Friday

In the morning, Ed says -- you know, I looked at Snowdrop's animals all lined up, waiting for her on the orange couch and I thought -- that's just so pretty. Picture worthy.

I think it speaks more to him being charmed by the little one's felt presence at the farmhouse, but okay, I take the photo.






It's a mixed weather day and the bugs are still menacing enough to keep me away from doing yard work, but perhaps that's a good thing, since it is Friday and both Ed and I have full days before us.

But first breakfast. A very yellow breakfast, down to his scrambled eggs.






Ah, yellow! It's such a color of Fall... And I have plenty of it to admire -- right by the porch, to cover up the now spent daylilies.






In fact, the porch side garden looks amazingly vibrant, for being so neglected for such a long spell (because of the bugs) by me.






Soon. The air will cool, this cycle of pesky mosquitoes will come to an end and outdoor work will be part of our routines again.

In the meantime, I do a rather quick grocery store trip and then I hurry with the stroller to Snowdrop's school. A second week of school behind her!


This afternoon, we play in her own home and predictably, she wants a rousing game of ball...







... then she wants to feed her penguin toy cookies






I tell her that I bought a couple of pairs of slippers for her use at the farmhouse (from Zappos, where returns are easy) and I want to try them to see which ones fit best.

She is happy to do this. Very happy.






Too happy. What? We're not keeping both? I can't play with all these lovely new slippers? Really? (It's as if I were taking away her most treasured penguin.)

Snowdrop, let's read a book and put you down for a nap...
Eat nuts!

Sweet, sweet girl. It's not meal time, but something made her think of snacking on nuts. 

Okay, you can have a couple of nuts.
More nuts!
Okay, just one more.
One more!
That was one more.
One more!
Upstairs to bed. Sleep well little one.



Late afternoon. She is her reliable cheerful self.






And I think -- there is a dry spell: no rain cloud at the horizon. And it's not too hot. We haven't gone out to explore the neighborhood for such a long time. Are you up for it, little one? She is!

We do our old routine -- one that belonged to the earlier months of summer: up the street to the distant coffee shop (where it's all about independence now) ...







Then past the lesser lake, with Snowdrop still helping to push the stroller, me singing as we walk, so that a passerby will note: a singing walk! ...all the way to the playground. And here, she has clearly had some practice since out last visit back in July. She climbs, she slides...






... and as before, she experiences the joy of flying high.






I'll end with that. Our grandchildren happy, soaring -- you can't do better than that.

Thursday

You could say that Ed and I are spinning in wildly different orbits right now. He has machine design projects that are reaching a crescendo, keeping him up at nights and excited during the days. I am on a much more even keel. I am not running. I am moving ahead slowly. Nor am I up at nights!

And yet, even as we are at such disparate levels of intensity, following paths that seemingly do not converge, we are not at all out of touch with each others worlds. He plays with Snowdrop. I listen to his remarkable work stories. We are sailing the same ship, even if, to an outsider, it may seem otherwise.

Breakfast, such as it is for him, wonderfully predictable for me...






And shortly after the noon hour, I bring Snowdrop to the farmhouse.

She notes the flowers...





And then she hurries off and I have no idea why or where.

Within minutes it's clear: she's heading toward the tomato patch -- the one place where mosquitoes are holding their own.

Quick, little one. Let's pick and run!

(Well, she picks and lingers, but we run shortly after.)






At the farmhouse, she does what she nearly always does now when she comes in straight from school: she takes out the Snowdrop in Paris book and shares it with her animal friends. ("Pars!" she'll say with quite a bit of intensity.)






And then she wants to play with ah-ah. Mind you, he's one tired guy, so he tries to convince her that he can throw her the stuffies from a sitting down position.

No way. She pulls him up by the hand.






She is a little wound up after school...






But they do their penguin toss...






And eventually she scores what looks to be a catch.





She really does need her nap after her intense morning, but one has to proceed slowly. It's better if I first give her time to release.


In the late afternoon, Ed and I take her to our local farmers market, with promises of cheese acquisition. "Buy cheese!" -- she proclaims excitedly.

(A girl with a cheese curd.)






Ed hangs onto her as she rides the big cow...






... and then we're home and it's time to make pizza for supper and this excites Snowdrop no end because finally, finally she gets to eat tomato sauce in great quantities, straight from the bowl, pizza be damned.






Well, not totally be damned because she does love this pie of our own concoction. She eats every last  bit of it, fork, hand, however she can stuff it in...


 


...and, because she's here and we love her to pieces, she gets a dessert of strawberry ice cream with our garden rhubarb sauce. Heaven!

Wednesday

The rain came down. All night, most of the morning, into the day -- rain, at times loud, at times as if receding, then loud again.

The flowers drooped. (Double cosmos in the front bed.)





Some seemed to take it in stride.





Ed sweetly did coop duty in the morning. I predictably did breakfast preparation later, much later.






When I picked up Snowdrop at school, I told her to hurry toward the gaga car before the next drenching rain. She already had had outdoor play in the puddles (I'm told by the teachers), which honestly sounds so incredibly fun that I wish I had been there just to watch. (I'm carrying a sack of very wet clothing -- evidence of her outdoor shenanigans.)





At home, she wants music.

I notice that she is getting creative with her movements!






(A ball comes into play here. Head up, steps backwards -- it doesn't take long for her to collide with one thing or another, but after a brief period of recovery, she goes right back to it.)






On the other hand, when I engage in my own version of creative movement, she looks rather shocked. As in -- really, gaga? You sure that's within the range of normal?






She returns to her own movements...






And then gathers all her friends just to watch -- at which point I know she has had a very long day and needs a nap.






In the late afternoon we play picnic.






A lively version of it. She climbs. On the table.






And on the various couches and cushions.






Her wiggly small form is such a forceful reminder that we all start out free, unencumbered by the weight of what the world wants from us. She's in that free phase still. Happiest if I flip her up and around, as if she were a wet piece of laundry to hang dry. Again! -- she'll shout. One last time -- I'll retort. Again!-- she'll plead, holding up one finger. One, again! Of course, one again it will be.

Tuesday

We have  a large number of humming birds passing through the farmette each day. I remember years when I'd run with my camera just to catch their crazy dance by a flower head. Not any more. They are as common as the white butterfly you see out in the meadows. Both are pretty, but their repeat presence makes you smile and move on. Is it my idleness or is that we are always in search of the unusual?

Must be idleness, because there is nothing unusual about this photo!





Of course, Ed is easier to photograph than a butterfly or a bird. But, too, though each morning photo looks like yesterday's and the one before that, and each bowl of fruit awfully resembles the other bowls of fruit you've seen here, the feel of those few minutes is never the same, never mundane, never boring.



Early in the morning I water the pots of flowers and I think how much the annuals I stick in there love the beginning and the tail end of summer. The purples haven't looked this vibrant since May!






I water the new front bed too, because it's been a while since there'd been rain and the roots are young and not yet strong. And again, the beauty of the lavender, deeply purple, wins me over.






(And of course, the minute I put down the hose, the National Service issues a severe weather bulletin for tonight: heavy rain, coming out way.)

It is a warm day. Warm enough for the AC to come back on (we set it at 75). Warm enough that when I bring Snowdrop here from school, I only stay out with her for a handful of minutes.






Of course, the cheepers are excited to see her arrive.

 Scotch, she doesn't have anything for you...






We don't believe you...
It's true. She's admiring the flowers, that's all.
Flowers? Is she eating them? Should we eat them?






Cheepers, you're hopeless. But pretty in your own spoiled way. Alright, wait here, I'll get you some bread.






Meanwhile, Snowdrop runs off with her own piece of bread. (Well she might: when Scotch sees her holding bread she looks for opportunities to snatch it away.)






And she practices walking backwards with it. (It's very hard to photograph the act of someone walking backwards.)







Inside again, she wants to play with ah-ah (grandpa Ed). He tosses her the moose she's had since early infancy. She catches it. He's very impressed! They do this again and again and of course she gets better at it, much to her own delight.






After her nap, I tell her it's time to bake some cookies for ah-ah. Our trips to the coffee shop have dwindled and there isn't a grocery store oatmeal raisin cookie that he likes.
Ed, 1140 people reviewed this recipe online and it gets a rousing 5 stars. If you kvetch, you'll be going against a tsunami of approval. (Ed is very fussy about his cookies.)


Put on the aprons and get to work.

(I should note that she is a pro at this: not only has she baked before at the farmhouse, but, too, she's mixed up cookie dough at home.)

 She knows her ingredients. Egg! She tells me and proceeds to put it (all of it) into the batter.
I explain we have to crack it open first. She's agreeable. I dump it into the little cup, she dumps it into the batter.







I use the handmixer. We move it around together. (Ed takes a picture.)






Happy? Yes.






When the cookies are baked, she is delighted. (As is Ed: delicious, he tells us.)  Snowdrop likes the cookie, yes, but, too, she loves the fact that I've eliminated her high chair tray and pulled her up to the grown up table.






That, and drinking from her big girl cups: her happiness runneth over. (As do dribbles of milk and water.)






And then there is a brief cloudburst, followed by a hot blue sky and I wonder if there might be a rainbow. We'd talked about rainbows, read about rainbows, sang songs about rainbows, but they seemed rather imaginary. Sort of like sheep in a jeep and cats that get their shoes wet.

But in fact, today there was a rainbow.






I don't know that she recognizes it. Maybe she does. I do.