Wednesday

Careful what you wish for! You want snow? Look out the window!







It is a mushy, wet snow, with a bit of ice and a little rain thrown in. Apparently enough to close Madison schools for the day. (I think to myself: there was a time when schools would not have shut down for mush on the roads, but perhaps the unpredictability of where this is heading put the decision makers on guard.)

That means Snowdrop has her first official school snow day!

Well, it doesn't affect my morning. Same old lovely breakfast...






... same old routines of tidying, reading, planning. But later in the morning, Snowdrop's parents have work commitments and so I slosh my way through farmette snow to the car...






... and drive over to Snowdrop's home.

She is spirited! (The chef at work!)






But of course, you can't have a snow day without playing in the snow. It's not very deep and it's exceptionally wet, but we have enough to take out the sled.

There is, however, no oomph to our slide down a hill. Without my push, we'd be standing still.  Not surprisingly, she wonders what the thrill is and insists on getting up and being the one to commandeer the sled.






Okay, Snowdrop. Go for it.






After a while, she is happy to abandon the sled altogether (what a surprise) and go for a snow walk unencumbered.






Oh, but that outdoor adventure works up her appetite! (Cooking up a warm lunch...)






... and inspires creative building ventures after. I offer to help her build a thick wall. She scorns the idea and builds a tower car instead.






One more photo from out playtime -- we're engaged in one of her favorite games -- hide and seek. She is at that age when it's all just too adorable. Her feet stick out, but she is quiet as a mouse in her hiding spot behind a curtain.






And it all ends with laughter. Oh, how I love that for her, it all ends with laughter!


Evening. Her mommy is home now and she begins the job of getting dinner  ready.






The little one helps. Always, Snowdrop helps.






As I get ready to leave, I gather up stuff that we keep at the farmhouse for her: a bear cap, her mitts... No! Please please please let them stay.
Oaky, Snowdrop. But you really can take them off now. No more snow play for today!






As I drive home, I think to myself -- the roads are fine tonight. If you move forward slowly, you wont be done in by the slush or ice. So it wasn't a big weather event after all, was it?

Perhaps not. But the world looks wintery white again. Unmarked by unseasonable thaws and dreary cloud covers. So we're in the thick of winter. For Wisconsin people this is as it should be. Snow. A bit of ice. Welcome to January.

Tuesday

Well, the orchids are blooming like crazy inside the farmhouse, the hyacinths smell as if sprayed by perfume, and Ed is very attached to his bright yellow t-shirt right now, so the mood at the breakfast table is almost springlike!






Even though it's another gray day here in Wisconsin.

I tell Ed we must deal with the mud situation on our driveway. He shrugs. It's a spring thing. It'll recede when everything warms up.
Yes, but it's not spring!

The weather this year is very confusing.

Snowdrop is back in school today and I'm there to pick her up at her usual time. The teachers tell me she had a fine day, but I see that the little one is tired. You'd never notice it just by looking at her face: she is just such a cheerful child!







But she is less rambunctious, preferring quiet time on the couch...






... with books...






And of course, as always, she spends some good solid minutes with her baby, penguin and me at her table, all vying for her toy foods. Today's treat of choice: macaron cookies!






I love to tease her with her most favorite toy treats. I crave them, covet them, look wistfully and reach for them. She worries. Should I hand over the whole lot to gaga?






It's okay, Snowdrop. You can have them. She grins with relief and with all her mustered up benevolence, hands me a "sweet treat" anyway.






A long nap and after, a return to the gentle moments. Reading. With ahah this time.






A few raisins for a snack...





Quiet times. Lovely times.



Outside, there is a feeling in the air of an impending weather event. Some forecasters say slushy rain mixed with snow is heading away, some call for ice mixed with rain, others dare to raise my hopes by forecasting a pure white snow. Yes, Snowdrop and I would love that!

In the alternative, we'll munch some more on pretend macarons and hope for sunshine.

Monday

This is the first time since school started for Snowdrop in August that her mommy had to call in a sick day for her. (She'd been ill before, but always on the weekend or on a holiday and never for more than a day or two.)

It came as no surprise -- the little one began to feel ill last night. For me it was not a huge change in schedule. In the morning, her mommy stayed home with her while I ate a leisurely breakfast with Ed. A leisurely and long breakfast.






I'd been reading a backlog of New Yorkers and they have left me with many thoughts and questions to mull over and thrash around and Ed is a wonderful sounding board for all of them.

And then I still had some free time and so I finally, finally sat down and to think about how to take up again my Great Writing Project.  I'd let go of it for nearly a year. Time to refresh my plans and move forward. (It helped that nothing outside tempts me right now. The unexpected January thaw has melted the snow, left puddles and mud in its stead and still the sun has not come out! I mean, if we're to have horrible mud, can't we at least have lovely sunshine to accompany this very odd set of winter days?)

And just after noon, I went over to Snowdrop's home to care for her there.

Except in the course of a quiet morning, the girl regained her strength and by the time I came in, you'd never know that she'd been ill!






She is delighted to run, play, do puzzles, arrange characters -- the usual stuff of a normal Snowdrop day. (The only nod to a more relaxed set of hours is letting her stay in her pajamas -- a request on her part oddly in line with the premise that she is slightly sick.)






You know that she is well again when she instigates a beautiful and long lasting dancing moment with her mommy and gaga to the rhythm of Abba's Dancing Queen.

I've put down my camera though. This is her day off. It may as well be my day "off focus" as well.


Later, much later, I think about all the things I want to return to this year. Writing -- that's the obvious one. Listening daily to French conversation -- another. The usual self improvement stuff. Good stuff. The magnificent thing about a string of cloudy days is that it allows you to focus on what's inside, not only your home, but your head. What a luxury, utter luxury to be able to do that! However complicated life is on the outside -- your thoughts are always there, ready and waiting for your intervention, your dust cloth, your resolve to get them in fine order.

I listen to my French talk, I set my writing priorities, Snowdrop is up and running. I'm on my way to a fine week ahead.

Sunday

When Snowdrop sleeps over at the farmhouse, I am faced with the matter of giving her a morning bath. She is not interested in a shower and so the only available option is her baby bathtub, fitted into the kitchen sink. Given that Snowdrop is tall for her age, it makes for an interesting set of bathing moments.

And yet, she loves that routine! I give her just two plastic cups (with holes in them, so that she can create a fountain of water) and a rubber duckie -- same bath toys that she's had since she was a newborn -- and she'll play endlessly with them and protest to high heaven when I've had enough and lift her out of the wee tub.

Of course, when I announce breakfast with gaga and ahah, she forgets about the bath and focuses her attention on the pleasures before her.

These days I give her a choice for breakfast and today she proclaims that she wants what I'm having: oatmeal with fruit and honey and yogurt.
Ahah open this honey!
Ask him nicely...
Please!






She sees that my fruit bowl has mango in it. Mango and more mango becomes a repeated theme today.






But most of all, like me, Snowdrop loves just that touch of honey on a clump of oatmeal.

Loves it, too, because it's special. Whatever she has at home, it's not this. Mmmm -- that last drop of Wisconsin honey!






There isn't much time for play -- I have to return her home by 10, but she gives it a good try!






Toy macaron cookies!






And now it's time to put on your jacket. Race you to the car!







In the afternoon, Ed and I want to walk. But where? Our own courtyard and driveway are so muddy that it's almost impossible to make it from the car to the door without sinking into dark wet soil. The wood chips we dutifully lay down each year are no match for springlike thaws. It's likely that all trails will be equally wet.

We head out to the Picnic Point and pick up a rather well traveled and partly graveled path that takes you out on a slip of land that juts out into our largest lake.

It's muddy, but more or less walkable. It feels good to be outside, even though the views right now are rather somber.

The sky remains gray. I mean, everything remains gray!






The lake appears to be melting, at least around the edges. I suppose there's an artsy feel to the ice bricks...





...but honestly, the walk is more memorable for the good air and the limbering up that we get, rather than for the views around us.


In the evening, Snowdrop and her mommy are at the farmhouse for dinner.

At first, the little girl is full of bounce and her usual radiant happiness.






But slowly, a bug takes hold and by the end of the evening, Snowdrop just needs to snuggle.





To a good next week! For Snowdrop. For you. For all of us.

Saturday

I'm quiet, I don't like crowds. I'm not a marcher. I'm a watcher, I'm a writer, an observer. I wont shout, I hate to impose, create a ruckus. It's just not me.

Still, after breakfast and with Ed's encouragement...






... I brave the drizzle, the insanity of clogged streets and diverted traffic and I join the Madison women's march on the Capitol.






To lend my presence, to up the count.






You know me. I wont engage in political banter here. Besides, I haven't much to add to what has been said elsewhere by wiser people who have done the analysis, studied the facts, engaged with science. But I do feel I cannot stay silent when leaders, the highest ranking leaders of my adopted country speak and lead with venom and impunity. Fear-mongering, exclusion -- these I cannot ignore. I've seen it elsewhere. I've lived through it. I know what's at stake.






And so I march.

For several hours State Street is a sea of marching humankind (close to 100,000 claims one local news source), with hand painted signs and the ubiquitous pink caps, moving mostly quietly, sometimes taking up a chant about democracy, about inclusion.





I am with them.



It's a foggy, wet day. I haven't seen sunshine since my day in the Polish mountains and looking at the forecast, I wont see it for another week at least. On the upside, calendar pages are turning, moving winter on its merry way forward so that the next season can slowly emerge.

In the evening, my granddaughter comes over for pizza and a sleepover. It's a routine she knows: Ed and I catch the evening news, I make up a fresh mushroom and garlic pizza.

Tonight's news is all about the marches around the globe in solidarity with the Women's March on Washington. Snowdrop lends her cheerful support!






We eat pizza...






We play.

And I offer her a new addition to her toy foods -- macarons. I mean, you don't need to go to Paris these days to find macarons!






Snowdrop, it's bedtime!
No, gaga! Not bedtime!
Aren't you tired?
No, not tired!
Sleepy, just a little?
No.
Well I am! Goodnight dear one, goodnight farmette birds and animals. Goodnight hidden moon and cloud covered skies. Good night, good night...

Friday

Foggy Friday. Life is full of tradeoffs. With warmer temps come slate gray skies and heavy mists. Our cold crisp brilliantly blue winters have turned into something altogether different. What do you prefer -- cold and crisp or warm-ish and bleak?

Impossible questions. I think of many such pairings today: who will you pay attention to -- your enemies or your friends? Would you help one neighbor or ten strangers? What comes first, the chicken or the egg?






(I see that Snowdrop is also contemplative: what lies beyond the rail -- adventure or danger? Who's around the corner -- a friendly face or a grumpy soul?)






Snowdrop chooses optimism. Nearly always, she trusts that the adult next to her will give a hand when the going gets tough. She is not shy about announcing "I need help."  And with the assurance that someone will be there for her, she can run freely, with joy.






At the farmette, she wants to splash in puddles again. I suggest a bagel inside instead. She caves.






There must have been an art project at school because her dress is caked in stuff you'd normally want to see on an art table. I use this moment to change her into her Polish dress.






It's a tad small on her so I doubt she'll use it much and, too, it just doesn't fit into the picture of where she is right now. Nothing in her life is Polish except for me, gaga. Perhaps it reminds me a little of the day in my Polish nursery school when they dressed me in a mock kimono.

Here's Snowdrop:






Here I am about twice her age, with my sister. She's wearing a Polish costume, I'm in the kimono that I neither understood nor found especially comfortable:






This afternoon, Snowdrop continues to take on art projects.






I am impressed that she is now perfectly capable of coloring within a border. I never once suggested that she contain her coloring in any way and indeed, I tend to scribble randomly alongside so that she understands that there are many ways to draw. And still, with utmost concentration she now chooses to be deliberate rather than random.






Alright. Let's not get too serious with this day. There's plenty of room for hilarity. Here, Snowdrop is showing me how she can walk on her knees. When she tumbles, peels of laughter follow.






In the evening, I take her back to her home and linger there to catch up a bit with her mommy. Of course, Snowdrop steels the stage and however much you may want to ignore her when she is in the room, chatting about this or that, you just cannot. Her smile becomes your smile.






Winter drizzle, Snowdrop smiles. I'll take them!