Thursday at the World Dairy Expo

The World Dairy Expo, held annually in Madison, is a huge deal. It draws crowds from 100 countries. Every aspect of the dairy industry is on display. And there are the cows: more than 2300 heads of cattle, from 40 states and from the Canadian provinces. It is a place to learn, to exchange information, to showcase your best, to connect and make inquiries.

No place for a small child, right?

Wrong. This year, not for the first time, I took Snowdrop to the "cow show" (though this year, since she is older, I explained to her that it's more than just a cow show. A Wisconsin child should learn the meaning of dairy early in life!).

First, of course, there is a farmette morning. It's a cold day -- so odd to follow a hot day! -- but the sunshine is brilliant and inviting. Well, just mildly inviting. We eat breakfast, of course, indoors. Ed tells me that an open window and a furnace pumping in warm air are not compatible (I disagree, but quietly, when he's in the other room) and so we have no real connection from our indoor perch to the vast and beautiful world outside.






That world:





And after breakfast, I'm lost to chores and Ed's lost somewhere in the crawlspace of the attic, searching for a roof leak that he cannot find.

Ah, but soon enough it is the afternoon. I pick up an excited Snowdrop and we walk to the World Dairy Expo (which happens to be at the Expo Center -- a short stroll from her school).

It is a terrific set of hours! (Snowdrop is keen on bringing both her brother and her cousin next year!)

A few photos from our afternoon with cows. And dairy. Just a few, I promise!







(There are junior tents as well, where young cow boys and girls compete. Snowdrop tells me that she intends to look after a cow too someday.)






(Hold that tail!)






(I learn later that you're not really supposed to ride these cows. Hurry up, just do it! -- the nearby guard tells us.)






A hit: the purple cow gift shop. All those cows!






Another hit: the ice cream parlor. I tell Snowdrop -- I only have cash for yours. The portions are huge. I figure I'll finish all that she cannot possibly consume herself. A guy before me overhears. Oh please, I insist on buying you yours.

We eat a lot of ice cream.






We pass a John Deere stand. Toys, souvenirs, you name it. Snowdrop insists that it is her dream to own one of the many models. I want to say -- forget it. You got a cow. Then comes the guilt -- oh, so you're okay about buying her a girlie stuffie but not a plastic tractor? And you wonder why she has no interest in heavy machinery? (I'll let you guess how that back and forth ended.)






Finally, at the big arena. She wants to get down really close. We do that.






Then she wants to climb up to the highest places, to look on from afar. We do that as well.






She loves it all.






While the cow show moves on.






And others prepare for their turn. (If you've never seen grown men (or women)  fuss over over every hair on their cow's tail, you should at some point in your life visit a cow show. Or at least a county fair.)






This year (as opposed to previous years where she was really taken aback by the sheer size of these animals) Snowdrop is completely comfortable moving among the stalls of the "barns."






Indeed, it's hard to pull her away. But, the lure of play is a good one. In the late late afternoon, we're back at the farmhouse.






... where Snowdrop immediately dives into one of her many ongoing imaginative games.





I retreat to the sidelines. I feel confident that dairy expos, along with hoof trimming tools and milking machines are part of her vocabulary going forward.

Wednesday in Chicago

One day. One day in Paris, one day on the English Channel, one wet cold day in October, one day to take it all in, one day to make something of it.

One day with Primrose.

I wake up early in the home of the Chicago young family, but the little babe wakes up even earlier. I find her un-stacking rings with her mommy as I make my way to the living room. I saw her a month ago and all I can say is that a lot has changed in that time. So you're sitting now, eh? How about that!







Parents are off to work. Primrose stays home today to play with me. It's going to be a strangely hot day (indeed, in Chicago, the temps will climb all the way to 86F, or 30C and Madison isn't that far behind). Windy and very hot. Only today. Not yesterday, not tomorrow. We dress accordingly.

(Why is the marble hiding?)






Initially, Primrose is freshly puzzled by the flashing camera. It takes her a few minutes to remember that this grandma really likes to play with that little machine!






When she naps, I eat breakfast.






You could say that during a good part of the day, one of us is eating. And this is new, too: Primrose, in a high chair, eating mush.






And here's something old and so very endearing: Primrose remains a great stroller adventurer!






It's so very warm (as it was when I was here all those summer weeks), that I get this strange feeling of time standing still, even as Primrose galloped forward in her development!

Because the air is so balmy, so infinitely breezy and inviting (I'm remembering October 1st, which was quite the opposite), I take the little one on a longer walk. Ultimately, we wind up at a spot she and I seem to return to again and again -- Milk and Honey Cafe.






Primrose smells the foods around her. I know she does. (Here comes that camera game again!)






Is that ever a disappointed face when she finds out that only grandma gets to eat?!






As we walk back to her home, I look for signs of autumn. Still just a dusting of spent leaves...






...And only the occasional blushing maple branch.






And now we're home again, eating (and I mean real stuff, not just the new toy)...






... and showing me how much she has shot up to a whole 'nother level (I do have a hand out, just in case she needs the support, but I can almost feel her scoffing at this unnecessary little precaution). "Hey world, I'm standing!"






One day, one good day. Familiar, different, deeply satisfying, very full. As in the past, at the end of it, Primrose and I head out to intercept her mom as she comes home from work.






The little girl's delight is just so grand to watch!

And with that heavy sigh that always surfaces when it's time to go, I leave them to their play.






It's evening now and if I walk very very fast and if the L train isn't poky, I'll catch the 7pm bus to Madison, where Ed I'm sure will be happy to pop me some corn, no matter what the hour of my return.

Tuesday

Here's a way in which Ed and I are different (are you smiling yet? one way? really? only one?): Ed claims I overuse the medical system. I claim he under-uses it. I study and think about what may be working or not working in my body. He thinks not at all about his and ignores or sleeps off any sign of trouble (or what I would see as potential trouble).

If I ask him -- how are you feeling? He'll answer -- how are you feeling? The questioning session will end there. I doubt that he ever wonders about aches and pains or even acknowledges their presence. He is soon going to be 68. In the 13 years that I have known him, he's never gone to a doctor because of an ailment. (After I told him he needed to establish a relationship with a physician, he went once for a check-up that lasted five minutes.) That is not to say he would never go. He just hasn't deemed it necessary thus far.

You could say his approach is risky. That he may lose opportunities to better health. This is possibly true. I'll let you know if I outlive him. But the fact is, Ed appears to be a pretty healthy guy and equally importantly, he's a happy guy. I have spent my life worrying if one thing or the next is failing me. He has spent no time on this at all. I can tell you this for sure: he will one day die -- a man at peace with himself.

(Caveat here: he goes to Walgreen's and gets his flu shot and he is diligent about attending to his teeth and eyes. When told he needs cataract surgery, he decided to investigate clinical trials of new experimental techniques. Just because he thinks it would be interesting to learn about how that works. Ed is very big on learning stuff.)

Knowing this about us, you wont be surprised to learn that Ed somehow dodged the cold I'd been growling at this past week, nor will you be surprised that I decided to check in with a doc today to make sure my cough isn't a sign of something ominous or contagious (I am once again setting out to see my granddaughter in Chicago and I want to be sure I'm a healthy grandma). Over breakfast, Ed looks at we with wonderment. You're really going to see a doctor for that?





Perhaps predictably, the doc came up with some cough pills and told me I was not contagious. There! Isn't that worth a visit? Ed would say I learned nothing new.


In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop at school, but it is somewhat of an unusual day because I scheduled a haircut for the girl (parental request) and so we trudge over to the shop immediately after.

I am always taken aback when something reminds me how quickly Snowdrop (and indeed all my grandkids) is (are) leaping through childhood. It used to be impossible to convince her to keep her chin down or to sit absolutely still as some fast moving set of blades traversed her forehead. Not anymore. She is playful, but helpful and cooperative.











And full of good cheer.







(Back at the farmette, the chickens always want bread from us. Always. They have very long memories.)






(A skip and a bounce.)






And in the evening I am on the bus, munching on leftover red lentil soup, speeding to be with the young family in Chicago.

October Monday

Two beginnings: to a new week and to a new month. May the rest of the days not follow the lead from this one!

(Beyond the porch: cold and wet)






Sparrow, aka the flying penguin, is completely indifferent to what's outside. He comes in the morning with happy expectations.






Breakfast first! Well, my breakfast. No, sorry Sparrow. I know your cousin started with oatmeal yesterday. You're still a couple of months away from that privilege.






How 'bout you wiggle and giggle on the carpet while I finish the oatmeal that you cannot have? (He is so agreeable!)






We play.

You could say that Sparrow eats books right up!





I wish I could offer you a walk, dear boy, but I can't. This October weather is keeping us all indoors.

But in the afternoon, we do have to go out. It's Snowdrop pickup time!

It really is cold outside.






Cold and stormy. And there are at least two people in the car who hate being out and about in storms. (No, not Sparrow: he is indifferent to thunder.) As we pull into the farmette driveway, I strike a deal: you run like crazy into the farmhouse, I'll bring in Sparrow, and at the end of the game, you can have a cookie plus an Olivia video!

She runs in with ears covered.






Cookies and videos behind us, Snowdrop takes charge of our play. In drawers filled with odd pieces of baby stuff, she finds an old cap that I once used for her when she was a babe visiting the farmhouse. She puts it over Sparrow's head. He looks like a pilot, don't you think?






Snowdrop plunges into her game: we are going to the planet Saturn! She is the chief astronaut, he is the engineer! (Here she is, steering the spaceship.)

(Wait, why is the engineer dissolving in a fit of giggles?)






Toward the end of our time together, Snowdrop always needs moments to herself, with her own plays and characters. I come by to check on her, but she reminds me -- grandma, I'm in the middle of a story.





Why is she in a summer dress? Well, her class had outdoor recess. While I sat here griping abut the weather, the kids were outside playing in the rain and a lot of them got wet and so what? There's always a spare set of clothes to be found.

Sunday

In a month or two I will again get used to the cold outside, but right now, a walk down the farmette path requires nerve and determination. It's cold, wet and pretty miserable out there.







I am grateful that I brought back flowers from the market yesterday. Color once again becomes a welcome friend inside the farmhouse.






And here's another thing that requires nerve: as you may know, on Sunday, I clean the house. Because I've been sniffly, my work isn't as thorough as it otherwise might be. Ed does help by employing his robot friend to do the vacuuming. We try as best we can to make things tidy.

Too, I do laundry, which means that I take the rickety steps down to the basement where the ancient machines reside. (Yes, they are ancient. Ed picked up the broken dryer at St. Vinny's Thrift Shop and that was twenty years ago). While down there, I typically vacuum up some questionable dirt with the permanently positioned there vacuum cleaner. I mean, I would never bring that machine upstairs. Who knows what stuff it sucks in, what with mice, bugs and reptiles having the run of the land there! (Remember? I once found a snake skin in the basement! A snake skin!!) While vacuuming up a week's worth of stuff, I see a big puddle under the furnace. Ed!!!

He comes down, unscrews something, notices a stream of water gushing out, goes to the end of a long rubber hose, gives it a blow. I see backed-up water and yukky stuff come pouring out by the furnace.

You just blew back some yukky stuff!
What yukky stuff?
I can't describe it. Yukky.

We're at an impasse.

I tell him -- here, let me blow into the hose and you watch what comes out. Understand, this requires me to pick up the hose from the drainage hole where all bad stuff (sewage comes to mind) eventually makes its way to our septic system. But I want the furnace to function. It's so cold outside!
You're never going to blow into that!
Just watch me.

He gives me a look of utter admiration. I blow.

Eventually he decides that we've pushed a blockage through and all is probably trouble free once more. Time will tell.
Do you think I'm going to get some horrid bacterial infection from doing that? I ask.
No, guys don't ever get infections from doing stuff like that. And for this one day, you are an honorary guy. 

An honor indeed. Still, my lips feel tingly for the next hour or so, even after (maybe because of) thorough washing.



In the afternoon, Ed gambles his money away.

Yep, the same Ed who has no interest in doing anything with money, let alone gambling with it, is playing a Victoria University (in New Zealand) sponsored betting game. The point is to guess the odds of certain political and economic events. (You can read about this market here. I should note that it is a research project and that the betting sum Ed invested is $50).

For the rest of the day he tracks the market and finds his "investment" losing money. (The question he bet on has to do with whether or not Mr. Kavanaugh will get the needed endorsement from the Senate by next Friday. You can guess what Ed bet by my hint that he lost money in the course of the day.)



In the evening, the young family comes to dinner. Various members are no longer sick, others are just becoming sick. We are a motley crew. Well, maybe not. One rallies when food is before you!

(Snowdrop loves predinner munchies and conversation as much as we do.)







(Sparrow just likes being where everyone else is.)






(It only looks like corn is the one item served for dinner! Really truly there was more to it!)






One of Snowdrop's favorites things right now is to write a book. After dinner, she gets to work on it. Then she reads it to mommy...






Then to daddy...






And now that we're all familiar with her lovely work, she feeds us (toy) macarons.






It is a notable moment because (in a departure from normal Sunday behavior) we are all watching a Sixty Minutes segment, where Senators are being interviewed about the Thursday hearings, and there is Snowdrop, feeding us macarons.

Sparrow is more interested in smiling back and forth and back and forth...






Sweet little boy... So far from understanding (yet) what is going on in this room of familiar faces. Soon, Sparrow. Soon.