variations on a melody

Honestly, it is like that -- each day is a pretty little piece of music that repeats itself with slight twists and detours and the occasional crescendo, but it is a familiar set of notes, that do not change greatly from day to day.

But if you want my blunt opinion, I will be quite happy when the next three cold days pass and we are back to the warmth of a true spring.

This morning, after breakfast...





I stay home and study the apartment plans Pani Karolina sent me. You'll remember perhaps that she is the person who is boldly and bravely leading the renovation team that will be transforming my Warsaw apartment from something horrible to something quite lovely (that's the goal anyway). Right now, two students are still residing there with their big musical instruments, but this does not mean that nothing is being done: plans are hatched, project proposals reviewed. Doing this at a distance means that I have to have a good deal of trust. I cannot be concerned with every detail. And in fact, I have plenty of trust: I assume Pani Karolina understands what I want and has the good sense and good taste to create a very lovely interior. I'll not show the plans just yet, but I do want to note here that I studied them with some degree of care today.

(Ed comes in to show me the haul of eggs for this morning. The green looks better when placed next to the white and brown.)






And then, of course, it is time to care for Snowdrop.

Our games are, in part, predictable. There is always, for example, a time when she and I make tea.

Grandma! It's ready! The kettle is whistling! Now, grandma, now!!






And then she'll run run run run run!






These days, there is the Hyde Park Corner speech, told from her chair.






Sitting with penguins is de rigeur as well.






There will be, for a while yet I'm sure, that painstakingly delicate task of turning single pages of a book, though today there is a change of material.





This is a big book that belongs to her dad, who has, for a long time now, loved baseball. Snowdrop will surely know a lot more about the game than I do and I think she has already been to more games than I have in my life. (That perhaps could be misinterpreted to mean that she is a regular at our local ballpark. She really isn't -- it's just that she and I come to sports with different histories and cultural imperatives. I'm sure she will never be as avid a ski jump watcher as I have been in my time. Ski jumping is big in Poland.)

But I smile, too, at how subtle a baby sitter's influence can be. It's no secret that I love train travel. I don't think it will be long before she boards some train car of some sort in her young life. And in the meanwhile, she and I can be excited about toy versions of this experience.






Though of course, I am as excited when she picks up a ball (the girl goes big!) and tosses is at me with great pride.






Should I be less excited to see her take a step toward texting and driving (she's sitting at the driver's seat after all)? No! I prefer to think she's catching up on her novel while in a parking lot, while her friends? partner? children? (children?!?) shop.






Today's song was well sung, though with some tough bars as the little girl is still ovecomming her sniffles. Tomorrow? Oh, you can never tell! There will be a variation or two. For sure.

habits

In recent years, I've not been photographing the birds that come to call at the farmette each spring. I don't use a telephoto lens and, too, I'm not a real birdwatcher. I don't much care if I've spotted one type over another. I just like their chipper music and their occasional blast of color.

And this is why I made a quick exception today -- the day is wet, gray, not too warm. That cardinal that came for a morning visit? He looks like he could be a featured model in a beautiful early spring canvas.






And speaking of birds and color, I hereby announce that our new hens have finally given us their first egg. It came from Henny -- our Easter Egger girl (yes, that really is what she is called, unless she is an Ameraucana breed, but I don't think so). How do I know it's hers? Well, we've been warned: she lays color tinted eggs.

In Henny's case, the egg color is an unfortunate pale green. Actually, let's be honest here: it's a downright ugly green. It recalls to you the Dr. Seuss book, Green Eggs and Ham, only of course, the inside of a Henny green egg is the same as a regular brown or white egg. All eggs start off being white, but as they pass through the chicken's oviduct, some breeds throw out a pigment -- genetically predetermined for the duration of a hen's egg laying career. Henny's has a brown tint to is as well -- a real charmer, no?






Henny, couldn't you do something just a tad more cheerful?

As is our habit on rushed and gray mornings, we eat breakfast in the kitchen.






I look out with longing at the porch. This stalled spring is not what you want to see after a season of little snow and dull colors outside. Never mind -- a few more days and we'll be on our way again to full blown spring.


I'm at Snowdrop's home in time for her breakfast and bath routines. The little girl is bouncy today! On the chair, off the chair, then on again, expounding.






The cats watch her from a distance (as is their habit). When one parades close by, she offers him her penguin toy, but he will have none of it.






She is used to this haughtiness on their part. She turns away and finds a more enthusiastic audience elsewhere -- in grandma.

She picks up a remote control and starts her game of running with it from one room to the next. They say toddlers don't really know how to run. Those who say this have not seen Snowdrop on the go.






This is when I know it's time to suggest an outing. You need only ask -- "want to go for a walk?" -- and her whole demeanor changes. We hunt for shoes, jackets, a penguin companion. She is so anxious that the expedition not be derailed -- that she did not misunderstand, that it really is an outing, yes, right now, outside, yes, yes!

She breathes a sigh of relief once I put her in the stroller.

It's not exactly inviting outside, but it's just a tad warmer than yesterday (in the mid forties) and the rains have acquiesced -- holding back until we're done with our hour long adventure. Yes, we do go to the distant coffee shop and you might think that this is why Snowdrop loves the walks so much, but I don't believe that. She shows no impatience as we stroll through the neighborhood. She is interested in what she sees. And she seems happy to listen to the songs that I sing during our walks. They're always the same: going there it's this, coming back it's that.

At the coffee shop, we go through all our usual habits -- the waiting, the ordering, the picking up of the high chair...






I almost don't bother taking out the camera -- same old crumb eating image, after all -- but honestly, it always makes me smile to see Snowdrop so captivated by someone at another table. This is what deserves a photo.





The two women who catch her attention are delighted by her and I see that this at once pleases her and causes her to turn just a little more shy than she used to be. I tell them that we have this habit of coming down here -- an excuse for me to sip an espresso and for her to get a bit of another world in her day. The women are school teachers and we all wonder if modeling patience and quietness and yes, friendliness in a cafe stays with a child (they argue vehemently that it does). Snowdrop does display her best manners this morning by waiting patiently by the stroller, penguin in hand, until I am ready to put on her jacket and swing her inside.

I don't know a parent or a grandparent who does not want a child to be polite and respectful. Snowdrop is surely on her way to being aware of her environment and of the expectations that come with participating in something that is inherently an adult activity. (At home, she has her pranks that she loves playing on me to get a reaction going. Even at this age, the girl seems to sense that this is okay for home, but not for a coffee shop.)


In the evening, the rains threatened again, but another truck came by and dumped its load of chips on our driveway. We have to make a dent in distributing the shredded bark and so I heave loads onto crucial spots, while the cheepers watch, hoping that below that load of timber there would be a pot of gold. Or in the alternative -- worms. Or at the very least -- stale bread.

Tuesday

It's an "on the one hand" kind of day.  For example -- on the one hand, we wake up to brilliant sunshine. On the other hand, there is a deep frost. The kind that flowers love to hate.






But, the cheepers are not unhappy. No snow, little wind and a row of seeds thrown down in a way that allows them all to eat without squabbling.






But the flowers hate the cold. It doesn't matter that we'll climb into the forties F. Right now, it's in the twenties and that's just not kind to fragile blooms.






Well, but there is that sunshine! Let's focus on that for a bit.






As I drive to Snowdrop's home and the frost slowly melts off the windshield, I decide that my love of sunshine trumps the disdain I have for such cool weather in April.

But I dress Snowdrop warmly.

(She shows off an old chair that was given to her by her granddad. She especially likes to load every conceivable penguin -- and there are many -- onto it, but I refrained from taking that photo -- it's all penguin fur and little evidence of the girl herself. Here she is with only one bird on her lap.)






But what she especially loves is to stand on the chair and articulate. Honestly, she reminds me of someone standing above the populace on Hyde Park Corner in London, shouting her message to all who pass by. She does not use her restaurant voice. And she is pretty convincing! Perhaps she's telling Wisconsin how to cast its collective ballot today?






And then she settles down to turning pages again and I think I've lost her for a long long while...





...until I think to say the magic words -- Snowdrop, should we go out for a walk now, while the sun is with us?

Really grandma? We can go out?? Really?!?






I do bundle the girl well. I didn't think I'd need a blanket for an April outing, but I do. I really do.






We pause at our favorite cafe and yes, she is eager for her scone nibble.






I remind her that we have to put the chair back after we use it -- it's all routine for us now and like every child -- this one loves familiar routines.






And just as we return home, the sun disappears and we are left with that "on the other hand" part of the day, where it's just too darn cold for April.


But you know, kids don't see this. Their joy comes from something entirely different. A warm interior -- yes, of course. And that's enough. What's outside -- I've never seen a toddler complain about the an April temp hovering below average.






I'll end with what looks to me like a moment of reflection. Snowdrop has a bit of a cold. All day long she takes it in stride. But here, she pauses and reflects. I love that about her (and I suppose every other 15 month old, for she is that age today)! She can reflect, then move on.






We learn things from each other, she and I. How good is that!

Monday

Ed claims that the weather forecasters always exaggerate the bad news. If they tell you the likelihood is that it wont rain and then it rains, people get mad. But if they say -- looks like it's going to come down hard and then it only drizzles or, better yet, stays dry -- people feel grateful.

Perhaps I should feel good about the fact that we reached 39F today instead of the promised 37F, but frankly, after yesterday's perfection, today just feels like a very huge step backward. Little steps back -- I'll accept, but today's leap is just too brutal.

We eat breakfast in the kitchen, because this room gives forth a feeling of comfort that you crave on colder mornings. There's something about having a stove and a pantry next to you that makes you feel like the world will be a brilliant place once more. Just give it some time.






I do go outside, of course. But I run through the morning cheeper chores quickly. With a pause and a grateful nod to the few daffodils that are starting to bloom.






Snowdrop is at the farmhouse today and I'm not at all convinced that playing outside is a grand idea, but she insists, pulling my jacket toward me and pointing herself toward the door.






I try to distract her with a toy she has been favoring lately...






...but it's not use. She wants the great outdoors, even if it's not so great at the moment.

Well okay -- let's just feed the cheepers.






Grandpa Ed comes out to join us, forgetting that the temps warrant a jacket.






Okay, little one. We gave them bread. We gave them seeds. We played "guess which one is Java?" It's time to head back to the farmhouse.

Snowdrop's mommy taught her to walk holding an adult hand and I so appreciate this new demonstration of companionship!






The cheepers, forever looking for a handout, chase us back to the farmhouse.






Forget it girls! You're on your own. Snowdrop and I are going inside to play!






In the afternoon, the little girl and I set out to do errands. First stop -- Paul's cafe, to replenish our supply of pickles.

It's rare that I run into Paul there these days -- typically, he's busy rolling out pelmeni at his enormously successful downtown eatery. But today, he's at the cafe and we spend a wonderful set of minutes catching up. Snowdrop is momentarily shy, but she always senses a friend. She finds one here, at the cafe.






It's only a few steps from here to the library and we linger there, picking books off the shelf and playing with the puzzles that the library has acquired for children her age.

Perhaps I don't mention this often enough, but it strikes me how rich she and children of this community are in terms of having access to this beautiful world of art and literature.  The picture books in the library overwhelm me with their choice and variety. The surroundings are gorgeous. The air is so warm -- making the temperatures outside irrelevant. Sigh... 

Snowdrop doesn't want to leave, but she is a bit run down these days and so I insist on a return home where she can replenish her energies and rest up for the week ahead.


Me, I go back to the farmhouse and  cook up eggs for supper. Only two hens are laying right now, but even so, we have too many eggs. Time to make a meal of them. Thank you cheepers!

Sunday

I expect it will be mid May by the time we get another day like this. Mostly sunny, breezy and a whopping afternoon temperature of 68F (that's 20C). And in case you're not convinced of the total craziness of our weather this week, we're told that tomorrow, we're not going to get beyond 38F (that would be 3C).

How do you proceed when everything is suddenly so intense?

Today -- it's easy. After a thorough farmhouse wash (including upstairs windows), we eat a quick, sunny breakfast...





... and go outside. And that's where I stay until it is time to cook dinner for the young family.

A whole day outside... Do I put my feet up and listen to the willow branches heave and sway in the wind? Do I sip lemonade on the porch and think how wonderful it is to have summer in April? Do I salute the sun and ease into a downdog or warrior pose before a cheeper audience?

No I do not. I work all day long with the intensity I feel as I witness the garden, the beloved garden emerge after a long winter rest.

Fortuitously, two of the tree trimming companies we work with were looking to offload full trucks of wood chips this past week and so we have a huge pile of chips to distribute. Huge.

We heave cartload after cartload of chips to fix old flower beds and yes, we extend them, and, too, we create brand new ones as well.

You can never have too many flowers.

Working with wood chips -- yes, there's that. In addition to the clipping, digging, pulling and tugging all day long. The cheepers watch, sometimes participating in their own way, sometimes resting under bushes as they like to do in the middle of a summer afternoon.






Oh, what a day it is! There aren't many photos for you. Only crocuses and the first daffodils have displayed their best spring faces.






But to me, every perennial clump, even if still only a few inches tall, represented a future, a promise.





I work around them all with loving care and grand anticipation.

Such a brilliant day it is -- absolutely brilliant!






Dinner is a simple affair -- pasta. But I hear no complaints! Indeed, I have a willing assistant who is very good with the big stirring spoon.






And even better at slurping.






Down to the last spaghetti noodle.






Clap your hands! Such a beautiful day... Clap your hands!