so how do you feel about Thursday?

Each day of the week has its flora. And its place in your heart. Some people hate Mondays. Some people feel that Wednesdays are just so blah. When I was little I did not like Sundays. In my more adult years, Saturdays were unreasonably tough. And so on.

But what about Thursdays?

I think Snowdrop and I are on the same page about this day: we're hanging in there, but the realization of a week gone by begins to seep in. For her, if she hasn't napped all week, she begins to feel more fragile. For me, it's not about sleep, but about getting things done.

Once again this morning was technology oriented. I had signed up for a (free) online tutorial on how to get the most out of my (new) computer. After breakfast, of course.






Much more useful were the hours Ed and I spent on trying to figure out the interplay between my laptop and various web browsers (far trickier than either of us thought).

But note the reference to "hours." Another day, another set of hours dedicated to technology.

Still, there were lovely sparks. We learned stuff about computers that neither of us had known (and that's saying a lot for Ed). And for once I felt I hadn't just purchased something that I would never quite understand.

Too, I worked on tech stuff in the bleakest part of the day. By early afternoon, the sun was starting to poke through and though it never climbed out of the low 30sF (above 2 or 3C), nonetheless, the absence of a wind made the day, well, not too bad!

(Cheepers, following me to the mailbox...)






(Winter blue skies are exhilarating!)






When I pick up Snowdrop, I'm not quite sure whether it is warm enough for the outdoors, but the girl settles the question for me quickly. She begs to go to the school playground.





... As does her school buddy.

They are a delightful twosome!






True, her school pal does decide to shed all outer garments, but I think he is just trying to impress the rest of us. Very shortly afterwards, he is ready to give up on the great outdoors, whereas Snowdrop keeps on chugging along...






Moreover, afterwards, when her friend has long ago retreated to the warmth of the indoors, Snowdrop insists that we go to the park playground. I acquiesce. Off we go!






She is totally delighted.






The lake waters are still. The sun is fading, but even small bits of its rays make a difference.






Happy Gaga. Happy girl indeed!






At the farmhouse, after the initial "I'm hungry!"...






... she settles into the cozy part of life: lots and lots and lots of books, followed by a brisk game of ball and finally -- drawing.





It was a good way to work through any issues that a Thursday, especially a napless Thursday might present.

November 15

We wake up to a cold, wet day.

At breakfast time...





... Ed, who is not fully awake yet, says -- you should get Snowdrop a keyboard.

Say what?? Get the little girl something? Did I hear right?

That and of course, you should teach her French.

Where are these ideas coming from??

The thing is, I do not disagree. Snowdrop loves music (and possibly might like knowing bits and pieces of another language). A keyboard can be a great exploratory tool for a young child.

But I should have known: agreement on the premise does not lead to agreement on the execution. Satisfied that I did not reject his idea right off the bat, he begins the laborious task of exploring what kind of keyboard would be best for a very young child.

Cheap. Used. He logs on to Craigslist. Not enough. What does it mean that the keys do this, or are set to do that? Must read articles to discern the difference. Then, must read articles on what people in the know say about children and keyboards.

I tell him -- I have spent two days on technology. I do not want to spend even two hours on this project. Here, I picked one. It's cheap! It's well regarded. Boom!

Ed looks crestfallen. I know you're busy. We could read up some more tonight...

I calculate all that I have to do today, all the hours I have already spent on discussing this very inconsequential purchase. No, no more reading. You've helped tremendously. Thank you. Now, let me just get this small keyboard which, as you have pointed out, Snowdrop will bang on twice then forget about.


It's time to pick up the little girl. Miraculously (and I mean miraculously, because this was not in the forecast), the clouds part and you can almost pretend that this is a fine fall day. True, there is a hefty breeze, but still, it definitely opens up the possibility of playground time for Snowdrop!

Is she happy? You decide...







Later, at the farmhouse, oh, the usual...






... except that I tell her something: that it is my mother's birthday. Meaning, her great grandma's birthday. (My mother is 94 today!)

I tell Snowdrop that it would be cool for her to send my mom a birthday message. We put one together. I want to take a picture of her with it. Except that Snowdrop gets the giggles!






She is overcome with hilarity.






Finally, she sits still... enough. So... happy birthday great grandma helen! (GGH for short)





From all of us. With love.

tech crescendo, then exhale

Well, it came as no surprise. In the end, the ten year old laptop (my home computer) refused to cooperate. All fixes lead to temporary smiles and grins (perhaps smirks) and then a return to the messages, the waits, the threatening innuendos.

I buy the replacement.

Breakfast is little more than a blip in my morning.





The rest of my time is spent in running between store and tech support getting the new, pristine new baby to work.

By early afternoon, it looks like everything is set to go.

And oh, the loveliness of the new machine! The speed! Did you know that a computer does not ordinarily take ten minutes to wake up from a nap? That it can move seamlessly from site to site without a spinning rainbow circle keeping you in suspense as to how or if it will get there?

Sometimes I feel that I've lived most of my computer years with Chunky by my side. Before I supplemented it with a small thin travel machine, I dragged Chunky along on camping trips and on bike marathons in France with Ed. Ocean was mostly written on its keyboard -- that same keyboard over which bowlfuls of chips have been eaten.

I bring the new machine home. I've upped the size: it's a whopping 15 inches. It's beautiful! It shines! I reach into the cabinet for a special tea towel with lovely flowered design to cover it protectively from dust (and food stuffs that routinely fly around here).


In the evening, Ed looks at me... You're using your old computer? The slow one that throws you all those threatening messages?
Of course! -- I say, reaching into a bag of Dill and Sour Cream Lentil Chips. I could not possibly use the new one! It's far too beautiful!
Ever?
Well, you know. Soon. Just not today.

But I have to say, the whole process of launching a new computer has left me exhausted. Perhaps the highlight of the morning was sitting in my most bedraggled state at the DoIT center (a place at the university where you go with all your tech problems), working with the patient staff member to do things that are not easy, and having a young man zip by, do a step back and a shout out to me -- Hey, professor Camic! How you're doing? I'm in a hurry, but just wanted to say hi! I'm a lawyer for the university now...

Woah! This one encounter triggered memories! Students who mattered to me. So many are, of course, on FaceBook and I follow their lives -- professional, personal. I delight in their children, many now  in high school and beyond. I take in their happiness, occasionally their sad turns in life. But it's always fantastic when, out of the blue, somebody comes up to you and says -- hey, nice to see you again! 


Still, I am a tired beast. And it is a cold gray day, not at all suitable for an after-school  playground romp with Snowdrop.

When I pick her up, she is in full discombobulation mode. Her teacher explains -- she just woke up. Sweet, sweet girl. To ask her to wake up, rise, get into the rhythm and rules of school, get ready to head out -- it's a lot. Sort of like asking me to buy a new computer.

We are both wrecks.

I text her mom asking for permission to watch some TV with the babe. I understand that Daniel Tiger is on. Every kid in her school watches it. It would be a welcome break in a long, indoor afternoon.

And so as I help her with her coat and shoes and try to sooth her poor soul (but I'm hungry, grandma! and I want to go on an adventure and can you please hold me?), I turn to her and say: let's get going! We'll listen to classical music in the car (she loves it!), eat fruits and croissants, play games, read books and watch Daniel Tiger on TV!

Well now.

It is a beautiful afternoon of before Daniel (in anticipation of)...






(Loving the new Laura Ingalls books for young readers! Fascinated by my suggestion that Laura lived nearby...)






(Asking for farmhouse sweater, then buttoning every last button...)






And finally watching Daniel...





And after? Well, it's time to put her babies to sleep and close all the doors upstairs, then put on pretend boots and jump through scores of (pretend) puddles in the living room.

Yeah! We're both restored and ready to face the world again.

tech Monday

If you hang on to your old devices, sucking every last bit of life out of them, then you have to be prepared to invest time when things begin to unravel. As I sat in the Apple store to begin to address the issues that have cropped up for me, I chatted with another customer who was upgrading to the latest model of a laptop. I mentioned that back at the farmhouse, Ed just bought a computer for the price that Apple would charge for... oh, I don't know, an insurance policy on their comparable model. The customer smiled and said -- how many models has he had in the time you've had your Apple?

His point is well taken. Were it not for storage problems, my computer would be chugging along perhaps indefinitely. Whatever stuff they've loaded into its sleek and beautiful body is slated to endure a long life. (Except for the Apple cords. Geez Louise, Apple! Get a handle on the cords!)

All this to say that after breakfast...





... I spend the entire morning addressing technology issues -- at Apple and at UW's DoIt. And I have to go back to both tomorrow.

Well so what! Effort well spent! Especially since it really was on the cool side this morning. Pretty, what with the fog and the deep freeze, banding together to give us a spectacular country morning!






But a cold one.






I broke away from technology issues to pick up Snowdrop. I had trepidations. She went to sleep late last night. She refused to nap at school. Oh dear.

But, children teach you that you cannot predict life in any fashion whatsoever. Work with what's before you. Do not plan for the good or the bad. Just work with what you have.

I'm handed another golden deck of cards today.

It's not exactly warm. 41F (5C) I think. But there is a hazy wisp of sunlight left in the late afternoon and the wind has not kicked in. So we go to the playground.

Oh, she swings! I forgot my gloves and my hands are beet red from pushing her on that swing. Too, we walk toward the lake and I show her how ice is forming at the edges. I mean, we are in one big cold spell.

But you know, this is when you appreciate warmth. Hands beet red? Face feeling the punch of arctic air? Well now, enter a protected interior -- even as small and unheated as that of a car -- and you feel you are in heaven!







We're at the farmhouse now... Or, almost. She has to sweep up the leaves. Warmed up from the ride here, she forgets that she is without a jacket...






Today, she is Galileo! she is Amundsen! She is Snowdrop telling me to be quiet because she is taking care of her babies upstairs behind closed doors.






In the evening, I take her back home. Her mom is waiting for her. Snowdrop plunks herself down and begins a marathon of book reading...





On my return drive to the farmette, I listen to NPR news. So, the cavemen (and women, I hope) had already discovered and enjoyed wine? How clever of them!

Ed has work meetings all night long. At the farmhouse, I sit down to my computer, reheat a big cup of chili and drink a delicious glass of wine.

Sunday

No luxuriating in bed today: I want to be up before Snowdrop. Get the kitchen in motion. Warm up the place. Peel the fruit, prepare the pancake batter.

I do all that and more. I sit down and listen. I hear her upstairs, talking to herself in bed. This is such a beautiful time to be a grandparent -- when the child is still young (but not so young that she wakes up before you!), when she is full of joy at the prospect of a new day, when she finally calls out -- grandma! And I walk upstairs and open the door and she sits up in her bed and says -- grandma, I've been waiting FOR-EVER for you!

The routines are familiar. She has her "first breakfast" -- a bare nibble on cereal and a yogurt...






And then she runs off to cook for "her kids" while I try to coax her toward a bath.
I have to flip the pancake! -- she protests.






Later, dressed and ready to feed anyone who'll sit down with her...






...while I finish off the bacon and pancakes. Of the three -- fruits, pancakes with syrup, and bacon, it would be hard to choose which she devours with the greatest pleasure. I'm guessing it's bacon.






Happy girl, playful girl!






Her scope of cavorting is large now -- the whole farmhouse.

(Putting her babes to bed, her bed. Upstairs.)





I wont let her go up and down the stairs without slippers -- they lessen the chance of a slide down. Even so, the staircase is a problem for anyone who isn't careful. Built by the original farmhouse owners (if there is a wrong way of doing something, they did it!), it offers very narrow steps -- too narrow for a natural step down. If a guest wants to go upstairs to use the bathroom (there is only one and it is upstairs), we always warn them -- careful when you walk down!

This raises the topic of redesigning and rebuilding the stairwell -- something I very much want to do. (If you are from Madison and you know of a superb carpenter who could take on this rather large project, would you send me a note? Thanks!) Such a boring job in the scheme of things, but so necessary in my opinion!

The little girl leaves. Ed and I settle into our usual back and forth on these cold gray days:

We really should go out for a hike...
But the hunters!
We'll wear blaze orange.
So cold! But we really should...

And of course we do go. Eventually. Clad in blaze orange, we head out to the Brooklyn Wildlife Area -- a favorite hiking segment for us as it has forest, undulating terrain and a view. And it's a short drive. Less than one story of This American Life!

Yes, it's a brown landscape: but varying and pretty shades of brown.






But for the (thankfully) rare gunshot, it is quiet. The smell of a late fall forest is, in my opinion sublime!






And of course, there's the view -- one that we like quite a bit: woodland, farm fields -- the riches of southern Wisconsin!






Evening. Snowdrop is back with her mom for supper at the farmhouse.

She's had a full day and so predictably, she begs for books, one after another. Lucky girl -- she has many readers to keep her happy tonight!






(You mean you both will play with me??)






Suppertime.






She is a natural storyteller. We are the happy listeners.






It is late. Way past her bedtime. Pj's little one! Fine, but can we have some music too? Grandma, I'll play the xylophone. Can you play the guitar?






Such a day! November dark? It passed me by. The farmhouse was ablaze with sound and light and warm feelings. And that's such a good thing!

Saturday

The first thing that I have to do is go outside and pour hot water into the cheeper drinking bowl. It's solid ice in there and the girls need their fix. (They have a warm bowl in the barn coop, but until snow comes, their habit is to hang out by the farmhouse during the day. Together, in a pack, with the ever present hope that I'll come out and give them some bread.)

And then it begins. The theme of the day.

We really should go out for a hike.

At breakfast, we review the possibilities.





I don't much like hiking forested trails in November. Even if you wear blaze orange garb, you don't feel at peace with the world when all around you people are shooting at anything that moves. (We're in the thick of the hunting season in Wisconsin.)

We could go to the Arboretum.
Ed balks at this one. It's hard to escape the sound of cars from the highway that loops its way close by. You can do it, but you have to know your way around the forest paths. Me, I get lost.

An hour later: we really should take a walk.

What's holding us back really is not the sound of guns or cars, unpleasant as these might be. It's the weather. It's cloudy. It's cold. By early afternoon, we remain below freezing.

Still, you cannot grow soft. A few hours later, we're driving to the Arboretum. It's close. It's pretty. It's empty. It's vast.






I remember being here with Snowdrop less than a month ago. I had thought then that Fall was late in coming to Wisconsin. Well now, it sure did not stick around for long! It's winter!

Or is it?

We look around us.






My, it still is pretty here! I readjust my mindset: here I was, expecting dark, bare limbs and instead I see before me a variety of autumnal colors! True, most of the leaves have fallen to the ground, but not completely. It all looks rather enchanting!






The forest is now leafless and we do a quick saunter along the more familiar paths...






... and onto the boardwalk that struts out into the wetlands -- not so wet today! Just frozen!






Back in the more open spaces, we come across the Arboretum residents. As always, I feel a pang of guilt in my November encounters with them...






One last glance toward this unexpectedly beautiful landscape...





... and we drive the short ten minutes to the farmette.

And of course, after a bitter cold walk (not a brief one at that!), it feels heavenly to step into the warm farmhouse, were I get ready to host the little one for an overnight visit.

The girl is bursting with enthusiasm and energy!







Over a pizza dinner, Ed and I are regaled with her elaborate stories (this one is about her love, her absolute love of little stars. Not big stars, mind you. Just little ones).






She finds her Sorede wreath of flowers...






They stay on for the rest of the evening.






She is intensely into books right now and the usual two or three before bedtime turns into four or five or maybe six, perhaps seven. I am reminded of reading to my daughters at this age. You want another one, don't you? -- I'd ask, as if I were doing them a huge favor, even as I snuggled luxuriously into the next story.

I pause for a while.

Do you want to go outside and look for little stars? It's cold, but we can bundle up.
That's okay, grandma, just read me this book please. She's very good with her "pleases." I am impressed. Once again I snuggle luxuriously into the next story.