Wednesday

We woke to a dusting of delicate snow. Such purity!





It's unusual that I do not check my computer throughout the day -- for mail, for news -- but today was such a day. I was so totally focused on the task of caring for Snowdrop that it wasn't until late, very late, that I realized there was yet another tragedy unfolding, this one in California.

My post is written with that total innocence of not knowing, not thinking about the vile instincts buried within the human soul.  In other words, it is written in the way that I always want to write it: with a belief that the quiet, the calm, the noble prevails.


Light snow. Nothing that would bring the skis out from the porch, where they rest waiting for a real workout...






But enough to make me smile as I go out to free the cheepers. Of course, the girls think that it's all too much for their delicate sensibilities. You can see them eyeing the world with some suspicion. You want to leave the barn for this? No? Me neither!






We had our share of wakeful hours at night, as Ed is still trying to manage his bronchial issues (but he's on an upswing!) and so not surprisingly, I crawl back to bed after my run to the barn. And then I proceed to sleep too late and so breakfast is a tad too hurried...






... and when I arrive at Snowdrop's home, she is already bathed and ready for play. Here's her what do you have in mind for today, grandma? moment.






But perhaps I should reinterpret that pose, because now that she moves with such freedom, and now that she knows how to get my attention and to bring out my own peels of laughter, she takes charge of her play. I can redirect, but the fact is, she has firm ideas about what she loves and what she wants to do.

From the beginning, she's insistent that I dance with her. Well, okay, that works for a handful of songs. But she is awfully close to 20 pounds and I'm awfully close to social security's official retirement age. I can switch her to bouncing on my knee for a while...





But inevitably, she'll come and raise her arms in that universal gesture of wanting to be held up up up! In her case, to the rhythm of some bouncy music. Jingle bells will do!

And speaking of the holidays, Snowdrop is keen on showing me her newest interest -- the magnetic advent calendar. Oh, does she love it!






It's pointless to tell her she is doing the countdown backwards. As I said, Snowdrop has strong views on matters of play.

Until she exhausts herself.

And then she is happy to snuggle on grandma's tummy ...





In the afternoon, I tell the girl: we're going to the mall!

This, of course, means nothing to her. To my knowledge, she'd only been to the mall once, with me (oh! -- what does this say about me??), when she was so wee that surely she recognized nothing but a blur of activity.

Today, I don't have a stroller with me, but I'm thinking surely there will be something at the mall for harried shoppers. If you're a mall manager, wouldn't you want to make life easy for the mommies or grandmas so that they would feel free to spend, spend, spend?

They do have something. For a fee. A huge car thing that I think surely will intimidate her. Should I spend the $5?

I put in my credit card. Having already hauled the babe across the entire mall (in search of the strollers), I need to put her down. Into something I can push.

It turns out she is natural at the wheel.






Here's a full view of the "stroller:"






Snowdrop is a determined driver!






After a few rounds, she decides climbing out is equally fun.






Alright, in you go, into the basket, little one! (While grandma returns some impulsive online purchases.)






We pop over to the Apple store to see if I am eligible for the new iPhone (no: 12 more days). This is her least favorite. Apple geeks seem to unnerve her. The store is brights, stark, cold. She is happy to be out.






At Payless, I have her try on shoes. No, I don't think so. Back they go.






And finally we drive back, to the peace of the farmette.






Such a beautiful place, in all seasons.

Snowdrop is in her sweetest, liveliest mood tonight. Here's a photo of her supper -- leeks and chicken mush, followed by strawberries. It may have been her first strawberry. I think in the end she likes it almost as much as the mush.






I'll end with a photo of our play of light on the wall. It always enchants her. And me. Stars, moons, Saturn and somewhere in there, our own troubled but so very beautiful Earth.

Tuesday

Driving in this morning to Snowdrop's home, I listened, as always, to the Market Watch segment of the news program on NPR. Some credentialed person was reporting that millennials who, in the past, may have chosen a career on Wall Street, are flocking instead to the Silicone Valley, in pursuit of jobs that are more path-breaking (think Uber rather than J.P. Morgan) and, importantly, come with their share of millennial perks -- more flexible hours, good healthy foods at work, access to the outdoors -- that kind of thing. The reporter noted -- in other words, they're going for the quinoa.

Well, I don't think Snowdrop meets the definition of a millennial, but surely she is the child of two such parents (is a millennial someone who reaches adulthood at the beginning of this millennium?) and sure enough, as I reach in the cupboard for something to give the little girl for her breakfast, I see there is a berry-banana-quinoa concoction there. I had to smile, having myself never tasted quinoa until I was about 60.



quinoa and berries, ey?


My own breakfast was with a sleepy Ed. Honestly, I did not think he was going to make it to the table, but he did, the good soul that he is...






And then off I went to Snowdrop's home.


After her breakfast, a few minutes of play in p.j.'s. There is a holiday theme here!






Okay, Snowdrop, let's get you dressed and pressed! (I have to say, Snowdrop sometimes reminds me of my own grandma: I hear that lip smacking in the little girl that I heard so often from my own "babcia!" Is it genetic??)






And here's the little girl exhibiting a skill that will come in handy once she learns about cookie jars...






Snowdrop had been just a touch under the weather for a bit and so not surprisingly, she is tired after all that play. Penguin to the rescue!






In the afternoon, she has spurts of energy...






Clap clap clap!






But she likes it best when I dance with her. Meaning, I dance and jump her up and down. Again and again and again. It's a tough request, but she is so happy, that I call forth all my energy.






There is a package delivery. She is so curious! I explain to her that those may be Christmas surprises. Oh, by the way, while we have her in the unusual pose from the back, let me comment on her weirdly amazing hair:






It's as if she was coiffed to the nines... In fact, it's just the way her hair falls.






Alright -- one last one, where the little girls asks Goldie, the rather staid cat, if she can please maybe please pet her. Goldie doesn't protest. Snowdrop utters her squeals of joy.






The photos end here, but the story of Snowdrop isn't always captured in the photos. In fact, she took her first solo steps today. Her parents were thrilled. I was thrilled. She was thrilled. The cats were indifferent.

the last of the regular Mondays

It's like that game of pick up sticks, where it's time for the sticks to go up in the air and come flying down again in a new arrangement. As the teaching semester draws to a close, so does my regular babysitting schedule. After this week, I'll be traveling and after I return, we'll have before me a different pattern of Snowdrop care.

In other words, time surely goes by quickly!

I wish I could say that it's a pretty day at the farmette. I guess one could search for that inner beauty and find it, like for instance here:





... but I do prefer the sunny days.

We eat breakfast in the kitchen (Ed's in a fresh new jacket which looks exactly like the old one, except it's without holes and it hasn't shrunk a couple of sizes).






We look out at the damp farmette gardens. Alright, Snowdrop and I will not be going out for a walk today.

Still, the little girl arrives at the farmhouse straight from her morning wake up time at home...






... and she is ready to discover and rediscover her familiar environment.



old penguin, new penguin book




but I still like the old penguin book!



And what has changed in the last few days? Well, she is a clapping girl now. Clap clap clap and smile! She puts her whole body and soul into it!






And she knows how to use props to help her climb to higher ground.






She'll then turn, consider whether walking is better than crawling...






For now, crawling wins. But that may not last!

Oh, but the little one is a speed demon. I turn around and she is gone. In the kitchen. Looking over my cooking equipment.






And so it continues -- a morning of absolutely delightful play.


The afternoon? We are at her home, where it's beginning to look a tiny bit like Christmas...






She'd been away for a few days and so here, too, she has a great enthusiasm for rediscovering the familiar.






... and the very familiar.






This girl makes the weather outside truly irrelevant. Yes, it was a very beautiful day!

passing through, returning home

While my daughters and their families were in transit today, journeying to their respective homes, Ed and I put in a maximal effort to rid the farmhouse of allergens. Not only did I thoroughly dust and vacuum the place, I stripped every bit of bedding, every sofa and pillow cover, everything that could be stripped -- off it went. We turned up the water heater to a scorching 140F and ran load after load of upholstery and bedding, at the same time keeping the fan going, the windows open -- vents cleaned and inspected, carpets lifted, furniture moved  -- all this to minimize Ed's asthmatic flareups.

Of course, we can't change the winter weather (possible culprit). And yes, there are still steps we can take -- get rid of the couch, get rid of indoor plants, get rid of carpeting -- woosh, out it all goes! And we can sanitize the sheep shed (now that's a project!). And then we hope for the best.


It's Sunday. House cleaning notwithstanding, I love this day, this end of week moment in time, when there is no rush, when I can think back and look forward to all that the next week will bring.

And despite the cleaning frenzy at the farmhouse, we have three beautiful round-the-table moments today.

The first -- breakfast. The sun has moved away from the east facing windows of the sun room, but Ed and I eat here anyway, because the cactus is in full bloom and it fills the small space with such vibrant color!






Next there is lunch. My younger girl and her husband detour into Madison on their way home and Ed and I have a wonderful meal with them just off the Capitol Square, at Heritage Tavern.






We linger for a while. How can you not? The after holiday release. The stories. The review of the month before us. And of course, there is the real pleasure of just being with them again.






Let me jump then to the third meal -- a Sunday dinner at the farmhouse, where the other travelers -- my older daughter and her family come over, again filling the (very clean!) spaces with stories and of course, giving me a chance to have my own quick visit with Snowdrop. (She comes, sees penguin, coos with pleasure and gives him the biggest kiss.)






And I should end the post with that. Because the little girl is such an easy closing story. A photo of her is a statement about all that we love so much.






I would include, of course, our wonderful Sunday dinner -- of childhood favorites today: comfort foods: crunchy chicken, risotto -- things Snowdrop will learn to love, I think...











Oh, and the minutes after, when she shows off her walking with her dad...






Yes, these were the grand Sunday moments. I should just end with that. Because the rest of the day was a blur of cooking, laundering, drying, and then re-covering the furniture. There was an Ed and Nina walk, too, but not along the country road: we hauled ourselves to Farm and Fleet to pick up a new jacket for Ed and some scratch food for the cheepers.

But I want to go back to something else -- the moment when Ed and I were driving downtown. The skies were nearly sunny. The smattering of clouds was almost insignificant. And in this beautiful pale blue celestial sphere, there appeared a faint rainbow, perfectly positioned over Madison's skyline.





That's how good this Sunday was. So brilliant. So very memorable!

calm Saturday

The great thing about a calm day is that I can finally return to writing. And I do write, all the while enjoying this wonderful treat: the reappearance of sunshine!

Consider breakfast:






All those beams of light... They make such a difference during the winter. Inside and out. Suddenly, the landscape isn't monochromatic.






Where should we walk today? I ask this since, as I said, we've become rather farmette-centered and in this past week, we'd already hiked the county park trails and, too, three separate segments of our rural road.
Why don't we drive up to Lake Waubesa (less than two miles up the road) and walk along the water's edge? We can entertain ourselves by looking at the homes along the shoreline.

Ed and I like to look at other people's houses. Despite my great love for the farmhouse and his great affection for the farmette land, we always imagine how we would be living if we were starting from scratch. We find homes that more closely approximate our vision of a good set up. Most often, we find homes that are lacking in what we regard as our essentials: not too large, plenty of light, clever design, facing away from the public road onto its own private courtyard or garden.

And so it is curious that as we drive the short distance to the lake, we pass a house perched on a hill that is not unattractive and it's sporting a "for sale" sign.
Let's look! -- this from him. I'm reluctant to go up a long, private driveway.
It's allowed, if you have a for sale sign, you're inviting curious people.
I'm doubtful. Whose rules are those? Still, I turn the car toward the house.

... while the Sandhill cranes look on.





The house has at least three stellar features: plenty of windows and light, fascinating design, privacy too.

It has, of course a fatal flaw: it's too big.

But are we even considering moving?
You know I could never leave our porch behind...
And your flowers...
I'd dig up the flowers.
Isie boy would hate moving. And when we get old and can't drive, we'll just have to move again...

We get back in the car and continue toward the lake as the sun sinks lower and the colors, if not the air, grow warmer.


 



Our walk is grand today. Cold, but really grand. What a difference a bit of sun makes!

We look at houses, talk about improvements that could be made, and the more we talk, the greater is the surge of love for our own little piece of heaven at the farmette.

The sun has almost disappeared...






The lake is bathed in the pinks and blues of dusk.






We return home, where the landscape remains beautiful, even when the sun has long gone.

black Friday

Ed watched all Thursday afternoon as I clicked through holiday shopping lists and fulfilled the dreams of my beloveds (one can hope!) on line.
You really are a true blue American consumer, aren't you... he marveled.

I admit it: I like to holiday shop for my family. I like bugging my kids for hints of what they or their spouses need. I like going "off list" with a few surprises, even though I'm sure they have some trepidation when I do this. (Consider the couple of years I moonlighted at l'Occitane: one girl eventually told me that she didn't care how good the discount, I really have to slow down with filling their drawers with tubes of hand cream.)

Today, of course, is America's big retail binge. But, like so many others, I had let my fingers do the walking/clicking and except for shopping that I always leave for myself for the December travels to the other side of the ocean, I'm done.

Still, there's grocery shopping! And so after breakfast...






... I coax Ed to tag along with me on this weekly ritual of mine.  No, cheepers! You're staying home!





To Ed I say -- there are sure to be free samples at the store!
He comes.
There are no free samples.
He reads the paper in the cafe while I shop, happy to have him at least there, somewhere on the sidelines, like in the old days when I lived in the city, grocery shopped nearly every day and nearly always had him tagging along.


So why have we become such awful home bodies? Aside from walks -- and they're terribly proximate to the farmette  -- we hardly ever venture out together. Remember daily afternoons at Paul's cafe? I can hardly believe we did that! Lunches at Pasqual's and dinners at Great Dane? A thing of the past.

I blame retirement (his, but especially mine) and winter. Those two forces have the strength of a gale wind to shut the door and keep us huddled inside. As I carry grocery bags into the farmhouse and the cheepers hover underfoot again, I'm thinking -- I'm sure glad I'm not like them, facing a winter of cold. Once I step inside the farmhouse, I do not have to go out!


But, the realization that we are so glued to our warm spaces gets to me and I propose another walk along the rural roads today. And Ed agrees.

And if ever you should commend us for being good sports about getting in that walk, it would be on this day -- gray, yes that, but also quite cold (I don't think it ever passed freezing). Just a couple of photos. It was hard to feel inspired to reach for the camera. November can be that way.










Ah, but the return to the farmhouse was fabulous! Really fabulous!

the real Thanksgiving

On our real Thanksgiving day, it's moist, dark and warm outside. A November warm -- the kind where you don't know what jacket to wear (except if you're Ed).

Rain threatens, the indoor lights stay on, the snow has melted.

That last fact makes the cheepers really happy. They come to the farmhouse once more and beg for a handout. They get it. Happy Thanksgiving, cheepers!






Ed and I have breakfast, but it's hardly special. Well, I eat granola and Ed looks cheerful without my prodding him to look cheerful.






We talk about his winter allergies. I suggest cleaning the air ducts. Or cleaning the couch. Or getting rid of the couch. Or getting rid of the house and starting over, with a building that doesn't have forced air heat (in my opinion, that's the trigger). Of course, all this he rejects. Mustn't rush. If you have to post a credible logo over his head, it would be "mustn't rush."

But he does want to demonstrate that our ducts are clean. We certainly do not have mold, but I tell him that mites and pollen are often invisible. I read stuff on the Internet to lend support to my push for having them professionally blown out.

I should have remembered the equally important logo that also hangs invisibly over Ed's head: "never hire someone to do something I can do myself." And so we spend the morning taking apart ducts, inspecting them for dust (minimal), wiping down the main air intake unit, vacuuming up the basement -- in other words, setting up the system for a clean run, further improved by turning down the thermostat to 50F, switching the fans onto high and opening all the farmhouse windows. In theory, much of what remains in the ducts will blow out, out, out over the river and through the woods and leave us with fresh air inside.

At least we aren't dealing with a major septic tank issue. That belonged to Thanksgiving 2011.

While all this clearing, blowing, airing is taking place, we take a walk in the small window of time we have for any outdoor activity (at around noon, when it's not supposed to rain). Up the scenic rural road, past the lovely cattle...






Then down a trail into the marshy lands that drain into Lake Waubesa. My, but it's muddy down there!






The rains come down just as we close the loop of our hike. And oh, does it rain! All remaining Thanksgiving hours are drenched in rain.

We stay indoors.

When it is finally dinner time, we brave the rains and set out to our local Indian restaurant. Last year, Ed and I went to the Japanese place for Thanksgiving sushi. It wasn't a great idea. We were the only diners there and the owners couldn't wait to close shop for the night so that they could go to the stores and hunt for holiday bargains. At our Indian eatery, there is another family  eating away, even as we get ready to go home.
They're not American, I whisper to Ed.
What do you mean? He seems somewhat aghast, as if I were passing judgment. I heard them ask for a table for four.
I laugh. As if being able to speak in English confers the status of a native son or daughter.
I'll bet you they're not from here. 
How would you find out?
I'll ask.
No!

It's rare that I have the ability to socially embarrass Ed.


We go home. We talk about couches, heaters, turkeys. The usual Thanksgiving fare.

I hope your day was equally peaceful, filled with warmth, love, and of course, good food.