Monday before Christmas

On this day, I wanted to finalize my final grocery shopping list. Gettin' there!
I needed to go to the post office.
I finally began the task of making tortelli in the style of Parma.
And I played with Snowdrop!

You'll see me in more of the photos and I apologize for that, but Ed took the camera away from me more than once and as a result, I'm ever present.

Including at breakfast.






Outside, we're experiencing those mild days that had been in the forecast, with not a small amount of fog. These are the fields to the east and north of the farmette:






But that's okay! My job is to stay indoors most of the day and the weather outside is only of slight interest.

I do start in on the pasta dough.






As I had predicted, the elasticity doesn't come out absolutely perfect this first time around. Ricarda eyeballed ingredients and by the time I felt her perfectly plump ball of dough, she'd made not a small amount of adjustments to the original recipe.

Still, I'm determined to stay away from books and go by what we did together in that kitchen in Parma. I persevere.






And then Snowdrop is here and I put aside my kitchen work and watch her get reacquainted with everything and everyone. Starting, of course with Penguin. It's not easy to move around with him in hand, but she wont let go!






Add to it books about penguins and the girl is happy.






I'm clueless as to why this particular animal is her favorite. She has one at home and she has another at the farmhouse and my best guess is that the softness of the fur draws her to it. But honestly, there's lots of other soft stuff in her environment and she likes it, yes she does, and yet penguin is never far from her side.


Our own Christmas tree went up yesterday: meaning we moved the Norfolk Pine from the front room to the living room, strung some lights on it and put up three ornaments. You'll always see this one in my Christmas posts:





I started using the Norfolk for Christmas some half dozen years ago when the official family Christmas was moved to a daughter's house. The quaint thing about our plant is that it has grown and especially out rather than up. It is now no longer just a Christmas tree, it is a Christmas forest and Snowdrop seems slightly taken aback by the whole thing. Still, we all do love the color it brings to this month, especially on a day like this gray one.

Snowdrop continues to favor her familiar books -- here she is, explaining to Ed that this book is about an "at" -- her word for all feline creatures.






She moves around now freely and mostly in an upright fashion. (Here, she has that "what next?" contemplative pose)...






...but when the world seems suddenly complicated, she wont hesitate to raise her hands, asking to be put in that comfortable position in grandma's arms.






Then, back down she goes -- to study intently the peculiarities of life...






(At her own home now, mastering the Russian nesting dolls.)






See, grandma?






Evening comes. So quickly! But here's the good part -- tomorrow, the days start getting longer.





I return to my pasta making. Ricarda would be proud. I hope.

Sunday before Christmas

If I look back on this day, three things stand out: wrapping, searching for my semolina and dinner.

Let me explain.

I needed a day where I could catch up and be on course for the upcoming holiday weekend. And I got it. Ed and I made vague plans to visit abandoned cats (don't ask), and perhaps to go bowling with a machine-producing co-conspirator who is in town. At breakfast, we talked, too, of taking a walk.







All talk, no action.

You can understand. There was house cleaning. And I did wrap things and in doing it, I wondered if Christmas gift giving got such a boost in times of modernity because of the pretty paper.






I had also intended to get a head start on pasta making and I was all set for it, but then I could not find my semolina. Ricarda and I made pasta using 1/3 semolina, 2/3 pasta flour (whatever that is). And I put semolina in my grocery cart, I'm sure of it. Or, did I put it in someone else's cart?

I turned my pantry upside down.

No luck.

The pasta will have to wait. I turn my attention to dinner for tonight -- a wonderful chicken in wine vinegar dish that David Liebovitz beautifully adapted from an old Patricia Wells favorite.

I have important guests coming!

Ed's colleague is here of course, but too, if it's Sunday, it must be young family evening -- a first one in many weeks.

And when Snowdrop comes into the farmhouse she just beams and beams at the familiarity of it all. She dashes to her play area and grabs her beloved penguin and just sits there, taking in all that's part of her world here.






Ed comes in and they do their own happy little dance...






And then we all sit down to eat...






And Snowdrop has her first ear of corn and she loves it, which is so poignant for me because I remember giving the first ear of corn to my youngest daughter when she was also just shy of being a year old.






Enough to make anyone smile, no?

Saturday before Christmas

On the upside, I do not have to go to the mall. Perhaps to some, the mad holiday rush at the stores is exciting. To me, it's horrifying. I like to avoid it.

And here's another upside: my travels allowed me to finish up present shopping. Perhaps the only time I find shopping enjoyable, even thrilling is when I'm exploring a distant city. I love entering stores with the bonjours and buon giornos that are required. I love saying -- that's for my daughter. I love that I have to try on nothing -- just eye my selected item critically and then say -- yes! Perfect! I'll take it. I did all that. No more shopping for me. Yay.

But as one daughter texted that she was done with her holiday preparation and the other was rolling up her sleeves to finish hers, it struck me that I am resting on my laurels too quickly. I have things to do!

But first thing's first. I need to spend some quiet time with Ed. We had just such a morning today and I am so happy for it.

I do the cheeper release (Scotch stays out all of three minutes then hurries to the barn where at least the below freezing wind doesn't reach her blotchy countenance).

The sun comes out. It's going to be a cold but pretty day.






And very late, Ed and I sit down to a lovely, sunny breakfast.





And then I shout for the world to hear: I am going to get organized! Make lists! Barrel forth!

The shout made me feel better, but I accomplished very little. Getting organized, it turns out, takes a very long time when you have a growing family and a double holiday coming up and where you rather brashly volunteered to host everyone for a post Christmas, Snowdrop early birthday celebration. My Parma pasta making skills will surely come in handy.

And when I finally spread out the paper, tape and the other accoutrements of gift wrapping, I note that it is time for me to leave it all and go visit Snowdrop.

Well, that's a nice diversion, even if it does mean that my daughters are more on top of this holiday than I am.

Hi Snowdrop!






Play with the nesting dolls? Okay!






She seems so grown!






And as of today, she walks like a solid long-distance trekker.






She studies every challenge and works toward understanding its resolution.






And when her mommy brings out gifts that belong underneath the tree, she is thrilled with getting involved in ribbon straightening.






These are presents? I like it!






(Virgil likes it too.)






I give this holiday a thumbs up!






Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree...






I drive home as the moon climbs to a beautiful December high.






And I drag Ed out for a walk, even though the sun has hidden behind the farmette.





This is what a beautiful day looks like. 

home, with half a foot elsewhere

Yesterday's overseas flight was extra long (headwind), but extra comfortable. Air France decided to switch planes close to the departure time and as a result, everyone's seat was reshuffled. It's been a while since I got a free upgrade that would put me in any of the three classes that are higher than my sardine class, but the reshuffle caused them to push me up to business. Not quite first, but I'll take it! Once upon a time the difference between the upper strata and the lower rungs wasn't so great (the uppers were just slightly better off and the lowers were just slightly less pampered), but these days the differences are huge! I mean really huge!

You'd think that I'd sleep comfortably in the reclining position of these supremely comfortable chairs but no! I was just finishing the first of the Elena Ferrante Naples books so I wasted the sense of comfort on losing myself entirely in my novel.

When I got up to stretch my legs, I met a little 6 month old traveling for the first time to meet the American side of her French (dad)/American (mom) family. I asked if she had slept at all. The dad said -- not much so far, but she was, nonetheless, very sage.

Yes, this is what makes a French parent proud: the child's ability to cope. To understand the circumstances and respond accordingly. Little Charlotte was already mastering this important lesson in life.

I was not to be outdone and told the dad that Snowdrop, too, is a sage little girl. It's not a competition, of course. Just an expectation. It's what parents (and this grandparent) talk about.


Ed was waiting at the airport and I was just so happy to finally be there with him, given his rather lonely existence of late. I stayed up fussing with unpacking and tidying things that didn't need to be tidied and I even washed Snowdrop's new clothes, so that I could hang them in her closet the next day.



Friday morning. You sleep, I'll let the cheepers out. (I'm on an early wake up cycle right now anyway.)

Scotch, our brown hen is nearly naked, choosing to do her annual feather loss right now in winter time. Ah well -- she should be plumed by the really cold days of January.

I missed Isie boy tremendously then, as we always had an early morning visit.


I watched the dawn catch hold...






And then I prepared our breakfast. Because you know how important it is for me to record this beginning to a fine day.






Grocery shopping is a bit different. Besides the usual, I find myself putting into the cart such items as ricotta and chard. Whole nutmeg rather than the grated kind. And a squash. I wanted a zucca (pumpkin), but the supply of pumpkins in the States this year has been very poor and very erratic.


And finally it is time to see Snowdrop. How is it that she grows two months' worth of growing in just two weeks? Or is it my imagination?






It's wonderful to see her so thoroughly engaged in her environment.






And as always, so very joyous.






... and giggly.






... and utterly huggable.






It was interesting to watch her make sense of my sudden presence again. She was so puzzled when I showed up to pick her up from her morning nap. But of course, she is so total accepting. You've been away, grandma? Well now, you're back! That's so cool! Let's play!

Kids know that love survives breaks and interruptions.

I return to the farmette when the skies are dark. Time to make soup for dinner.

I am so happy to be home.

travel

There is this wonderful children's picture book about Paris called "Everybody Bonjours." I bought it a while ago for Snowdrop, though perhaps she's too young to look at it just yet. But in anticipation of her future travels, I thought she might enjoy a preview of what's to come.

...Because it must be strange to a young one who comes to this city to realize that you cannot hide from the politeness of others. When you enter someone's space, they're sure to find you and offer a chipper "bonjour!" expecting you to do the same. It would not be over the top to throw in a few more greetings and certainly in leaving, especially at this time of the year, you want to say more than au revoir and merci. Bonne fete de Noel or bonne annee (or both!) are de rigeur!

This morning, I take a predawn walk (that's not that early here: think between 8 and 9) to the River Seine. Bonjour, bonjour Paris!

The awakening of this city is especially lovely. Streets are often wet from a night wash. The cafes catch the regulars who stop quickly for an espresso and a greeting. Bonjour, bonjour -- ca va?

The Odeon Theater:






A bakery about to open. Devoted completely to the best possible brioche.






Oh, how sublime to be part of this one last time!






I walk onto the Pont des Arts (the bridge of art, how appropriate!) and I look west, toward the Louvre...






... catching that proud tip of the Eiffel Tower. Bonjour!






The stunning view is, of course to the east where Paris wakens to a new day, a beautiful day.






The barges cut a swathe of ripples in the water. Bonjour barges, bonjour Paris. Comment est votre jour jusqu'a present (how is your day so far)?






I linger perhaps a tad too long. It's beautiful here and a feeling of calm slowly takes over. Thoughts of hurry dissipate.

My favorite bakery. The usual fare with a holiday addition.






The prettiest cakes.






Even as I walk back toward the hotel, I walk the pace of those around me: deliberate, but not aggressive.

Well, eventually one must look at a clock. My flight leaves just after 1. I have enough time for a lovely breakfast...






And then, clinging to bundles, packs and my suitcase, I make my way to the Luxembourg Gardens.






Bonjour, bonjour! Sing that song every day, sing it strong! (Oh! The first winter flowers are starting their bloom!)






I catch the train thinking I have plenty of time. Four hours until take off! (The current advice is to arrive at the airport at least three hours before departure. The lines at passport control are very long.) And then I remember that this is the trip that has travel hiccups throughout.

Indeed. The train stops and the dreaded words come forth: there has been a serious accident at one of the stations. I heard that before, on my October trip. It cost me hours of lost time. This time it's worse. After making a valiant effort to tally forth, the train engineer tells everyone it's no use. Find alternate means of getting to the airport.

In life, money cannot buy you good health. Typically, it cannot buy you a good job, though opinions vary on this. But it can buy you transportation to the airport. I team up with two Frenchmen -- a surly one and a clam one and we pile into a taxi (and there were too few of those around) and half an hour later we are at Charles de Gaulle airport -- where the lines are long, but not too bad. After all the controls and checks, I even have time to sit down and exhale. My shopping bag, reinforced by a huge Pylones sack, purchased for 5Euro here is holding its own.

I'm on my way home. All those bonjours... Soon it will be time say hello to my beloveds at home.