the next day

Funny thing about birthdays (what -- she's still going on about that?)... They leave a pleasant afterglow. The thoughtfulness of daughters, the comments here (so sweet! Thank you!), emails, the small stack of cards...






People really do want to show they care about one another. Silly birthday lore -- but she likes it, so we'll do our bit. It's a good feeling and so it stays.

It is, otherwise, a bit of an odd day, turned sideways and flipped over. We were to have house guests, but a sudden onset of caregiving responsibilities took them elsewhere. Then, too, I was to go to Florida tomorrow to visit my good friend, but these past days, I've been thinking (for a number of reasons) how this just is not a good time for me to go away. I finally called my friend and oh, the irony! It's not a good time for her either! Tact (another sign of caring) prevented us from admitting it, but honesty (sometimes a fine thing) brought about a good outcome for us both.


I write this because there are times like this moment right now -- when people (friends, family) all seem so incredibly in step with one another and that really is such a fine thing!

Breakfast.






And my daily appreciation for the flowering plants at the farmette (the daffodils, rich in detail and also in their abundance):






(The annuals, not to be outdone...)






Appreciation, too, for the cheepers -- here, I catch a distant Ed finally succeeding in picking up Java (who, along with Henny, has resisted being touched). Sometimes I think he loves nothing more than to give a rub to the face of a chicken.






Snowdrop is spending the day at the farmhouse and I have a few photos of her time here.

Ha! I know how to pull the hair clip right out! Ha ha!






And I know how to distract you, so that you forget about pulling it out! Ha!






Can you put the cover back on the book, grandma?






So many good books to read!






So many kind people to "talk to..."






After the little one's nap, we go outside. Snowdrop is thrilled, of course, but I tell her that we have work to do: our asparagus is shooting up stalks and since this is the third year after planting, we can harvest the spears! (You have to wait: asparagus is the only vegetable that is a true perennial and the waiting allows the plant to establish itself).

Ed comes out of the sheep shed. We are a happy team of seven.






I show Snowdrop the asparagus bed, I take out a little knife and we get to work.

The little one loves, absolutely loves the freshly cut spears! Cooking? What for! The tips are juicy and sweet.  In one day they'll shoot up from beneath the ground and in pristine beauty, they'll reach for the sky. Straight for her little mouth.






She is enthralled.






I've done my first harvest (I'll be repeating it daily for the next couple of weeks) and even then, she refuses to let go of her precious spears.

The hens follow her as if she were queen. And perhaps to them she is...






I tell her we are to inspect the new orchard. She darts forward as if walking these parts has been part of her daily repertoire for years.






Now we must look at this tree!






The fruit trees are looking good! Of the couple dozen that we have here, we lost only one. Ed and I make a note to prune them this weekend.

We return to the courtyard. I water the pots, I show her the profusion of daffodils (which she adores)
and still she asks for another asparagus spear.





Okay, Snowdrop, but you must consider asparagus in its cooked form.

We go inside. I steam it, I sprinkle her favorite freshly grated Parmiggiano Reggiano.

Why do I encourage her in this food preparation? As a grandma,  I'm not making up for lost time -- both my daughters are terrific cooks. If Snowdrop comes anywhere near to where they are, she'll be great. And still, I think what makes me put her so close to the sink, the cutting board, the stove, is that I think what Ed had said a few days back is correct:  a child has a love of learning how to put things together, whether it be a meal, a house, or something in between the two. I'm just following her natural inclination and it's such an obvious one -- Snowdrop loves, really loves to "participate" in cooking up a storm.

(Eating the cooked version.)







The sun goes down, the "day after" becomes just another spring night -- with all the beauty and promise of a clear sky and a cool breeze that cleanses the air and revives any sagging spirit. May it do good things for you as well. We all need a bit of a pick me up every now and then.
 

April 21

Some people wake up on their birthday and think -- I wish no one would remind me it's my birthday. Some (Ed, for example) wake up and don't really remember that it is their day of birth. Some think a party is a cool way to get loud and happy. I know one person who invites a dozen of her best women friends to lunch on her birthday (one year I was included, other years I was not). And if you're the Queen of England (she and I share this date for a birthday), you can let the populace cheer and you can keep the bars open past their normal closing hour.

What I think is grand is that everyone is pretty much free to interpret this day as they wish. Ignore it, revel in it, talk about it, stay silent -- it's yours and the wonderfully democratic thing about it is that everyone's got one (and thus we all have to share -- as I do with the Queen).

Me, I shamelessly admit to loving my birthday, though I can't quite figure out why. Neither can Ed, but he surprised me last night by coming home from his evening bike ride with a bag full of chocolate bars and a birthday card. Knowing how much he likes to avoid engaging in the traditional and emotive, I was touched.






This morning, before breakfast, I watch the rabbit family cavort around the big wood pile. The groundhog made a dash for her hiding place under the writer's shed. Birds chirp, hens cluck. It's all so lovely. And yes, there will be sunshine. I can tell.






From the garden, let me highlight my favorite narcissus from the current bloomers. It's sometimes called the Chinese Sacred Lily:






And boom! Here comes sunshine! The farmette, as viewed from the porch:






Yes, we eat breakfast on the porch. It's warm enough!






... and today you're stuck with a photo of me as well (straight out of the shower). To demonstrate I made it to 63.






We talk about a number of things pertaining to our work outside. A recurrent topic has been that of acquiring ducks. Ed things it's a grand idea, as they eat slugs, bugs and other such nonsense. I'm hesitant. Ducks also eat flowers and trample over gardens. I already have to repair damage to the flower fields every single day as the cheepers claw at them regularly with their dinosaur feet in search of bugs. I don't want to wake up to shredded daylilies, gratis a pair of ducks.

But we talk about it anyway.
We could use an old tin tub for their water play. Or Snowdrop's wagon...
No!
Alright, a tub.
With fencing around their area of play.
Some people say if they have enough space, they wont damage the yard...
Other people say they eat literally everything. Like goats, only with webbed feet...

And so on.


The rest of the day is so much like any other that Ed can rightly say -- you see, every day is like your birthday! And yet... There are the thoughtful and lovely gifts from my daughters. And there is that wonderful cheerfulness to this day. I'll love any day that oozes good cheer!


A few Snowdrop moments, for she, of course, is very much part of this day:

After her bath, as we study yesterday's photos.






Then, upon hearing the magic words (want to go outside?) she looks at me instantly and asks in her way -- you mean we can go out, out, out, over there, now?






Shoes, socks, sweater.
Ready? Go get your penguin!






Neighborhood walk:






All the way to the distant coffee shop where again it's warm enough to sit outdoors.






Trying to stay away from overly sweet bites, I've not given her anything with chocolate, but I decide that we can celebrate my birthday by buying a chocolate chip cookie today -- mostly for Ed, but with a bit broken off for us to share. Does she love it? Sure, though not as much as watching the baby at the table next to ours.






She's down to one nap now and she wakes up after it tussled but happy.






I watch her leaf through books and I think about how much joy she gets just from studying the pages.







It's nearly evening. I drive back to the farmette where honestly, I don't remember ever seeing such beautiful old orchard trees on April 21st!






In the evening, Ed and I join his friends who are in town for a dinner at Brasserie V. Corks pop, french fries sizzle.






But at 63, you make a point of coming home in time to see the sun go down behind the willow. There are cheepers to lock up, tomato plants to take inside.






And that's such a good thing!

Wednesday

There comes a time when spring sunshine turns into summer heat and you no longer wake up with a grin when you see slivers of gold across your pillow at daybreak. But we're not there yet.

There comes a time when daffodils will no longer thrill you, because other flowers will be catching your attention. We're not there yet either.





We're up early and so the day's warmth has not yet taken hold. We eat breakfast, therefore, in the sun room (rather than out on the porch).






Ed muses -- do you think I need a haircut?
That's a roundabout way of asking me to trim his shaggy head. I have ten minutes before I have to leave for Snowdrop's home. Can I get it done? Yes, sort of. I zip through the job and hope that when I come home later tonight I wont think - oh, no! that looks awful!


Speaking of shaggy heads, this girl surely woke up with one this morning! (It's breakfast and, like her grandma, Snowdrop loves her berries!)






There may come a time when the little girl will not be especially into photos -- either the taking of them or looking at them. But right now, after her bath, she loves to sit on my lap and study the flickr (photo storage) page on my computer, where at the moment she appears on numerous occasions.






Will there ever be a time when books wont thrill her? Because right now, they do.






Just before noon, the sun pokes through the clouds and I think this is a great signal for us to head out for a walk. We make it to the distant coffee shop where the barista, who recognizes us from the rather regular visits, inquires -- are you her mother? (Which is a polite way of asking -- what's the deal here with you guys? Who's who and doing what?)
I laugh -- as I am one day shy of 63, it would be some kind of miracle! I'm her grandma.


There will come a time when I will sit with this girl at an outdoor cafe in a striking place, surrounded by great food, delivered by expertly professional waiters. Today, we settle for a table in the parking lot of the distant cafe and we drag chair, coffee and scone there ourselves. But it's grand nonetheless. Against the heat of the wall, we take our jackets off and soak in the glorious warmth of this April 20th.






Yes, but is she happy?






Without doubt.






I thought that the time would never come when Snowdrop would love the swing. Not only has it come, but she is so in love with it, that it is impossible to coax her down. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Past lunchtime, past nap time, back and forth...






Finally I suggest we walk back together, holding hands. That makes her happy.

And yes, there comes a time when your toddler granddaughter would rather be pushing the stroller than be pushed in it.





Oh, Snowdrop!


If time is more on my mind today, it's because lovely celebrations of my birthday (which is tomorrow) start tonight, as my daughter takes me out for drinks at the Robin Room. It's a beautiful place, with delicious concoctions. Just the two of us. We leave Snowdrop with her dad. Time to revel in an adult moment.






(Oh, but which drink is best?)






(The bar tender prepares our selection with utmost care.)






(Perfect!)





Perfect ... yes, truly that. Well, there should be a third glass -- my younger daughter's. Soon! In the meantime -- perfect.

Tuesday

If yesterday morning and evening (that is in the hours I was not with Snowdrop) I planted day lilies in the former tiger lily spots, divided and moved the yellow cone flower clumps, dug up and moved hostas, planted sweet pea vines, and pulled out what seemed hundreds of garlic mustards (to his credit, Ed pulled out even more), today I did none of that. Take away the sun and you have an April day of the sort where you hesitate before plunging into any project outdoors. After all, it may rain.

On my early walk to the coop, I keep my hands clean of dirt. They're roughened by unplanned spot diggings (I wear sturdy Farm & Fleet gloves, unless I start pulling, scraping, working the soil on the spot, without reaching for them -- this happens far too often).

I pause to admire the daffodils -- especially those in the western field -- they always bloom first.






Breakfast is in the kitchen. Too cold to eat out on the porch. [You have to laugh at that last statement. Just a few weeks back I would not have attached the words "too cold" to anything that promised to reach the upper fifties F. Now I think that reading is chilly and uninviting.]






I leave early for Snowdrop's home. There I tell her  -- it's back to tights, little one. Or, how about a pair of pants and a work shirt?

From bath, straight to "her car," with "cell phone" in hand. Great going, Snowdrop!






Who on earth are you texting, little girl?






I have a better idea. Want to read me a book, grandma? Or ten? Or twenty?






(After a book, or twenty...) How about a walk before the rain comes down? 
Yes!
With a pause at the distant coffee shop? 
Yes!

(At the coffee shop.) You know the routine. Let's find the high chair.






Look penguin! Someone's smiling at us! Penguin just stares at the cookie, wondering if he gets to partake.






The showers start just as we get back. This is the time to return to the book. Or twenty.






In the afternoon, the rains come down good and hard. Snowdrop knows this. There is a wistfulness about her...






But not for long. We go to the kitchen and play "chef." She's "mixing" here, very expressively of course.






And then I return home. Warm soup for tonight. Seems strange to bring back the comfort foods, but there you have it. April is very unpredictable.