think: flowers

A Saturday offers an opportunity to get out and be adventurous. Ed and I found a stretch of land by Lake Waubesa (the lake that's just up the road from us) that we had thought was private property. It's not -- maps indicate that it belongs to the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources. We'd like to explore it. Maybe today?

Maybe not. It's dreary out there. Gray. Not too warm either.

We have breakfast in the front room. On this morning, I really appreciate the fact that daffodils have started making their preseason appearance at the grocery stores.





Since I am reluctant to go out, Ed disappears to do some volunteer work at a construction site where they're demolishing a bank building. A group of hobbyists from a local maker space were given permission to scavenge some of the remains. So far as I know, he's there, taking apart doorways and glass partitions.

I stay home and do the annual task of planning out the next flower bed expansion. (In the front yard, where we'll both widen and lengthen it.)

And outside, the snow starts.





I read the forecast: 1-3 inches. Big deal. That's a dusting, not a snowfall.

Back to my flowers. I look up at the roses on the table and think -- yes, soon there'll be roses outside too.






In the evening, there is a special treat: the young family drops by! They have a house guest -- a close daughter friend who is therefore also a family friend. Snowdrop is delighted to be at the farmhouse with everyone!






But, the grownups want to talk, so she corrals Ed (who was napping upstairs) to read her a book...






Downstairs again, she and I do a puzzle. Hey, isn't it great to pretend the puzzle box is a sled? The girl scoots back and forth, back and forth...





Late evening. Time for them to head out. I walk them to the front door... Oh, look! The snow may not be thick and deep, but it's lovely! The winds will come at night, but for now, the air is still. The branches are iced with white puffy snow. And the snow lump (excuse me -- snowman) is getting a fresh coat. Good -- he needed it. His stick hands seem to be saying -- help me out here, people!





There's not enough snow for skiing, but it surely is enough to make you appreciate the subtle beauty of a winter night.


And the dining table... no progress yet? No, none at all. Indeed, I would say we take a step back. I had found a table I actually liked quite a lot on Craigslist (and it's only some 30 miles outside of Madison). It satisfied probably 8 out of 10 important factors (where the store bought one satisfies all 10). That's actually quite grand!

But it turns out that one of it's two flaws is fatal to Ed: the table has to be in its full "dining for eight" position all the time. It has no leaves -- it's just long.

I know I can override him. Farmhouse. Not sheep shed. Farmhouse. Indeed, I can just pull out the savings and purchase the table I love and be done with it. But I wont do that.

Not just yet.

to Sun Prairie!

It's the middle of the night. Gorgeous, are you awake?
I am now...
...Because I found a table you may like on Craigslist.
People posted new stuff in the middle of the night?
No, but would you believe it, these people simply listed it as a "pecan table," so I did not catch it in my search for dining or kitchen tables. Do you like it?

At 3 o'clock at night I do not have strong feelings about tables. Send them a message of interest.

And then we hear nothing. For a long time.

Breakfast, in the sun room!





This to compensate for the cold that is, unfortunately, still with us today. Brrr!

No matter. It's a grocery shopping day. In and out of car. Shop. In and out of car. Boom! Done.


And then I pick up Snowdrop who is... tired. (No nap, three days in a row.)

Carry me, grandma!
Okay... Let me take your stuff to the car first. Wait for me!
Okay, grandma...






At the farmhouse I suggest that she rest. She does. For two minutes. Maybe less.






I'm done. I want to go downstairs. Will you read me a book?






And somehow she rallies. This is so Snowdrop! She digs deep, comes up with a reserve and the spark returns.

You want to have some cake and ice cream with us? -- she asks, arranging her babies around the table...






Yep, the spark returns.





Sometime in the afternoon, the people with the pecan table respond to our message. Available. Yes, a nice medium tone. Excellent shape. Yes, come look at it.



After Snowdrop leaves, Ed pulls out his crazy old truck and we head out to Sun Prairie, home to the pe-can table. Pe-cahn table, Ed. It's pe-cahn.

It's not quite like the ones I identified as favorites in stores, but it's better than most anything we've seen on Craigslist. It's expandable. The shape is fine, the length -- perfect.
I should get this one -- I tell Ed.
Do you really like it?
I don't dislike it. It will be fine. It'll serve us well. It wont overwhelm the kitchen. Let's offer her 180 (it's listed at 200) and be done with it!

She wont take 180. She is wedded to her 200.

And so we load it up, right? I mean, 200 is completely reasonable.

(Let's have a drumroll, Snowdrop!)






(Come on, bang it out little one!)






Well... at the last minute I back out.

No, sorry. I don't want it.

It's wrong in small ways: too dining room rather than casual. Too pecan! Dull brown. Calling forth dark images rather than sunshine and daffodils.

As we drive home, I say to Ed -- I'm so glad we didn't take it!
What??? (You have to understand, the truck has no muffler. It is a noisy ride!)
I've learned that when in doubt, I should just walk away.
Something will show up.
What??? (Can't hear him...)
We've just begun. I don't mind driving around..
The truck isn't so bad..
You should get something you really like..
I know... Thank you.

At home, we reheat our lentil soup, load up our salad plates and exhale.

blast

It may be the last one. Wouldn't it be wonderful if it truly was the last one? It would inspire and excite us! It would allow real thoughts of the coming of spring to creep in.

I'm talking, of course, about the arctic blast we're experiencing today. The usual nonsense: temperatures topping at 9F (-13C). Bitter winds chills.

But it's a sunny day and I choose to be delighted by it: blues skies and a gallop toward spring!

Breakfast in sunshine!






Now, in the matter of the darn table:

We are not yet tired of the project, but I am hugely resigned to not getting the second table of my dreams, where you "build it yourself," in that you choose the legs, the stain and contour of table top, and, of course, its size.

But it's new. Ed cannot wrap himself around the concept of acquiring something so big, so fresh off the shelves. It's about forests, excessive consumption... the usual. Taking something that someone discards is okay. Why create havoc in the forest when you can simply swap? -- he'll ask. (I'll retort -- if we take the discard, the other person will be the one buying the new. Someone gets the new! Why can't it be us? You can see how this argument will get me nowhere at all.)

As we widen our Craigslist search to include Milwaukee (you'll surely find something there! I don't want to drive in your wreck of a truck all the way to Milwaukee!), he is determined to show me that somewhere there is a table for sale that is close to a table of my dreams. And it's used and inexpensive.

And he offers this olive branch: why don't we buy something that is acceptable, albeit not of my dreams and use it until we find a used one I truly love? We can sell the "interim" table then and go for the one I adore.

I'm okay with the idea. And so now are looking for two tables: transitional and adored. But the computer tab to my dream new one remains open, to remind me of that, which cannot be.


I pick up a scamp of a girl!

Are we going out to the school playground?
Snowdrop, no. It's really, really cold! What happened to your dress?
Oh the sleeve got really, really, super duper wet!

(Lusting for warmer days...)






At the farmhouse, she is happy to see a brownie in my bakery bag. She never eats more than a bite or two, but she loves the concept of this bit of chocolate heaven.






Unlike the past days, this afternoon she is extremely absorbed in her own stories with characters. I catch one quick photo of her as she turns around to face me...






Oh! It reminds me so much of one that I keep in the bedroom upstairs! This one:





Same family don't you think? (It's her mommy, when she was just a little older than Snowdrop...)

Evening... the parents are here to pick up their charged charge. Ed is coming in with Snowdrop on his shoulders. It may be cold, but the girl "just looooves" closing the coop with him.
How were the cheepers? -- I ask him later.
For the first time, all three were already in the coop. You know, I need two hands to close the door, so I put Snowdrop on the roof for a brief second.
Did she mind? 
Right away she said -- it's dirty! I thought for a second I was hearing you!

I turn to dinner preparation. I had asked Ed if there was something he wanted me to prepare this week. Chef's salad! -- he had said. Instantly.
What do you understand that to mean?
You know -- a salad like you usually make, only you add to it all sorts of stuff.
What kind of stuff?
Oh, turkey or chicken if you have it... (I don't have it. I put it on my grocery list.) Eggs, veggies. Left over veggies.  (We never have left over veggies; I make copious amounts each day and we eat them all.)
That's it? 
Mushrooms maybe. But don't cook them. Too much trouble. Put them in the microwave. (Blasphemy! I'll cook some.) The point is that you shouldn't go to any trouble over a chef's salad. Just throw stuff from the fridge into the bowl!
I smiled indulgently at his description, bought the needed items at the store and tonight, I cooked up and prepared what I think will satisfy his craving for a substantial "thrown together" salad and my desire to stay with the very fresh and very honest.

Night time. It's cold outside! And so calm and warm and quiet here in the farmhouse. Exhale, with a smile.

Last day of January, first day of dance

Looking at the long term forecast, I see that after today, many, many days will pass before we move above freezing again. Many! Not until the second half of February. If then.

And so even though this day is just barely acceptable (temps just above freezing), Ed and I must set out for a walk.

But breakfast comes first.






And after, we review the new table postings on Craigslist.

Of course, there is nothing I like. It must be woodsy. It must be warm in tones, light in shade. It must have leaves to seat a crowd!

I ask Ed if he minds the constancy of the table search. It surely will take weeks and weeks before we're likely to find just the right one.
I like seeing the various design ideas. Who would have thought that there are this many ways of constructing a platform on which to eat!



Shortly after that, we walk.

I'm not ambitious. It's not really pleasant and I haven't a lot of time. When Ed suggests a stroll by Lake Waubesa, I readily agree.

The lake is just a couple of miles up the road and there is a quiet road along its shores where several dozen homes have sprung up. We like to do more leisurely walks there and offer our own critical comments on each of the homes.  They're not mansions, but they are all different. Surprisingly, we usually agree on which are lovely and which are horrors.

But as we start our stroll, we get distracted by a parking lot filled with ice fishing huts.

We peer inside each one. To me, what stands out is that not one of them is neat or even mildly appealing. If there are blankets or pillows -- they're about as ratty as they come.  I know they're just shacks. Barely more than four walls with maybe a warm heating unit or a bench. But if it were me, I would care about the visuals inside.... (Ha! this is why fisherpeople go out in the middle of the lake in the thick of winter -- to get away from the likes of me!)






It's a work day and so few are out fishing now. But, you can always find a single hut on the lake, with someone waiting inside for a fish to bite...






As Ed and I walk south along the road, the houses end and the wetlands begin.

What's this? A boardwalk? We do not know of any park here (and we surely have looked at many maps of the wetlands). Is it private?

It is. Leading to big gates denying entry. (Oops! We had come in from the lake... We hadn't known -- I practice my excuse in case dogs and armed men come charging.)

There is no one in sight. No home either. Just the huge, electric gates, a driveway and the boardwalk.

The mysteries of the shoreline!








And now I hurry to pick up Snowdrop.

She is a happy, excited girl today.






But just as she settles into playing school with us, taking out the guitar and singing more loudly than ever...






... and just as she does her first yoga pose for me, the kid in the class (for she is of course the teacher)...






... I look at my schedule and notice that the very important class that Snowdrop is registered for starts not in two hours (as I had thought), but in half and hour!

Hurry, Gags!

And this is a class that Snowdrop has been talking about enthusiastically for a good long time: her first ballet class. "Story book ballet" -- taking a story and building the lesson around it. It's for 3 and 4 year olds and she is signed up to begin today. (For those of you who think that this girl is doing a lot of girlie things, fear not! She is also registered for spring soccer and t-ball.)

Is she excited about dance class? Oh yes she is!






At the school, the adults can watch from behind a one way mirror.

Snowdrop looks so small! This is the girl who is always the tallest in her age group. Clearly these girls are older than her.






Still, she holds her own!






And tries her darndest!





And at the end, when they all dress up to enact a story and (just on this first day) parents and grandmas are invited in to watch, she lights up at the sight of mommy and daddy there!





It is a memorable first lesson, that's for sure!


Ed plays volley ball tonight. It's quiet in the farmhouse. Outside, the air is bitter cold again. Inside, I'm full of warm smiles. 

Tuesday expedition to Jefferson

In the middle of the night, Ed, who is on his computer rather than sleeping as he should be, sends me a link: what about this one?

Somewhere on Craigslist, that repository of other people's junk, he has found a dining table that he thinks will appeal to me.

Me, I'm asleep of course. I have Snowdrop to bounce around with. I really need the rest.

But in the morning, I take a look at the table photos.

It could be okay.

It looks sort of dull.

I so want a bigger table.

It's relatively cheap.

I fire off an "interested" email.

And that is how we find ourselves driving late in the evening, after Snowdrop has gone home, to Jefferson -- a town halfway between Madison and Milwaukee.

But of course, first there is breakfast...






... and a morning of errands, and more emails back and forth with the Jefferson table owner, followed by an afternoon with Snowdrop.

Oh, little girl, you bring so much normality to the day!

I pick her up. She is still sleepy after the nap. We snuggle. Her teacher smiles and recalls today's lunchtime conversation: I'm eating chicken and rice. Snowdrop looks over and asks -- "what is that?" I tell her -- chicken and rice. She responds -- "oh, but I just loooove peanut butter!" We laughed and laughed! I mean, it's not as if she was eating peanut butter! (The school is a nut free zone.)

We go home. I put stuff away, she gets Ed to read to her. It's a current favorite, one about Fancy Nancy. (Not that she herself aspires to be fancy. If I ask her whether she would like to be fancy or plain, she always says -- I like plain.)







Relaxed, refreshed, refilled with fruits and bits of croissant. We play school. Does that make her happy?





Yes it does.

Once again she and Ed are the teachers.







She teaches us songs. "On the guitar," which looks awfully much like a double bass in her rendition..






... and with the xylophone. Today, is a beautiful day! I wake up and today is a beautiful day! She improvises.






Running. There is a lot of running in her time here. She is in need of a snuggle. She brings pillows, resting next to me.
Do you love me a little or a lot?
Oh, there's a question with an easy answer: both, sweet one. Both a little and a lot.

She goes home, we drive to Jefferson -- just under an hour from where we live.

We examine the table. I want a table. I want to love this table and be done with it. I'm so easily satisfied!

I turn to Ed: I don't like it. The color... there's something off about it. 

Well I might cringe: the woman had had the tabletop replaced with new wood and the stain came out, well, different than she had intended, and so she wants a new table. I can hardly blame her. I don't want this one either.

Really? She sounds disappointed.
Really.

I had suggested to Ed that so long as we were out in the hinterlands for the evening, maybe we should find a place to eat out there. He finds a spot on the Main Street of the town just to the south of Jefferson --  Fort Atkinson. It's an Italian eatery called Mangiami Italiano.






You're not going to find many people eating out on a wintry Tuesday evening in these smaller towns. There is a couple, a pair of friends, and this group of young women:






We are so glad to be here. It's a truly delightful little meal -- the kind of dinner you hope to get when you're driving about: very fresh and honest.






We return to the topic of the dining table.
It had no character. Too muddy.... Ed comments.
Exactly, I smile.


So we didn't get the table, any table. But we had such a nice time trying. That surely counts for more!

Monday

It's hard to believe that someone can spend an entire morning looking at dining room tables on Craigslist, but this, in fact was what Ed and I did today.

Let me explain.

The weather isn't suitable for outdoor cavorting. Too cold. A high of 20F (-6C). And cloudy. At least the snow lump (aka snowman) wont melt.





Why not use the moment to push ahead with something I have wanted for a long time: the acquisition of a table that extends to a size that can comfortably accommodate more than six? Nine or ten would be fabulous! Obviously I have my growing family on my mind.

Predictably, I find something perfect online: new, beautiful, solid. It's even called a "harvest" table -- ah, the imagery! Gathering to eat farmers market bounty around the harvest table!

Ed balks. New. Not too expensive, but still, not cheap either. But worst of all -- new.

I'll pay for it! (My usual retort when I sense lackluster support.)

Have you checked Craigslist? (His usual retort to get me to reconsider.)

I must add that he has lost considerable weight in the discussion ever since we spent all last week talking about the farmhouse and its interior spaces. The conclusion was that my word carries for the farmhouse. Well then, if I love the harvest table, shouldn't it grace the farmhouse kitchen?

How about this one? (Ed persists, finding something one third the price and one tenth the beauty on Craigslist.)
It's okay... (I just love the harvest table!)
This one is like what we have here now, only with additional leaves!

I smile at that. What we have here now is a table that Ed bought in Shopko (a discount bigbox) to lure me to the farmhouse. Just to hang out here occasionally. And I came, and I would work on my lectures at that table, even as the farmhouse was still in a very sorry state. I suppose I love it for what it was then -- Ed's great desire for me to feel comfortable at the farmette.

Of course, we're years and years beyond that time. I've moved here. We've rebuilt and furnished the place. We have a new-ish couch! And my family (and thus by extension, our family) is growing.

I want a bigger table that can fit everyone. This then is our morning.

Of course, there was a lovely breakfast...





But the rest of the hours are devoted to studying wooden legs and tabletops.

If I am reluctantly pulled over to the Craigslist options, I'm determined to at least visit that, what is not to be. Rubin's, the furniture store sporting the harvest table is on my way to the bakery where I pick up Snowdrop's croissant! This surely means I should pop over for a look at this piece of farm-inspired wonder.

As I step into the store, I try to hold in check my love for the "harvest" masterpiece. There it is! Lovely, yes, but what's this? The color... It's not the warm orange brown... It's rather yellow and dull. It would look awful with our chairs, cabinets, all of it.





Good riddance harvest beauty! I fire off a text message to a Craigslist vendor and ask about a boring but serviceable table. And get no response. Oh, the tribulations of furniture acquisition!

To be continued.



The afternoon, on the other hand, belongs to Snowdrop.

It's sunny now, but still so very cold!






I pick the little girl up at school.
Am I imagining it, or do you have one pink sock? (It's her doing: she loves raiding her cubby for spare clothes.)






At the farmhouse she is full of grand ideas on what to do.






And of course, eventually, she is back with the shopping/cooking/eating stuff.






Ahah, you have to come over and sit down with us!






There's always a lot of laughter at her table. Always.






Apart form the time we spend reading, she is on the move constantly. Here, she's taking one of her kids for a bike ride.






And then out come the balls and she leads us in a spirited "kick the ball" game. Gags, kick it hard, like this!





And then lift me up and make me fly!
Snowdrop, you are getting to be so heavy!
Please!

I lift her up and make her fly and I'm thinking -- surely this afternoon more than compensates physically for the walk untaken and spiritually for the table unpurchased!

But if you think I'm ready to start cooking up a storm after the little one goes home -- forget it. I make a salad and reheat leftovers. Ed beams: finally, you're learning to appreciate the matured panoply of leftover flavors!  

Sometimes, Ed can be very predictable.