and back again

A day there... and back again. Cold there, colder here. January weather. With no snow.

My room at the Hotel Robey in Chicago offers a dramatic view of the city. Look! The clouds are receding. It's going to be sunny and bitter cold.

(predawn)





(yep, sunny and cold)






But the cold hasn't defined the past days for me. When I am with Snowdrop, it is crucially important: can she play outside?? No? What a shame! But as I go down to my Chicago hotel cafe to munch on yogurt and granola, and sip a steaming cappuccino, I am filled with that good feeling that comes from a warm room and a warm coffee and a good view out onto the world. It's single digits outside? So what!






Afterwards, I catch the "L" train, from this familiar stop...





... to the airport. From there, a bus to Madison. Where it is even colder. No matter. I have grocery shopping to do and then a few hours to set the farmhouse straight again, readying it for a Snowdrop overnight visit.

As she comes in, she spies Ed on the couch. Can we go put the chickens in the coop?
Snowdrop, they're long asleep already!
Can I go see them?
But it's so dark and cold!
Ahah will take me. He has a flashlight in his pocket.





She has such hope!

Off they trot.


Later, after supper, Snowdrop goes straight for her characters. Arrange, tell stories. I hear her saying -- it's a beautiful sunny day! Like me, she appreciates the warming rays of a winter sun.






A quiet evening of play, much of it on her own. Ed comments how incredibly self sufficient she is.
Yes, to a point. As she explained to me coming in from her walk to the barn, when I asked if she ran into any of the tree's branches (they hang low in places): No, grandma, I'm a big girl, but I'm not a super big girl.

Straddling the big and little. Doing such a beautiful job of it!

to Chicago

For many years now, the first half of January has included travel for me. It's a good time to take a break and recharge winter dulled batteries. But this year, I'm curbing my winter travel enthusiasm. I'm going small. Close by. I'm going to Chicago.

There is a triple pleasure in going there now (today!): the city has an art exhibit at the Art Institute that I really want to see. Too, my younger daughter lives in Chicago, so this provides a visit opportunity. And thirdly, it'll allow me to go out to dinner.

You'll think this last point is funny. We all eat out constantly, no? Well no, not me. Not dinners. Not on this side of the ocean. In fact, the last time I remember eating a dinner out would have been maybe in July. It's not that Ed hasn't offered a "night on the town," -- say eating mussels and fries at a bar counter (his favorite). It's me: when I am home, I like eating dinners at home. Snowdrop has this favorite book that she has me read over and over again where a family goes out to a restaurant to give the cooking mom a break and of course, the effort, the wait -- all of it, make for a more complicated evening than a dinner at home. My feelings exactly. And of course, I love to cook. When I really do need a break from it all, there's always takeout Thai.

Still, I love restaurants and I love art and I love my daughter (not in that order!) and going to Chicago creates for me an opportunity for all three.

Right after a quick and early breakfast...






... I catch the bus to Chicago. It's a cold day (freezing temperatures, scattered snow, fierce gale warnings) and so I table any idea of a long stroll through the downtown area.  I take the "L" train...






... and make my way to the Loop...






(Fierce gusts, bursts of snow -- what else could Chicago possibly deliver??)


 


I head straight for the Art Institute.

This is the exhibit that I want to see --  Soviet Art, noting (if not commemorating) the 100th year anniversary of the Russian Revolution.






I've heard about it first hand (older daughter had seen it, son-in-law's sister helped curate it) and I read about it in many places  -- both praising the effort and grumbling about the fact that it isn't political enough, as if the very conceptualization of art as being a Soviet endeavor isn't enough to have you recognize the nature of the enterprise!






Poland under communist regime is often lumped by westerners as being right there (in terms of propaganda, suppression and expression, etc) with the Soviet Union (and East Germany and Czechoslovakia and Bulgaria etc etc). This is of course nonsense. And yet I'll say this: Poles from my generation do know the images now referred to as Soviet art. Nothing about the exhibit is shocking or even surprising to me. Indeed, it becomes rather nostalgic as I study the stuff that in one way or another had been presented to me before. Not in a museum, but in school books, newspapers, and, well, real life.







I canvass the exhibit twice. I don't want to have missed any of it.

Here's one last photo -- of two  women, agrarian women, taking pride in their work. (At least, that is what I think the photo is meant to convey.)





 Yes, a lot is left unsaid here, I know that. I don't want to suggest answers. I'll just take you to the room next door to the Soviet Art exhibition. In rooms dedicated to American art, you'll find pieces from the same period -- early twentieth century. For example, this icon painting, straight from Iowa  -- he, with the pitchfork, she, bringing the foods to the table....






And let's jump to New York now, to the Hopper masterpiece, depicting the American diner. in New York ... a scene not of fulfillment, but of ... what? Disappointment?






Then there is the less known painting, by John Sloan -- depicting working class women,  in this instance, out for a night at an Italian restaurant in New York. It's a joyous scene of women celebrating their newly gained freedom to be out and about on their own, without male permission or presence.






Art offers so much room for commentary! But I'll leave you to you own musings and interpretations. It's time for me to meet up with my daughter and her husband!

I make my way to their home...






... where I am treated so well (a toast! bubbly wine for two, bubbly water for one) and so I linger, linger... until it is time for dinner. The three of us eat at Daisies. It's a current favorite and of course, this is the best part: I can join her world, their world for this one wintry evening.

It's oh so late. Time to head back. I had decided for this trip to spend the night at a hotel. Many reasons for it -- one being that the young couple has a full schedule this weekend and me, I'm thinking leisurely thoughts, at least as far as this day and tomorrow morning are concerned. Rates at their neighborhood place are exceptionally low now and so after dinner, we head straight for the Robey.

(Here's the room: so basic, so well  maintained, so perfect for me...)





We pause for a quick post dinner night cap at the top floor lounge and then call it a day. Oh, but what a day it was!

Thursday

Such a strange day! It spins around weather events that threaten then recede, threaten than recede once more.

Overnight rain had washed away the last of the snow. When I glance at the thermometer at wake up time, it registers 50F (10C).

(Peach, out for a stroll)






Breakfast, with daffodils, reminding of what's before us...





Then all morning long I get the dire messages, warning of a sudden plummet to below freezing. Rain changing to ice, then more ice. Hazardous driving. All morning long I listen to this.

Predictably, schools start to close early. We're used to snow, but ice storms are a menace even for the most seasoned driver. Snowdrop's school is tied to Madison public schools. They hold off closing, but I tell my daughter that it's silly to let her stay for a school nap, only to be interrupted with a sudden closing. And so after her lunch hour, I drive over to pick her up.

(I pass by Lake Monona -- rain has completely washed away the snow cover. It's a perfect surface for skating and I do spot one solo skater, but I have to say, for me, the idea of gliding in the rain over a lake that should be frozen is totally unnerving.)





At school, I find Snowdrop with only one other little girl and three teachers.

Most of the class is sick. One other child went home early.

We spent the morning disinfecting everything! -- one of her teachers tells me. We've never had this many kids out at the same time.
I'm thinking -- hang in there, Snowdrop!

We head out into the rain.
Is it raining hard, grandma?
It is, little one.






Really hard?
Pretty hard. Let's get in the car! 






Fat dollops of rain... but in January?

No sign of ice yet. Relieved, I drive to the farmhouse.

It's not easy these days to settle Snowdrop for a nap.
I have to go shopping first for my babies...






I have to dress them warmly to go out.
Monkey, you have to rest!





Eventually the house grows quiet but for the sound of the falling rain. Spring weather, changing to frigid winter weather tomorrow, then back again to a thaw, then a deep freeze... back and forth, back and forth.

Wednesday

For Ed and me, perhaps the toughest time to find the balance in our life together is in a snowless January. (Well, sometimes February too.) We are both home, dreaming about better weather. But those dreams surely run in different directions.

Recently, Ed is spinning sailing thoughts again.

It is as sure as anything that I will not sail with him. I hate waves. And storms, where I am outside and vulnerable. Sitting on a boat with nothing to do but stare at a horizon where you can't tell what's sea and what's sky -- not me.

I'm way more focused on what my grandbabies may need in the year ahead.

Basically, we both need a nice thick layer of snow to get on the same track again. But today is foggy, chilly and wet and we are spinning in our own orbits.

Except there is breakfast. Always together, always in partnership.






When I pick up Snowdrop, she is indifferent to the drippy gray weather. Going to the farmhouse? Okay!






There is, however, a wistful look to her eyes as she looks over the landscape of melted snow.






Never mind! Inside, we're building a castle! It's hard to explain to a three year old what a castle, or royalty, or any of it really signifies. To Snowdrop, it's one more lovely platform for character stories.












Happy girl... She napped in school today -- a rare event indeed. For now, it means that she is raring to go!


I'm with you, sweet child! Only.... it's getting late now. Good night, Snowdrop, good night world, good night, good night...

look around you

The worse the weather is -- the colder, the meaner, the more bitter the temperatures -- the more you love the days when the bad spell moves on. Take it from the cheepers: they're deliriously happy that the morning starts with temperatures just below freezing.

They leave the barn. They rejoice!






There are patches of blue in the sky. The day seems so very promising!






Breakfast. Late, but bathed in sunshine.






And after many errands, I head toward Snowdrop's school. I drive by the lesser lake. A frozen body of water and humane temperatures brings out the fisher people.






My daughter had texted me that Snowdrop was looking forward to having ahah pick her up again. He's good at it! -- Snowdrop had proclaimed emphatically.

I'm not sure there are great skills needed for the act of "walk child from school to car," but I am convinced that in general, Snowdrop gives Ed a world of new insights and experiences. And vice versa. Who benefits more? Oh, they both do! It's so obvious.

I tell Ed about Snowdrop's earnest comment. And that is how today once more we are at the school together and Snowdrop is just tickled at the sight of the two of us. In her world, two is always better than one.

I have a plan: we should, of course, head over to the playground by the lesser lake! It's been weeks and weeks since I've dared go there, given the winds, cold air and Arctic blasts. But today, we are just a breath above freezing. We're off!






Ed has inordinate patience in pushing Snowdrop on the swing. They go at it for a long, long time.






And the slides! And the climbing structures!






And the life guard chair!






I climb up to join them. It strikes me that Snowdrop is three years old, she spends nearly every weekday at the farmhouse where she plays with me, but also so often with Ed and yet there does not exist a photo, taken by anyone of just the three of us. So I tell Ed to do a selfie. And he does. The one photo out there where the three of us are doing what we do every day: engage each other in the world of the ridiculous and the sublime.






After a very long playground romp, Ed returns to his farmette duties and Snowdrop and I head out onto the lesser lake, thickly covered with ice and a remaining light layer of snow.

She is delighted.






This is what joy looks like.






She so wants to build a snowman. We try. I am hoping that this is not the only snowman we will create this winter!






With the snowman comes a Snowdrop story...






It's hard to reel her in, but I do, with a shameless food bribe.

At the farmhouse she moves seamlessly to her character play...





The day is full, so full... What stands out?  Perhaps the hours of play, by the lake, then on the lake. Look around you! It's such a gorgeous landscape. Winter beautiful. With just a touch of spring.

this is what early spring feels like!

You could smell it from the first hours of the morning: the warming of the air. It's that same fragrance of snow melting into the earth that we get in spring.

Breakfast, sunny, happy.





We have a complicated morning and a mishmash of tasks to move through, but one thing we know for sure: in the afternoon, Ed and I are taking Snowdrop out for winter play.

She is delighted to see him at pick up time. My grandma and grandpa are both here! -- she tells everyone, as if they hadn't spotted the towering frame of ahah.

I tell her we're going to go to the park with our sled and skis. She is excited: we're going skating, she reports to her best buddy. Skiing, sledding, skating -- they're variants on the same theme!

She walks Ed out.






...and we drive to the park with the disc golf hills. But whereas yesterday, you could count on an inch of snow cover, today the south facing slopes are completely bare. It's 38F (3C) and our snow has disappeared.

You might feel frustrated: too cold last week, too warm this week. But there is hope! We're so close to our county park! Snowdrop, do you want to go see the secret pond??

We have the big sled. We have her skis. But what's truly magical about the frozen pond is that it's pristine and undisturbed. We can step out among the humbling footsteps of animals. And of course, the snow has yet to melt.

Snowdrop immediately falls into a snow angel pose. Beautiful!







And she is thrilled to step into the skis, even as she is unprepared for the slippery nature of her first trial run. (Me too! The light dusting of snow covers a glassy sheet of ice. Keeping upright is not easy, not even for me!)







We make progress!






But she longs for the freedom to just move!

We switch to the sled. She is stable, but Ed takes a solid tumble!






We make our way off the pond...






Maybe walking is the best strategy?






Hey, I wouldn't mind being pulled around some!
Snowdrop finds this to be hilariously funny!






Eventually she spots a playground. I've been telling her playgrounds are closed for the winter, but today is remarkable in that it hasn't the feel of winter at all. Swing again, Snowdrop!






The big slide? Go for it!






You'd think that winter garb would stand in her way, but she is so deprived of outdoor cavorting that she throws herself at the climbing structure in total glee.






Later, at home, she settles into her story telling. From one play scene to the next, she spins her tales. I come in, add a few lines, retreat, listen, come back.

We can do this for a long, long time.






Toward evening she tells me -- I have a surprise.
Say what? A surprise?
She runs to the other room. She trips over the carpet and falls flat on her face. I hurt my nose!
Oh, I'm so sorry! I hold her. She sobs -- I was going to get the surprise and I fell!
And then in the next breath -- but I am happy now.

She goes to the other room and hauls out her "surprise" -- my yoga mat.





We can sit on it and read these books. She hands over her selections.


Children can warm every corner of your heart.


I admit to this being a gorgeous day. Not too cold. Sunny. Absolutely gorgeous. But it doesn't take away from my fervent desire for one mighty snowfall this year... For the forts, castles and snow people we can build. For the crunch, the shimmer and the sparkle. Just one. Huge. Snowfall.

Though I will admit -- today was quite spectacular. Springlike. Beautiful.