this day belongs to Ed

Did I herald this day with enough enthusiasm? Hard and loud? I did. It was to be a beautiful day here at the farmette!

Unfortunately, after our usual relaxed breakfast (or maybe even before?)...





I realized that I am one sick cookie. Please, do not mention cookies, nor any food at all! Don't even mention tea! Bleh!

I told myself to get up and do stuff: take the mind off of the bod, focus on the day ahead. I vacuumed the upstairs.

Then I sat down on the couch -- no, actually reclined on the couch -- covered myself with a quilt and remained thus for the rest of the day. With the exception of a ten minute foray outside: to watch Ed fix the walkway...






... and then to put in at least a few tomato seeds into the cups with soil. 25 actually. That's it. I'm done. I return to the couch and Ed finishes the planting. 96 little containers total.





Phew, such a beautiful day -- for Ed, I hope. For me too, vicariously.

Friday

You know how sometimes, in the middle of winter, or toward its end, there will be those two or even three glorious, warm days -- unexpected but so terrific, portending of things to come? Days that remind you that winter is just a brief nothing, that spring is there, waiting to regale you with its bounty?

We never had them this year. It was just one linear slog through winter messes, with a couple of Arctic dips to really freeze your knuckles.

But this weekend (and I count Friday as the beginning of it), we are finally stepping into some unseasonable warmth! You can feel it, smell it, love it. And we will!

First, though, it is still foggy and cool. Chores await.

Breakfast -- somewhat hurried because we both have our Friday line up of activities.






And then the sun comes out and the kittens play and the rooster crows and most importantly, the stalks of spring flowers do a significant push, so that you can see the daffodil buds, formed and ready to pop!






(The cheepers, in love with this weather, enjoying their favorite cafe-like spot under the lilac bush...)






In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop. I do not know what got into her, but she is on a roll with books. I spend 2.5 hours reading: two (looooong) chapter books and a handful of picture books that she dug up from the past and in which she now finds new meaning. There are no photos to be had from an afternoon of reading.

Toward the end of her visit, Snowdrop returns to her pretend play.






But it doesn't follow standard play lines. She tells me she is speaking in a new, made-up language.
What is it? -- I ask -- Snowdrop-ish?
No, Gogs, the name of the language changes all the time.
She is so expressive, that the meaning of the words ceases to matter -- the emotional tone says it all.


Outside, Stop Sign hovers. We're dishing out a lot of cat food these days. She's eating for a whole new family once more.






Evening. We're eating eggs again. We'll never make a dent. The girls keep laying. Every day. Eggs, filling our refrigerator, eggs, piling up everywhere.
Ed, we need to do something with all the eggs.
Okay, gorgeous. 

He's not really listening. He's enjoying a documentary on the New York accent. An hour of listening to his people. A grin never once leaves his face.

Thursday

In my view, it's the kind of day where any resolve to increase physical activity has to be fulfilled indoors. So it's back to the treadmill for me. With an incline, to satisfy my picky doc. So tedious, but hey, I'm motivated.

Outside, the animals seem oblivious to the cool winds.





Stop Sign, our mama feral cat, has been more present lately and I think I can confirm now that she is again pregnant.

That's not a fat belly full of food. There will be another batch of kittens if all goes well for her.  But this does put us on notice: we have got to get that girl to the vet! To our credit, we talked about doing just that! But she gave us very little chance. We could not take her away from Dance and Jacket until they were able to manage the bitter winter days on their own. And as soon as they were weaned, she started wandering again.

Ed asks -- she's hanging here now. Should we take her in, fat belly and all?
How is that different from what the village people did back in Poland, when I was little? (Sometimes, when playing in the river, we'd find dead little kittens floating with the current.)
So, we take her in after she gives birth?
Again, not immediately: she has to care for the new ones, if they even survive.

It's a cruel world out there for little ones living in the wild.

On the upside, maybe she mated with Whiskers and we'll have ourselves a litter of kitties with bobcat faces and Maine Coon cat furs. (Friends tell us that Stop Sign has the face of a bobcat -- aka a lynx.)

Breakfast. I'm giving Ed a photo break.






In the afternoon, I bring Snowdrop to the farmette. How the girl loves the cheepers! She tells me now that her favorites are Happy and Cupcake. She hasn't noticed that Cupcake hasn't been with the flock since January.






But were she to ask, I no longer worry about explaining what happened. She is aware of hawks. She has recently seen movies that are not shy about introducing a vocabulary of death and the dying (Coco and Moana come to mind).  Nature is still full of magic for her, but the realities of surviving in the wild are slowly making themselves visible.

Inside, our play is without such violence. The books we read have uniformly comfortable endings. The games she invents are full of mishaps and perturbations, but they, too, end well.






Recently, Snowdrop has fallen in love with building stuff and there is plenty of time to create Amazing Structures.






And since it's Thursday, I get her ready for gym class. She spends a good half hour flying around the farmhouse in anticipation of her class and for once I'm glad she napped in school and had a big, nourishing snack.







The girl is off and away. Outside, cold stuff is falling from the sky. Inside, Ed and I talk about planting tomato seeds this weekend. I reheat yesterday's soup, squeeze a lemon into it and sprinkle each bowl with grated cheese.
Great dinner, gorgeous! 
Sometimes, Ed is not very fussy about what I serve.

Wednesday

Have you ever been near a crowing rooster? Most of you will say "yes, of course." But if I ask if you remember where and what rooster, possibly you'll draw a blank.

I grew up around roosters. Living the first three years of my life with my grandparents in their rural home in Poland and spending nearly every summer of my childhood back in that village house put me right close to more than one: the neighbors raised chickens. There was plenty of crowing, all day long.

Madison does not permit its residents to keep roosters. The noise they make is viewed as an irritant. Me, I'll take a rooster's crow over someone's incessant wind chimes any day and don't even get me started on a neighbor's loud music. A rooster's crow still conjures up images of a simple life, of dirt and toil, of spring sprouts and a bee's hunt for the sweetest pollen.

Yesterday, Snowdrop heard Happy's happy crow. She was taken aback. He repeated his performance. She was speechless.

Perhaps she wont remember the experience five, ten years from now. Still, I'm glad the crow came from Happy. Maybe her images later in life will be sweet as well, since he is one good, beautiful chicken!

(Two chickens and two kitties.)






(The rooster.)






Breakfast.






In other news, have you ever heard of pickle ball? I was chatting today to my sports doc (the one who counseled me in the weeks after I sustained a knee injury back in December) and we reviewed sports that might be fun, at the same time that they would not ruin my knees.

Is tennis ok? -- I asked.
Why don't you try pickle ball...

The things you learn in your doctor's office!

The topic of sports had come up because I received a reprimand from another doc (this time of year seems to invite doc visits, rechecks and follow ups). He said bluntly: you don't exercise enough.
Whaaaat? I am constantly in motion! The opposite of a couch potato!
Let me repeat -- he said calmly. You need to exercise more intensely.

Immediately after returning home, I took out the bike for the first time this year and pedaled to Goodland Park. Past our very rural and very pretty, if still brown, landscape.







In the afternoon, I brought a very sleepy Snowdrop back to the farmhouse. The girl never takes naps. Except in school. Today, she was so sound asleep, I could hardly wake her.






As always, a good book will swing her mood.






And of course, today brings with it a return to Storybook Ballet (with the bonus of seeing mom there just before class).






(The story is a Grimms fairy tale. You could almost guess that from the costumes.)






(When she is happy, the smile is never far away...)






Evening. A pot of soup simmers on the stove. It seems right for these early spring days. Let me rephrase that: a warm pot of soup is always a good thing to bring to the table at the end of the day.

Tuesday

Our chickens have always been brave. It's funny that you'll say someone's a chicken when you want to impute cowardice: given the chance, the cheepers show terrific fearlessness. At the same time, they seem to know their limits. They'll take their nap nestled under the cover of a bush. They fly up barn walls in the evening, waiting for Ed to bring them down and lock them in a coop. And they'll never, ever venture out onto the road.

I always smile when I see them working the front yard. Someone driving by must wonder -- why doesn't that chicken cross the road?? They all come pretty darn close to the edge of it, but they have never shown any inclination to set a claw on the pavement.






At breakfast time, Ed and I talk about voting in our local elections. It's hard to figure out who stands for what in these small town races. We tried hard to research positions and platforms and came up with little more than platitudes and sound bites. It's tough to be an informed citizen!






In the afternoon, I bring Snowdrop back to the farmette. She is showing me her squishy ball. She wants to bring it to share and tell in school. The rules are that you shouldn't bring toys, but rather, things that are made or created. She explains to me -- you can make anything out this squishy ball, so it's not really a toy. For example, you can make a door bell! Ding dong! See?






Typically, when we come in, she insists on a book, then she launches some pretend game. Ed is usually on the couch working on his computer. Today, she gets curious about what he's up to.






It turns out he's taking a break and watching some clips of interviews of Pearl Harbor survivors. I tell him this is extremely inappropriate to share with a 4 year old, but Snowdrop is fascinated, so I let her linger for just a minute.
What just happened? -- she asks, when there's footage of a war ship suddenly coming under attack.
I glare at Ed. How are you going to explain this one, pal?
He thinks for a bit. People do fight. This is no news to her -- she comes home with endless stories of playground disputes. Still, she asks -- why?
Oh, many reasons. Some people want to take charge, some people are just bad. Really mean.
I quickly add -- but most people, they're good.
Yes, he agrees, most are good.
Cardinal rule: never give a kid more information than what she asks for.

I pick up a book with far less problematic subject matter -- about French Toast and Lady Pancake. Ever hear of it? It's pretty funny!






The sun comes out in the late afternoon. Warm, gold, reassuring.

an April Monday

It seems like a long time since we've had a routine going here, at the farmette. The disruptors have been numerous, of varying importance. Animal chaos. Rooster additions. Kids, sick, Ed sick, Nina -- well, maybe, who knows. Travel -- mine, theirs. Celebrations! Yeah! Spring break, end of spring break, ice, no ice -- I mean, none of it unusual, much of it beautiful, but still -- routines were shattered in March.

With April, we return to a ho hum steady pace.

And because it's Monday, I begin the day with Sparrow's visit. I've seen the guy here and there all month long, but it's been a while since I've had a full set of hours just with him.

It's funny to see him trailing his cousin by just those couple of months. He'll be more upright soon, but he doesn't know it yet. For now, he just really likes to sit, or jump.

It's very easy to get him to smile. Maybe too easy. He's a happy guy! But in taking those joyful pictures, I lose some of the other expressions that we are so familiar with. Let's consider the wider range of Sparrow faces:






Hold it just like that, don't smile!






(Ed has no trouble reigning in the grin!)






(The timed releases are as fun with him as they have been with every grandkid at this age!)






But in the end, I succumb. Go ahead, little Sparrow: let that smile take over!






I had thought we'd spend some time outside, but I changed my mind. It's just chilly enough to keep me in the farmhouse. I understand it -- it's April. Readings that are just above freezing are not unusual. But they do require bundling up. We pass on that and instead, explore the world of Snowdrop's baby toys and books at home.

(While the cheepers romp...)






(Loves those "lift the flap" books!)






(Always amused by Ed...)






And as on most other ordinary Mondays this year, in the afternoon, I go to pick up Snowdrop at school.

She's a sleepy, tired girl, but I convince her that this picture is worth the effort. She is standing in front of a field of snowdrops!






At the farmhouse, a solid book reading period revives her. We play!





It's a long game and it involves a lot of movement and improvisation.


Such a normal day! Such a great day of April Foolishness and of sweet, sweet play. Giddy spring frolic, full of effervescence, full of plain old fun!

the pleasure of a rerun

I have wondered in recent years why Ed and I so rarely go out to dinner. (He'll ask, I'll say - no thanks...) And why, while in Warsaw or Paris I always repeat the restaurants. Same ones, again and again! Twenty years ago, I would have unabashedly called myself a foodie. Discovering new and exciting eating establishments was at the top of my list of indulgent pleasures. I moonlighted in a restaurant for several years so that I could be around food and ultimately, earn some extra money to spend on tasting new styles of cooking here or abroad. I looked forward with a passions to dinners eaten at carefully researched restaurants.

It's not that I do not like good food. And when I travel, I still look forward to dinners or even lunches, but something has definitely changed in my attitude toward eating. No, I'm not less adventurous in my tastes -- I still eat most anything that is fresh and honest. But what I really love is not the adventure, but the repetition of the known and loved.

And so it was with lots of smiles that I read this piece about eating by the former food critic of the New York Times today. It seems my habits aren't that different from those of the famous food writer Ina Garten, who is cited as saying that, at 71, she and her husband "go to the same restaurant over and over again until we just can’t do it anymore, then we go to another restaurant over and over again until we just can’t do it anymore. And that can last two years."

It turns out that at a certain point in life, new becomes less exciting than familiar and beloved. And I suppose that extends beyond food. Always Paris, always the same hotel in Paris, and even (when I can afford it) the same preferred room in the same preferred hotel in the same old Paris. With the same restaurant for lunch and a same one for dinner -- as if there weren't a million choices in this city of great eating.

To pull out another quote from the article, one wise old (or at least old-ish) person says this about eating out -- "I used to care about being entertained, and now being soothed feels more important. Life, it turns out, is hard." Indeed! Food and eating out serve a different function now. They are the balm rather than a new and exciting discovery. And if by some stroke of genius you find something that pleases all the senses -- you hang on to it. For a long long time.

I think the realization that we do a lot of repetition bothers Ed just a little. He'll mess with his salad a bit so that there's something new about it. And today, as I set out to do grocery shopping, he asked if I could look around for some nuts that are not the same old almonds peanuts and cashews. The guy's a real innovator! Perhaps if you stay home as much as he does, you dare yourself to at least occasionally step outside of comfy foods. Although when we do go to a restaurant, he'll look at the menu and if he finds mussels and fries, he'll order them. Always.


All this dinner talk comes on a day when I am not cooking Sunday dinner for the young family! It's a slow paced catch up Sunday for me. Plenty of sunshine, though still with that March nip in the air. A visit with the animals...


 








... breakfast, of course (same old!)...


 



And a lineup of farmhouse tasks.  Tomorrow, life returns to normal patterns. That is, until it surprises us. It's a given that there will always be surprises. Except (if I can help it) at meal time.

celebrate

In our family, birthdays are a big deal. It's not that they call for big parties. When the kids are young, there are friends, sure, but typically just a handful of close ones. Among the adults, the celebration most often centers on family.

We pull together on that special day: the person in the position of great honor is made to feel like it is her day. If she likes chocolate, there'll be chocolate. Or, if she is like Primrose and likes lemons, there'll be a lemon cake. We can't always all gather for a birthday, but for a grandchild, you can be sure that we all try our hardest.

And so it is no surprise that on Primrose's first birthday, the family descends. There are the grandparents who live in Chicago. And the grandparents who split their time between Florida and Minnesota. Then there is the young family in Madison -- all four of them. And there is me. And Ed. And a couple of best friend families who live in town. With babes. We all come together today to wish the girl a happy year ahead.

My post will be entirely on this topic because my day was entirely on this topic. Pictures here will be of people you know. (The others belong to a separate family album.)

Primrose, time to get dressed!






("What's mom doing??" Let's go see!)






You want to ride over? I can do that!






Mom is putting the finishing touches on your cakes!






Dad and one grandpa bring in the balloons!






The two youngest cousins eye each other...






This is the young couple responsible for it all!!






Guests arrive. Snowdrop has been so excited all week long about this party. She and her family drove in to Chicago yesterday. Ed had been sick for several days, but yesterday he rallied and this morning, before dawn, he caught the bus to Chicago to join us.






Snowdrop brings her share of presents...






The cousins, all munching on toddler crackers.






Lunch includes quiche. Primrose loves eggs, which is terribly amusing as we now have three dozen eggs at the farmhouse. The cheepers are laying like crazy. I must bring this child here for a few weeks so we can make a dent in the egg supply! (Snowdrop helps with the balloon.)











... a classic: with egg on her lovely face.






My younger girl...






And now is the time for cake. Three cakes actually, but only one gets the important candle. YOu have to wonder what the little girl is thinking!






("Are you sure you can blow that out, mom?")





THE family.






Older sister joins in to admire, to love...






Primrose does a fine job on the cake. Most went in the mouth, some went on the floor, some went everywhere else.






Presents!






Snowdrop, keeping an eye on things...


 



The Madison young family...






And unfortunately, there comes a time when you have to say good bye.






The wonderful thing about birthdays is that they mark what's to come, not what has gone by. Have a great year ahead, rather than -- my, the best is behind you.

As Ed and I take the bus back to the farmette, I have this whiff of nostalgia. We used to travel this way from Chicago, in the years when he and I flew to distant places from that city's O'Hare airport. We'd try for the front seat of the bus because there's where he could best stretch his long legs. We'd keep an eye out for seniors, because those front seats belonged to them, should they board the bus.

These days, we're the seniors. Returning from a birthday celebration of a grandkid.

A beautiful celebration of Primrose.