Christmas Day

Sunrise. Happy winter! Merry Christmas.

A funny thing happened on my way to the kitchen. I noted the stack of mail that has been accumulating on the table. Ed knows my (wimpy) rule: if weeks go by and the pile only grows, I sweep it all up and dump it in the mudroom. And so I start to gather up the papers, the envelopes and I notice that there ia a card stuck there in the pile. A lovely little thing with a message about Christmas and spending time with the one you love. I finish reading, put it down and think for a bit. Who would buy it  and then toss it aside like this?

I go upstairs and ask the pile maker himself. Amid shrugs, groans and boyish grins, Ed admits that maybe his good pal left it there the other day. Maybe so that he, Ed, would give it to me. That same pal who occasionally brings Ed a fresh t-shirt from the dollar bin because he knows Ed wont buy one himself so long as threads remain in the old ones and will only accept an off hand purchase from  his pal if he gets it from the dollar bin.

So, are you giving it to me? I smile at him, encouragingly.
Sure, it's yours.
Will you write that it's for me? Will you sign it like you sign emails? With LOVE spelled out in capitals? I hand him a pen.
Rueful grin, shrug, shy laughter.
Sure.

I'm all smiles and laughter now as I walk away with a card from Ed. A sweet beginning to Christmas Day.

Hello, Day! Sunny and cold, the way a special winter day should be.



sunrise, Christmas morning




the east dormer of the farmhouse gets that orange glow -- and the icycles


We eat our two meals today at the kitchen table. I insist on it. With the lemon tablecloth to make things cheerful.

The first -- breakfast -- doesn't come around until 11:00, because I want to bake something and, of course, that takes time. An apple cake. Ever since I saw those lovely ones in a Paris shop window, I knew that this must be our holiday morning meal.  For Ed, anything with apples is a winner. For me, the smell of baking cinnamon is a gift in its own right.









In the early afternoon, I stop by my daughter's for a last look at the big Christmas tree. She and her husband are making elaborate grilled cheese sandwiches. On this holiday, my girl gets ambitious in the kitchen.









It's only in the teens outside, but the air is calm and the sun is radiant and it absolutely feels like skiing weather.

Where to? -- Ed asks.
Indian Lake! I say this without hesitation. It's my favorite place to cross country ski.
The trail with the big hill in the woods? If I break a leg, you're on your own for the trip.

We've done the trail plenty of times, but  it's only our second ski run this season and Ed is tentative on skis until, with time, he feels in control again. Still, the lure of a snow packed forest, of the lake itself in the light of an afternoon sun is tremendous. We throw the skiis into the rusted Geo and head out.

And it is a beautiful day for skiing.




The trail is well groomed: you don't need much wax to pick up speed on a day like this. In the hills, the light starts to fade quickly in the afternoon -- which is at once beautiful and tricky on the eyes. Still, we have a splendid time.





And when a tumble comes, it's not even on the big downhill slalom through the woods. It's on a gentle slope. Life is funny that way.





But, we're intact -- no twists or broken bones! -- and we are rewarded with some of the most beautiful field and forest scenery.





Toward the end of the run, we pass the sledders. Including this trio on an authentic bobsled. The light is almost gone, but I can still pick out the joy in the faces of the little ones.









The moon begins its climb over the hills, the lake, frozen now, picks up the last colors of the setting sun.









Indian Lake never disappoints.






Back at the farmhouse, Ed buries himself under the old quilt. When you spend several hours outdoors on a day like this, it takes a while for your limbs to fully defrost. I turn to dinner preparations. Simple stuff: a roasted chicken, roasted potatoes, corn, salad. And yet, isn't it amazing how incredibly delicious a (free range) roasted hen can be?








Such a day! If asked about Christmas, Ed would roll his eyes for sure. Yet, as I watch him take pleasure in the small things we do today, I have to say, that (hypothetical) eye roll is pretty meaningless.





I understand, every day I fully understand and appreciate how lucky we are to have this time  -- to ski, to eat good, fresh and honest meals in the warm old farmhouse. I know it. But I especially know it today, this evening. The children (not really children anymore) are tucked in somewhere safely, snugly, the dishes are put away, the feeling of contentment is complete.

Christmas Eve

A day when momentum builds. So it's good to start slowly. Maybe taking your breakfast to bed?




Then draw in a deep breath and head out.

It's a huge dance, this wonderful day of Christmas Eve and every step has to be choreographed so that the entirety flows forward smoothly, as if on its own, as if it was meant to be, even though really, it is aided by the work of many, toward that one goal of coming together, joyously, to repeat traditions, to take note of the specialness of this time, this day, this Christmas Eve.

My own string of errands starts with a trip to the other side of town to the bakery that has Madison's very best bread. The line is already long. Of course. It's the crucial part of a good meal.









Then, the grocery store. This could have been done the day before, but there is something important about bringing home the food on this day. As if I'm saying -- here, this is how we do Christmas Eve. With food for the table.


And now we all arrive at my older girl's home. She, her sister, their guys -- all drove up from Chicago this morning and I breathe a sigh of relief that they're all here, that the roads weren't nearly as icy as we'd been warned, that we were able to find this time together on what has always been for us the best part of Christmas -- the Eve.

We open presents and again -- a sigh of relief: that the suitcase came, that I had time to wrap and place the boxes to join those from them underneath the tree. Because despite Ed's skepticism about the whole enterprise, gift giving is a huge part of this day for us: the sharing, the thoughtfulness, the accounting for the other -- it all matters. Indeed, it all is heartwarmng and beautiful and we take the time now to study each person's gift to the other, listening to the stories behind it, letting the one who receives it admire it or simply leaf through it, feel the fabric, think of a future use.









After, I retreat to the kitchen, finish off sauces and veggies for what is perhaps the simplest of all our celebratory meals: a dinner of beef fondue. No one else I know does this for Christmas Eve, but I started this tradition decades ago (my daughters regard the paperback fondue cookbook that I use as very 70s retro, with good reason! It was purchased then!). I needed something regally simple -- to preserve my sanity in the face of a cooking marathon that had me preparing four separate and important meals: Christmas Eve, Christmas breakfast, Christmas lunch and Christmas dinner. And the fondue stuck and now it's firmly in place and it's the one time in the year that I fuss with a meal that centers around beef.





The fondue forks are color coded, but we have various mismatched forks and it's all very confusing and we mix them up again and again and sometimes the meat falls off and we all hunt for it there in the small pot in the center...





Eating in this way takes time. You can't rush fondue. And that, too, is wonderful.

Ed joins us for dessert (there he is, sitting in the corner pretending that the holidays are a figment of someone else's imagination, even as he would have to acknowledge that the joy is very real)...


 


... a dessert that is a simple and simply delicious ice cream float prepared by those who know how to bring the good flavors of oatmeal stout and vanilla ice cream together.






And so it ends, this beautiful Eve. One couple goes off to church, another couple packs the car and drives north to visit (his) family there and Ed and I return to the farmhouse. If I had thoughts of watching a movie or writing here, on Ocean, those thoughts had to be adjusted as I cannot stay awake. Later, in the middle of the night, in that time between Eve and Day, I take a pause from sleep and as I write here, I think back and think ahead and I allow myself that moment of deep contentment that comes when you know that the ones you love are happy.

And I can take the time now to wish all my readers here, on Ocean, that same happiness -- on this day and in the days that follow. Be merry or quiet, whatever suits your temperament or inclination and be cheered by the love of family, friends, pets if you have pets! (Isis, are you listening?) Joy is a good thing to have in your back pocket. May you have a big chunk of it there today!

day before the day before

2:30 at night. My phone is ringing. No good news ever comes at that hour.

Except this time it is indeed good news. The man calling in is outside, delivering the suitcase and the duffel bag.

I won't try to guess their journey. One bag has a suspicious tag bearing the name Taiwan Speedy Travel Service, with a foreign phone number below. I look at them as one would look at wayward children. What on earth have you been up to? Never mind, let's get some sleep and I'll deal with you in the morning.

Morning. They're still early these mornings of mine. There's lots to be done before Christmas which, for me, will be celebrated on the Eve.

Predictably, the day begins with breakfast.





But just as I then get to making a to-do list, I get a message. One of the flights from our forthcoming trip has been cancelled, setting of a stream of consequences that we have to address.

I put it all aside and go to yoga.

It's cold outside and Ed has resurrected his 90% rust and 10% car vehicle. My own car is being inspected and so I borrow that thing, that piece of scrap metal. I cannot believe that there is a vehicle uglier than my sweet donkey car, but indeed, the Geo is uglier. I remember when I first met Ed seven years ago: I met him outside my home. He'd driven up in this same Geo. I wondered -- what kind of a man drives a rusty red car with peeling pink and purple stripes on it?

After yoga, I'm back at the farmette.


 






There, I attack the travel bags. Laundry, gifts, cookies that crumbled, memories, I have memories of times when I shopped for all this thinking it was all so pretty. At the moment it all just looks squashed and slightly tired from days of compression and travel.

But slowly the house is returning to an ordered state and as I am one of those who thrives on order, I relax. We reconfigure our travel itinerary for the forthcoming trip, then  I put on my puffy ski pants as Ed digs out our skis and we head out to our local county park -- a mere couple of miles from here.





Ah, Lake Waubesa is freezing over.





It's the first ski outing of the season. It may be cloudy, it may be close to dusk and it may be, therefore, without much color, but the landscape is, nonetheless, gorgeous. You can see from where the storm came. On one side, all tree trunks look like birches.





The snow is deep and very perfect for a ski run.






Through it all I keep thinking how truly lucky I am to be living in such beautiful country.





I tell Ed this, more than once today. When I flood him with good words, he turns shy. Okay, gorgeous becomes the standard response.

It's nearly dark by the time we get home. I take out rolls of paper and start wrapping the presents that had been buried for so long in a suitcase.

...with daughters

It surprises me no end that there is no snow in Chicago. It's plenty cold, but somehow that drop in temperature did not coincide with any precipitation and so the streets and sidewalks are dry. Though isn't snow only a burden in the city? Downtown,  does it have any virtue at all? Any aesthetic value?

Of course, most people, my Chicago daughter included, don't live exactly downtown. Chicago, unlike New York, has the largest concentration of people living not in high-rise apartments, but in buildings that are relatively small and squat. Walk-ups, most of them.

My girl lives with her guy in one such place and as I tend to be up earlier than anyone in most any household, I have a chance to look around with greater care and admire her artistry in designing their interior. (In another life, one that is purely imagined by me, that is what she should have done for a living -- design interiors). It's not that she buys things to create a perfect setting, it's that she'll use what she has in ways that are so creative that I sort of wonder where she got this talent. No one in the familial generations before her has especially demonstrated such gifts.

There's a Christmas tree and holiday touches throughout.





One of the nice things about visiting her (and, too, when her sister lived away from Madison, she and I did this as well) is that we go out to brunch. Ed and I never do this. Ever. The closest we come is when we travel and stay at hotels that have included in the price breakfast buffets and we stuff ourselves silly so that we don't have to eat again until late.

This time my youngest, her guy and I go to Nellcote, a place that is just west of the river downtown. It's well regarded for the food and for the funky atmosphere. Yes, I'd agree -- those are its notable features. A movie is in progress in a few screens so that if you want, you can enjoy Love, Actually with your food. And the food is total heaven!


After, we walk downtown, pausing at a pastry shop for warm up drinks and treats.





And, to make the joy even more complete, we're joined by my older girl and her husband, who have driven down to start the progression of family holiday events here, in Chicago (they're all having dinner with their dad tomorrow). The five of us stroll through a very crowded but very festive Christmas Market. Mom's with the camera. Sometimes that's a good thing.





(Throughout the day, I pester KLM about the suitcase and finally, in the late afternoon, I learn that the bags made it to Madison. From that airport it's just a hop skip to the farmhouse and so my confidence that we will be reunited before the holidays surges!)

It's a mid-twenties kind of day in Chicago and I am reminded how the wind here kicks down those readings a bit. But, there are warm up spots and happy crowds and I feel so totally grateful that my kids would spend their precious free time in this way, hanging out with a person who is old enough that she repeats her stories, not infrequently (just ones told the night before!).

In the evening, I catch the El to the airport…





...where I pick up the bus to take me home. It's a three hour ride and yes, I'd prefer a train, but this is good enough. And as we pull in, Ed's waiting and we pick up Chinese take out on our way home where there aren't any suitcases yet, but I feel their presence in town and that, too, is good enough. Life isn't perfect, but in my corner of the universe, it's feeling mighty close to it.

short day, late post

There some things that are just so predictable. That the temperatures would eventually plummet in Wisconsin. That when KLM told me I'd see my suitcase and duffel bag a day later, they didn't mean it. That heavy snow would cause branches to fall and tree tops to lean (luckily away from the house).





And that a sunny day would make it all much less burdensome.





(Less predictable was seeing this cardinal outside. I chased him all the way to the old barn -- he just would not sit still for a photo!)


 


It's the year's shortest day and, on the upside, aren't we all relieved that the tide now shifts and each day will be longer? Doesn't that make us all think spring thoughts? (To a point: it really is cold outside.)


There's an upside to the missing suitcase situation as well. I learned two years ago that when an overseas airline messes with your luggage, you can get back at them by sending them the bill for the inconveniently missing necessities. So that as I packed a little backpack today for an overnight in Chicago and realized that my winter cap, my best pants and all best shirts were stuck somewhere in Detroit (why Detroit? and if there, why not on the next available flight to Madison -- because there were many such flights on this bright blue skied day? I can't even begin to understand...), I knew it was time to treat myself well and send KLM the bill. I forewarned them that the bills would start multiplying and they conceded that this surely is justifiable, within reason. Me, I'll choose my own definition of what is within reason. Because I'm not sure an airline that is sitting on luggage without signs of moving it out and onwards is in a good position to discuss reasonableness with me.

And so after a productive grading morning, I hopped back on the Chicago bus and went downtown to shop. Silly things (but missing nonetheless) like a hairbrush and essentials such as that what you'll find at Victoria's Secret (no kidding -- all my good ones are in that suitcase). And, though I typically do not like shopping, there is some small pleasure in doing this on someone else's bill.





(On a bus from the El Blue Line to Michigan Avenue,  I listened with a smile to the conversation of these two beautiful young beings. It put me right back into the high school frame of mind. In a good way.)





Time flies when you're looking for a warm cap and decent underwear. Or is it that darkness comes early on the shortest day? Probably both.





I'm in Chicago obviously not just to shop. It's been a while since I came down to spend a few good hours with my little girl and her guy. Close as this is to Christmas (at which time I will see them, albeit briefly, up in Madison), it is worth every minute to just be with them on their own turf.





We eat dinner at the fantastic Trenchermen -- a place that has such a creative flair that it nudges me again not to take too many shortcuts in my own cooking back home. That extra effort can produce memorable meals.

Later today (Saturday) I'll be back on the bus to Madison. Only to be on this same bus again next Saturday,  but with Ed then, so that we can finally take off on our long planned trip to... No, wait, that's next week's story.

short days, fat flakes

I take no risks catching flights home.  I leave for them in plenty of time. And so, shortly after six Wednesday morning, I'm pulling my little case up past the Luxembourg Gardens, which are, of course, closed for the night, up the slight hill toward the train stop to catch the RER to the airport. Still, I can't help pausing, just for a second. There is a neat display of 100 years of French political cartoons.




I thought Ocean readers (on any side of the political spectrum) might get a chuckle out of this one (from the postwar years), given what we think here of the French flirtation with socialism.



(we need to nationalize happiness)


And that's it. Good bye Paris.

I pick up a last little pain au chocolat at the airport, but then I concentrate on watching the clock. I will the plane for Amsterdam to take off on time.





And it does. And in Amsterdam, I have a full 55 minutes to connect to my Chicago flight, which takes off just a little late anyway. Packed jumbo jet. You have to feel sorry for flight attendants these days. Catering to the needs of so many in such tight quarters for so long can't be fun. They do it with panache. I haven't encountered a grumpy flight attendant for a long long time.

So I'm feeling plenty relieved. Until we land and my name is called and I am told that my little suitcase and duffel bag --you know, with all those gifts for the holidays-- were not put on the plane in Amsterdam and wont follow me home until the next day, maybe.

Yes, but the next day we are to have a blizzard and then there is the holiday itself!

It's hard to get incensed with the messenger of bad news. Here's a job no one should like: dealing with the almost tearful pleadings of travelers who cannot understand why their luggage didn't travel with them (given that it did for 500 others). I can only guess that the packed jumbo quickly filled the cargo hold before my little cases reached it from the connecting flight. Sigh.

It made for light travel for the rest of the trip home. And, on the up side, the bus pulled into Madison just as the first snow flakes began to fall and Ed was on time and I even had a chance to stop by my office before the Law School officially locked down at 9 p.m. And to go to the grocery store and to cook a light supper for Ed and myself.


Wet snow fell during the night and by the time I took these photos Thursday morning, it was thick and heavy everywhere.





And all this accumulation is before the official blizzard - which came in the afternoon.

Ed and I shoveled. And then we shoveled again.





We tossed around ideas about skiing, but the snow was too wild and furious. And wet. You could quite stand still and not be able to move much on skis where there are no trails, no slick places to glide. With a wicked wind holding you back.

So we walked instead. Tentatively at first, but picking up speed and enthusiasm even as the blizzard, too, picked up speed and enthusiasm.













It was an exhilarating set of hours.





And easy enough heading out: the wind pushed us forward.





A little harder coming back, with the sharp snow hitting our faces.










Finally: almost home. Do you see our farmhouse? Just a touch of yellow in a landscape that's quite beautiful, but without much color to it.





Yes, the kind of day where you can buckle down and work. And I do just that. Grade exams. Drink cup after cup of tea. Shovel again, make stew for supper. Miss Paris. Miss the little suitcase and duffel bag. But so happy. Because I'm home, warm and safe, while the blizzard rages outside, making the old farmhouse creak and groan at the bother of it all.