and now it's Friday

Sometimes I think I should reinvent my retirement. Not the part that includes grandchildren -- that's all fine as it is. It's those other hours. Yes, this week is rather unusual, what with Ed's eyes flipping out and causing issues, but were it not for that, I would be doing something else that somehow wouldn't make it to "the most interesting ways to spend your retirement hours" list. When I worked, I fit all this nonsense (the chores, the tidying, the chores) into a few spare minutes of the week. And Ed and I still hiked and biked and hung out at cafes. There weren't little ones in my life, but there was work and a lot of it.

What I have found (and I'm sure that many retired people are just like me) is that when the last necessary chore is finished, when the little ones have gone home, the couch is awfully tempting. A quiet few hours reading, writing, or watching a ridiculous movie with Ed seems blissful. Taking on the Greek language, learning how to whittle, experimenting with new ways to pickle foods, or learning how to make stained glass windows -- those kinds of projects fall to the wayside. (No, I don't really want to study Greek. It's just an example of how I once imagined that retirement would include embarking on any number of new learning opportunities.)

You can't grow wiser if you stand still. Despite my mad dashes here and there and nowhere this morning, I would say that I actually did a lot of standing in one place.

Still, it was a pretty enough place. In the morning, I took a more serious look at my garden. There is a lot that should be done with the flower beds and I did spend an hour doing some minor trimming. Mostly though, I just looked. (From the porch...)






Ed and I eat breakfast in the kitchen. Mornings are rather chilly. The lure of the great outdoors is fading rapidly. Cozy comfy warm seems preferable.





Then comes the shopping washing oh, you know, the stuff that should have been done in an hour but somehow took up the whole morning.

In the afternoon, I play with Snowdrop.

(amazing what the little girl can do with school paints...)






(a milkweed leaf offering to two butterflies circling the flower bed...)






And toward evening, I see Sparrow. Was it just two three days ago that we crossed the Atlantic?






Good night, little Midwesterners! You, for sure, will not bypass the best adventures!

Is it Thursday?

Perhaps being elsewhere hasn't completely left my system. As I was driving Ed back from his post-surgical appointment in Janesville this morning, I thought -- wouldn't it be wonderful to stop at Finca Cafe (down the road from us) for a late breakfast there? Maybe a croissant and one of their sweet pastries? I miss having an unhealthy breakfast!

Ed was agreeable and why shouldn't he be... we just spent another night and morning trying to cope with his eye issues. We are finally feeling confident that things are going well and so here we are, at Finca, both of us lost in our computers, though in the most congenial, sweet fashion. This is the way we do cafes together.





I suppose there are any number of ways in which I have not fully returned. There is no rhythm yet. No established pattern. We take each day as it comes.

And each night, too: at around 1 in the morning, a pack of coyotes came to our yard, barking and howling so loudly that I felt sure they were taking part in some drunken brawl, perhaps in celebration of their latest raid of a farmer's chicken coop. Or of garage kittens. I was very relieved to see all little cats accounted for this morning.

(the one-and-a-half month olds: two are so different from the rest that we sometimes wonder if it's possible for a cat to carry two litters at one time!)






(meanwhile, Happy remains happy and the flowers move seamlessly into their autumnal period of rest...)











One foot in, one foot dangling somewhere in travel still. Suitcase not unpacked (so unusual for me! I typically do this within an hour of returning!), plants not inspected, nothing accomplished really except this drive back and forth and my return to the routine of picking up Snowdrop after school.


As if to keep pace with everything else right now, the little girl and I have ourselves a packed afternoon. Oh, there are the usuals -- book reading, snack devouring... But, too, we fit in a solid lego expansion to the current pretend set up...






And, too, we help her feed the littlest of the kitties.






This is rather intentional: when outside, Snowdrop moves quickly and the cats are scared of her. But the littlest guys are our best pals and so it's not too hard to get one or two to relax when she is nearby. For Snowdrop, this is very rewarding. This little guy (girl?) does not mind her gentle fingers on his (her?) coat. She is ecstatic to be so close to "the cutest one!" (she hopes that this will be the kitten's name)






From cats, to market: it's Thursday and normally Ed goes over to our local market to do an exchange of eggs for cheese. But the guy's still suffering the side effects of eye surgery and so Snowdrop and I do the job for him this week. And while there, she and I pick up a huge load of tomatoes from Natalie's -- our annual supplier of tomatoes for a whole winter season of chilies.






As you can see, Snowdrop is in her dance clothes. This semester, she dances on Thursdays and I am quite amazed that we are not late for the class. (As she explained to Natalie -- "I like the part where we dress up and act out stories...") Today's story? Peter Pan. With Tinkerbells fluttering up and down the dance floor.






You could say that I'm floating as well, suspended up there, between this place and that, even as I ground myself more and more in the details of farmette life.

after the trip

It just so happened that I returned from our vacation to a a fast paced day. That's not a perfect way to reenter routine life, but it could not be helped.

Ed flew into Madison close to midnight, and by 5 in the morning we were getting ready to head out for his eye surgery. He had picked a hospital in another town and that seemed not such a big deal when we initially talked about it, but today, it was a bit chaotic. I drove him there, then hurried back, because tradition has it that I am there to take a photo of Snowdrop's "first day of school." Of course, any number of people are perfectly capable of doing this as well, but I enjoy this ritual and besides, I wanted to use the early morning to at least do a mini grocery shopping. Ed does clear out the refrigerator when I'm away.

If I'm tired, I imagine the kids are equally worn out after the long day of travel. But, they're young and resilient. This morning, they seem happy to plunge into their routines with their usual zip and zest. (Sparrow starts school in October and so he is home with a sitter while the parents return to work.) Here is Snowdrop, ready to run up to her classroom and greet her friends (she spoke of them constantly during our travels, which was delightful, since after a day in school, she is often quiet about the details of her day).

("first day of school")





Immediately after, I return to the distant hospital to pick up Ed.

 (along the way...)






We eat breakfast close to noon!






It's a cool day and I spend not a whole lot of time outside. The garden looks autumnal, but I wont post pictures of it just yet. I haven't really inspected it much. There hasn't been time.

I do hang out for a few minutes with the kittens. The littlest ones are adorable -- especially the scrawny one who alternates between wanting to climb up my leg and chasing Mama Dance around, trying to still get that last bit of milk out of her. Ed tells me he has seen all the cats -- including her half siblings, snuggle up to her for milk. Talk about familial closeness!






In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop.










We read three chapter books in close to two hours! I could not have indulged this during our travels. Today, she more than made up for it. (Afterwards, she constructed elaborate setups with her various characters and legos. They had elements of the present and of places she had traveled to this summer.)


Evening. Sleepy, after a busy set of days. But have I been so preoccupied with life's demands upon my return, that the trip is now no more than a vague memory? No, that surely isn't the case. A travel moment will flash in my mind and I'll let it stay there as I reflect on its significance. The garden walks in Paris, the museum visits. Eating meals in restaurants, with kids, in that formidable culinary capital. The secret cove in Brittany, the delicious seafoods, the ever popular pizzas. Oceanopolis! And that grand old city with the young vibe -- Amsterdam, with the crazy bicycles, the comfy trams and my absolutely beloved little hotel by the canal!

How about the more challenging moments? Do I think about them now? They do come back, but at this point, I just smile at the ridiculousness of the situation! Carrying Sparrow (who is at this point too heavy for anyone, let alone gogs!) around the museum, so that Snowdrop could revel in the Impressionists... Uff! The sleepless nights in Paris, possibly because of the street traffic, but more likely because jet lag going to Europe always hits me hard. Uff! Dragging suitcases to the train station! Uff! A squirmy child on a long train ride, too much sand coming in with us from the beach (so much sweeping!), a disappointing crepe meal, and even more disappointing -- restaurant closures by the sea. The broken stroller in Amsterdam -- yes, all these funny, ridiculous details that make for such a rich experience!

But now, of course, we are home and September is rapidly moving ahead, reminding us that life doesn't let you rest within the embrace of memories. You go forward, a bit dazed still, but so enriched, and at the same time ready to plunge into the next season, and the next set of adventures.

the trip home

Good morning, Amsterdam, one last time!





Even under the best of circumstances, the trip home, with a one year old in tow, cannot be easy. For me, there are additional layers of complication. At the end of last week, Ed had a death in his family and he is, as of this morning, on a flight to New York for the funeral. His phone stopped working and so I have no way of communicating with him. And communicate I must, because he is to receive the schedule for his eye surgery, to take place tomorrow. It'll take place in Janesville (slightly under an hour south of Madison) and I'm to take him there and back. Somehow this is to fit in to the otherwise more predictable schedule -- Snowdrop's first day of school, my pick up of the little girl, etc. Ed's to go back to the hospital for a follow up the next day. The idea was floated that he and I simply overnight in Janesville, depending on the scheduling of it all. Which we don't know and wont know because I am over the Atlantic and he is in New York, without a phone.

But all this has to be put aside for now, because we have the big job of getting ourselves home today.

Travel over the Atlantic requires either nervous rushing (will we make it?) or big blocks of waiting. Both kids are, for their ages, great at coping. And as I look at the handful of photos, I see that they were asked to wait quite a bit.

Breakfast. Snowdrop peels her egg, Sparrow simply stuffs Dutch cheese in his little mouth.











(My own breakfasts have varied here. Today's picks...)






On this last day of the trip, I should include a Goggie photo (I've been renamed) with the kids. Because of course, on this trip, they are so much my focus!






And now we're rushing and waiting.











Get the bags down, leave the hotel, check in with the airline, argue but without hope about the disappearance of our bulkhead seats, file tax rebate forms, go through security check (such friendly agents!), passport control, find out about flight delay, ride the moving sidewalk, and wait some more.





The flight today is unusually long: about 9 hours in the air. We take a very northern route, right over the belly of Greenland.  Has the hurricane pushed all air traffic upwards?

And here's perhaps the biggest surprise of the trip: both kids were angelic during the entire long day of travel. Snowdrop lost herself in videos, asking nothing more of us then help finding the restroom. Sparrow? He was all smiles all the time. He napped for maybe 40 minutes. During the entire flight he was on a lap, mostly mommy's (though twice I took him for a run down the aisles) and he chortled and cooed and endlessly pressed the TV screen in front of him. Of all my travels with the little guy, this was (shockingly) his best performance ever.

And finally we are in Chicago, and my son-in-law picks up the car and drives us all home.


Reflections? Not tonight. It's late and Ed should be flying in soon and of course, we must be up and tending to medical stuff at day break.

I'll say this much: travel, especially to distant places is intensely memorable. True, you can insulate yourself from most hassles by spending a fortune on smoothing wrinkles, by having others step in and solve your problems, but even if I had the financial resources, I wouldn't spend them in this way. Facing the headaches, figuring out ways to cope -- that's all part of the glory of being in strange places. Using your inner strength to help your little one overcome a rising meltdown in a Parisian restaurant is gratifying, for both of you! You learn and with little ones, you teach.



At home, the kittens come running. Cheepers too. They haven't seen food for a whole 12 hours! The littlest cats climb all over me, the adolescent six are also much easier to get close to. I can tell Ed's been spending a lot of time with these cats in my absence.


It's late. I'm terribly tired. And happy.

Amsterdam one last time

One last post from Amsterdam. Tomorrow, we travel home.

I've been good about fitting in Ocean updates, if sometimes in a hodgepodge fashion -- a paragraph in the morning, a sentence and a few photos in the afternoon, a final sack of stuff in the evening. But today, time is precious and, too, there aren't too many windows of opportunity, so I'll be frugal with text and concentrate on putting up the memories in images and even those will be perhaps less artfully presented. Still, you'll get an idea of our last day of adventuring in this water-logged city.

It is a day of perfect weather. Sunny, just a tiny bit cool, refreshing!

(morning view from bedroom window)






Breakfast -- downstairs. Snowdrop discovers she loves hard boiled eggs, Sparrow finds a new love of aged Amsterdam cheese. Thinly sliced.






And now we begin our very long walk, aided here and there by tram rides. Highlights? Well, a return to the Rembrandtplein...
















Crossing one of the older draw bridges...






To the zoo! And what an expansive zoo it is. So many animals! Visitors are remarkably close to many of them. Is that a good thing? It certainly encourages personal responsibility.






What?? Penguins again?!






A rest...






A slide...






Outside again: lunch. At a pizza place.






The walk resumes...






And here, we hop on a tram to give us a few kilometers' break... (Sparrow's not quite done with his slice of pizza!)






To Amstel Park, where Sparrow finally gets a little time to romp while Snowdrop climbs the various structures.






(Happy guy...)






And again we walk... Until the next tram ride.






And no, it does not end there. Back at the hotel, Sparrow naps, my daughter and I pause for a drink in the "library" room.






And we're all off again! Walking toward the harbor where we'll eat dinner. (Blue skies with us, all day long!)






(Strong little legs!)






Dinner at the Grand Cafe 1884...






And from there, it's just a medium walk and a medium ride and then walk again to an ice cream shop. A neighborhood place. A couple stops by, a young mom and her four year old and their dog, and us...






I'll end with the heroic travelers, chocolated up by ice cream, still with that sparkle in the eye and a ready enthusiasm for whatever comes next!






Tomorrow -- Madison!