wet and cold

As I write this, it's raining icicles outside. Inch-long picks of ice. I'd take a picture but that would give them free airtime. They don't deserve it. They belong to another season. Woosh! Be gone!

I tell the baby chicks: be glad we're not chasing you out yet! It's a mean world out there! They truly look a little shaken by my words. Perhaps the weather has put an edge to my speech.






Breakfast is deliberately not in the sun room. Why even bother pretending! It's a terrible weather day!





On the upside, isn't it the case that a terrible spring start will make for a warm season's middle? By the law of averages, we need to climb high to make up for this disastrous plummet into a chilly world of ice and wet snow (we're supposed to get that wet snow tonight).

Too, it's delightfully decadent to stay home and do nothing that requires physical effort. Normally, we avoid such horrible laziness, but today, it is a given that the only outdoor time will be time required to get to the car -- first, to vote and then to pick up Snowdrop.

She is prepared! She has her umbrella!






At the farmhouse, we move from one activity to the next, never once giving much thought to the weather outside.


(A Snowdrop story is like a field of daffodils ready to bloom...)






(Giving Pepper a bit of human contact...)






(They're so small and cute, Gaga!)






(Exercise = swinging on the treadmill bar...)






(The baby chicks clamor to get a boost from us so that they can rest at the edge of the box...)






And by evening, the rain and the ice turn to a delicate snow and you just have to shake your head and wonder what's next.






It's a beautiful day -- to be indoors, away from it all.

fighting the disappointment of a non-spring

I don't recall a spring in Madison that came this late (actually it hasn't yet arrived if you judge by the signs of new growth). And though in January I may have appreciated a thermometer reading of just above freezing, in April, I think that's terribly unfair. It doesn't help that last year I was filling flower pots outside by the second week of April. This year, I'll think we're lucky if we can do it by May.

And tomorrow, we're going to be pummeled by snow. Followed by a series of frigid days. That's not what we expect from you, April!

True, we wake up to a bright morning. Breakfast in the sun room, to the sound of chirping voices of the girls in the box.





But then comes the back and forth:

Ed, we really should go out for a walk.
And we have to finish planting the tomatoes. 48 containers planted, 48 to go!
You're right. We should. We have to.

Every half hour we recycle this dialogue, as we continue to sit in front of our reading material, immobilized by the prospect of stepping out into that cold brown landscape.

But by noon, the push to get going becomes urgent. I'm back on schedule with Snowdrop care, and we really do have to finish planting the seeds, and we absolutely should take that walk.

But the day should not look like this! Both of us, bundled in warm outerwear, he stuffs cups with dirt...






... I plant the seeds.







Our walk reveals more of the same winter sluggishness. The park pond, without turtles sunnying and just a few ducks swimming...






The lone crane, wondering why he bothered flying north so soon...






Well, at least at Snowdrop's school the littlest snowdrops are popping up.






And Snowdrop herself is like spring in full bloom!

(No no, you're too big to bounce on my knee!)






(Story telling time)






(See how much Pepper has grown?)






(A moment with her Polish magnets...)






Happy child, happy household!

Evening. Snow tonight, cold spell the rest of the week. I mean, you gotta love the cold if you live here. Just not into April. Can we agree on that? 

Easter

It's funny how the day is a holiday (not for all, but for many) and yet it feels to me so ultra normal as compared to the last dozen.

It's cold and so Ed and I stay mostly indoors. Even as the little chickens (who, at nearly three weeks are not so little anymore) use every feather and ounce of energy to see the world beyond their box.





What are you doing outside your quarters??

Once again we manipulate the sides of the box so they can't readily fly to the edge. We think it'll buy us 24 hours until they figure out this next hurdle.

Breakfast. How normal! In the sun room.






And then I settle into cooking. The meal isn't elaborate, yet it requires time. Today, I have that time.

Hey, at least dessert's easy! I serve a plateful of treats from Warsaw friends, with a few Parisian madelines thrown in for good measure.





(And I am near my computer, clicking to the album of Primrose photos, supplemented by others as the day progresses. She is already four days old today!)

In the afternoon, Ed and I try to motivate ourselves to plant the tomatoes. April first. We must! In eight weeks they should go in the ground. Today is the day to fill the cups with soil and push a tiny seed into each container.

But who wants to work outside when it's so cold out there? What's one more day, right?






We do half of what we need to do and then our fingers get cold. We retreat inside promising ourselves that tomorrow will be warmer (will it?).


In the early evening, the young family comes for Easter dinner.






Snowdrop is in her most playful form...






Full of stories and smiles.










And so we're back in our routines as if nothing has changed. Except that of course, in our minds and hearts, we now have the presence of Primrose. And so nothing is as it was before.

oh, the children in my life!

The wind howled and a cold, almost snow-like rain pounded at everything in sight. In the darkness of a cloudy predawn, I make my way downstairs, greet and feed the little birds, and sit down to a quiet, solitary breakfast. Ed should sleep. I'm the insane one, wanting to get to Chicago as soon as possible.






I have a few parcels, including the "pajak" (that Polish piece of folk art that Karolina wrapped for me in cardboard that threatens to get soggy very quickly) and as I run from the parked car to the bus stop, I have to laugh at how ridiculous I must look -- box flying in the wind, bag dangling with Primrose treats, backpack stuffed with camera, computer, reading material -- all getting awfully wet in the miserable downpour.

How many trips just like this one will I make in the course of my life?

I ride the bus, mentally packing my backpack for future trips: must remember to take ear phones (against passengers who just cannot put down their phones) and always pack an extra sweater, and come to think of it, an umbrella should be in there as well. One that can withstand howling winds.


In Chicago, I pause at the cafe just by the "L" train stop near the young family's home and as I await further instructions, I look around me, now more like a future habitue rather than a visitor just passing through. I like this place.






And now it's time for me to brave that wind, to whisper a thanks to the weather gods who let the rain clouds move on, to walk as quickly as I can, pausing only to purchase some spring color for the young family's home...






... and finally -- to knock on the door and greet Primrose -- she's three days old today!

(The little one has just settled in for a nice snooze...)






She is a calm child and she gives us a solid two hours of holding, hugging, staring, admiring...

(Her parents)






My turn, at last! I wore my softest shirt, so that she could snuggle in it...






Oh, and the pajak made it! Squashed in the Paris metro turnstiles, jostled in overhead bins and under the seat in front on three planes, pummeled by the winds and rains -- it seems none the worse for wear! Hardy Polish peasant stock!






And now comes the other young family, with Snowdrop in tow (sporting a dazzling Easter ribbon, all pink, of course!). It is the girl's first encounter with Primrose. She has talked a lot about this being her very own cousin. She is delighted with the real deal!

She watches...






She then shyly touches...






And finally, after a thorough hand washing, she holds. And Primrose gives a hint of a smile...






(Sisters!)






My two young families! With another babe on the way...






And one more of my new little granddaughter...






It's the first full day home for Primrose. We leave her to her parents and her new surroundings. No bus for me -- I get to ride back with Snowdrop and her parents.

As we listen to a Snowdrop favorite Peg and Cat song about infinite amounts of love, I think -- yes, that's right. Nothing's taken away, even as another person grabbed my heart this week.

I can't stop smiling at the richness of it all.

I'm back! Sort of.

Some things you expect. The occasional cold day in April. With snow perhaps. Which then quickly melts. Transportation strikes in France. Babies being born.

But then, there are the surprises. A spring so cold, that not a single thing is blooming at the farmette. (Last year, I had a feel of dancing daffodils by the second week of April.)






Oh, I suppose you'd call this "hope" -- in flower field facing the south, signs of green:





Still, it's a laboriously slow start to the season.

Too, you don't expect, upon coming down to greet the baby chicks, to see this:





Ed had warned me that they're flying to the rim of the box.
They seem happy to just perch at the edge then fly back down.
But for how long before the wide world beckons?

In fact, until today, Tomato did fly out onto one of the chairs.

That does it: we must contain them! No one had warned us that some chicks really fly high!

Ed puts netting over the top of their box. It doesn't take long for one of them to get tangled in it. That wont do. We raise the sides of the box. They are not happy with us for interfering with their adventurousness.

Well, except for Tomato. Tomato is on the puny side (as compared to the other two), but she loves Ed and Ed loves her back. Unconditionally.






Too, you shouldn't expect a traditional photo of a wonderful breakfast. We're low on stuff around the house and I have to scramble to find anything that blooms to place on the table. Breakfast is a slapped together affair. Pleasant, but on the simple side.






Of course, the big unexpected event came with the early birth of my second granddaughter -- Primrose (that's her Ocean nickname). I am terribly anxious to see her and I plan on catching the predawn bus to Chicago tomorrow so that I can finally look closely at that sweet face.

I do expect that after this short trip (one day!), a routine will take hold again. An exciting spring routine -- full of digging and planting and grandchildren and happy chickens. In fact, I'm counting on all that.

Paris waiting game

Travel across the ocean brings great pleasures, but it must be recognized that there are downsides. For me, one of the biggest is the time difference that separates me from family and Ed. Back home, everyone's day winds down in the evening. That is when they have time to talk, text, exchange stories in a less harried way. Their down time is my "I really should be sleeping" time -- 3, maybe 4 in the morning. This, even more than jet lag and a busy schedule, accounts for my loss of sleep when I travel. And I wouldn't give up these precious conversations or texts for the world! They keep me going every bit as much as a good night's rest. I try to teach myself to sleep later the next morning. Sometimes this is possible, sometimes it is not.

Of course, on Tuesday night, there was such chaos in my head that sleep was the very last thing I could indulge. My girl was in the hospital and for some reason, I convinced myself that her baby would be born quickly, even though my own labors were very very long. I mean, I was so ready to welcome this child into the world, even if I was thousands of miles away -- she should be born!

The phone stayed close to my pillow and I willed it to ring.

It didn't ring.

On Wednesday, I woke up (well, got out of bed) to rain. I was so sure that this child was about to be born (because, after all, I waited all night for her, thus surely she will oblige by popping right out!) that I did not want to leave the hotel. Yes, I now carry my own portable hotspot, so I have WiFi and therefor messaging and FaceTime and all the other accoutrements of modern life right in my pocket. But texting about a child's birth on a busy street in the rain just seemed so not right that I ate breakfast at the hotel (nice, but not as inexpensive as on the town). A solid one, so that I could save and skip lunch.





... and then I went back upstairs and lay down and waited, with phone resting on the pillow again.

By 11:30, I scolded myself good and hard. Spending the whole day staring at the phone on the pillow is just not a good use of Paris time.

So I set out. Hand on phone, just in case I missed its vibration. (Other hand holding tight to hotel umbrella.)






Still, the walk felt aimless. I had considered going to a museum to see a special exhibition that sounded interesting, but I just was not focused. Except on the phone. I was very focused on that.





I didn't take many photos. It's never easy in the rain. It's even less easy with one hand on the phone (and the other holding an umbrella). But the true reason was that I have the right mindset to take pictures in a place like Paris. It's not an easy city to photograph under the best of circumstances and especially not when you're asking yourself again and again why the phone isn't buzzing.

I sidestepped into a little park where Snowdrop and her mommy and I hung out once, so that she could ride the wee little merry-go-round there. I see that Paris really is forging ahead with spring flowers! People are complaining about the soppy wet spring here, about the cold, about the lack of sunshine, but heck, you've got flowers blooming! We should be so lucky at the farmette!

(Here's a beautiful patch of Lenten roses (helleborus), which aren't true roses - rather, they belong to the buttercup family - but it's one of the earliest blooming perennials, often coinciding with Lent, hence the name.)




I meander into Le Bon Marche, the rather posh and always lovely to look at department store with the great food halls. Everything is geared for Easter (Paques in French). I smile at how different Easter displays are in France. It's really all about food, of course. I consider stuffing a cake into my suitcase, but good sense prevails.





And when I step outside, there's sunshine! This is so often the case in Paris! It rains, it doesn't rain, it rains again.

With sunshine comes clarity: I had been in a little shop, looking at colorful spoons last night when I got that message telling me there would be a baby soon. Soon, but not that soon! Were I home, I would have gone about my business. But being away, my business has suddenly become thinking about what's happening back home.

Still anxious (though where birth is concerned, no news is usually good news; if there was a rush to deliver -- that's when I should worry), but somewhat cheered by the blue skies, I walk back to the hotel.





I have an hour before my dinner reservation clicks in.

And in that hour, I get the text and the photo of Primrose.

WOW!

I don't know why I should be surprised: I went through this with my two daughters and more recently Snowdrop -- the sudden realization that I am in love with this child! She is beautiful and important and she is theirs and her life will be rich with adventure and she will be loved, so loved!

I walk to my dinner with such a spring in my step! And suddenly taking pictures is fun once more!

(Crossing the Boulevard St. Germain)






At Semilla, I'd asked for a spot at the bar -- it's usually considered the lesser place to eat, but I like it, because the people watching is better there. Today, they decided to "upgrade" me to the place I had the first time I ever ate here -- looking out onto the kitchen.

Semilla is and has been for a while my favorite eating place in Paris and that says a lot. It's perhaps a bit expensive for my budget, but these days I give myself just one great eating experience per trip and this one is it!

There is nothing pretentious about presentations or even really about the menu. It's short, so if you're a fussy eater, think twice about coming here, but the food is always perfectly prepared.

Today, my wait person is young, energetic and enthusiastic and so she gets the full Primrose story, down to the picture that was texted to me. Felicitations, Toutes nos felicitations!

I treat myself to a glass of champagne.






And except for the three hours between 2 and 5 a.m. when touching base with beloveds was in order, yes, I did catch some sleep!


Paris woke up to a brilliant day today! So there, you complainers! (I glance out my window -- cornflower blue.) The sun shines brightly on Paris after all.





On this trip, I've had snippets of Paris all over the week, but today surely is the most relaxed and cheerful snippet. I have a flight out at 4, which means that I have at least until noon to meander without goal or purpose.

But first, breakfast at the very sunny Les Editeurs. (Selfie!)






I walk to the nearby market -- it's a fine one, with all that a Parisian would want for a good meal, but it's not a tourist draw. Stalls of produce, of seafood, of cheese. Staples of a solid dinner.





And then I turn sharply south. To the park! I want to have that meditative stroll that seemed to have been so completely out of place yesterday.

And right away, I'm hit with hundreds of primroses! Other flowers too, but my eyes are on the primroses.





I'm thinking how several of my visits to Paris had Snowdrop so imprinted on them and that this one surely must belong to Primrose. And then I catch myself. No, not ever will it be one or the other or over or under this or the next. When a new grandkid is born, that park, my thoughts, my love belong to all, non stop, all the time.






Primroses and snowdrops -- the garden is large. It can accommodate all.

(A quiet garden walk -- lovely and gentle...)











(No shortage of flowers...)






(This will be the only viewing of the Eiffel Tower on this trip. Snowdrop would have been disappointed!)






(Many of the chestnuts in the park are being replaced by disease resistant elms, but right now you can still find small chestnut groves. )






(Even among the tulips -- the yellow faces of primroses...)





And now it's time to fly home.

One last glance -- from the Odeon, looking down toward the Breizh creperie, Les Editeurs -- all those friends of mine that make Paris feel like (almost) home.





Not too many hiccups on my travel back. The commuter train stalls, but the flight is on time and has WiFi, just in case a message about Snowdrop or Primrose comes my way.  The connection in Detroit is smooth and late late oh so late in the evening. Ed will be waiting at the airport to take me home. What an incredible week! It seems such a long time since I've been home!