bright days

When the sun comes out after a spell of gray days, the heart just soars! Oh, there are people in Sorede or California that'll boast of nearly daily sunshine. But that then becomes their wallpaper, no? If you wake up to it each and every day, aren't you missing something? Much as I groan at clouds, wind and rain, it is an indulgent groan. The kind you have for your grandkids when they misbehave, knowing that you love 'em to pieces anyway and by the by, aren't they the cutest little devils?  The damp forest canopies, mossy earth, mushroom clumps, wet leaves -- heavenly fragrances! And you know that in a few days there'll be that glorious sunshine! And your heart will soar!

It's an unusual Friday for us. Yes, there's breakfast in the sun room and that's very very normal. (The iris that I cut down on the eve of our first frost have now exploded into enormous branches of yellow blooms.)






But rather than doing the weekly grocery trudge, I flip things for us: shop tomorrow -- a rainy day, they say -- walk today.

And so in the late morning, Ed and I set out for Owen Woods. And that in itself is grand: I have finally conquered that terrible horrible bug that I have been fighting all week. Off the couch and into the woods!






It is a dazzling walk. Yes, I was dazzled here before, earlier this week. But of course, every walk is different and every glance reveals new brilliance.

















When we return to the farm, Ed loads a cart of wood chips for me and I trim the front flower border with this much needed bit of ground cover.

Afterwards, I'm ready to rest on that couch again (I know I am doing too much too soon), except that it is time to pick up Snowdrop (who herself has not napped, so that makes two sluggers now...).

She is on her teacher's lap, by the cubbies, listening to a story...





Weatherwise, the afternoon is a tad strange: cold, but calm... no rain but almost no sunshine. I'm torn as to outdoor time. I'm low on stamina and I'm guessing the little one is tired as well.

But in fact, we both rally. Of the choices I give her, she immediately opts for a long trek to the distant coffee shop. She had remembered its existence yesterday and had wanted to walk there then, but the rain foiled her plans.

So today we walk. (I bring along her baby cap and mitts as I await the arrival of this year's stuff; the fit and look are a little off, but the warmth is a godsend...)





...All the way to the distant coffee shop, where I order for her a cup of hot chocolate -- something she loves in theory more than in practice (terrific for a grandma who wants to please, but doesn't want to over-sugar the child).






We then walk back to the old familiar turf of the playground, chatting as one does on these November walks...

(a sample)
Grandma, what does ahah call you?
Gorgeous.
Why?
I suppose he thinks I'm beautiful...
You're not beautiful! You're grandma!







It's nearly evening when we finally retreat to the farmhouse. (The arrival of a new book has her excited! It's the third in a series of new beloveds -- all three are about a girl named Maple and her sister Willow. Between this series and her goto favorite, the Seven Silly Eaters, Snowdrop can be kept happy for a long time, even if Gaga has hardly any voice left at the end of the day...)





But there's one easy way to get her to stop begging for more reading -- suggest a game of school, where she is the teacher.

I would like some fruits for snack...
But grandma, the fruits are for the teachers. See? The fruit basket is now empty!







Such a week! Really, such a tough but exciting and lovely week!

when is the moon not a moon?

To a two year old, a moon has a real physical presence. She sees it when she is taken to the car at night. She sees it in story books, where it can take crescent shapes or shine down in full disc form. Sometimes she sees it in broad daylight. There is a moon out there, she knows that.

Yesterday, when I was driving her to the farmhouse, Snowdrop asked from her perch in the back seat of the car -- grandma, is that a moon??

Well she may wonder! It was one of those gray days where occasionally the cloud cover thins a little, revealing a sun that is mostly, but not entirely hidden from view.

I explained to her in great detail why it isn't the moon at all and in so doing, I was so reminded of an exchange I had with an old friend, back in the days when my wee older daughter first saw a very bright moon.... outside an airplane window. I spent many words explaining the universe to her then. My friend, who herself had at least three times as many kids as I did, laughed: with the first one, you explain the wonders of the galaxy. With the later ones, you point and and say "moon" and move on.

I think grandmas may well be of help here. To us, each child (and the one after and the one before) is like a unique gift of fresh experiences and vibrant young life. You want to know about the moon? Wow! I'm so happy you asked...


Today, as I look out at the sky and I see again that sun behind the clouds, I think of Snowdrop's puzzled question. It's a sun, of course. But eerily moonlike in its presentation.






When I am not traveling, Ed and I always eat breakfast together. Always. I'm sure you think I over-insist on this. I mean, give the guy a break already! Do you always wake up at the same time?? (The answer is no, but I will wait for breakfast, even if on some days, that wait can be long...)

Today, we did not eat breakfast together.

I'm not superstitious. It was a fine day anyway. But, Ed had to be at work quite early and I had my appointments to attend to and so we air kissed and hurried to our respective morning obligations.

My breakfast was late, small, and alone. (Well, nearly alone!)






In November, weather sets the day. But this day sent too many mixed messages: warmer than yesterday (by just a handful of degrees, but when you're talking about small numbers, a handful can be a lot), a promise of some rain, but then maybe not, or maybe yes? I can't make plans!






I know that there are better ways to spend one's time on a cold and iffy November day (like, for example, working to finish my Great Writing Project), nonetheless, I fritter the morning on studying kid clothes for summer wear online.

When I show up to pick up Snowdrop, they tell me that she is still napping and they have decided to leave her to her sleep.

It's a really nice school that will bend things just a smidge to accommodate the child. I sit out by her cubby, waiting for her to wake up.



When finally she is up and ready to go, I see that there is enough of a decent weather vibe, that I can offer her a stroll to the park playground again. And this makes her very happy.

(Pushing her pretend children on the swing...)






But, inevitably, the drops of rain do come down and so I hustle her back to the car.






And eventually to the farmhouse (where she makes a pot of hot soup for the whole lot of us!)






Drippy days, cheerful child, long stories, no moon, warm soup. When packaged together, they form a quite beautiful day.

hi, November...

November in Wisconsin tests your love for the great outdoors. Once more I wake up thinking -- the less time I spend outside today, the better. Gray, damp, cold. Bleh.

It's hard to explain to the little girl why an after school romp in the playground may not be worth our while. Sure, for the past several days she hasn't wanted to linger there. But walking to the park has been so much our routine for the past seven months that switching things around requires some aforethought and preplanning.

First, breakfast. A mini breakfast. No one is hungry. The inactivity, the hovering sniffles, the physical lethargy -- are all starting to have an effect...





I suggest to Ed that he come with me for the Snowdrop pick up. That would be an exciting change of pace for her. Unfortunately, ever since remote work connections have entered into his life, he is far more tied to a schedule of meetings and planned conversations.

I'm on my own.

And still, when I finally head out to her school, Snowdrop greets me with such joy, so many hugs and smiles that I can tell our afternoon on this cold and dreary day will be just fine.

I tell her the plan: the library, then Paul's Coffee shop to pick up some pickles for Ed. She is on board!

Paul's:
















the library:






Home.

At home, we play school. These days, we always play school.






Outside, it's nearly dark. The rain is coming down without hesitation. Ed says -- I have to put the cheepers away. She says -- Please, can I come?

They go out. They're gone for a long time.

Later, he tells me she insists on climbing wood chip piles, closing cheeper coops and sweeping up pathways, rain to the contrary...











Kids know how to deal with November. Me, I'm learning.

chilly day for trick-or-treeters

They say it hasn't been this cold in Madison on Halloween since oh, some twenty years ago -- meaning, before any of today's trick-or-treaters were even born. We're at 34F (just 1C) when the kids set out at dusk. Brrr!

The cold of this day kept me inside all morning.

Breakfast...





...Followed by long hours of occupied couches: we have two in the farmhouse. Ed sprawled on the longer couch (which is just a tad too short to support his long frame) and I sprawled on the shorter one (which is just a tad too short to support my overage frame) and we both succumbed to a bit of indulgent rest time, losing ourselves in our books and various readings.

Cold as it is right now, I don't believe the farmette ever felt the deep freeze of this past weekend. A few of my annuals are still showing off their colors. You wouldn't see that after a hard frost.





And still, it is chilly.

When I pick up Snowdrop, she runs to the door to get going on our adventure. I call her back for her jacket. She tells me -- grandma, it's hot outside!
No way, Snowdrop. No way.






She is, however, insanely proud of her hair bow and so she remains hatless. Perhaps for this reason, she is willing to call it quits after just a handful of minutes on the playground.





(At the farmhouse, stealing a cookie...)






At some point, she tells me that her bow is clipped in the wrong place. Here, on top of head, grandma! 
Okay...






Her parents come, ready to take her out for trick-or-treating...





I ask later on if it went well.
Of course it did! Two years old, but happy to run up to a home and ask for candy!

With several sweaters filling her cookie monster suit, I don't think she ever noticed that it was barely above freezing!

knowing my way around

I listened in on a conversation between my daughters this week-end. My younger girl had been driving to her sister's house and she noted how she felt a swell of nostalgia as she drove the same route that would have taken her to her own childhood home. (My older daughter lives not too far from where they grew up.)

None of us -- not my daughters nor I -- are especially parochial in our orientations. They've traveled and they've lived for many years on the eastern coast. Me, well, you know me: if given a chance, I will fly to the other side of the ocean at a snap. And yet, in many ways, we are all attached to Madison. The littlest one got married here. The older one moved back here. Me -- well, I've never left and I never want to leave, Ed's suggestion that we relocate to New Zealand notwithstanding.

(Breakfast...)





Madison is not a large city. I got some ribbing from family and friends when I settled here. I can't believe this is where you chose to live -- my father said during one of his infrequent visits (why come here? what's there to do?). But the longer I live here, the more I like living here. (Though the farmhouse is in a rural landscape, we are fewer than two minutes from the boundary line with Madison, so I don't think I've quite abandoned the city.)

One benefit of never leaving a place that has been home for much of your entire adulthood (and into your senior years!) is that you get to know nearly everything about it. Take October: I know that in the first week or two, going to the Arboretum will be worth your while. It's gorgeous then! (But not in all segments of this vast space! I know which are the best for a quick, colorful peak!) Come Halloween, I know to switch my focus: the best spot then is Owen Woods (aka Owen Conservation Park). It's astonishingly beautiful!

I have an appointment close to Owen Park in the morning and afterwards, I have a wee bit of time to kill before I have to pick up Snowdrop. It's a no-brainer. I head to Owen Woods.






It's cold today! Near 40F (right about 4C) and windy! But, in the noon hour, the sky clears just occasionally and in any case, I'm walking briskly!






It is a gorgeous woodland...






... and prairie.






The entire park is nearly always empty and I think how lucky I am to have it in my pocket for these small adventures.






When I pick up Snowdrop, I consider returning with her to Owen Woods, but the weather deteriorates significantly and I decide to stick to more familiar routines. They include walking to the park...






I bundle her against the winds and she is just delighted to play, wrappings and all...






But after a while, she admits to being cold.  It could be that she is tired (no nap today). I surely am happy to retreat. Even with mitts, cap and my winter jacket, I am just barely pleased to be outside.






We come back to the farmhouse and we continue our game of "school."

Want to draw with me?
Of course I do!





Nap time! Snack time! Group time! Potty time! Book time! -- We go through all the familiar sequences of her school day.

Outdoor ball game time!





I have a book that I picked up for Snowdrop. It's called "This Beautiful Day." It hit a chord with me because nearly every day when the little girl and I walk her school neighborhood, I sing to her a (made-up) song about how beautiful is the day when she and I walk together. The book, too, considers even the most cloudy, blistery days as being quite possibly very beautiful

I would say that today is like that: cold, blustery, sometimes wet. But so very gorgeous.

family at the table redux

That table -- with food, flowers, family... It makes an appearance again and again this weekend.

(Morning pre-breakfast with Ed...)





Brunch is nearly always the meal that draws a visit to a close. We're at Forequarter... The young family, the young couple -- all here, much to Snowdrop's joy.






(Even as Snowdrop never forgets that there is a Gaga in this midst - one with a very welcoming lap.)






She asks to draw. She wants to improve and she fills a page of her Moleskin notebook with intricate designs...







And the food comes and we dig in...






(What is everyone talking about?)






One last piece of bacon...






And then I say my goodbyes and drive home.

(November colors...)






One last Sunday table: an evening family meal at the farmhouse. A smaller group and nothing ambitious -- but still fresh and honest.

Snowdrop leans on Ed's knee and urges him to leave the news magazine and play...





He never says no to her...

Hey, you two! It's dinner time!





We eat, they leave, and then I lose myself to my thoughts and reflections. So much to think about, so much to love!