Friday

How ridiculously packed was this day? So packed that I am three pages from the end of a book I love, and I'm insanely curious about the ending, and yet I have not had the time to finish the damn thing.

No one wants to hear details of another person's busy day. One person's "busy" is another person's boring. So, just the highlights of "boring:"

The animals:
I was troubled to see Dance -- our noble girl who gave birth at the age of six months and yet knew to take care of not only her own brood, but also her half-sibs that her mom had left behind. She is our friend. She likes us and tries hard not to be afraid.

But she is sick. This morning, she came out of the lair we have set up on the porch just for a second, meowed, allowed me to pet her, then went back inside. She hasn't eaten for days.

Ed and I conclude that she should be seen by a vet. We so want her to survive this. It should be easy: close the "lair," take her in. Except that the door gets tangled up and in our struggle to release it, she senses entrapment and escapes. So no vet. (She returns later in the day. If she's not better tomorrow, we'll try again.)

Breakfast:
Lovely. No problem here.





My mom:
Lots of issues today. Several hours of conversation. With her, with her county case worker, with the government agency processing her application for long term care. And with Ed, who truly believes I need to read more and learn more before I make the final decision as to which agency to work with going forward and which program best suits her needs. (I myself think I've done my homework, but Ed always find details that require further investigation.)


And there you have it. I am still hanging on the phone over mom care issues as I walk up the stairs to pick up Snowdrop. Fridays are "just Snowdrop" days. The little girl tells me -- you're late! I'm not really late, but on other days, I'm early. Today, I'm not early.

I let the little girl take the lead on our Fridays together. Without Sparrow here, she has free reign. It's a good day to really make progress on our chapter book. But she wants to break away from the predictable. Instead, we read many, many picture books, most --  a trip down memory lane. Things she liked as a three or four year old. I realize that this is the true marker of the passage of time: when your grandchild starts being sentimental on you and wants you to reread books that belong to her "younger years."

As we finish reading, the snow storm sets in. We need to go soon -- I tell her. But I want to work on a book!



 



She works on a book.






She has to show Ed her book.





We drive home in a snowstorm. Is it a blizzard? -- Snowdrop asks. Hmmm... what's the difference between a snowstorm and a blizzard? Trust Snowdrop to ask the difficult questions.

It takes three times as long as usual to get her home and four times as long to drive back to the farmette. I use the time to review everything by phone with my mom. I know, there's snow. But we're all crawling on the roads at a snail's pace.

Finally. I'm at the farmette again. The snow hits us from all sides. It's a drifting blowing sleeting pounding kind of event. The worst of the worst. And, there's old ice under the snow. Snowdrop fell twice on her way from the car to house. Never mind. We're all safely in our homes! At the farmhouse, I cook up a big pot of chili. Dinner is very late, but very warm and comforting!

No, not done yet!

Furniture:
My mom is letting go of most of her bulky furnishings, including the two dressers she has acquired in Madison. One of them is a solid piece of wood and I want to swap it out with the cheap dresser I have at the farmhouse. Well, ours may be cheap, but it's heavy. We've listed it on Craigslist and we have a buyer. Near midnight, I empty it out, Ed takes apart the drawers, and we haul it downstairs for a viewing tomorrow.

I know, boring, right? Except in doing this, we want to move some Goodwill boxes into the car. It's getting too crowded with mom stuff in our mud room. Ed puts on his jacket. I shout out -- wait! Let me shovel the walkway first! If you trample it down, it'll be harder to clear tomorrow!

And so I shovel away the beautiful snow that fell all evening long. Light and fluffy. A bit windblown, but crystal clean and white. It is what makes for sublime winters here, in the Upper Midwest. Tomorrow, we'll have to find time to simply play in it. For sure.

Thursday

In the sun room, another orchid is in full bloom.






Good morning! What a beautiful day! A harsh day. Cold. Sick cat on the porch. Mixed messages from government agencies that should not be sending out mixed messages. Super cold! But beautiful. Especially at sunrise.






You may, by now, roll your eyes at this breakfast routine of mine. Every day a photo. The place of the meal does not change. We've not eaten in the sun room. We haven't gone out to Finca, the coffee shop, in a while. Same flowers on the table, same guy with, chances are, same t-shirt. Still, for all the grit and harshness to the day (so cold!), when I put up this breakfast photo I always smile at the recollection of our morning meal. Warm, milky coffee, oatmeal for both today, sweet fruits, gentle tones.






The sky is very blue. No cloud, no wind, nothing but that forget-me-not blue sky and sunshine. Still, it's so cold! The animals stay inside. Ed and I stay inside.

Until it's time to visit my mom.

She hands me lists of things to pack. My doctor said I'm going to live -- she tells me, as if to surprise me. Well yeah! Why else all this fussing with a very messy transfer. I don't repeat to her the statistic of 3.17 more years. After all, it may be more. Why make her feel life is finite...


I stop at the grocery store on my way home. There's a storm rolling in tomorrow. We here in Wisconsin know that the best defense against a snowstorm is not to go out until it's all done  )unless you have to). So, almost mechanically, we stock shelves and make sure we're covered for the days of the storm. May the snow be dainty and light. Pretty and puffy. None of this howling wind, dangerous blowing drifts, piercing ice stuff.

One can hope.

In the afternoon I pick up the kids. This is getting to be a long process. Snowdrop's friend likes to play with Sparrow when he arrives with me to claim his sister. Games and works aren't put away, back pack remains unpacked. Disengaging everyone from each other is tough. And still, you have to take pleasure in the kids' love of fun, in their playfulness, in their ability to make a game of just about anything, including going home.












At the farmhouse, we spin through the usual.











Including art.






A book is in the works. About super pigs.











There aren't many things that are more beautiful than these two working a their art at my desk.


And in the evening, Ed and I both set out to my mom's apartment to offload the couch.






Ed asks -- so, should we sell the desk? 

No! And really, there is too little time. My goal is to pack up and be out of the apartment by next weekend. January is moving ahead really fast. That's what happens when you have full days. Today was a very full day. Cold, but very full.

Wednesday

We finish part two of the application process for my mom's transfer to an assisted living facility. And now we wait.

Despite the (temporary?) lull in paperwork, much remains to be done with my mom's apartment and I have that unwelcome conversation with her (one of many) today about what to pack for storage (for her later use) and what to discard.

Ed, listening in on the telephone call, comments -- it's sad for her. She keeps repeating that she can't go back, as if to grasp the reality of that fact.

He is correct. She repeats "how am I supposed to manage..." as if there is an expectation that she should. And sometimes, in my desperation to keep all the details of the application, of the move, of her current placement in order, I find myself mechanically repeating stuff that I know she knows. She asks for affirmation of her condition, I offer it. Again and again and again. Still, maybe I should stay silent and just let her express her dissatisfaction with everything? Perhaps there is greater value in just being quiet? I am the only person whom she will talk to. She is firm in this. Just me. And so I wear many hats here: her personal representative, her accountant, her packer, mover, finder of next home, her sole link to the outside world, her listener.

Of course, as I see it, there is a future for her. A likely 3.17 years of life, by governmental accounting. I need to guide her to some aspect of life that's pleasurable. To focus on what she can do, because honestly, despite her age, she can still think clearly, read, write, move around - though in a more limited fashion.

All these are morning thoughts, though they come after breakfast.






And after animal care. I no longer report here on the details of their care. It's so fluid! Some cats are missing, others seem ill. Dance isn't eating, one of the teens disappeared a few weeks ago, Stop Sign comes back to eat but never with her kittens. Who knows if they're still alive.

(Here's our outstandingly good looking teen -- Dark Blue Indigo Tuxedo. The girl with the four names.)






The cheepers on the other hand are doing well! Two are now (occasionally) laying eggs. No hawks have visited the farmette lands this winter (so far). They eat, they walk, they sleep. Such an uncomplicated life!

And here is a random flash of color for you: it comes from an orchid that I have kept for many years, despite the fact that it hasn't bloomed since I acquired it some ten years back. Out into the yard it goes each spring, inside it comes each fall. But this year, the stars were aligned: unexpectedly, a branch of buds sprang forth. And now we have blooms. There is a moral to the story, one that has to do with waiting. I'll let you formulate it as you wish. Here's the photo:






In the afternoon, the kids are here once more.

(I've got a new running theme! "The boy with the graham cracker!")






Snowdrop and Sparrow are both affectionate and giggly today.

















There are worse ways to spend an afternoon than to be with kids who are in love with life!


A bitter cold spell is moving into Wisconsin tomorrow. We're ready for it. I think!

Tuesday

You learn things. Every day, you learn things, which is good because, at an advanced age (me!), if your mind stops processing new information, you'll walk yourself straight into a state of brain atrophy and resultant dementia. Still, some things you enjoy learning, other things -- maybe not so much. For example, I'd love to get back to refreshing my French. Instead, I'm stuck in a quagmire of forms and paperwork and details of someone else's (my mother's) life. And I don't care who that person is -- delving into their minutia is always a little... disconcerting.

But, as I said, you learn things: about yourself, and certainly about the person whose care has fallen into your lap.

First, though, there is breakfast. Somewhat rushed, because I have a lot to accomplish today. No kids -- they're spending time with their dad this afternoon. Just me and the chores.






I drive to my mom's apartment downtown. You can track the state of Lake Monona by these trips of mine! Lightly frozen today, with a thin coating of snow.





One of the day's tasks is to offload her couch. She wont need it, she doesn't want it anymore. Ed put it up on Craigslist and it's been an adventure. Each time someone wants to look at it, I have to drive downtown, so I limit viewing times to when I can take the time to be there. Today's viewer comes, admires it, asks me if I thought it would fit into his minivan (I've no idea!), breaks a lamp while measuring it (even though we'd provided measurements in the listing), leaves a twenty dollar deposit and says "I'll be back." Okay...

While there, I give myself the job of cleaning out my mom's kitchen of food. I thought this would be easy. Not so. Turns out my mom is a collector of not only papers but foods. I take four heavy loads of canned and boxed foods downstairs to the communal table. Lots and lots of duplicates, or triplicates. For example, a very interesting collection of unopened jars of cinnamon. A person could learn a lot about my eating habits by looking at the farmhouse pantry. I surely learn a ton about my mom's tastes and inclinations by examining what's there, hidden in the back of her cabinets.

Then comes the paperwork. I'm looking for one particular document and I find it, but in my search, I come across all those neatly filed pages upon pages, thousands of pages of, well, everything. Ed and I have by now moved most of her current life from all those folders to the internet. But some things remain stuck in the old world of a paper trail.

My life, Ed's life, our records and receipts -- these are by now online rather than in a folder stuck on a shelf or banker box. Still, I am from a generation of mixed computer skills. I think I'm medium savvy in working with this stuff online. Ed is of course super savvy. But, many people are less adept and far less trusting of cyber space. So the generation that follows us will have some clean up work: figuring out parents lives will be easy for some and a bit more muddled for those who have parents hanging onto the internet by a thread.

And here's a reminder to all of you: do leave a document for your sweetie or your kids with relevant user id and password information, so that they can access your accounts after you accidentally slip and fall into the lake and drown. Without a paper trail, they'll have a heck of a time cracking your codes if you don't leave them with some guidance.


In the afternoon, the couch viewer calls back. He wants to come late tonight and pick it up. Along with the hutch over the desk. (He'd asked if the hutch is sturdy enough -- he's got kids. I mean, I think it is, but what do I know! Should I worry about his kids? Should I tell him -- no, I can't feel responsible? Ed laughs: it's his decision, his responsibility, gorgeous. Not yours. Craigslist is like that: buyer beware! You could sell some child-killing-recalled device and be fine. Ed! What a horrible idea! Just sayin'...)

I want to say no. My evenings are sacred. It's our popcorn moment of calm. We remind him that there's always the weekend...

He writes back: my wife really wants it before the weekend. Smiley face.

The thing is, I know that craving to have a settled space.

Okay, I'll be there.

An hour later, another email: no, not tonight after all. How about tomorrow night?

Sigh... All this for a few more dollars for my mom's purse. Why not just donate the damn couch to a needy place? Too late now -- I got his $20.  Ah, but why complain? I'm in our warm farmhouse with the twinkling winter lights. I fix a supper of stir fried shrimp and sauteed veggies. Ed promises pop corn later on.

Monday

Three things stand out for me this morning: first -- how quickly routines can replace excitement, second -- how pretty even a light snowfall can be when there is no wind to shake everything off tree branches...






... and finally -- how much paperwork remains to be done to get my mom properly transferred to another facility.

You can grouse about all that bureaucratic nonsense, but honestly, it's perfectly understandable why it needs to be done. I filled out pages upon pages of an application for my mom, but these are just my words. Everything I put into the forms now needs to be proven with supporting documents. Of course it does. I'm not surprised nor annoyed. Merely a tad overwhelmed by the enormity of the project.

Breakfast -- the more colorful parts of it...






Afterwards, Ed jumps right into my task of gathering the needed receipts and statements. We spend the entire morning on this (and in the process, we unravel several puzzles in my mother's recent accounting; these need to be cleared up and... well, undone). By lunchtime, we're not even half finished. Tomorrow I'll have to chase down stuff on foot. But today, as the afternoon sets in, I need to quit.

Can we go skiing?
Do you think the recent snow has added a thick enough layer?
I do!

It's our first run this winter and oh, does it feel good to take a break from the paper mess!












Ed first learned to ski when he met me. He's now solid on trails, but he can be wobbly on the hills and with icy conditions, I worry that he will someday end up in the lake or glued to a tree...






Still, today he manages to stay upright and we have a splendid hour on an empty, quiet, calm, snowy trail, well groomed just minutes before we show up.






I am back to a routine with the kids. I pick them up at school, I bring them to the farmhouse. I was thinking today that kids do best with a lot of routine in their lives and, depending on the personality, a small chunk of excitement and adventure. So a return to a regular schedule is good, even if the transition can be rocky.

Not so rocky for these two. When I pick them up, they are happy little guys, despite the multiple excitements this past weekend.

(Snowdrop and her friend of many years show me their friendship necklaces)






Surely as we get older, our need for predictable routines grows. My mom's tolerance for adventure is near zero. Me, I'm still thrilled to have days of excitement. So long as the routines come back, the pace slackens again and the calm returns. Until the next adventure!






At the farmhouse, the  grandkids are rarely demanding. We read a lot...






There is always imaginative play...










And oftentimes they get lost in art projects. They never "fight," and their default facial expression is a smile.

Nonetheless, by the end of this particular day, I'm tired, or at least ready for some downtime. Popcorn time. But it's not to be. Ed and I resume pulling documents, creating files, uploading them to the website that demands them on behalf of my mother.

Only much much later, after a supper of reheated leftovers, after many attempts to get one or another document upload correctly, do we put it all away for the day and exhale.

There may be more snow tonight. Quiet snow, A thin blanket of calm.

Sunday celebrations

I've just run a marathon. It feels like that anyway. A marathon of very special events: holidays, birthdays, baptisms: within a period of two weeks, we had them all!

You want things to go well for your kids -- of course you do. When important celebrations approach, you just hope so much no one gets sick and that travel plans do not get disrupted by weather. That the little ones hang in there and put on their best smiles, not out of duty but out of sheer joy. That the food is fresh and honest throughout and that you have the energy to be of help. That at the end of it all, everyone walks away with a big, happy sigh of contentment.

We nearly faltered a couple of times. The weather threatened. The flu is making the rounds in Wisconsin. My mom had a rocky month.

Still, in the end, it all came together beautifully. Celebrations, one after the next. Always with family, with Ed. Little ones to catch and hug, big daughters to adore and admire, with Ed on the couch at the end of the day, asking me -- do you want some popcorn?


Okay, but how did this day turn out? Where were we on this Sunday with all our celebrations?

Well, I wake up to gray skies and very cold temperatures. The cheepers are most unhappy with the icy pathways. I let them out of the coop, they walk daintily from barn to garage. At the end of the day, they will reverse course: from garage back to the barn.






I fix a quick breakfast for the young Chicago family. We'll be in a hurry, so it's just fruit and bread product and coffee.






The two girls never say no to my fruit dishes.






Hey, Primrose and I are both wearing dresses with polka dots!






This is the day of Sparrow's baptism at Grace Episcopal Church in Madison. We hurry to get there in good time for the service.











The little guy is at an age where he is not going to go along willingly with all that is thrust upon him. Let's just say that there were moments of protest along the way during the ceremony. Nonetheless, all's well that ends well! Sealed with a kiss.






With the godparents.






With his aunt and cousin. Do you get the sense that Snowdrop and Sparrow are all photo-ed out? That if one more person asks them to smile for the camera, they might actually throw a minor rebellion?






My older girl holds a party for all her friends and family at her house. You can tell it's big when she goes the catering route. Delicious, warm foods, lots of Prosecco for the thirsty. With a toast, in honor of the little guy, who is hanging in there, considering he is way overdue for a nap.






(There are many people whom I know from my days at the Law School, and it's good to catch up a little with them, but ultimately, I am drawn to the ones I know and love so much! Like these three.)






(Let me reintroduce you to Sparrow's other aunt and uncle. You don't see them often here, because they cross paths with Sparrow's family mostly in Chicago.)






But hey, ultimately, the day belongs to this guy! Here he is, much relieved that he could finally take his shoes off. Turns out his feet grew so much that the parents could hardly shove the shoes on today. Oh well, I'm sure he could have been baptized in his snow boots. It would have been very "Wisconsin."





Oh man, do I love my kids and their families! I know, I know -- we all love our families. Still, at these milestone moments, my heart just swells with emotion!

Tomorrow, we return to our winter routines. Tonight? As I sort through photos, I turn to Ed -- I'm ready for some popcorn.

Saturday celebrations

On the downside, we wake up to some snow, not a lot, but a good layer, covering up an equally good layer of ice. That first burst of wintry mix was icy slick and except for heavily salted highways, all surfaces are, well, icy and slick!






On the upside -- oh, everything else! It's a full and beautiful day!

I clean the house thoroughly, even though we've moved tonight's pizza gathering to a more urban location (my daughter's house). Still, there'll be at least a few people coming through this way tomorrow. I also pick up chocolate cream pies at the bakery. And baked goods for breakfasts.






And now it's time to scoot over to the dance studio for Snowdrop's friend birthday party. I should say -- friend plus family, because many people have driven up from Chicago to be here -- aunts, uncles, a cousin, more grandparents. And of course, there are those who came in from the coastal states. It's a crowded place! Let's focus on the dancers. Or at least the birthday dancer, who chose Cinderella as the story to which they would all dance.

(I'm impressed with the fact that her dad sewed for her the leotard that she is wearing...)






(Sparrow, wishing he could join in...)











(the dress up and acting out part)











Cousin arrives from Chicago! ... and immediately heads for the art table...






Time to eat.






five...






friends...






The little guys go for a little romp. Sparrow really, really likes his cousin!






The party ends. We head out.






At home, Snowdrop's home, the day winds down. Just a few more papers to tear off...






Pizza: fresh and local.
















Yep -- Sparrow really likes his cousin.






How to end this photo run... this day... How about with a photo of my daughters. It all began with them, and then another generation got added...






Good night dearest children of mine!