California

It is still dark when I nudge Snowdrop to wake up. More than an hour away before sunrise here, in Laguna Beach California. 

Do you want to shower?

You said we could do evening. She loves the idea of evening because at home, there isn't time for it then, so she does morning (showers).

And quickly -- can I play with it? She'd spotted the little plastic toy I'd packed for her. I almost always bring one such toy for her on our trips. She fills her downtime spinning stories with its inconsequential tiny characters.

Sure.

And then at 6:45, we get in our booked cab and head to Anaheim. 

So serendipitous! Originally, I had thought I'd take Snowdrop for a long weekend away in Maine. (I know, we'd likely be on lockdown right now.) But I know this about the girl: wherever we go, she is happy. But if there's a pool, she's always twice as happy. I could find no interesting place to visit in Maine that did not require a long drive and that had an open pool in October. I tried, but I couldn't do it. So I turned to California. Someplace not too built up, within about an hour of an airport to which Delta flies. Hence, Laguna Beach.

About a week ago, Snowdrop was telling her best school friend about her forthcoming trip to California. Well now, the girl, herself born in L.A., was going there this long weekend too! (School is closed Thursday, Friday). She goes once a year. And always spends a day or two at Disney with her parents. When the girls shared this information with their adults, the next idea was this: could Snowdrop go to Disneyland with her friend? Yes she could.

Woah! This was thrilling to both girls, but I think especially to Snowdrop, who has been wishing for Disney, either the Florida or California one, for years. ALL her friends have been! (Snowdrop's parents are waiting until her brothers are old enough to appreciate all the attractions.)  It was just too fortuitous, too perfect.

Then came Covid. Hope, so quickly set loose, became fragile. My rebound led Snowdrop to text constantly -- how are you? how are you? how are you?? Gaga! Answer! All I could do is text back -- I'm trying, Snowdrop, I'm trying. Let's not give up hope.

Teetering on the precipice, the trip grew and grew in importance. On the day I finally was sure I would be good to go, the girl still couldn't believe it. Honestly, until we got in the cab to go to Anaheim, I'm sure she  lived in fear that this unexpected gift, this delight would be lost to unfortunate circumstance.

So here we are in that cab,  zipping next to the hills of Southern California...

She asks -- gaga, what's your favorite part of the hotel? She knows it's a huge splurge for me. A once in a lifetime deal.

Easy -- eating outside with you yesterday, and at night, keeping the doors open (to the terrace) and listening to the sound of waves crashing.

Yeah, me too. Nature's white noise! And I love the terrace comfy chairs. But maybe the pool too, once I try it.

I smile. Yes, in many ways you could say we are here because of the pool (kept open year round, 24/7, at 80F/27C).

Her friend's mom, a Disney pro, meets us at the Disney drop off point. 7:30 and the place is filling with people in a hurry. Honestly, at this hour, mostly grownups.  Has Disney always been such a draw to adults? We took our daughters to the Florida one when they were preteens. Then, separately, when in California on other business, I dropped them at the California one when one was just a freshman in college and the other a freshman in high school. My daughter tells me that it was one of her most treasured memories of time spent with her sister.

I hope this Disney visit will be that to Snowdrop. 

Back at the hotel, the sun is just pushing away the cloud cover. It's going to be a glorious day. A high of 67F (20C), but their 67 feels a lot warmer than ours in the Midwest!

I eat breakfast at the same casual hotel eatery. Outside again. My Covid cough is almost gone. Everything about Covid for me is, well, almost gone. But I am deemed safe. And my granddaughter made it to Disneyland. I am beyond grateful.

(I've been in enough coastal towns to know that these gulls are beautiful, territorial, bold, and loud. To the visitor -- cunning and fun thieves!)

By the way, what's blooming at Laguna Beach right now? Let's see...

(At the farmette, we're getting our first deep frost on Sunday, so whatever is still putting forth blooms or new growth will abruptly stop this weekend.)

After breakfast, I check out the Pacific Ocean. 

This requires taking the hotel steps down to their northern corner of the long beach area. It feels very quiet here. It's not private, thank God. I do not like private water access, and in California, you can't keep people off the sands (at least up to the high water line, though you can work wonders by blocking off access paths and not creating parking nearby). I read that in July and August, this beach can get pretty darn full (which in my opinion is great -- some of my best people watching times have been on beaches!). But now, at the end of October, rare is the soul that hangs out here on a weekday.

(Strong currents, big waves, make for wet pants by the end of my walk; powerful sun rays make for dry pants by early afternoon.)

There are plenty of gulls who make up for it!

This is a protected marine life area and you cannot remove anything from the beach, not even a pebble or a shell. This, too, is a good thing: how many times have your kids twisted your arm into bringing home rocks and shells that then are forgotten? How many shells do you have where you haven't a clue as to where or when you picked them? So, advance warning to Snowdrop: no, you cannot take it home! It's THE LAW!

The tidal pools here are extraordinary!

As are some of the clifftop homes.

So much wealth in the hands of a few! [And yes, I get that I am myself staying at a hotel that is full of people who are in a whole other, unknown to me league of spending power. I honestly like being the poorest person in the entire resort. (No sane person on my state employee's retirement would blow precious savings on a weekend here). It lessens the guilt. (Again, I absolutely blame Covid for the extravagance.) The hotel itself is not pompous and that is a relief. And many of the guests are actually Midwesterners just like me. I've heard Chicago mentioned in a number of places. I see a Wisconsin t-shirt. It's not like East Coast wealth, which is often subtle but with rules of conduct and attire. (I saw that when I was a nanny for a rich family for all those years.) 

(life guard on duty every day, crowds or no crowds; I ask him if he has a lot of cases that need his attention. rip currents, he tells me. sometimes you have to bring the people back to shore...)

And the late afternoon? By the pool, with my computer. Trying to not love a bit of strong sunshine, which is like alcohol -- addictive and ultimately not healthy, though offering some immediate gratification.  Using lots of sunscreen. Feeling so much stronger than on Sunday! Enjoying a lunch of a latte and banana bread.

And toward evening, I catch my ride to Disneyland, three times as long now, in rush hour traffic! Oh, those loathsome crowded LA highways, where 90% of the vehicles have no more than one passenger in them. You suck the joy out of moving from one place to the next!

Did she have a good time? Does this even require an answer?

Yes it does.

Her friend's parent is sitting with her on a bench scanning carefully each car that pulls up. I get it: we're late. She's tired, the parent is anxious to get back to his own little group. As we drive up, she jumps in the car before I even have a chance to roll down the window to talk to the parent, to find out, to thank, to settle accounts.

And on the ride back, I have questions, and I get her Madison family on the line and they have questions, and she tries, she really tries. But anyone who knows her can tell -- there's something off. 

Finally, she breaks down for me. It's that rash.

She got it in the middle of the night. Just a little one, just on her hands and around an ankle. She came to me with it and honestly, my immediate thought was -- bed bugs! I'd been to Paris, and I caught their paranoia!

In the morning, however, I carefully inspected everything and concluded, quite correctly, that this isn't bedbugs. Maybe an allergic reaction to something.... Who can tell.... She is well otherwise. I put it aside.

By pick up time, though, the rash had spread. Her feet were itching uncontrollably. Her hands were not much better. She was miserable.

Two things to note: she never complained during the day. She did not want to ruin anyone's Disney moment. And, too, she said that during many of the rides, she would manage to forget about it. But in the end, the rash was too bold, too present to ignore. And so I said to the driver -- for an extra $10, can you take us to a pharmacy on the way home?

He scoped out the situation quickly. No $10 needed. I'll take you to a CVS pharmacy. And guess what? It's right across the street from your hotel!

Normally, these cab drivers that are used almost exclusively by hotels, are not your chatty guys who want to hear all about your trip and tell you all about the greatness of Laguna Beach. Driving big clean cars is their job, you are not unique, they just want you to be comfortable and they get you to where you want to go as quickly as is humanly possible (which, on LA freeways, can be either demonically fast, or, more typically, going 1 mile per hour). In silence. And this is often my preference as well. In the morning, my cab driver and I listened to his Beatle music without exchanging more than two sentences (mine: could you please turn down the AC?)

But this guy, he had suffered the lateness of the pick up with me (you picking up your daughter? Can you text her that we're late? No, my granddaughter and she does not yet have a cell phone and I'm too embarrassed to keep texting her friend's parents). And now he was suffering with me the swollen itchy extremities of said child. So in the last twenty minutes of our ride, I asked him about this job of his: driving guests in the crazy congested freeways of this car-dependant state.

And Snowdrop and I learned a lot. 

He's Egyptian. With lots of family back in Egypt. And he works hard, here in Laguna Beach. Today, he'd been driving since 4:30 a.m and now, at nearly 7 p.m., he still had a ride to take on. He needs the money. To send back to these guys in Egypt. My wife left me because I work too hard. She said I'm married to my job. 

But, no complaints: he has been doing this for several decades and it allows him to have a decent life. And his passengers! Recently, he was called upon to drive one of the wives of the former president of Qatar. And her sisters and eleven girls and their body guards. Each person had two body guards.

They dont stay at your hotel, he tells me, giving me tons of reassurance there! They stay at the Laguna Beach Pelican Hill Resort. Prices for a room start at $5000 a night, he says. 

I bring up the Middle East crisis. He shakes his head -- it's hopeless. Those leaders, they never want what's good for the people. They exploit the poor so that they add not trillions, but even more to their wealth. They're all the same!

His pessimism is profound. Snowdrop, for once forgets about her swollen feet, hands....

Still, our driver considers himself to have a good life. I live near Disneyland -- it's cheaper there. I send  money to my parents, my aunt, my siblings back home. None of them have any money.  (He himself is older, but has no kids).

And now we are at the pharmacy and the little girl is in distress, just barely holding it together. The pharmacist -- so often a resource for me when I am traveling, takes one look and says -- give her Benadryl, rub on some XX, 

Should I take her in to have this checked out? She shrugs: mostly you can't tell where it comes from. Allergy? She touched something? Impossible to know!

We go to the CVS public bathroom, use copious amounts of the cream on her feet and I give her the antihistamine she so desperately needs.

And within a few minutes, she improves. 

It's really late, but we do still have to eat dinner. We're dining at the same place -- she's just cycling through the kid options and I'm using up my "resort credits" down to the last dollar. Tonight, she chooses spaghetti (and bread and good butter!) and I choose the sea bass and we both love our food.

She hasn't the energy to stick around for dessert. I send her to our room, settle the bill, and more slowly,  make my way back. 

I had said to her -- you'll always remember this day! I'm sure I am right: first Disney visit, and itchy feet!

Tomorrow she will join me in our Laguna Beach exploration. Well, not the town. Not even the State Park just up the road from us. I dont want to fly anywhere, drive anywhere, do anything at all that's even mildly complicated. Simple. Interesting. Fun. That's all we need. We'll find it within walking distance. Along the shoreline.

with so much love...

California

Never have I needed a recovery more than I needed it for this day. 

I was lucky: I had my five days of isolation and I have my doc visit to reassure me. Yes, I'm masked, because that is what you're supposed to do, but the important markers of a post-Covid life are there and so I can venture out into the world again. 

And today is the day that I am to travel. Not too far, but far enough. With Snowdrop.

I am very much aware that because of my love for my home continent, most of my travel tends to be directed east. Overseas. And when I take the oldest grandchild with me (I'd say age 7 or 8 is when they're generally ready to solo with a grandparent, though of course, it depends on the child's temperament and the grandparent's health and stamina!), it tends to be on those trips, overseas. As a result, said grandchild -- Snowdrop -- has seen much of the other side of the ocean and little of the United States. And so, when a school holiday this week was looming for her, I proposed that we pack our bags and go, but not east. Instead, I booked a flight west, to California. 

It's not really a sightseeing expedition. I chose the south of the state so that we could see the ocean, and taste the vibe of a life far removed from our own, even though it's still within the borders of this country. And who am I fooling -- I wanted a few days of good weather! So, today we flew to Los Angeles and drove down to Laguna Beach. For the uninitiated, that's just a few minutes along the coast, south of the city. I'd never been there and the community is small -- both important factors for me. 

It was a very quick morning for me -- out with the animals, a bite to eat -- and I'm off, for a meetup with the girl at the airport. 

From there, we fly to Minneapolis, and from the Twin Cities, it's about a 3.5 hour haul to L.A.

(I don't love the flights to California, but they have this going for them: the landscapes that unfold as you pass over...)

Normally, any sane person would rent a car at the L.A. airport.  But thee are not normal times. I am still tired. LAX is under construction so that getting to the car rental places takes time. And frankly, we don't have a great amount of driving to do in the long weekend before us. So we taxi. To the Montage Laguna Beach hotel. I am absolutely crashing my budget on this because after Covid, despite reassurances left and right, I feel like I should sleep in a separate space from the little girl. Just in case. And so, whereas before my Covid, we were going to share one small room and one large bed, sort of like this...

After my Covid, I added a separate sitting area with a fold out couch. Because of the layout, it made sense for me to keep the sitting area, so in effect, she got the great big comfy bed, I got the couch. I blame Covid.

But the views from all corners of this room are magnificent. I'm sure this sunset alone thrust a 10% uptick onto our daily rate. Because it is one hell of a good sunset.

Dinner, at the more informal restaurant of the ones at the hotel. The food is good, but two things were standouts were -- for her, the breadbasket with sourdough, and a plate of butter with dark sea salt. For me? That I could take off my mask finally! (You have no idea wha a relief that is...) We were eating outside.

What plans for us? Well, thankfully, they are not complicated, because believe me, after the interminable ride from the LA airport to Laguna Beach, I had my fill of LA highways. It amazes me that you can get used to this amount of road in your life.... And so, with the exception of tomorrow, which unexpectedly includes a rendezvous with a Snowdrop school friend, I am very much interested in taking it easy. Exploring, but not too far.  Beaching, swimming if it's not too cool. Honestly, just looking at the landscape around us. Snowdrop has never seen a palm tree. We are in for a fine longer weekend!

With love...

Tuesday

Finally. I'm not fully there yet, but I sure have climbed out of the abyss of despair. I can actually do things again. Like laundry (once again I have to disinfect the farmhouse for Ed). I can pick up a book and get through a whole page! Food does not repulse me. Getting through the day does not repulse me.

I do have some lasting signs of Covid, the cough, the fatigue -- if you're old and you had a strong case of the stuff, you know what I mean. But, it's peanuts compared to what I thought of life and myself in it over the weekend.

I'm on my last day of isolation. The guidelines are conservative -- as well they should be -- so that I feel if they say I'm good to head out (masked) tomorrow, I'm good to head out. Confirmed by my doc today. I wont be walking at my normal pace, that's for sure, but at least I'll be walking! The couch loses its appeal after days of reclining and staring at the ceiling.

It's a gorgeous day! I can't call it a second summer -- we've had that already. Maybe a third? Sunny and warm. A fleeting moment of respite in the meteorological transition toward late fall. 

Breakfast. I will be happier when taste buds are up and running again, but hey, I have a good imagination: I know what these foods taste like!

Afterwards, there's the doc's visit. My internist, whom I love, happened to have a cancellation so as she listened to my breaths and tapped this and that, I got to chat with her a bit about Covid in general (she does frequent hospital rotations, so she certainly has a wealth of practical experience with Covid!). The rebound, the severity of the second round of the virus -- none of this surprises her. 

I continue to be impressed, as always, with these medical heroes. I know we're past the months where we would tear up and applaud wildly watching cadres of docs leaving overwhelmed hospitals with dying patients. Exhausted, under-equipped and yet always there, doing their lifesaving work. Much has changed since the spring of 2020. My doc came in today with her PPE's (the other staff just kept their distance) which I'm sure were discarded once she was done with me. Still, she's a superhero in my mind. Just a wonderful, dedicated doctor. Who says they don't make them like they used to? Well, maybe they don't. Maybe they make them better.

In the afternoon, I go for a short walk with Ed. I was so zonked over the weekend that spending time together outside was out of the question. Today, we resume our walks. (Biking is a little beyond my range at the moment. I could do it, but that would be a push. One thing you should never do with Covid is push yourself to exercise, until you're good and ready, watch rings be damned.)

And in the evening I tie up loose ends around the house. And I vow to myself that in the posts to come, I will not mention Covid in more than one or two sentenced.  One has to move on, right?

with love...

Monday

The horror of feeling as sick as a squashed pumpkin battered by winds and witches. That describes my Sunday. Today I just feel normal sick. Like in the days when I used to teach and students would come to office hours sneezing out of control and inevitably passing on their colds. That kind of sick.

I am relieved. I have before me a complicated week and I cannot afford to be down and out. I have two more days of isolation and then I'll test to see if masks are in order (they probably are) for the handful of days after. May this Covid thing be a bad dream that inevitably comes to an end! Not my end, mind you, but a Covid end.

Still, I cant say that I am feeling peppy. On a slow crawl in the morning and dragging in the afternoon. That's okay -- I relish a (rather late) walk to the barn to feed the hens and yes, that more or less fills my movement quotient for the day...

But at least I do not pass on breakfast.

My clinic nurse asks the usual questions targeting an ancient Covid patient -- are you sure you can breathe, are you confused. I mean, I'm talking to her a mile a minute. So no, not any of that.

My daughter tells me the kids miss farmhouse time. Well yeah! I have to think Ed does too. Mostly, I miss the days when I did not fret about Covid. Yes, I'm sure after all this is said and done, I will come out thinking -- oh, that was a no big deal! A few sick days and boom, onwards and upwards.

But I'm not there yet. Ask me tomorrow.

Sunday

Guess who will not finish her movement rings for the first time in months today? Yeah, not even close.

It's hard not to get neurotic about symptoms if you've recovered from Covid. Is that a scratchy throat or am I imagining it? Am I blowing my nose excessively? Probably in line with all the work I'm doing outside. Still, every tiny something makes you wonder.

Everyone has heard about Covid rebound and people tend to link it to those who take Paxlovid. The theory is that you take the antiviral right away and your immune system relaxes and lets the drug do the work. It doesn't ready its soldiers. It goes and takes a nap. And Paxlovid is miraculous! You start feeling better right away! You find yourself having a very light case! You're golden. Except, the theory goes, not all virus is out of your system after the five day Paxlovid treatment. And what's left behind rebounds once you're off the drug. And your immune system has a rude awakening.

That's one theory. Another is that Covid, like many viruses, simply has a two stage cycle. According to these folks, many people have Covid rebound except that they dont know it because either 1. they have no symptoms of it or 2. they dont bother testing, having pronounced themselves Covid free just a few days ago or 3. they are in denial and do not want to go back into isolation.

When you take a Covid test at home, you have this little Covid indicator and if you get that telltale second line you've got Covid. As many have observed, this is all too similar to a pregnancy test: a line indicates a positive outcome, or not. When you take a pregnancy test, feelings run high: you either really really want that positive outcome or you really really don't. It's all very emotional. Covid testing is the same, except I don't know anyone who has mixed feelings. Unless you hate your job and want a five day break from it, you're going to want a negative result. If you ever have seen that pink line indicating a positive result, you'll agree that this, too is an emotional ride. It's not just a cold after all, it's Covid and Covid triggers all these consequences -- for your health, sure, that most of all, but also for all those in your life. So you get worked up about it.

All these thoughts were in my head last night as I went upstairs with my neurotic thoughts about possibly having some symptoms but maybe not and in any case I should test.

And once again I got a positive.

There is some clarity as to what is best when you get your first Covid positive. There is little clarity as to what Covid Rebound means. It could be that you're not contagious. It could be that you are. So of course, the recommendation is to isolate once again. I'm told that a negative test can get you out of it, but a continued positive means nothing, so if you turn negative, you can resume life, but if you're positive, you should stay  away from people for the same 5 days, as if you had just plain old Covid. 

Covid is determined to be the bully here. So, late at night, Ed packed up his things and left for the sheep shed once again, which I can tell you, was very very sad.

Today, I expected to feel way better. That's the conventional wisdom: rebound is lighter. 

Today, it was a real effort to go to the barn to feed the hens...

(oh that crab apple! so splendid in all seasons!)

... and that wiped me out completely. I could do nothing more but retreat to bed.

We had great plans for this day! We were to bike over to the city and stroll leisurely through the Monroe Street Farmers Market. Maybe stop by the Arboretum once again (I know! What's with the Arboretum this week?!). And bike back past trees of gold and crimson. Ed asked if I was up for it, but he didn't wait for an answer. It's clear that I am completely absolutely totally zonked. 

So he went alone. And he bought me delicious mushrooms which I cannot eat because the idea of food is just so repulsive to me right now! And he bought me flowers...

Which is both sweet and a demonstration of how shocked he is and I am that we are once again separated.

I have learned what I already suspected: Covid doesn't follow predictable paths. Covid is noxious. Covid is not just like a cold. I have no fear that this will pass in a day or so. I keep thinking how awful it would have been if I had become infected early on in the pandemic. I belong to the lucky vaccinated bunch, with miraculous antivirals available for the asking. Privilege or what?!

But, today was a waste. No planting, no biking, no walking, no anything. Just waiting for the next day. Believing that all this will pass quickly. In the meantime, I'm hiding under a blanket on the couch. Cosy comfy there! 

with love...

season's end

Over breakfast, Ed and I talk about the greater challenges of maintaining the farmette lands. Just the two of us, both in our seventies. We don't accept or buy help from anyone. It's all maintained by Ed and me. So I ask him today -- what if I can't do this much every year? His answer is both simple and predictable: then don't do it. Work as hard as you can for as long as you can.

I agree with him on this. Apart from the fact that it's blasted all over the internet via Ocean, our gardens, our plantings, our lands are so private that no one would notice neglect, in the same way that no one (or at least a minuscule number) sees the beauty of our work (except through the photos I take). If I let go of some of the flower fields, weeds will take over. And so what? Our lives will not be diminished by it. We will do as much as we are able to do. 

And today, that amount is... huge!

The day started off slowly. Ed was sleepy, the sun rose late. No one was in a hurry.

Breakfast-- lovely, gentle, yummy for me.

And then we went out together. I've thought of a new place for daffodils, but we need to build up the soil there. Ed worked on bringing in compost, then wood chips. I weeded. And I mean weeded! Every bed received some of my attention. I'd already done work around most of the flowers, but the peripheries were loaded with every weed imaginable. I attacked those. Bucket after bucket of weeds, piled high. (Ed mows them down and then hauls the shreds to the compost piles.) Most weeds require digging, but the soil is saturated right now so the job isn't impossible.  And I trim down spent flowers, working now on creating that winter garden. Phlox is unattractive when it dries up. So are peonies and indigo plants. Others? It depends. Some monardas can stay to add texture to the landscape. And so I continue, up one field, down another.

(a last gladiolus murielae bloom: white, against autumnal colors, reminding me that I should dig these bulbs out and store them for the winter... )

It's exhausting work, but it's good work!  And we got so much done! Yes, there are still bulbs coming in the mail. And locust pods to rake away. Yes, I'll have to plant them, and rake the beds in the weeks ahead, in colder weather. But if I felt I'd lost a grip on the work just days ago, right now I'm at peace with where we are and what we've done this year. Despite the knee surgery, despite the travel, the Covid, the drought -- we had a beautiful growing season where we learned a lot! The flowers for the most part did well, the fruits -- better than in an average year, with melons, tomatoes, pears and garlic leading the pack in their sheer abundance. We are eager to move forward and begin work on next year's farmette projects.

A quick bike ride to relax the limbs...

(Yes, there are cranes in this pic, but the autumnal field is in its own right beautiful...)

(Don't you think this has to be the utter peak of fall colors?)

In the evening, we build the new couch. It could not be easier! Taking out the old one is the bigger chore, but at long last we have something in place that sits more than two. We cover it as the cats like to sleep on it and the kids like to eat potato chips on it.  There, done! All for $308. Remarkable. 

(Friendly says it's a go!)

Afterwards, Ed dozes, I write. It's so beautifully quiet! Good night, all you planters and growers out there! In camaraderie and love...

on this day...

Has it really been 18 years? Me, at 52, hesitating, but finally accepting an invitation from a stranger. Based on the few words I wrote to him and he wrote to me. I took a risk. So did he. We've been together ever since that day, since October 20th, 2005.

And is he really 73 years old today? I did not know this about him then, but I know it now: he is terrific at navigating every unique period of the lifecycle. Knows how to feel grateful rather than demanding better outcomes. How to find pleasure in what you can do rather than grief in what cannot be yours. 

In all this time, we have only had one major blow up. It was big, it was a misunderstanding, emotions flared. Otherwise, for better or for worse, we avoid conflict like the plague. Neither of us came into the game knowing how to properly resolve disputes and so we do the only thing that's left for us: we don't ever argue. This despite our tremendous differences. (Ask him how he feels about Christmas. About travel. About a dirty dish! Mine will be the opposite view.) And, even though I spend so many days in travel without him, I cannot imagine life without him.

Birthdays come and go, but this one, coming after a period of separation, feels special. 

Anniversary, birthday, rolled into one. Reasons to feel happy because, well, that is our job in life -- find those reasons and stay the course. We live in peace, we live in warmth, with food, we live with love for each other, for those in our midst. What else could we possibly need!

Happy anniversary, happy birthday!

Animals first.

I go out to Madison Sourdough then. He loves their bread, the big round one, I love their croissants.

Breakfast, together.

And then we take our ride and walk. It's a cool day but a stunning one! All that sunshine! Where to? Well, the day he and I went to the Arboretum, he had stayed behind after I had to scoot off to get the grandkids. He met the head curator (that's a fun job -- I comment... Yes, he tells me, no one wants to leave it! Since 1935, the Arboretum has had only three curators!) who showed him the handful of pawpaw trees growing there. You know Ed has this thing about pawpaw trees this year! They talked for a long time (there's a lot to be learned about, well, trees in general and pawpaws especially). In the course of this encounter, the guy told Ed that his favorite local path is the Spring Trail that circumnavigates the ponds that feed into Lake Wingra (all this is in downtown Madison). Say what? I never heard of the trail! And neither had Ed. So today we look for it and we find it. Pretty nice for an inner city pathway!

(ponds, fed by springs, emptying into Lake Wingra...)

From here, it's a hop skip to the Arboretum and yes, I know I said we wont be back soon and here we are, two days after our last visit. Why? Because I want to see the pawpaws! (What do they do with the pawpaw fruits? -- I ask. They churn them into pawpaw ice cream. Someone on the staff has a recipe. I'm sure I can get it...)

(the other parts of the Arboretum are also looking pretty nice right now...)

But we cant be gone too long -- our couch number 2 (even cheaper than the last cheap one that we sent back!) is scheduled to arrive. And it does. And I am full of hope for it! But we leave it cartoned up for today. We have a full agenda already.

In the afternoon I pick up the two older kids. 

The unfortunate thing about having an ice cream store in your neighborhood is that the kids now know that there is an ice cream store in our neighborhood. Never mind that there is ice cream in the freezer at home and they never ask for it. The idea of going out for a cone seems like a supremely yummy deal and of course, the minute we drove past the new development yesterday they lay on the coaxing, begging, cajoling, until I finally said -- we'll do it tomorrow, in celebration of Ed's birthday.

So, we do it today, in celebration of Ed's birthday.

At the farmhouse, it's a bit of a rush. Violin, ballet. We need to be ready and on time for both. (They're in skirts today. Not sure why...)

And here's a little side step for me: at the time that Snowdrop dances, I meet up with my daughter's good friend who is in town for the weekend. These friends of long duration are like family, and when they come here, they are respectful enough to always want to spend time with me. Of course, I love young people -- they tend to still have more than an ounce of joy in their souls.

Evening. Ed and I go out for moulles frites. For him. Fish for me. 

The day ends with our quiet time on the couch. The old one. (The new one is under construction.) With one or the other or both dozing because we've had such full days. Such happy days. Despite all those entanglements and peculiarities, despite all that's there to cause you to shake your head in bewilderment and dismay, we remain happy. That is our job. Our course. Our love.