spring cleaning

There is much to be discarded again: more books, worn clothing, the car.

I'm done with looking for a new old car -- it's time to sell the old old car. I bought it 4.5 years ago -- to tide me over until I decided what I should be driving in the next decade. I paid $600 for it and Ed made a few adjustments so that it not only was a drivable old wreck, but a somewhat loveable old wreck.

Still, it's been standing in the courtyard, waiting for a thaw (I drove it into icy snow). And waiting for us to muster up enthusiasm for selling it.

Today, though the temps remained ridiculously (and I mean ridiculously!) low, the sun is brilliant and our overall enthusiasm for any project is on the high side.

After breakfast...






... we take out the shovels and dig out the poor dear. If you look at it from the side, you might think -- hey, it's not so bad! But of course, the back and front tell a different story.





Still, we disclose all known issues (notably absent from the list is starting troubles, as the little devil starts beautifully every time) and put up the ad on Craigslist. Ed's convinced it's worth at least $850. Of course, the worth of a car is whatever someone will pay for it. I'll let you know what happens.


Because at around noon the sun creates a sweet corner of warmth between the sheep shed and the barn, the cheepers brave the arctic air and venture out. They are especially excited when I scatter bits of lemon cake for them. Just a small slice, but I do like to believe that we share all treats with those who live on the farmette.



(the girls, out for a walk)


Then it's time to visit little Snowdrop.

Like so many who were Oscar driven last night, Snowdrop behaves like the party had lasted a tad too long: her energy ebbs and flows.

As I look now at my handful of photos, I notice an animal theme:



(lions!)





(giraffes!)





(fox!)


Life can be very wild when you are just seven weeks old!

Sunday

The entire day for me revolves around the Oscars. Not because I am excited by the show in the way, say, baseball fans would be excited by the last game of the World Series, but because I've always watched the Oscars and always took note of all nominated films.  Even as I am a complete Hollywood dimwit. I should add that this year, I am especially thrilled to see Poland receive so many nominations. But today, my Oscar enthusiasm stems from the fact that my daughter and little Snowdrop will be farmhouse guests for the evening (the dad must stay home and work). And so I have to get ready.

It is a cold, cold day. Are you tired of these words here, on Ocean? Me too!

But, there is that magical sunshine...






... and after I do my usual farmhouse wipe-down, I suggest we open up the sun room and eat breakfast there, as if in defiance of the cold outside (and braving the under-heated room on this morning).






Next: a visit with the cheepers, who, too, are gloriously enthusiastic about the sun, defying the 10F thermometer reading!






And then I settle in to bake. What? No sugar??

Out we go to the store. Ed comes comes with me because I want us also to go to one of those rock bottom car wash places to get the salt off of Lily. It's bad enough that the old girl has rust spots -- I mustn't hasten her aging by letting the thick spray of salt remain on her sleek body! Ed is taking his old Hyundai and we'll be splitting a 15 minute spray time between the two cars at a do it yourself place: soap, rinse and wax, all for $5. (You get a little wet in the deal, but so what!)






 Get underneath the car! -- Ed reminds me.






Home again. And now come the cooking preparations.

First, the cake -- a simple lemon kugelhopf.





And a tomato risotto (with grilled shrimp for those who love shrimp) -- a daughter favorite and, as she reminds me, the last thing she ate prior to giving birth to Snowdrop.

The tiny little one is at her best tonight. We were prepared for the usual baby fuss, but it never came. She rests, she plays, she laughs.


















A cold night, a perfectly gorgeous night, a special night. Full of the most beautiful smiles. And yes, the Polish film Ida won best Foreign Film. Snowdrop didn't quite get the fuss I made over that announcement. After all, these were her first Academy Awards.

Saturday

It's all relative.

As I sit down to write today, I have the Chicago song spinning circles in my head:

Saturday, in the park,
I think it was the fourth of July.
People dancing, people laughing
A man selling ice cream, singing Italian songs
"Eh Cumpari, ci vo sunari"
Can you dig it (yes, I can)
And I've been waiting such a long time
For Saturday ...


The song came to me as Ed and I were eating breakfast...





Looking out, I notice that the cheepers are on the move. It's in the twenties today and compared with the bitter days of the month, it's positively the Fourth of July out there! Yes, we've been waiting such a long time! (Please do not use this opportunity to remind me that we have two more shots at the Siberian blast this coming week. I prefer to think of the warm up that is making its way three steps forward, two steps back!)






I visit Snowdrop earlier than usual. She has a birthday party to go to in the afternoon and she's decked out with ribbons in her hair!





Today, she is at her most playful.






Delighted with everything, eager to learn more. Books? Okay, we'll do books!






Oh, Snowdrop!






Later, Ed and I take advantage of the warm spell (as I said, all the way into the twenties!) and go for a walk in our county park. Saturday, in the park...

It doesn't feel like it's the fourth of July, but close.





Oh so close.

Friday

It hardly matters that we climbed into the low teens today. The day is gray, the winds are strong. Suffice it to say that the cheepers refused to leave the coop.

A Friday breakfast is usually just a touch rushed -- Ed has his tech meetings to go to. I keep things in the kitchen. Northern exposure, southern exposure -- it hardly matters on a sunless day.






Lily, my new old car, has calmed down and stopped fussing. Charged and ready to go on my Friday round of grocery stores. That's the upside. On the other side, I pop by my favorite auto body shop in town and ask if I could forestall the proliferation of rust by buffing up the few spots in the predictable hit-hard-by-salt areas. The owner of the shop responds with a hearty laugh.
I persevere. How much would it slow down the rusting process if I had you touch things up a bit?
Oh, maybe two weeks! -- he's positively chortling.
How long before she'll have gaping rust holes in her body? 
One year.

So, I'll be driving something that will look awful on the outside soon enough. Ah, but it's what's inside that counts and right now (and possibly forever after), Lily continues to charm me with her lovely insides and her smooth ride!

Going for groceries (which, for me, requires two, sometimes three separate stops), then unloading all that I buy for the week takes a good 3.5 hours. I set out with enthusiasm and always come back a tad disturbed by how much of the day is behind me.

As the winds continue to gust fiercely from west to east, I go to check on the cheepers, offering them some cooked corn and bread bits. They're still hiding inside. I don't want to coax them out into the bitter cold  and so I give them the plate of food right in the coop and they gratefully devour it, emerging only briefly from their football-like huddle.






Friday. The young parents truly like having this evening to themselves and so I have the great pleasure of entertaining little Snowdrop at the farmhouse. She is at that crucial age where she can see, feel, recognize so much -- but it all doesn't quite make sense to her. The world seems so chaotic and fast paced! And so Snowdrop moves very quickly from calm...







... to worried.






... to playful.






... to worried again.






It's hard to be a wee little baby. Or a parent of a wee little baby. Grandmas (most grandmas) -- they have it easy. At the end of the day, they hand the wee one over to mom and dad and sit back and think about what movie to watch or what book to read.

But here's the thing: babies grow, seasons change, daffodils eventually do burst into bloom. I have a bunch waiting to do just that in the front yard. There's so much to anticipate with pleasure!

Thursday

We're all trying to make the best of it. We brag: coldest February on record! Still negative temps, despite the sun! It's so cold that your nose will fall off if you stay out too long! Maybe even your ears and hands! We complain: no relief in sight! They say it wont get near normal (and you know how cold that is in the Upper Midwest!) until March! I don't even know what puddles look like! The roads are all white -- snow and/or salt, take your pick!

And so on.

But honestly, that brilliant sunshine boosts the spirit every time.






Even for my poor hens and rooster -- the day is made better because of it.






Breakfast? In the front room.






The sun remains strong, the skies are so very blue that for a brief moment, you forget about the brutal reality. As we reach what must be the day's high (3F, aka -16C), the cheepers step cautiously outside and then huddle together facing the light, as if sun bathing at an Alpine winter resort.






I smile at them: we're gonna make it! The worst is behind us!


I turn my attention to Lily, my silver new old car. Ed and I have been analyzing its shutdown and I now know a great deal about battery cells, alternators, spark plugs, fobs, etc etc. (It was, by the way, a new battery and so hardly the culprit here.) I suppose it's useful stuff. You never know when I will be called upon to fix my own car.

Recharged overnight, Lily is ready to go. I'll pay close attention to her various lights and signals. Maybe she'll do well with some pampering and oversight. I love her enough to give her many second chances.

My drive for today isn't far -- only to little Snowdrop's home for an afternoon visit.






She has so many great moments, so many stretches, smiles, babbles...






...that all thoughts of a long cold winter slip away.

I drive home, Lily's engine purrs...  Maybe it was me -- some switch left in the wrong position, some small oversight...  As we make our way along country roads, a song from my Snowdrop playlist keeps running through my head.

You are my sunshine,
My only sunshine...

Wednesday

It really is an insult. Like a cold slap in the face. You think you're nearing spring? Take that!

Simply put: it's bitter cold. We've been told it's not *just* an Arctic blast, it's a Siberian-Arctic blast.

I think maybe I should have put off trimming Ed's beard. It's like stripping a chicken of its feathers just when the temperatures plummet to their lowest of lows and the wind picks up to make the suffering that much greater.






It's my day to file taxes. I mean, why not just soak in the misery of it all!


Looking out, I see the cheepers are at the barn entrance. Why?! It's  not even 5F outside. It's as if they can't believe their misfortune!





I go to give them extra food treats, knowing that tomorrow, when the winds really pick up, they probably wont come out at all. They hate the cold, they despise a strong wind.


So, a terrible day? No, not at all! For one thing, there is an afternoon with Snowdrop before me!

Whoa, not so fast. Lily, my new old car, possibly disturbed by her new digs refuses to start. Her battery is as dead as I've ever seen on a car. So dead is it, that even cables wont jump-start it.

Et tu, Brute?

Never mind, we'll figure it out tomorrow. For now, I borrow Ed's car.

Snowdrop herself has had a full morning and she uses the afternoon to run through all her possible emotions: serious, anxious, silly, sublime, energetic, and finally exhausted. I leave you with an image of the serious...


 



...and the sublime.






I drive home just as the sun is setting. The wind has pushed all but a few clouds out of the way. I pause to admire the pink and purple sky.






Beautiful, but cold. I park the car next to Lily and the truck. The rusty Ford pickup hasn't been moved at all this winter and when I glance at it now, I notice a shadow underneath its rusted body.





Yes, this is the night to hide and huddle.

I make my way to the farmhouse and get started on supper. It's definitely the night for hot chili. And maybe a dram of Scotch from the Isle of Islay.

Tuesday

Yes! It's Tuesday -- "Snowdrop comes to the farmhouse" day! (Isie boy remains in the sheep shed, sleeping on the scattered clothing there that is so characteristic of the place. Machine parts, bits and pieces of things, piles of papers that surely show the color of time and spilled beverages -- all so perfect for the man who dislikes taking the time to create order just for order's sake.)

First, though, there is the routine. I volunteer to open the coop.






It's a bristling day and the cheepers aren't happy about the chill that greets them when they step outside.






I want to say -- you haven't seen the worst yet, my dears! We have one horrible Arctic blast coming up tomorrow! After that -- we're sliding toward spring, I know it! Just hang in there!






At the farmhouse, spring is easier to imagine. Daffodils are now in every grocery store -- they're shockingly inexpensive and strikingly beautiful. Especially as viewed against Ed's blue shirt.






While the sun stays out, our brave Butter ventures forward...






...but then retreats. She reminds me of the hopeful child who so much wants the outdoors to be the friendly welcoming place it once was! And it will be! So soon, it will be!



The young people stop by to drop off Snowdrop. My daughter's friend has one final minute with her...






She tenderly gives him a last wave and then retreats to her morning sleepy state, gathering energy for an afternoon of play with grandma.

 
Awake? Wonderful! It's tummy time!






If you were to ask me -- is Snowdrop a happy baby? Well, if her expression is any indication...







I'd say yes! She does put on a serious face occasionally, studying whatever is before her...






But before too long, if I smile at her, her eyes will twinkle, her mouth will widen and she show'll off her most radiant, spirited soul!






All that play calls for another rest. Little Snowdrop always looks so terribly small when Ed holds her in his big hands!






Play, dance, rest, eat -- the afternoon flies. The visit ends. Outside, clouds come and go. Occasionally, one cloud will gently throw down a sprinkling of snow -- not unlike the powdered sugar you might sprinklr over a cake through a sieve. It really is a pretty world in this small corner of the Midwest and that's reason enough to smile. And smile some more.