Tuesday

In recent days, I've been reading a book to Snowdrop called Yoo-hoo, Ladybug, where the goal is to find on each page the elusive polka-dotted bug. Picture a Waldo-like experience, only for a toddler set of eyes.

As I tried to imagine how she sees the page, it struck me that we all approach an image with a different focus. Take this morning's breakfast photo.





For many of you, it's a fast forward: same old stuff. Someone once commented that Ed eating oatmeal is as ordinary as life gets, never mind that at the time, Ed almost never ate oatmeal. For me, of course, there's the magic of the entirety (every day a beautiful beginning...), and then there is the color of the berries, the flowers, the Polish red rooster -- so important for tired-with-February eyes! On some days I look at the photo and think -- my but that orchid never gives up! On other days I'm amused -- I sure do zip through a jar of honey quickly enough.

For Snowdrop, a page in the ladybug book is as rich as can be: it has now recognizable characters -- there's a penguin in there, of all things! And it has new elements that she has yet to discover. For another kid -- eh, it's all in the search. Once the bug is identified, it becomes like Ed eating oatmeal (no, no, no, dear child -- look again! There's so much you're letting fly by you! It's not just about the ladybug!).

The different eyes, different perceptions thing -- it's not only in the visuals that accost us. This morning, for example, I felt compelled to flag for Ed the story in the NYTimes about how society pays for when women's work is unpaid. (This one here, in case you're curious.) He said -- yes, I know, I read it. I've said before how keeping women out of the workplace is a terribly wasteful way to proceed.
That's not the point, or at least not the only point! -- I retorted, reminding him that at the moment, a great bulk of my waking hours are spent on unpaid work (and this would be true even if I didn't choose to be with Snowdrop). I saw in the article the recognition that devaluing certain work, typically woman's work, hurts the relationships that emerge. For a guy like Ed who has functioned in a world of machinist men (almost exclusively men) all his life, this would not strike him as particularly important.

Same article, different ideas flew out at us.

And so when I finally make my way to Snowdrop's, I keep coming back to this idea -- how does she think about her world? What does she get out of reading a book five times in a row? How solid are her images? Do they change in the course of a week? A day?

Here she is, greeting me with a run and a grin.






There happen to be balloons in her home. I "hide" behind them. She dances and giggles and "finds" me behind the strings.






A romp usually does tire her out eventually and I suggest a walk. She clutches her cap and happily trots to her snowsuit.






We stop at the usual cafe. Perhaps it's a mistake to pop into this shop on so many of our walks, but on February days, it's such a welcome warm-up place. And it's an opportunity for me to make her more aware of the concepts of calm. Of being patient. Of waiting. Of being properly responsive to the demands of a different environment.

I don't bother with the high chair today and she sits for a whole three minutes, happy with the few crumbs of scone I allot to her. She doesn't want to explore -- I'm thinking I chose shoes that are already too tight for her, though though that's just a guess -- but she takes in everything. In her own way -- a way that I cannot fully understand.






And that's okay. So long as we understand that someone comes into the picture with a different perspective. You may like the hidden ladybug. Someone may prefer marveling at the different and unique images on the same canvas.

small steps

If occasionally big events, fabulous visits, or grandiose plunges into real estate purchases pop into the Ocean story, I have to remind myself (and you) that these are rarities. A move forward most often happens through incremental steps we take every day. It's not unlike Snowdrop's walking (or, more often running these days): there was the big event of her first baby steps and then, through stumbles and slips and gradual balancing acts and mastering of slippery surfaces, she progressed to where she is today. We applaud that first set of steps, even as it's the daily grind of forwards and backs that gets her to a new level of independence.

So, too, with the weather. I'm thrilled with those brilliant days of sunshine and warm breezes, but here, the coming of spring is really an incremental thing, with several steps forward and the not uncommon stalled moments, with the inevitable drab gray skies, the brown earth, the bare branches.

But it's warm enough for me to begin the clearing of the land and so soon after breakfast...






... I take a little time to start picking up the ghastly pods that litter the flower beds (is it a honey locust? I'm not sure...). And in bending down, I see, of course, that there is emergent green. Yes, even in February.






I don't stay out for long. You don't want to clear the yard too much yet. There'll be the heaving -- warm followed by cold -- and, too, there will be better days for outdoor work. Still, it's a good start into the long process of getting the yard ready for spring. Baby steps.

And of course, speaking of baby steps, Snowdrop comes to the farmhouse today. She is in a more serious mood...






... but I do coax her to go out with me. And again she is reluctant to romp in her boots, though she holds the bread for the cheepers and watches them with some curiosity as they rush toward us.






It's only when the big guy comes down to give her a boost and a poke that her face relaxes...






Does anyone ever have picnics at the picnic table?






Inside again, she picks up speed...






... though mostly she is in her asking mode: with an inquisitive eh? and a point of the finger, she goes from item to item (all this from my hip of course), asking in her own toddler way the what and the whys of life. Why is my jacket hanging there? What are these spices? Why does the light go on? Eh? Eh? Eh?

In the afternoon, during her lunch hour, Ed comes into the kitchen and offers her a pickle. Perhaps because he lets her do the unthinkable -- mess with his computer keyboard, never growing impatient, correcting her disasters after she moves on -- she believes him to be on her side.  And so she loves the pickle! (Or maybe it's in her genes?)








And she loves "stealing" his tray after he's done with his lunch of reheated Thai.






Later, as I drive her home, we pop into the local library -- I need to do some returns and to pick up a few videos (no, we do not subscribe to cable or Netflix; it's the library or rust). I want her to love the library and so I take great care to give her some freedom to explore.

She does just that.











Small steps toward learning, small steps toward spring. And a big fat moon in the sky today -- the Snow Moon, though for us there is little snow left on the ground.

farmette Sunday

Yesterday, Snowdrop's music teacher talked abut the importance of repetition. For kids, for adults as well. Ah, yes -- don't I know it!

They're standard images, these photos of Snowdrop's visit this weekend. It could be any grandparents, living on a rural road with a couple of chickens who wander around and often mess up the pathway leading to the farmhouse door. Images that repeat themselves here and the world over.

And yet, for me, each day is so different! Snowdrop is growing fast and she has her moods, too. She can be tired, she can be cutting edge funny or intensely focused. And the weather, of course -- it's been so mixed. It's spring, it's not spring, it's calm, it's windy, it's yukky it's drop dead gorgeous.

So many moments whiz by -- most do not get a photo of course, but those that do are somehow, to me, representative of a state of affairs. They're here exactly because they're not unusual. They stand, in my eyes, for the typical. Yes, it is like that. It's exactly like that! And aspects of it will recur even as so much will change!


Snowdrop once again wakes up just a short while after me. I have a few minutes to let the cheepers out, to shower, to tidy, to start in on breakfast and then her chatting in her bed becomes more forceful and I go up to get her (and to nudge Ed to prepare himself for breakfast, because I can't stall the girl much).

She and Ed eat a breakfast that is truly local. Oh, the fruits come from someplace sunny and warm, but the eggs are yesterday's, from Butter and Scotch and the jam is a grape thing that Ed made from the grapes that hang down the sheep shed walls. She loves the eggs, loves the jammy toast, loves eating what we eat.






Again, this is not unusual, it's not unique, but in its predictability lies its charm.






It's colder today, though still above freezing. I'll take it!

After some play minutes knocking around with Ed...






... she has her bath and as she busies herself, I review the possible adventures we could fit in this morning.






Most often, these are her patient hours. Not hungry, not tired, ready for whatever comes her way.






Well, more or less ready. Let's just say the outdoors is still a bit mysterious to her. She likes the chickens, but you can't build a whole playtime out of watching hens eat a bread slice.






I sling her on my hip again and we walk the land. I show her a great spot among the fir trees for a hide and seek game, but she is not fully convinced. We'll try again when it's warmer.

Inside, I do play with a self-timed photo. She surely is used to those and she quite loves looking at the result immediately after.






If the outdoors doesn't really pull at us today, going out adventuring surely does. You would laugh at what rises to the level of adventuring: a trip to the grocery store to pick up more milk and then a trip to Paul's Cafe to restock our supply of pickles and to pick up a muffin for Ed. Snowdrop does quite love this place. It's vast and there are plenty of places to explore...






... and honestly, from her (and mine) perspective, life doesn't get a whole lot better than a sweet crumb, the smell of pickles and constant people watching opportunities.






Her parents pick Snowdrop up late in the late afternoon. I'll end her weekend here with one last flip by grandpa Ed...






... and one last jiggle on grandma's lap (this photo is by Ed).






And then it grows oddly quiet at the farmhouse and life returns to its own sweet ordinariness -- though not for long: tomorrow is Monday and if it's Monday...


But wait. The day has a few more hours after all. My good good friend is in town and this evening we eke out some hours together over a ginger beer.






Later, at home, Ed and I pop a movie into the DVD player. I don't have to remind him to turn the volume down. No one is sleeping upstairs. The monitor is turned off.

Still, a pair of pink boots stands waiting. Until tomorrow.

spring

Wow, even spring doesn't always throw us such beautiful days! Warm sunshine, calm air, muddy soils -- you couldn't ask for a more stunning display.







I'm up early. I'm one of those grandmothers who needs to do chores before the child stirs. Typically, Snowdrop is a late riser. But not here, not at the farmhouse. She is ready to come down just as I put the last pieces of chopped fruits into bowls. Three today, reminding me a bit of the three bears and their bowls of porridge (and, in fact, we do also eat porridge).






Though we often cheat and eat dinner by the TV, breakfast is sacred, as you well know. Today, of course, Snowdrop is part of this wonderful meal.






In her cow pajamas.






Bathed and dressed, she makes her way to grandpa Ed.
Aren't you going to play with me?






Okay...






There's lots for her to do here...
(Why is taking them out so much easier than putting them back in?)






... but I can't take my eyes off the outdoors.  
Snowdrop, we're going out!
Grandma, you have that wicked gleam in your eye...
The yard beckons, my dear girl, the yard beckons!






I don't get these boots, grandma.





Ed joins us and we walk through our young orchard, righting a tilted fence around a fruit tree, picking up a few fallen willow branches. Snowdrop prefers to observe from my hip. Give her a few months and I'll put her to work dragging twigs. Unless she prefers clipping spent flowers... Snowdrop, have I got a gardening agenda for you!

We pause with our farmette stroll, since Snowdrop has a Saturday music class (it's part of the national -- or rather international, as it's offered in some 40 countries -- Music Together program and honestly, she just loves it! Very young kids sing, dance and use basic musical instruments, with the active participation of a parent and the occasional grandma; Snowdrop is on her third semester of this and she is always very happy to be there).

Before you know it, it's afternoon. Again, I'm drawn to the outdoors.

Ed and I pack up the stroller and the three of us drive over to the rural roads we'd been exploring just south of us.

Off we go!






The segment of road we follow today has an especially rich tapestry of farm life, as evidenced by the presence of barns -- some beautifully maintained, others -- well, their time has come and gone.











With a lot somewhere between the two extremes.











Is she okay? -- he asks.
Yep. She's incorporating exercise into a stroller ride.







At home, Ed continues to work on my car and I try to vacuum up some dust I noticed under the treadmill. Snowdrop is aghast: vacuum cleaner?? Nooooo!!

I put it away. Still, I have to think that I have singularly traumatized her. Someday when she is in her teens and doing goth stuff and joining fringe clubs and deciding between a shaved head and a purple wig, people will say -- my my, she has such lovely parents, where did this erratic behavior come from? They will not have known, of course, that at age 13.5 months, grandma wrecked her equilibrium by turning on a vacuum cleaner.

And yet, she is in such a lovely mood come evening. Before bedtime, she runs from one room to the next, as if filling up the steps needed for a perfect fitbit workout. She smiles each time she passes us and I know all is right with her world.

A beautiful spring day. For you as well, I hope.

so this is what it's like

When you live up north, you can't spend the winter looking forward to spring. One fourth of the year should not be wasted on a countdown to the next season. I've said this before -- happy are those who embrace the cold months and find beauty in what they have to offer.

(An early morning visitor: )






And so when a balmy day finally comes along, you are shocked at how fantastic it is to be suddenly one foot into spring.

(Sunrise and melting snow: )






(New day, new season soon?)






(Girls, you survived another winter!)







Breakfast. In the sun room, of course.






It's an unusual Friday, because Ed is home (rather than at a meeting) and what with the weather being so incredibly springlike, he takes the time to hoist Lily up and work on her rattle and clatter. Me -- I have appointments, which push grocery shopping toward noon. And Snowdrop? Well, her schedule is different this weekend too -- she is our guest at the farmhouse!

Oh the planning, the shopping, the organization that comes into play! You'd think she'd not been here in months and months (instead of just three days)! She arrives with great fanfare -- or at least excitement, especially on my part. Afternoon snack first:






A walk with penguin...






Then nap time.

Ed and I eat dinner -- stir fried salmon, asparagus and potato -- Snowdrop was supposed to be napping, but chose to pass. She caught us eating in front of the TV (the News Hour). No problem! She joins us for it. She's fond of seafood, loves asparagus and baked potato...






Such a great farmhouse guest she is!






Since this is an especially long visit, a gift awaits her -- a new toy to enrich her time here...






And of course, she has her sweet favorite moments with the big guy.






Outside, the winds howl and the ice and snow melt. I glance at the thermometer -- 45F (7C). The cheepers were at once flustered by the strong gusts and happy to be at our doorstep, hovering...

(You see Butter, but my eyes are drawn to the bottom left corner of the photo -- those are crocus sprouts for sure!)






So that's what early spring is like!  Delightful, completely delightful.



Post Scriptum:

And what of the pink apartment in Warsaw? Is anything signed yet? Well no, the wheels move slowly as the gathering of papers continues. But nothing has derailed the sale and I expect it to go forward, even as the two music students who live there now wish very much everything would slow down a bit. I'm empathetic. Let me relay my best understanding of the conversation (as to their fate) that took place earlier today. I believe this is a fairly accurate synopsis.
The real estate agent asks -- so... I suppose she is in a hurry to get in there and start the remodeling?
Well yes, she has a lot to do.
Does she know how talented these young men are?
Say what?
Well, you know, they're students and just renting the place. They're not from Warsaw, but especially one of them -- a real prodigy! Poland will be proud of him one day!
What are you saying?
It's hard to move in the middle of a semester. 
Oh?
They're quiet fellows. Well, but for the music of course. 
Yes?
Not party types at all! A little messy maybe -- you know how young people are... Can you tell her that one of them recently came in second in an international competition? He played at Carnegie Hall last fall as a result!
Really?
So maybe she would let them stay there until the school year is finished?

Oh my goodness, I'm housing musical prodigies? Of course I'm not going to throw them out! So things will move just a tiny bit less quickly. And maybe someday I'll point to the billboards and say -- that one over there? He lived in my apartment for a few months. Yes, really!

Spring is in the air! Can't you just feel it?!