Wednesday

I had returned to the hotel that I always chose when I passed this way. I vaguely recall it's name -- Hotel Bauer maybe? The sound of it captures the languages of the region -- German,  with a bit of Italian. Or that dialect reserved for those who live on the border between Italy and Austria. Or Switzerland. Or something. The hotel is on the lake. Or across the street from the sea. I can't really tell. They are never nice to me there and I always get the worst possible room. The dinginess of the decor is starting to get to me -- the mustiness, the chipped furniture, the peeling paper. And yet I keep returning. But what's this? Frau (or is it Signora?) Bauer is giving me the best possible room today! Windows on three sides -- I can even see the water! And it's clean and I know for once I will have a good stay.

This ridiculous dream has been with me for so long! True, the airplane landing where it's not supposed to (a city street, remote village in Greenland) is a far more frequent nighttime little clip and I got that one last night as well. But what the heck do dreams mean anyway? I used to tell my girls when they recounted in great detail all aspects of their nocturnal vignettes -- Ah, but it means nothing. Old thoughts stuck in your head... Let's move on. (I know, I know, what kind of a mother denies their child the chance to recall a dream?!)

Still, that hotel scene stayed with me today as I woke at sunrise. The good room in a shabby space... the empty dining room... Okay okay, let's move on!


The tracks of Snowdrop's sled are still visible. The early morning light is always so beautiful on a snowy field just as the sun comes up!





As I let the cheepers out, I ask them - do chickens have dreams?

They cluck and eat bread and then go to their standard hiding spot in the old barn.

... while the sun climbs higher and higher.





Ed is still sleeping when I come back upstairs. I glance out the bathroom window and think -- I have a project before me. The snow has really piled high on the porch roof, with a hard layer of ice on top. The glass roof isn't in danger of shattering under its weight, but I know we have some freezing drizzle coming later this week and then we're in for a deep chill. And I love the light that a clean roof brings into the kitchen. It's now or never!

And so I spend the next hour or more trying to crack and shovel off most of the icy rooftop snow while maintaining my grip on the slippery beams.

A hot shower followed by a warm breakfast bring life back into my limbs. It had been a tough morning. Thoughts of the mystical Hotel Bauer left with those shovelfuls of icy snow.






I hurry then to Snowdrop's home, in time to see her parade down still in her jammies. Her birthday is but a memory now. Leftover balloons still appear in various corners of the room, but we are now focused on the year ahead!






I'm older and wiser too and so I know that I need not bathe the little one before an art class. Quick, put on something that we can get dirty! Go ahead, look at your book for a minute, but then let's go!






And she is in fact happy to be going.






And so here we are again in art class, with the same smock, but a different project.






You got it -- it's all about snowmen today. Here's Snowdrop's rendition (with a lot of grandma's assistance):






Alright. Time to return home. Past the seemingly frozen small lake...






... home. Her home. And finally, a bath. Ed laughs that I am so the wrong person to take Snowdrop to a class where she gets very dirty very deliberately. Ah, but then comes the satisfaction of scrubbing it all off! A clean dress and sweater and away she goes!






With a koala coaster for company.






A favorite game -- hide and seek. She hides, I search. The finding part causes her to laugh and laugh and of course, when she laughs, the world laughs with her.






In the afternoon, the little one is full of energy. She covers miles, going from the living room to the kitchen and back again. And again. And again.






Such intensity in her play! (Are we as intense in stuff we learn as adults?)






Towards evening, she gets tired. Of course she does. I encourage her to slow down. We read books. Her favorites, again and again and again. And she hugs her penguin. And she rolls and chortles...






... and only occasionally stretches her arms out begging to be held and comforted.

(You want to see a tired girl? Here you go...)







Toward the evening, I'm almost ready to leave, but the young couple have asked me to stay for a brief toast to the year gone by.






Oh, sweet days of winter! Is it really cold outside? I'm not feeling it.

being one

Even those of us who celebrate our own birthdays do not, on the day of the big day, spend much time reviewing our accomplishments and shortcoming from the year that's just passed. You don't wake up on your sixty-second birthday and think -- wow, in this last year, I learned at least five new French words and moreover, I perfected rolling out tortelli con zucca. You're more likely to think ahead. For example: gosh, next year at this time I'll be sixty-three. That's three years from standard retirement age under Social Security.

With a young child, it's different. You do look back.
Remember the day she was born? How cold it was outside? Remember when she did tummy time and we couldn't imagine her sitting up? Look how far she's come!







Yes, Snowdrop is a year old today.


Unlike a year ago, this day is not especially cold, hovering around freezing most of the daylight hours. I let Ed do cheeper duty and it is so very luxurious just to stay in bed and think about how good these days are for my family, for Ed and me.

Breakfast is in the sunroom!






And so you know that we have before us at least a partly sunny day.

Because I have some time to myself this morning, I spend the hours catching up: I roll and freeze several balls of pizza dough. I descale the espresso machine. And I study Ocean's pages (something I rarely do) dating to the first weeks of Snowdrop's life.

In so many ways, our infancy predicts our childhood and our childhood predicts our adult years. Except -- you do not know in which ways! Which traits, which physical characteristics will vanish -- pffft! gone with the wind, never to be seen again? And which will be the ones that'll have us say later on -- you remember, she had this habit from day one!?


In the late morning, Ed and I go cross country skiing again. Though there is a blast of polar air in store for us next week, the snow is dwindling to an icy cover that will diminish even more with the expected Thursday rains. And so we especially enjoy our time on the trails, choosing one that meanders over marshlands and up through the woods.











I do hesitate as two dogs come out of nowhere -- bounding toward me as if I were their best friend or worst enemy...





They are alone and I wonder whose garden gate they managed to open. Is someone looking for them now? I stoop down to see who the owners may be, but they cavort off off and away, as if their own youthful exuberance forces them to seize that moment of freedom.



I go to Snowdrop's home just for a couple of hours in the afternoon. The big celebration of the little girl's birthday was, of course, the day after Christmas, with grandparents, aunts, uncles clustered around the little girl. There was cake, there was singing, there were gifts.

Today is low key and I leave her to the young parents in the evening -- they have their own small birthday plans.

Nor am I very active in engaging the little one-year old today. I sit back (or at times chase her around with my camera), letting her wander and wonder about the toys...






 So much new stuff (in the broadest sense) the world throws in your lap each day!






So much to like and admire!






I've given her my grandma toys on the day of the family celebration. Just one book and one card today (and I'm not the only one who sneaked in a book on Paris for her birthday!)...






The girl is sweetly polite about every last gift, but we have to remember, it's not always easy being one...






Here, she is resting on the floor with a wee booklet. I can see her in this pose when she is sixteen! Oh! That's not so far off!






Since Ocean notes the experience of being a grandma, I allow myself one time released selfie of Snowdrop and me.






But I'll end her part of today's story with what I see so often and admire so much -- her ready and happy smile.






In the evening, Ed and I go out for our postponed dinner date -- at Brasserie V, a place where we sit at the bar and fill up on mussels and fries. It may not look like much, but it really is the height of pleasurable dining for us.






The day ends for me with that deep contentment that comes when you know the people you love are doing okay in life.

One birthday down, many to go. Happy years ahead, Snowdrop. Your joy is so very contagious!

a winter day at the farmette

This is the kind of day I'll stand behind here, in the northern parts of the country. There is snow on the ground. The air is charged with the energy of the rising sun. It's just so beautiful out there, in the early morning hours!






The skies promise us a radiant blue. It's cold, but that's okay -- it's winter! And of course, the farmhouse is so luxuriously warm.






Ed and I are a little late to breakfast, but even the north facing kitchen is gloriously bright on a day like this.






I tidy, I write a little, but really, I'm just waiting for Snowdrop to arrive. She is to spend a full day here and she is a lucky girl, because the farmette shines on a day like this! (Warning: a full day at the farmhouse translates to many photos; Snowdrop's activities and shenanigans are ever-changing. Ocean simply takes note!)


Hello Snowdrop!







Ooops! An early tumble and the markings of a black eye.






Grandma and grandpa hugs and tickles help.






She looks fine to me -- this from grandpa Ed.






Snowdrop, can I interest you in some big girl crayons?
Maybe....






But what's grandpa doing? Eating leftovers? 
Snowdrop looks up at him with pleading eyes.
Come on up!

Asparagus? Great! But what's this? Beets? Yum!






Ed, she needs a bib, or at least a kitchen towel! Beets are forever stains!






After, I tell her it's time to give the cheepers bread. The upside -- it's the cheepers! The "not so sure" side -- I use the sled. But, the adventurous spirit prevails. We're off!






The reward -- the cheepers come out of the barn for the first time since winter set in some weeks ago.





Happiness is having chickens at your side.


In the afternoon she really moves with full speed, exploring everything within her reach.






Your sled was blue, Snowdrop.





The girl just loves my record collection.






When she struggles to take every album off the shelf, I decide that she might benefit from an outing.
You want to go to Paul's Oasis Cafe to pick up some pickles for grandpa Ed?

I know that's an odd question. Ed and I used to go to Paul's almost daily when I still worked. Now, ironically, we haven't the time. But Paul does use for cafe lunches the one pickle in the Midwest (aside from those made at the farmhouse!) that Ed deems acceptable and so periodically, we go there and buy as many as he's willing to sell.

While we wait for the cook to bring out the pickles, Snowdrop explores. Oh, does she explore! From the children's corner (no, not her scribbles!)...






... to one end...






... and the next.






Snowdrop! Come back! The pickles are here.






I think I like them!






So long as we are in the area, we walk over to our local library. It's a beautiful space with many many excellent books for kids, but today's visit is just introductory. Besides, Snowdrop is much more interested in the children there than in selecting books to take home.






At home, grandpa Ed is delighted with the pickles. And with the little one.






When Ed retreats to his projects at the sheep shed, Snowdrop and I take steps to get dinner ready. Well, sometimes we just hang out. Put on music and set her free and you'd be amazed at the discoveries she makes, the books she works through, the new tricks she'll master with old toys.

And really, the little one also loves just to chill.






Today is the last day that she is less than a year old. I couldn't have asked for a better set of hours with her. (Well, minus the black eye.) Tomorrow, little Snowdrop turns one.