Sunday

Here's a happy turn: those Arctic temperatures that we usually associate with January in Wisconsin will not arrive for another week.

Still, the gray skies, in my view, make any day feel cold. I say this to Ed as we yet again eat breakfast in the front room, because we haven't had the clear skies that would put us in the east room, which retains heat only if there is plenty of sunshine in the morning.

Ed, contemplating a pear slice:





I do a thorough farmhouse cleaning. It's time to get back to weekly routines. They make the winter move forward more rapidly.

Then I spend the better part of the day writing and that makes me very happy. It feels like I wrote a lot. It doesn't matter that others, the more serious, dedicated, earnest writers may think that my paltry pages are like a handful of peanuts in an empty jar. To me, it felt like I'd done a lot.


I agreed to go skiing in the afternoon, even though the absence of sunshine called for a warmer sweater, a warmer scarf, a warmer outlook on the outside world.

Here's what you'll see out in our fields and vales on a day like this:






(Do note though that an absence of polar air keeps the waters and streams running. The deep frost next week will surely freeze things over.)






 And then in the evening, because it's Sunday, the young family comes for dinner!

 Hi grandpa Ed!






A pinwheel!






Is everyone ready to eat?






Yay!






We discovered something that is remarkable and unusual: Snowdrop loves asparagus.






I mean, really loves it! You could bribe her to do cartwheels just by offering her one more stalk.

Who knew.






The young family leaves, the dishes are put away and then Ed and I do something totally not within our repertoire -- for the first time (ever), we watch Downton Abbey.

Sometimes it takes us a while to catch up with the rest of the world.

Ocean 12

I learned something about myself a long time ago: I am capable of giving in to frustration, capable of being impatient, frazzled, angry. Quick to blame someone other than myself. Well, aren't we all capable of that -- you'll say. And it's true -- most of us know how to lose our cool.

But if you know this about yourself, you can take charge and stay mellow. How do you do it? For me, putting myself in a calmly quiet environment is like a magic tonic. Clouds evaporate, calm sets in. I forget that I have this capacity to... lose my composure.

Today, however, I was tested.

The day had a great beginning and an even more beautiful agenda: I didn't let the cheepers out -- Ed did the morning run to the coop. The sun was brilliant...






... and I knew we would be able to fit in a lovely day of skiing. Before that, I could pop in on Snowdrop and after, toward the evening, Ed suggested a movie and a dinner out. Wow. Days don't get grander than that, do they?

Ed had one small chore he had to knock off this morning and so after a beautiful, sunny breakfast...






... I told him that I would go to the mall and do my iphone upgrade while he finished up his stuff here at the farmette.
It shouldn't take more than an hour! I said. I'd done upgrades before: half hour, maybe 40 minutes if I can't make up my mind which case to get.

I made a point of getting to the Apple store when it opened. I know it's Saturday. Things can get dicey.

I look around. Many Apple employees, standing with their devices, looking clever and ready to assist. I'm thinking: yay! A phone upgrade and a speedy exit.

But no. I am assigned the slowest Apple salesperson on the planet. His thumbs move over the device in the way I imagine mine will when I am 95. He makes a mistake. Has to do it all over again. Explains nothing well. It is a miserable set of hours.

My eyes canvass the Apple store -- help me out here! Get me someone else!
No one is catching my gaze.
The store fills.
The phone will not load. iCloud is not delivering. Several hours later, I have a phone with nothing on it.

This is when I almost reach into my inner chamber of horrors. And perhaps some will say I did cross the line. I said -- this is taking too long! There was no kindness in my voice.

My salesperson tells me he needs to go on mandatory break and I am handed over to someone else. I swear there is a magic button, the use of which allows the sales guy to convey the message that "this customer is trouble." Everyone is suddenly very edgy.

Here's when I really wanted to be mean. Oh, but to write a negative review of my shopping experience. Satisfaction on a scale of 1 to 5? Zero!

It takes me over three hours and three separate Apple reps (they keep telling me breaks are mandatory and somehow all my people just happen to need breaks) to finally work through the mistakes, the errors, the long downloads that have to be done again and again.

But here's the thing: at the end of that time, I have a working phone. In a sage green case (well, some say it looks more like mint toothpaste). No one is hurt, nothing is damaged.

And so nothing happened, right? Nothing except this one thing: I was again reminded how easy it is to lose one's cool and how close I came to doing it today.


Onto the rest of this gorgeous Saturday.

Snowdrop!

Good banana, grandma!





She is in a happy, chipper state. I'm not here for long -- just enough for a few books, a few pretend iPhones...

No, Snowdrop, do not get sucked into those!






A few moments where I can just sit back and admire her curiosity, her gentleness...






Her tenacity...






Her desire to understand the possibilities.






And then I'm back at the farmhouse, and Ed is ready and waiting, and off we go! Skiing at our county park up the road.






It's a beautiful hour on the now groomed trail. Lake Waubesa is not yet frozen, even as some would like to believe it's solid.






We finish our ski run in time to get to the movie house, but as we get to the ticket counter, we find that all the tickets for most of today's shows are sold out.

So we don't go to the movies. And we don't go out for dinner. On the way home, we pick up take out Thai and at home, Ed turns on his most favorite show on his computer -- Air Crash Investigations. He's now on show number 90-something. You get to see a reenactment of a plane crash of the past and then listen to an analysis of the causes for it.

And in a weird way, it's a superbly beautiful evening. Ed loves the engineering puzzles behind the crashes and I love having this moment to only half pay attention, but mostly tune it all out and give myself a chance to reflect on how well the year is proceeding.

A mall misadventure and a missed movie and dinner out. How utterly trivial. A quiet evening in a warm house and good food on the table. How good is that!


In other news: Ocean is twelve years old today. Twelve years of daily blogging. For as long as I do this, inevitably someone will ask -- why? And the answer is so very simple: because I love the process. Of writing. Of hearing from someone who may have read a post. Of connecting, correcting. Of learning. Of writing! Thank you -- all you loud and all you silent types. To me, writing something down makes sense only if at least one person (perhaps you are that one person) reads what you've felt compelled to state. Ocean, to me, is a quiet conversation. I say the first word, you supply the rest. Thank you.

New Year's Day

I'm asleep before midnight. Of course I am. But I hear the footsteps up the stairs. Looking at the clock I see that it's 11:59.
Gorgeous? I thought you'd want to know -- it's midnight. Happy New Year.
I smile and go back to whatever indifferent dream had been interrupted.

Welcome to a new day in a new month of a new year!

In the morning, Ed says -- what's so special about this day anyway?
It's a cause for celebrating!
Why?
For one thing, we've made it this far!

We talk about going skiing, but as wisps of sunlight come and go then disappear altogether, we stay rooted at the farmhouse.

Ah, but breakfast, still touched by that elusive sunshine, is absolutely lovely! Happy breakfasts to all of you!











And then I sit down to do a final correction (well, it's never final) of a chapter of my book and even though my pace has slackened so much that I begin to have doubts that the manuscript will be squeaky clean this year, I feel no guilt nor worry about that. Does it really matter, so long as I still enjoy the process of rewriting sentences?


In the afternoon, I am with Snowdrop. I arrive in time to feed her lunch. (Today: golden beet soup and fruit for dessert.)

Ah, the many faces of Snowdrop. Maybe I needn't provide my own take on her play. We can guess what's in her little head, no? For this first day of the new year, let me just run through a dozen Snowdrops. After all, this is her month. Her year. Her glory. And our delight (or else you would not have stayed with Ocean this long!).









































































Happy New Year indeed!

New Year's Eve

Such a year. Surely we'll all admit that 2015 had its memorable twists and turns!

It used to be that a change from one year to the next mattered a lot to me. Something about new beginnings, new efforts, fresh perspectives...

Now, I barely remember that it is New Year's Eve. Is tomorrow more special just because we flip a calendar page? Oh dear, I sound like Ed.

I checked Ocean's post from a year ago, just because I wondered if I did anything special for the change to 2015. I see that our water pump had malfunctioned and we spent this Eve day replacing it in frigid weather. And despite that, I made lobster tails for dinner and baked a raspberry tart for New Year's Day.

That was before I became a grandma.

Today was less ambitious.

We ate breakfast...





And I grocery shopped, but there wasn't a chance in hell I'd be buying something so dignified as lobster tails. I was going for the modest. Something that wouldn't have me cooking tonight. Like shrimp cocktail, where I just make the side salad. (To give me credit, I'll grate my own parmiggiano cheese to sprinkle over the lettuce.)


It's a pretty day. A really pretty day.






And after shopping, but before Snowdrop care, I suggest a quick run (with Ed) on skis. It's crusty and slippery out there and the trails aren't groomed, but the skies are blue and the temps are brisk and we have a wonderful time of it. It's an "only in Wisconsin" moment (even though I do understand we're not the only ones with beautiful winter days).






A hurried selfie:






And a race back to the parking lot. I don't want to be too late for Snowdrop.






I get to the little girl's house just in time to feed her sweet potato. With banana. Honestly, it's good!






After, her mom and I get ready to take down the Christmas tree. Snowdrop is thrilled to be part of the activity. Any activity.

But she's not hard to distract. Here, she's practicing her fine motor skills (ah, those delicate fingers!) by flipping hard to turn pages.






One last photo from underneath the Christmas tree...






Then it's tidying for us and walking for her. Up and down, up and down (while Goldie the sedentary cat protests the burden of the new gate).






It's the end of a year of Snowdrop for us all, that's for sure.

Here's what she and I have done so many times in this past year: selfies!






Here's the lovely silly girl, rolling on the floor:






Another selfie. In one of her new favorite poses.






Her mom unpacked oranges. Eventually, Snowdrop had some segments for dinner. Here, she's enjoying their play function.






Her mom flies her in the air...






... snuggles with her on the couch...






... and then it's time for me to go home.

...To a quiet supper with Ed, with a glass of bubbly, thoughts meandering to the girls in my life and the men that keep us smiling. That's my New Year's Eve.

It's not anywhere near midnight yet but I surely will not be awake then and so please accept my early wishes for a beautiful new year!

walk through a Wednesday

We had time for only one activity this morning. We almost tossed a coin: big box store errands or skiing?

We chose big box store. We needed their chocolate for our late night indulgence.

That may be a winning option, but it does limit the photos you'll see here today. Yes, of breakfast, which was so very lovely...






Then not much else in the morning. Curiously, I took my camera with me on the big box outing, but of course, my optimism was misplaced. Alright -- one shot of the lovely landscape we passed on our way there (made even lovelier by the wisp of blue in the skies just at the time we set out).





That's it.

My afternoon was with Snowdrop but it was a choppy time of hustling her between one space and the next. Stuff was being installed and reconfigured in her house and so I saw my task as keeping her out of trouble as nails and tools were in high use. Not easy considering that today, the little girl only wanted to walk. Back and forth, from one end of the house to the next...






... and back again, picking up speed as the day progressed.






Upstairs, it was the same thing. There, the terrain is easy for her -- all carpet -- and so she adds the challenge of carrying things. If her hands are already occupied, the mouth will do.






Snowdrop got a doll for Christmas. There's plenty of mechanics and science in her world. There's room for a doll. The little babe came with a tiny bottle and it amuses us no end that Snowdrop likes to pull the bottle out of the babe's mouth to try it out for herself.






Walking with it, of course. But she has compassion for the babe. She goes back to give her a "will you forgive me?" hug.






Back and forth.






In the evening, she comes with me to the farmhouse while her parents spend some time catching up on grown up conversation.

Back and forth.






Okay, with pauses for penguin books.






... back and forth...






But wait... is grandpa Ed watching a nature show about penguins? Penguins?!?






It seems to me that Snowdrop grew a few years just these past handful of days. But I know it's just a grandma's perspective. A grandchild is always better, wiser, stronger than she was a few days back.

And faster. Just look at Snowdrop hustle across a living room... And back again.