then and now

Today, we reach a high of 51F (10C). This is shocking stuff for January. True, there have been unexpected warm spells in the past, but for our family, what stands out is the comparison between this and the reading for this day four years ago: on Monday, January 5, 2015, the high was just 1F (-17C).  That's a fifty degree difference!

Why compare these two dates? Well, it was on that coldest of cold days four years ago that Snowdrop was born.

Today, the sun is streaming in, the snow is melting fast.






(The older girls, looking very much like they're sunbathing!)






I have things to do! Most important is the baking agenda for the morning: a cake must be made!

I pick something that is an old family favorite. Indeed, a very long time ago, my daughters would routinely request it for their birthdays. It's Maida Heatter's FBI cake  (found on p. 64 of this book) - a combination of deliciously satisfying chocolate and a very simple frosting of whipped cream. Because it is for a girl who has an ongoing love affair with cherries, I use defrosted cherries for the cream between the layers.






For the top? Well, aesthetics prevail: I stay with fresh strawberries.






Breakfast. In sunshine!






Because Snowdrop's birthday falls on a weekend, her parents fill her day with stuff that is precious to the little one. A party with friends and family is set for next weekend. Today, Snowdrop floats between gifts, outings, playtime and favorite foods. I join the young family at the Overture Center for the Performing Arts. There is a juggling show taking place at 11 and the place is packed with kids who have been cooped up at home for too long! (School reopens in Madison on Monday.) Snowdrop is mildly impressed with the juggler's talents.






(My daughter and her daughter...)






And since we are quite close to my Mom's apartment, we pop in for a quick visit. And if the span of temperatures hasn't impressed you, surely this will: nearly a century separates the days of birth of these two (my mom is, of course, 95).






On my way back to the farmette, I pause at the coffee shop by the playground where Snowdrop and I so often go after school. It feels so mild, so Alpine with all that winter sunshine beating down on the cafe's patio! I wonder why other cafe customers do not take advantage of this singular moment of sublime winter warmth!






I call Ed and ask him if he'd like to take a walk this afternoon, but he is adamant: you've been on your feet too much. Rest that knee!

Well, fine. I spend a good half hour soaking in vitamin d on the cafe patio!


And in the evening, the young family brings Snowdrop for a farmhouse sleepover. She continues to love her nights here and still regards it as a most special treat to eat a pizza dinner with Gogs and Ed (can we please make our own?) and of course, tonight, the mood is quite celebratory.






Still, Snowdrop, like perhaps any other kid, does like to keep much of the familiar order of things in place. I'd set the table with her at the head today. Right below the Happy Birthday sign. Special honor for the birthday girl! She is horrified and quickly moves the dishes around so that she would be in her usual spot to the side of the table.






And, she likes to be involved. To help with the preparations. Cake time? She takes charge of putting in the candles. And why not?! She is no longer three and a half.






She is four.






Stubborn candles!






There! Got them all.






There are farmhouse presents, of course (though I dare say if none were offered, she would not have noticed... not tonight anyway). I'd guess the binoculars, the flashing unicorns and the shadow puppets tickled her the most.





















It's clear that her normal bedtime will have to be ignored. That I will need to read many chapters of a book to put her in the mood for resting. And still, it is a hefty amount of time before she can let go and fall asleep. She is back to Gaga now, falling again into the language of her younger years. Because, well, it's comforting to know that some things don't change, even after you turn four.

Friday

I am fairly sure (though by no means certain) that if Ed was panting his last breath, if he stopped eating and shriveled to nothing and could not articulate a clear thought, if his arms and legs would not respond to prompts and if his eyelids remained in a shut position -- if all that happened, then he would have me call the clinic to make an appointment to see a doctor. I have such confidence (though not total certainty) because after all, why else would he spend the money on Medicare insurance premiums? He must envision a circumstance when health care would be warranted.

But anything less than that -- forget it. If I have to hear one more time -- it's just a cold, I don't need to see a doctor, I will surely slam the door in his face.

In fact, he's probably right: he has a second cold on top of the first one. But you don't go see the doctor (necessarily) to make yourself feel better, you do it to make your partner feel better (or at least to get her to stop asking every few minutes -- are you feeling okay yet?).

On these beautiful January days, we've been seesawing between sniffles and knee swells and sniffles once more, feeling like this unusually warm winter month is somehow passing us by.

Still, sniffles and stiff knees not withstanding -- it is a beautiful week indeed! Stepping outside is total pleasure.  We don't wait for the other to feed the animals in the morning.
I'll do it!
No, I'll do it.
We both do it.

(It never fails to surprise me that Stop Sign is afraid of the cheepers. One cat paw on their noses would send them running, but she prefers to simply side step and keep her distance. As Ed said, it's kept her alive this long, so she must know what she's doing!)











Breakfast, early because I need to fit in a grocery store trip this morning.






And in the afternoon, little Snowdrop is at the farmhouse. I emphasize "little," because it is the last day when she is merely a three year old (no, three and a half, Gogs!). Four, to me, seems closer to school girl status. The toddler years are done. I watch her play, so often independently, always creatively, with that clever edge that she develops as she learns to finesse her own stories in life...






She doesn't want outdoor time today. Ah well -- it's getting pretty soppy out there. I expect by tomorrow, most of the snow will have melted.

We end the day playing with her Polish wooden carvings. I'm sure they were never intended for this, but today, they dutifully stood in line for ice cream, then visited an art museum. 






Nearly four... Do you remember being nearly four?







The sun is low now -- so pretty to watch its fading light on the farmette lands!






Snowdrop returns home. Ed and I finish the construction project Josephina and Benjamin (the pretend construction crew) had started.

Go easy on your knee, gorgeous!
I'm glad you're feeling better, honey pot. You're feeling better, right?
Yes, gorgeous.

and now it's January 3rd

No one is more attuned to the cyclical patterns in life, the seasonal shifts and the progression of calendar months more than the gardener. And after decades of devotion to perennial flowers, I am, for better or worse, a full fledged gardener. Not a pro, just a very serious amateur. (Anyone who devotes a huge amount of time to a craft can call herself a serious amateur, but for Pete's sake, be serious about it or you'll fall down to the status of a mere dabbler!)

Right about this time -- oh, maybe the third day into the New Year, something happens to spark your enthusiasm for working in the yard again. For me, it's the arrival of the White Flower Farms catalogue of flowers. I order very little from it: I can find most perennials locally these days so that it makes little sense to spend money on shipping stuff here from Connecticut. Still, these plants people were my first friends some thirty years ago when I began to grow my own day lilies and phloxes, irises and blue bells, wild indigo and delicate coral bells. (Oh, even spelling out a few flower names puts me in the mood!)  In sentimental appreciation, I pick up the catalogue and look for some small plant that surely should be added to my (already very full) garden.

That catalogue came yesterday. Our days are deceptively warm this month (just at freezing in January? How can that be??) and so you could almost imagine that spring is indeed in the works for us -- it's there, next in line, waiting to surprise us with her grandness once again!

No one, absolutely no one loves the coming of spring more than a gardener living in Wisconsin. Don't even try to talk me down on that one.

But for now, let's enjoy the utter beauty of a sunny, not too chilly January day.

(A little bit of red, a lot of white, and a touch of blue...)






("Please, can I have some more? I'm extra hungry on sunny days!")






(When everything sparkles!)






Breakfast. ("Sunshine makes me sleepy...")






And in the afternoon, Snowdrop, the original queen of winter sunshine and snow, comes here to play. I can divide her afternoon at the farmette into two: the indoor hours and time spent outdoors. Sure, minute for minute, I admit that indoor time ruled. Photo-wise -- that's another story. It was just so beautiful to romp with her in the fading light of a winter afternoon! Of course the camera worked on overtime!

When she comes here after school, Snowdrop needs time to revamp her energies. But on these vacation days, she is ready to go! Today, she picks up on her Antarctica voyage.







Not for long though. We're back to restaurant work. And construction brouhahas. [I've set up a construction site next to her dollhouse. Toy trucks are heaving dirt and bringing in timber. The construction workers -- especially Josephine the cement truck operator and Benjamin, the plumber -- are working around the clock to put up a house extension by Saturday. A new family is moving in. All the way from Japan! That's the set up. Hey, we've just finished with Christmas and boom! -- the little girl has a birthday the day after tomorrow! I have to be clever in creating something fresh for her for that day!]


(Creative cooking: she is making pepperoni snaps!)






(A moment of hunger: she finds the loaf of Challah!)






The artsy hour!






And now, finally, she is ready for the great outdoors. It's after three and the sun is low, but not completely out of range. It's just a touch above freezing, but the snow is solidly in place. Sled time!  I worry that my knee isn't up for it. Ed has a resurgence of the sniffles so it's just me and Snowdrop. We head out!






Well, we're never really alone. The cheepers hurry to keep up with us!






The perfect snow angel...






And again the snowball throwing championships are on!...






We're by the great spruces and she finds her hidden castle within their fold.






And then I coax her into the wider world beyond. Why not step out into the field of snow just to the east, where construction crews have been digging and leveling the ground for months on end? It's beautiful pristine snow -- a magnificent playfield!












Foot prints and long shadows...






Let's hold shadow hands!






She is a bird with hawk-like wings!






(Tracks...)






We may have stayed in that field of snow far longer, but, with every minute, the sun is less warm and the cheepers grow hungrier. Time to head back...

(Can I give them their corn? Of course...)







Toward evening, I drive the little girl home. In the car, we sing songs from the Muppets Christmas Carol and watch the sky pick up the golden pink colors of a setting sun.



For all your notes and emails yesterday -- thank you! So much!

Ocean 15

Yes, it's been fifteen years. The first Ocean post went up on January 2, 2004, when I was 50 years old! A mere babe, playing with technology, shunning a chunk of privacy in favor of writing and eventually writing aided by photography. (Or is it photography aided by writing? It depends on the day!)

It's not true that everyone was on board from the get go. (Nor is it true that everyone is on board with the effort now: just ask some of my Polish friends!) But my daughters and then Ed (who burst into my life one and a half years into the blogging effort) were solid: this is what you do. It's your "art," your quirky habit. We will stand by you.

Without that, Ocean would have died. As it is, I plunge forward, despite the early technical difficulties (try posting ten years ago when you're camping in the Rockies, hiking the Appalachian Trail, crossing Scotland on foot), despite the late nights when the eyes wont stay open and the closing sentence in a post eludes me. Go to sleep, Gorgeous. I'm not done! I'm stuck!

But why? Why does she write, every single day, even when nothing happens to warrant our attention? Why always the breakfast photo? (Here's today's!)





Why all these grandmother thoughts and images of happy kids? (You'll see them today.)

Why carry a camera on every walk through Paris? Why write about skilled waiters in faraway restaurants, about loyal friends no reader has ever met, about a farmette life where we don't really farm the land we live on? Why write at all, why can't you just enjoy the moment?

There are a thousand reasons I could offer you and still the list would be incomplete. And so I'll just offer one: do you see our awkward yet bold Peach navigating the path to the barn, going at it alone, even though some would say she should stay put in the safe shelter of the barn? She walks the path, because she can. She hopes for a good outcome at the end of it all. She can't be sure, but she tries.





I write because I can. Decades of fussing with writing (I've been pulling stories from the day since I was eleven) has made me a careful storyteller. Surely not a great storyteller, but a careful one! I write for me and you, looking for a line that will make clear something that may or may not be obvious. Something that speaks to the gentler side of life, because that's where I like to put all my eggs at the end of the day.


And what would I pick from this day for an Ocean post? The snow, the girl, the playfulness of the afternoon.

(School is still not in session. I bring Snowdrop home for some solid playtime here. It's a cold day, but she does not want or need a jacket for the brief saunter to the farmhouse door. Ed is quite like her: note the shorts and the absence of even socks.)






(Story time!)










(Outdoor time! She wants her baby sled.)






(Angels!)






(Snowball fight! Hers is a gentle battle.)














(Challah: mmm, good!)






(Hot chocolate: Snowdrop loves it in principle.)






I join her in a snack. Gogs, she tells me, don't eat while you're talking!

We both laugh. I'm often Gogs now. I can almost see the beginning of an eye roll. But not yet. Instead, she pulls up a storage basket, sits herself in it and announces that we're all sailing for Antarctica!






Onward, Snowdrop! Onward, Sparrow and Primrose! Onward Ed and Gogs and farmette life! Onward, Ocean, too. Happy sailing indeed!