee in the morning. My life, as I see it, has me planting flowers by my house. It has me writing. And traveling to far away places. I cannot imagine it being otherwise.

 

I pause to drive over to Madison Sourdough. I need to pick up a cake for tomorrow's dinner -- my one contribution to the Easter holiday. Well, that and the chocolates I picked up during my travels. While at the bakery, I purchase some croissants for the week. Ah, but fresh croissants, just sitting there in a box? Too tempting. I have one for lunch, with our own blueberry jam. Outside, taking stock of my work.

And now I go back to planting. A new hibiscus -- in. All new day lilies (only six this year) are in. Clematis, roses -- in.  My glads and lilium bulbs haven't arrived yet, so I pause now. Ed tells me to go easy, but of course, it's hard not to overdo it because you want everything to have a good start. Our growing season isn't that long. The longer I wait with planting, the shorter it is.

One great surprise is in our weather: it was to be cold and cloudy and instead it's pleasant and partly sunny. I wore my Interlaken Switzerland sweatshirt and smiled recalling the day I purchased it, randomly, because I was in Interlaken and I was cold. 

By early evening, I stop. The perennial planting will keep me busy for a few more days, but, too, I want to get going on the tubs of annuals. And I have seeds that should be in the ground shortly. All this is for another day.

The skies continue to give us a mix of clouds and streaks of evening sunlight. We go out for a walk, passing sandhills on the way to the park and deer on the way home.

 

 

 

 

 

At the end of the day, as I fix us a light supper, I think about all the stuff that's growing so rapidly now. To be part of that, to structure a flower field and keep it going over the years is its own reward. From now until mid August, I'll be thinking every single day about flowers. And that's such a good thing!

with love...

 

changed

Yes you can go from a hailstorm through rain to sunshine and then back again. All in one hour. We did, here in south central Wisconsin.

We were lucky. The hail was loud and large, but it did no damage to farmette lands and structures and, importantly, flowers. Just south of us, windows were shattered. 

I go out to feed the animals in a moment of quiet.

And what I notice is what Ed will notice as well when he comes down -- the world outside has changed. It's no longer dominated by the brown earth tones of winter. Our farmette lands bear the gentle green imprint of spring.

With the added bonus of blooming bulb flowers and my occasional hanging basket, it is a very pretty landscape!

Breakfast -- during which we talk about what it takes to change a person's mind. How long does it take for you to admit you've made a huge mistake? In the way you voted, in what you held onto as gospel truth, in the way you proceeded, thinking it to be for the good, but learning that it caused harm to many instead? Turns out it takes a hell of a lot, because right now, not many are backing down from their support for the current leadership (insofar as they supported this guy back in November).

The question is why? Why accept the cruelty and incompetence? I'm thinking -- people in "happy countries" (Scandinavia, etc.) want the basics covered (healthcare, good affordable education, time off to raise families and to then vacation with them) so that they can go on to pursue their passions, perhaps enjoying the great outdoors, or meals with close ones. We're a little more confused about what we want from the government. Those who wanted "change" are smugly satisfied. They got change. But at what cost, and with what result, going forward? And who has been made better by it?

 

The sun comes out briefly now.We use this next window of warm, good air, to drive over to Natalie's Greenhouse. Kopke's has an abundance of plants that is unmatched anywhere that I've seen around here. But Natialie's is a small, family run operation. Less than half a mile from Kopke's it is our go-to place for at least one hanging basket, and friendship.

We see her at our local summer farmers market and we always pause to catch up. Hardworking, with plenty of worries on her shoulders, she nonetheless pushes forward, always with a good spin about what's ahead. [She is a half a dozen years younger than me, but nonetheless, we commiserate about how hard it is to stay "focused and present" with young grandchildren. Something happens in your sixties -- it's as if you've hit pause buttons in all aspects of your life. I completely understand this: you can be strong enough to dig up a garden or a field of tomatoes, but young ones can totally zap your energies within the space of an hour!]

Back at home, I give some thought to what goes where in my flower fields. I think the time has come for me to take some notes when I envision a garden addition in January. That vision can get awfully blurry come April!

In the afternoon I pick up the grandkids. Why do they love pajama day in school? Such a nothing event and yet, they're thrilled with it. Should we learn from that?

It's a short stay at the farmhouse, because Snowdrop has her violin lesson later in the afternoon. I drop her off, then backtrack to Barrique's with Sparrow for a meet up with my older girl. Believe it or not, I haven't spoken to her for maybe a month! In texts we pass on basic information, but of course, that's a poor substitute for a face-to-face. We finally take a few minutes for that today.

And in the evening, I cook up some farmette eggs and CSA spinach. I have a lot of garden work before me, but unfortunately, the three loose days ahead coincide with cooler temps and periods of rain. On the upside, all this will change soon. You know how April works: whatever comes your way never stays for long. And here's the thing: unlike in life, in politics, in the world, what comes next is nearly always better than what was there before.

with love...

the need to find happy places

You know what I could do all day? Sit inside the greenhouses at Kopke's and watch people buy plants. At Kopke's the staff is always joyful and helpful and the shoppers are at their moment of pleasure -- enriching their gardens, porches, decks with blooming plants for the season. People have very divergent approaches to this, and of course very different tastes, and this is what makes it so interesting. And they like to talk about it to someone, anyone, so I'm sure if I sat in a corner, I'd be engaged in a conversation about the virtues of a pink versus red fuchsia flower.

Kopke's opened for the season today and that, to me is one huge reason to be joyful. Theirs is a very short season: mid April to late June. Sure, they pick it up again in the fall with a burst of chrysanthemums, but this is not interesting to me, nor to most serious gardeners. Our planting time is now.

So I wake up with not a small amount of enthusiasm, even though, darn it, I do have a cold. It came suddenly and of course it could be from anyone anywhere, but I know it's not Covid, just sinus stuff and yes, I do wish I had a Swiss pharmacist who could advise me on what herbal concoctions to take for it, but I don't, so I'm just barreling through with it.

But here's a Swiss remedy of sorts -- my wonderful teas have arrived (I purchased them in Zurich). Very herbal and very delightful! So if there is a psychological boost that comes from drinking fantastic infusions, I will surely benefit from it! Too, my daughter found a recipe for granola that she liked and shared and I decided to make it this morning. In reading the recipe (it's called Eleven Madison Park Granola and you can find it in the NYTimes if you have a cooking subscription, and if you dont, send me a note and I'll copy the recipe for you) -- I learned that it was created by Daniel Humm (a Swiss plant based chef working in New York), and it hails back to his childhood in Zurich. Well now, if that isn't a good omen then I don't know what is!

I make it for breakfast. Oats, pistachios, coconut flakes, pumpkins seeds, sour cherries and some brown sugar, maple syrup and olive oil. There! I've given you the whole thing, it's that simple.

Breakfast, together at last.

(meanwhile, the destroyers are out there, digging up my bulbs...sigh...)

 

 

(and still, things are looking so good now! color has returned to farmette lands...)

 

 

And then I am off to Kopke's. A piece of springtime heaven.

 

 

I stay a while, I pick out a few plants. 

Transformative!

Of course, you can't go hog wild just yet. I don't see any frosty dips in night temperatures for the next ten days, but we are not yet in the safe zone. Pansies will survive a light frost. Most of the other stuff wont and would have to be carted inside. Still, even the appearance of a few annuals, coupled with the emerging bluebells, daffodils etc. -- are enough to make anyone smile!

And my first box of plants -- these from Bluestone Perennials -- arrived today, so I will have my hands full in the coming days!

(one flower basket planted, a dozen more to go!)

I pick up the kids. I'd been stalling the weekly ice cream treat because we've had so much work to do after school, but today is the day for it!

(back at the farmette, he's finally tall enough to manage the tree...)

 

 

We're to get rain this evening, but it's slow to arrive. Ed and I are so overwhelmed by the constant news pouring out at us from all corners of this country that I suggest we postpone dinner and take a walk in our local park. If the greenhouse was a morning happy place, our county park surely is our evening dreamland. The prairie fields have just recently gone through a controlled burn and so the look here is eerie. And yet... We know there are seeds and roots just waiting to shoot up after a spring rain. Somehow this is reassuring. 

Soup again tonight. Good for a sniffly cold, good for the soul.

with love...

 

decade by decade...

Someone -- a famous news correspondent who is now in her mid eighties -- was asked this: which was your favorite decade in life? She said, with little hesitation -- 50s. I can see the allure. If you have a family, you've done your grunt work. No more nose wiping and stuffinga reluctant little one into snowpants in the wintertime. As for work -- chances are you're stuck with a chosen career path and so you either like it and feel in control, or you're looking forward to retirement, which isn't that far off. On many fronts, life is stable (assuming no great upheavals like cancer, hurricanes, wildfires and any number of other tragic possibilities that can wreck your life). At the same time, you haven't reached the decades of Many Doctor Visits yet. An author of books on aging (of course I can't remember his name) wrote that he is lucky at 85 to have only five specialists who routinely check in on various organs of his aging body. Apart from the occasional special encounter for incidental questions and issues that come and go, I have only three, and one is my primary care physician who basically oversees the entirety, to make sure it all stays afloat. The other two? A cardiologist -- new, because I've lived through two already who have retired, and a pulmonary guy (lungs, for the medically uninformed) -- whom I saw today and who, too, told me he is retiring this summer.

You'd think that's pretty cool -- only three!  And neither my lungs nor my heart are deteriorating at any clip pace, so it's all rather measured -- needed bandaids rather than major interventions. But in fact, these visits do take time, because the docs are chock full of ideas about new tests I should have done to make sure I wont collapse say on the next mountain hike in Switzerland.

All this to say that early this morning, I had my pulmonary check up. I pushed off all this stuff 'til April, not wanting to bother with it before my big trip and now I am stuck with appointments, one after another.

Feeding animals? Quickly. And very early. (Still time to pay attention to what's blooming out there...)

And at 7:40, I am at the clinic, where I remain for a good three hours, because, well, these things take time.

I'm telling you this for a reason: I love each decade of my life even more than the one that came before. But to maintain that love for the present, you have to think of it in new terms, using new parameters. Being in my 70s is different than being in my 50s in a million ways. It requires greater patience. And in my opinion, you should not compare. For all the quirky aspects to life now, for all those rotating clinic visits, there are such great joys to being alive, and in your seventies, and retired, and free to fashion a day in a way that suits you. You have the ability to dedicate a whole two hours to extricating your granddaughter's summer shoes out of customs, for example. Or, to sit on a bench outside and survey the garden, trying to remember where you intended to put in the rose bush that is arriving at the end of this week (gulp!).

 

Breakfast? Alone again.  Ed is gone by the time I return from the protracted doc visit. That's okay -- I wanted a moment with my granola! (I purchased it in Paris, with my daughter, on a quick run to the bakery on the other side of town.)

It's cool outside. Not even close to the warmth I was lucky to have on the other side of the ocean. But, the perennials are coming on strong. If only the chickens would quit digging up the flower fields, I'd be happy.

(yes you!)

In the afternoon, I pick up the grandkids.

One more day of heavy duty homework for the girl (she is extremely good natured about it, in ways I wouldn't have been at her age, since I regarded homework as a Great Evil Interferer into life as I wanted to live it then). 

 

 

Sparrow is happy to return to his Legos and his apples and croissants and pieces of chocolate chip cookie.

In the evening Ed is still working on his machining project. Me, I take a walk. It's my time of peaceful reflection. On the day's joys and good moments. But, too, on how tragic the unraveling of this country has been, all at the hands of the few who cannot see beyond their own well being, or what they imagine will preserve their own well being.

We sit down to a soup and salad. It's late, but the light is still with us. We are, after all, entering the lightest, brightest quarter of the year. My favorite. Oops! No favorites allowed. They all have great moments of joy. (But I do so love spring!).

 

pushback

After the euphoria of a return home, there is often times a period of recalibration. How do I manage life now, in my old environment? Should I make adjustments? 

Ed is out at the firm today, working on his new machine design. I tell him I'll be doing some house cleaning in his absence. In there is a hint that perhaps I shouldn't be doing so much housecleaning, because, well, you know, it should not be a one person job when two people inhabit a space? Recalibrate.

I have my annual check up. I'm thrilled with this: I can discuss with my doc the ways I could improve my strength. She tells me I'm already strong. And she is correct, except in the places where she is not correct. Recalibrate. 

I eat breakfast very late. Call it brunch and an unhealthy one at that -- I stopped by Madison Sourdough to get cookies for Sparrow and of course, I could not resist their cinnamon roll. Wait, wasn't I hell bent on making Bircher Muesli when I got home from Switzerland? But of course, you have to do that the night before breakfast. Recalibrate.

 

 

I check my smart watch health data every night. Mostly I like to see what the step count was for the day. During the three weeks I was in Europe, I'd walk at least 15 000 and as much a 25 000 steps every day. But how does that happen here? Even if I found the time for it, wouldn't it get awfully repetitive to do in the new development -- the place of my nearest walking path? Should I do less? Should I go to a gym? Should I just forget steps and work on my garden? Recalibrate.

Typically by mid April I am ready to start planting. Annuals in tubs, perennials into the ground. Plants that I ordered back in January are arriving next week. Annuals I purchase locally. But am I ready for all this? The daffodils are just starting to bloom! I review the list of flowers that I need to put in this year. Did I really purchase a rose? Another clematis? Where am I going to plant these? What was I thinking? Recalibrate. 

The morning just disappears on me. 

I pick up both kids today. 

Snowdrop has two more days of intense homework, as she tries to master another grade level of work -- an option given in her (public) school. Between that and Sparrow's reentry into farmhouse routines I'd say we have our hands full.

 

 

So in the early evening, I go for a walk. I should be working on supper. But you know, there are too many sentences already in the this post that have an "I should" motif in them. Perhaps I should, instead, just go for a walk and not think about much at all.  

Great plan! Fully realized. No recalibration needed.

with love...

reentry

The French have a term for this: after the nearly universal vacationing in July and/or August -- a period lasting at least three weeks for them, because pourquoi pas (why not),  they come back to work late August or early September and adjust. La rentrée. Adapting to normal life once again. It's a process.

I feel that way after most trips to Europe, but I especially think this term ought to be applied to my return now. Because I was gone for so long. Because there was a seasonal switch and the new season requires my full attention. Because Ed's beard has grown too long and I need to find time to cut it. Because I want to continue the long daily walks even though finding time for them will be a challenge. Because, because. I need to adjust!

The time change (it's earlier here than it is there) favors a smooth transition. I wake up early, which is a good thing. And the weather is on my side as well -- the warm-up has finally begun in Wisconsin. Not quite short sleeve weather, but not cold either. 

I step outside to survey the farmette lands.

What's blooming? Plenty of blue Siberian Squill flowers popping up in the flower fields and underneath the big maples out front. And the crocuses haven't faded!

And we're just getting the start of the daffodils.

Of course, the perennial beds are bursting with spring time enthusiasm. Plenty of green tips out there!

I take a walk in the new development. Ed is still dozing and I figure it's a good time to fit in a brisk saunter. (We'll go out on our own park walk later.)  It's that or lose myself in doing laundry and cleaning up corners of the house that were, um, a tiny bit neglected in my absence!

We eat breakfast. Oatmeal, because I feel deprived of oatmeal! 

And then it's just a hodgepodge of the usual: go through the mail, do that blasted laundry, unpack, put away... oh, the list is long!

I break for that second walk, this time with Ed. For him, it's just another day, with me now back in the picture. But I'm still reeling from all the movement between such different places! I'm no longer a souvenir purchaser, though I did pick up a couple of magnets for the fridge and lots of chocolate -- some from Switzerland, some from France, some for the upcoming holidays, some for our couch snack after dinner. And this jar of honey, from my girl, purchased when she and her husband went away for the night.

I have to smile at that: this time I knew to pack it well, remembering the one time I didn't, and the jar opened, and I had before me a very sticky suitcase. 

 

Ultimately, yy period of adjustment is a brief one. By early afternoon, I'm in the school pick up line, waiting for Snowdrop.

To the farmette!

And now it feels like my travels were more than just a day behind me. There's homework, there are snacks. There's reading, there's ballet. Typically, all this runs smoothly, but today, I admit to getting the girl to ballet class 1. late, 2. a bit messy, and 3. with an imperfect hair bun. Why? Oh, it's entirely the president's fault. 100%. Since I'm apportioning blame, let me explain: 

My younger daughter bought shoes for her two girls for their Paris trip. Simple, fabric, comfortable. They happen to be sold by a European company. They were perfect. Inexpensive and pretty. (Perhaps you saw them in the posts? The girls wore them every day.) I thought these would serve Snowdrop well too. So I purchased a pair for her. Online. Same company, same shoes.

Only I purchased them after the whole European tariff mess began. 

Fed Ex kept sending me messages while I was in Europe, telling me customs forms needed to be filled out. On my end and on the end of the seller. Long forms. And they were due today or else. (??) I finally got through to Fed Ex this afternoon and their explanation was so long and so cumbersome that it made us late for Snowdrop's class. (And she was barely put together for the class, because I had no time to help her get ready.)

I don't even know if in the end the forms I sent back were properly done. I'll likely never see the shoes. And let me assure you, America will not be made great again by any of this. If you think otherwise, well, dream away.

Evening: I popped by the grocery store and restocked our food supplies. Fish and asparagus for dinner. And a few moments on the couch, with Ed, before I zonked out early again, still one foot in Europe, but mostly back home now. Reentry completed.

with love...

leaving Paris

Where do you begin to review, to think back on an unusual, an especially unusual three weeks? How do you start a post that is at once an ending and an important transition to the next phase of spring? With the obvious, of course! With a long good look at  the first morning light of the day. Is this part of your routine as well? I so recommend it: to start the day with an appreciative glance at the world outside. 

This morning, I wake up early. I have a cab booked for 6:45 a.m.   This is the view then, just before 6. One last time -- hello Paris. You were so kind to us!

 

 

That's my first memory, tucked into my storehouse of them: Paris was kind. The weather was kind. The hotel staff, noting the presence of two young children, was kind at every turn. The woman on the crowded metro yesterday who told me Juniper looked just like me was kind. The group of twenty somethings at the Toulerie Gardens was kind. The merry-go-round attendant who gave the girls a free extra ride was kind. All the waiters at all the restaurants were supremely kind, but at La Varenne, they topped the top of the kindness pyramid. 

And this is just Paris. I could (and should) provide an equally packed list of kindness coming at me from Grindelwald. Zurich. Venice. I live in a country that is right now riddled with tense anger and hostility toward... well, a lot of things. It was almost a revelation to see that on this trip, despite everything, people still were, are, so very kind.

Last bit of dirty laundry stuffed into a bag, a double check of the room, and I go downstairs. The cab comes, I'm off.

The driver is chatty. This is hard for me: at 6:45 in the morning I am not chatty. At first there are a few choice words thrown out at the organizers of the Paris Marathon. The event takes place today and well do I know the disruptions it causes for movement within the city. Two years ago, I could not get to a train station in time for my train because of blocked streets, reroutings and barricades. In the end, my guy today has a shouting match with one blockade guard and he is let through. 

Normally, leaving Paris on a Sunday is easy: early airport trains are empty, or if you take a cab, traffic is minimal. Today? Well now. The airport train isn't running (maintenance work) which means that the traffic buildup to the terminals is huge. It's a reminder that getting to the airport early is always a good idea because travel surprises of this sort abound. 

My cab driver then turns to other topics: he tells me a two week Easter vacation starts today for French kids, and how come we, in America, don't have much vacation, because he has a buddy who lives in the US and he reports that he gets only 15 days a year. 15 days! You people! And how were you're so stupid as to elect the leadership you have there now? 

I get out, he helps me with my medium suitcase. I arrive at the airport just as my daughter and her family are going downstairs at our lovely hotel on the quiet street on the Left Bank of Paris. We are on the move.

Since I haven't had breakfast yet, I pause for that. Airport croissants aren't award winners but the taste is good and the yogurt is always yummy.

I take a few minutes to think back. I already miss my sweet daughter, her family, Primrose's hand in mine as we walk miles upon miles of Parisian streets, Juniper's belief in me -- that grandma will grant that fervent wish for an ice cream cone, or for a Playmobil little pony. The richest memories come from my days with them.

 

Not long after, I'm crossing the ocean. I'm going home.

(The stop in Detroit is on the long side, not helped by an extra hour of delay, but that's fine -- no need to stress about making a connection.)

I'm in Madison by early evening. Ed is there, he drives me home.

Ed, at home, makes it possible for me to take these solo trips to Europe. How so? Well, he is there for me. We talk every day. He listens to my worries and provides that balance to sometimes stressful transitions. His world rarely strays from these words -- all is quiet here. It's a reminder that quiet is in the arms of the beholder. You can find it wherever you go. (Well, perhaps not on the Champs Elysees...). 

I am so curious about the garden! Yes, there's a green tone to it and a few blooms are popping open. Spring is here. 

I am here.

with so much love...