Thursday

The wind, making its way toward us from the far reaches of the Arctic, was so biting that my eyes watered and I was sure the puddles of tears were right at the cusp of freezing. I've never seen frozen eye lids before. It would be a first.

And still we skied.

There was a weak glimmer of sunshine, but mostly there were gusts of snow. Tiny flakes that felt more like ice dust, adding the thinnest of layers of fresh snow to the ungroomed paths. Deserted paths. No one was in our county park (right side) today.

Sometimes, out of reluctance, we push off going out until later, much later in the day, but I couldn't do that this time because it's my Snowdrop day and so it's ski in the (late) morning or not at all. Rather unenthusiastically we go out. And it just goes to show you that something can appear distasteful (skiing in Arctic temperatures) until you actually do it and then you realize it's actually thrilling and very beautiful.

All this after breakfast of course. I swear it's my last day for the panettone! (Oh! I'm going to miss it!)

And after animal care. 

(Tuxie, with her thick coat looks comfortable out there...)

(Dance has a thick winter coat as well. Still, she looks more comfortable here: )

My afternoon is with the now seven-year-old Snowdrop. Yes, it's way below freezing (we're in single digits F most of the day, so well below -12C).   Yes, she always leaves her jacket in the car.

She asks me -- what was the weather like in Poland? -- Not much different, I tell her. Though that's not completely true -- Poland temperatures don't stay this low in the winter, yet the moisture in the air is brutal. It feels colder. Days are significantly shorter too, and that doesn't help.  And yet I never thought of winter as being especially difficult to get through. There wasn't a Florida or a Caribbean to run away to. We were all in the cold miserable boat of central European winter weather together. What we dreamed of was getting to the mountains to ski. To take the best of what winter has to offer.

(I'd say she and I spent 80% of our time on that couch with books today. She would have gone for more, but I suggested we diversify.)

And very quickly it's evening, and I take her home and turn my mind to making supper at the farmhouse. 

Did you ever notice how quickly the month of January speeds past us? You've barely finished dotting the i on your new year's resolves and pfft! It's February and you feel you've already lost valuable time in garden planning. Is it really time to start leafing through day lily catalogues? Yes it is. Remarkable!

 

Wednesday

To my friends in the southern climes, feel yourselves to be lucky! Our local paper headline this morning reads: Arctic front will bring snow, high winds, bitter cold to Wisconsin on Wednesday. And the next line?  After a storm system delivers high winds and snow to Wisconsin on Wednesday, two waves of below-zero cold will follow. And they mean below 0F, so for you Celsius speaking people, that would be below -18C. 

Ahhh, winter!

(On my walk to the barn, I spot a bunch of Snowbirds, aka dark-eyed Juncos. Am I right on the identification?)

 (Breakfast? Still stuck on the panettone!)

You'd think I'd shudder at the idea of spending much time outside? Well, maybe a little, but firmly imprinted in my head is a February trip Ed and I took to Quebec. It was cold, icy cold. A snowstorm came and went, another one followed. You'd hardly notice the difference, everything was covered with snow before and after. The St Lawrence river had ice bricks clogging the waterway and when we took the ferry across, the sound of ice crushing and crunching to make room for the boat was mesmerizing. We drove through a blizzard and we rejoiced when a piercing sun came out the next day (melting nothing). I would repeat that trip ten times over if Ed were a traveler still. It was magnificent!

It's a little less magnificent to go out on the trails today (windy!), and besides, I have a cake to bake. THis one:

It is my oldest granddaughter's seventh birthday. She and Juniper are the flag bearers -- the oldest and the youngest. We love our middle guys to pieces, but we look with extra surprise when the oldest reaches a milestone (today, Snowdrop picked up a letter from my sister, written in hasty cursive, and read it quickly and effortlessly to us), and we look with extra tenderness as the youngest gives us one of those sleepy newborn smiles -- "did you catch that? So beautiful!"

 

The young family came for an evening celebration at the farmhouse.

Snowdrop wore the t-shirt decorated for her by her classmates (it's a thing in this particular 1st grade room) and was absolutely giddy over everything and anything having to do with this day.

(I'm winter sports oriented this year, aren't I...)

(Sandpiper takes it all in...)

 

(There's a lot to take in!)

Snowdrop got to choose the dinner menu and she insisted on both her favorites -- spaghetti and crunchy chicken. I could do that blindfolded by now.

(Pause before dessert)

 

Little ones have a real talent for effortlessly finding joy in the most trivial details of their day. Giggles spread like crazy bees let loose in a flower field. And we laugh with them, and it is suddenly very easy to remember what it was like to be.... well, seven!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy birthday Snowdrop. Happy happy birthday.

 

 

 

 

 

 

With so much love...

Tuesday

One day at a time. Don't remind me about surges peaking at the end of this month, about young kids finally getting vaccinated in maybe two months, about spring being a mere three months away. One month, two months, three. Those are big numbers. Let's bring it down to one day, two days, three. Better yet, let's focus on each hour.

At the farmhouse, a phone rang before dawn. I put in a grocery order even earlier. And I was out and about when the light seemed feeble still -- a heavy, drowsy gray. Ed had been cooking up a chicken broth yesterday (don't ask) and the mudroom had a lingering smell from that effort, reminding me of village homes in Poland, which in winter, always had the smells of cooking soup hanging in the air.

After our septic disaster from the weekend, Ed had hosed down the basement floor, but of course, that was not enough for me, so I spent a chunk of time attending to the clean up of the clean up. 

By then, we had just a little time left to ski and we did ski, because, well, there's snow and skiing is much more fun than doing some meditative deep breathing  exercises in your living room. Both offer a calming of your inner turmoils. (Does anyone not have an inner turmoils festering within? What, you don't have Covid surges ,or little vulnerable kids or adults in your family? Well lucky you! Enjoy your inner calm!) But skiing also can give you a chuckle (it is at least a little funny when a grownup falls while doing a winter sport) and the cold wind against your frozen cheeks honestly does feel like a spa treatment of sorts -- one that isn't necessarily good for you, but feels other-wordly nonetheless.

So here we are, out on the trails yet again.

And then we are back to a familiar routine: I pick up the little girl at school. Madison schools are remote this week, but she is in a different school district and I guess the staff shortages aren't as pronounced there yet because at this point, everything is up and running.

(At the farmhouse -- resting, reading, snacking, and doing some math with Ed: if he is 71, and she is almost seven, does that really make him ten times older than her?)

The sun goes down early, so by the time Snowdrop is re-energized, dusk has set in. It would be all to easy to just read a little more with her and then take her home, but consistent practice is what's going to put the girl into the league of confident winter sports enthusiasts, so I offer her a run along the "real trails" in our park and she leaps at the chance. Even though it's getting pretty dark out there.

(More math while we drive to the park: if Ed started skiing when he was almost 60, and she started when she was still 6, how much younger is she as compared to him? I tell her that like her, I was just six when I started. And I had years of no skiing because no one in my family skied. I had to wait until I was old enough to go out by myself, or with friends. And yet, Ed will never catch up with me, because I started young and I kept at it. Maybe she will too...)

Monday

You know Ed's favorite saying -- every day is a holiday. He throws it around when he doesn't want to take on the traditions (especially gift giving) of a particular festival or celebration. But is today is a real holiday? It feels like January 3rd stands for something, but I can't quite put my finger on what. Initially, I worried that I was missing someone else's important day. I have friends, I have young families, they all have birthdays and anniversaries and special days for this and that. Is January 3rd someone's to claim? Have I forgotten something?

I have given this a lot of thought (that's what happens when there are no kids in my day -- I have room to think) and have concluded that December is so packed with special dates that it seems inconceivable that one could follow soon that holds absolutely no meaning for anyone I know.

And yet, it feels festive, in that it feels so good to be alive and well on this day! From the get go. I wake up to some messages from family and that just makes me ready to face the day, earlier than my usual lazy climb out of bed on a cold winter's day. And yes, I feel it -- it is nippy out there! Colder than yesterday. I'm wearing my ancient bulky parka even to feed the animals. 

It's such a wintry icy morning that Ed signs up for oatmeal for breakfast. Me, I'm still in love with the panettone. 

I have a few small scraps of chores to do then. One requires me to get a piece of paper notarized. I've been through this before -- finding a notary to authenticate your signature slapped onto a text written in Polish is not easy. I've never understood this resistance: the notary after all is not attesting to the authenticity of the document! They know nothing about it even if it's in the language of their choice. It's all about the signature. Is it that they worry that they are authenticating a sworn statement about some heinous crime? "I did not know she was about to set the town on fire!" "But you signed your name under her statement!"

Eventually I found a fellow in some small bank off of Broadway who basically wrote something that implied he doesn't know what the hell the paper is, but yes, it was Nina C who signed it on this day in his small bank on a cold Januray 3rd.

 

And then Ed and I went skiing. Right arm of the local park, no groomed trails, but a lovely run which includes a rather long hill, one that I feel is safe for Ed to zip down on. He can still fall and break all his bones, but at least he wont plaster his torso to some tree along the way. It's all grasses and frozen prairies around us.

 

And of course, this is going to be followed by an adult version of hot chocolate with marshmallows: hot milky coffee with chocolate covered gingerbread on the side. Only not before the Christmas tree. That one went out with the old year.

A lovely day. Really, super pretty. Not at all ordinary! A real holiday for the soul!

Ocean 18

Many many people have asked me over the years about the hows and whys of my blogging. Those would be the bolder friends and/or readers. Others shy away from the whole topic, not wanting to seem rude in questioning my sanity. But if you've been friends with me for a while, sooner or later you'll have bumped into me and my blog, whether you like it or not. Oh, I loved that photo you sent me from your trip to Saskatchewan! -- I'll say. And the friend will respond -- oh thanks, you should send me a photo of your daylilies! And I'll want to say -- but, but you can see a million photos of my daylilies on Ocean. But I wont say it. I'll actually go ahead and email a photo of my summer daylilies, because I wont want to put them on the spot and have them admit that they think the whole idea of a long term daily blog is, well, nuts. Putting up a video of a cat chasing a chicken, or more likely a chicken chasing a cat -- now that would be funny. But why start a blog when you turn 50 and keep it going through age 68 and maybe longer? Nuts.

So, why keep going? Oh, so many reasons! There is no single right answer here. But here's one reason that comes straight out of this day: when shit happens, rather than throwing a fit, I think to myself: well, at least the day has offered me a topic for my Ocean post today! And I smile. So, reason number 592: it brings down the temperature in the room a bit when things go haywire and allows me to take a pause and possibly even find the humor in the mess that's before me.

On January 2nd, eighteen years ago today, I began this project. Blogging every day. I'm still at it.

But wait. Did I just use crude language a minute ago? Have I strayed from family friendly protocols? Am I going for mass audience appeal? What's with the shit?

Let's backtrack.

It's a really cold day. When I come down (at a pleasantly late hour), my phone tells me it's 6F (-15C) outside. Still, the sun is out, the fresh snow is pretty, life is good.

Ed is still sleeping so I cut myself a slice of panettone number 2, this one with added orange peel. Panettone really grows on you! As a total splurge, I bought two for us because I could not decide which one sounded better and the Christmas one is long gone. We're working on the New Year's Day one now.

And the fragrance must have wafted up to the bedroom, because before I took my first bite, Ed was there, sitting at the table across from me.

We debated whether the snowfall calls for blowing it out with a blower. We were at the edge of a storm system and we got only about two fresh inches of new snow, but these small amounts have been building up. So he blows outside, and we vacuum inside, and all this is terribly tedious and dull and I propose we go out there and enjoy the sunshine on the trails! 

But first, let me put away some odd Christmas stuff. Down to the basement I go. Uff, what's that smell? Holy crap. Our septic drain has backed up again and our basement is flooded with all that should be flushed and washed into the septic tank. 

It's not the first time. We have old underground pipes that aren't perfectly joined and our curly willow routinely sends roots up through them blocking the flow of... well, crap. Switching toilet papers to ones that actually do dissolve in water (most do not) helped. We haven't seen Greg with his Honey Truck since before Covid.

Ed calls him now. The guy's got the flu. Or at least he says he has the flu. Ed hangs up and calls Home Depot to figure out how to rent equipment to do the job himself. But Greg calls back and says really, he is up for the job, it's "just the flu" and he was tested. 

I of course trust none of this (I am the Covid police around here because no one else feels like reading every piece of science out there on transmission), but we have great masks, the basement is reached only through the mudroom, Greg, too, will wear a mask and be in and out of here in ten minutes. 

So this is our afternoon: sitting in a freezing living room (we open all the windows and turn down the thermostat to some ridiculously low temp), feeling grateful that someone came here on a Sunday to make the sewage flow out of the house again.

And then we do ski, though it's on the late side of the afternoon. 

 

 

 

The shadows are long. But pretty!

The young family is spending time with Juniper and Primrose today and so Ed and I sit down to a quiet Sunday dinner for just the two of us. In front of the TV no less, because we are hooked on Maid and I want to see the final three episodes. She better not go back to that jerk -- I say as I spear the horseradish crusted fish on my plate.

Eighteen years ago my evening would have ended without thought to a post or photo editing. I may have sat down to a jigsaw puzzle or picked up my kindle and logged in another book. My day will have passed without any more attention to it or more appreciation for its finer moments. Maybe I'd be in the thick of another book project. Who can tell. Idle speculation. What I know is that right now I have one hour and forty five minutes until midnight and I better get to those photos soon before I fall asleep after all the skiing and after a glass of leftover champagne. Remarkable how long those bubbles can last!

a beautiful new year

Imagine a candle (Northlands, from Keap) flickering for you as the light of the day fades. Imagine flowers in a jug. Still there, still pink, but some of the heads are slumping. Like a bouquet the day after a wedding, reminding you of how there was all this anticipation and hope and miraculously you came through alive and unscathed, well, maybe a little scrappy around the edges, but still, happy, and still filled with hope, and before you there is this bunch of tired but beautiful pink flowers. And imagine that you have this large chocolate covered gingerbread man. Say like this one:

... and you couldn't think of the right moment to bring him out and now, suddenly it's the new year and it no longer matters, you and your sweetie can just eat him up by yourselves now! Your sweetie asks -- how do you eat this? And you say -- break off any piece you want. And he says -- it's good!

Imagine then sitting down to your laptop at the kitchen table, with that candle, those flowers, that gingerbread fellow and a hot cup of coffee with frothy milk.

This is my late afternoon of the first day of the new year.

I'd stayed up until midnight and then some. Ed did too. We argued whether his computer was more correct or my iPhone was more correct on the final countdown and then we both laughed at the stroke of midnight. Well, my midnight. His came fifteen seconds later.

Happy New Year.

We slept in a little, but then I had some text messages with the young family and that made me curious about the state of the world right now and so I got up. Sometime after 9. A rare late morning for me.

Last night a sleety icy drizzle coated everything. So now we have a layer of icy snow, covered by a light dusting of snow, covered by another layer of icy something or other. The predictions for south eastern Wisconsin are dire for today -- more snow, sleet, ice. The young family had been planning to drive to Chicago, but it just wasn't wise. If you listened to the reports, you heard a lot of such words as "treacherous" and "dangerous." Much to the disappointment of the overtired kids (one stayed up til midnight, two others fell short, but not by a lot). 

Ed eventually came down and joined me for breakfast.

Happy New Year.

The snow is supposed to hit us in the late afternoon. Should we ski before it comes? Yes no yes no yes no. It's so cold outside! 16F (-9C) and dropping. There's a wind. There are clouds. The cranes have left. Yes no yes no yes. We have the hours if not the will.

Still, I can't think of a time I ever regretted going out to ski. We always feel great on the return. I reach for my big bulky parka.

We again choose the county park paths to the right. Not groomed, but also less icy (I think). There is enough snow for us to take the loop into the forest, where I can pause to listen to the silence and be at peace with the world around me.

The thing is, the world is messy and scary and there are a million reasons to be anxious, to be snarky, to come down hard on others and perhaps on yourself while you're at it. But if you're like me, you have these great friends and these babes who love you to pieces (and you love them even more!) and maybe you have a sweetie and maybe you don't but there is still so much sweetness around you, I'm sure of it, right there on a plate, like the gingerbread guy with his dopey smile and sprinkles on his toes, so much sweetness and going forward -- so much love to uncover and hold on to with all your might. No other resolutions or admonishments needed. They dont work anyway. Just hold on to that love and be good to those who share it with you.

Happy New Year!

happy new year!

New Year's Eve thoughts:

Should old acquaintance be forgot? Never! I love my old acquaintances! Zooming with some of them as we speak! And yes, let's take that cup of kindness yet for I am indeed extending a hand to any and all my trusty friends and definitely, let's drink a toast to long long ago. 

But mainly, I'll drink a toast to a better 2022. We had some pretty amazing moments in this last year, but, of course, there is always a better tomorrow before us and maybe we'll have it next year and maybe we will finally exhale and smile big broad happy carefree smiles. With hope comes happiness.

Daytime fun:

I shaved Ed's beard today. Usher in the new, right? Sitting across from him at the breakfast table reminded me that it is time for me to remind him to get it trimmed.

And then we went skiing. Our local park has two arms to it -- the left and the right. We love the right for peaceful walks (there are no facilities and it's nearly always empty), but the left has the (relatively) extensive groomed trails for skiing. Still, it's fun to sometimes ski an ungroomed trail, with all its bumps and lumps and trampled paths. Since we had a further dusting of snow last night, the ice cover was (somewhat) hidden and we could once again feel the crunch of snow as we zipped along.

And too, once again, we saw the cranes. What are they waiting for? There's a snowstorm coming tomorrow and after it we get an Arctic blast. Go now, I want to say, go today!

 

But, they have their own wisdom and today, they are still feeding off of the cornfields in Wisconsin.

New Year's Eve dinner:

How to make a meal more memorable? Well, if you feed your family seafood pasta on a fairly regular basis, you have to change things around a little for this special evening. Bring out a bottle of champagne, first of all. That will chill out the adults in the room. Then, have a couple of lobster tails on you. And use the bigger shrimp, even if does mean you have to shell and devain them yourself. Oh and skip the tomatoes. A white sauce always seems more elegant.

The young family comes a little earlier than usual. We all chat for a while and then I turn to my foods and they turn to their toys and eventually we do sit down... 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

... and drink a toast to those we wish would be here with us. And to the little kids among us. 

 

 

 

And to the big ones too. And friends and neighbors and all peace loving people and never forget the animals in the forests -- all in our hearts, always.

Later, as the clock chimes midnight... Well of course, I cant tell you what happens then. My post must be published before the clock strikes twelve. In anticipation of that moment when we crawl out of 2021 and leap into 2022 --  happy new year! To all, with love.