Tuesday

They say there is a sun, bright as ever, behind the clouds. If that's so, then it surely is doing a good job of concealing its existence. They say:  just you wait! It will come out again. I look at the weather maps: not today it wont. Not tomorrow or the next day, or the next day, or the day after. Cloudy and cold, cloudy and cold, cloudy and cold.

Fine, I'll just stay indoors. (After the animal feed.)

Breakfast.






We are about to enter Act III of my mom's transition. You could say Act I was the stroke and the resultant hospital and Rehab Nursing Home stay. Act II was the application for long term care and the move-out. Act III is going to be the new normal for her (and thus for me): working with a Managed Care Organization ("MCO") in an Assisted Living Residence. But today I am in a do-nothing state. I have to wait to be contacted  by the MCO. We'll meet, evaluate, select, apply and eventually move my mom into her new place. But for now, I have to do nothing.

I love having the obligation of doing nothing! Love, love, love it! I fritter the morning on reading this, answering that, thinking about the other. It's all very wonderful.

And the afternoon is good as well: I pick up the kids at school...

It can be a challenge to have them both here every day. I used to be able to stock the farmhouse with toys that I knew would appeal to Snowdrop. Books that we could read together. Her place space wasn't large, but we found ways to be expansive.

When Sparrow started school and thus joined us at the farmhouse, I tried to imagine how this small play space could accommodate both, given that they are 3.5 years apart in age. The complicated tiny Lego building projects were put behind a gate. Duplo Legos which target the  2- 5 age bracket were left out for Sparrow. I thought I would be straddling the two spaces.

It didn't work out that way. Snowdrop lost all interest in building Lego sets. The age requirement for them would be 7+ and so she needed a lot of help. I can't do that when little Sparrow is here.

Snowdrop also lost interest in playing with her babies. They were a vehicle for her storytelling, but such stories involved my participation and somehow my inattention now, with an eye turned more toward Sparrow's safety, caused these games to fizzle. Most often the babies are ignored.

Both kids want to play in each others space. He wants to be where she is, and on most days, she wants to be where he and I are. This leaves us with basically three activities and these days, we mostly run through two of the three.

The first is reading. That does not change. Sparrow sits with us as we plow through chapter books. After a while he gets restless and brings me his little books. I pause and we read his little books. Then return to the chapter one for Snowdrop, only to be interrupted again a few minutes later with a little one. We can do this, going back and forth for a good while.






The second surefire is art work: both kids like it, though Sparrow still does very basic scribbles and so after a while he'll look for a greater challenge. Like stacking markers, or taking caps off of them and mixing them up. My role is to make sure he doesn't start painting the walls.

The third -- the Duplo little kid Legos. Snowdrop has found them to be good tools for story telling and Sparrow loves being able to play with the same toy as his sister, no restrictions, no barriers.






(with a break for cat watching by Sparrow...)






Evening. No moon, no stars. We watch serious documentaries. But, there is popcorn. And there are twinkly lights. And blooming potted orchids. And reheated vegetable soup. Not bad, eh? No, not bad at all!

Monday

If I were the "easily frustrated" type, today I would have been easily frustrated. It's a gloomy gray day and somewhere in some news story I read that we have 51 more days until spring. I'm sorry, but that seems like a lot. I prefer to think that we're nearly done with January, that February is very short, and that even the first days of March portend spring. Doesn't that sound better?





Cats. There's some good news, even as I did not dwell here on last week's iffy news and so you wont appreciate it. Nor is it totally good news: sometime in the middle of the night, Stop Sign's little kitty came back. He and his sister (the gender is a guess) had disappeared a couple of weeks ago and we assumed that they were dead. We do have a lot of coyotes near us. Well, the current theory is that they got lost and one of them made it back. He was so hungry that he screeched by the door to get our attention. Ed was up so he got his food.

This morning, the exchange between Stop Sign and the little one was telling: she accepted him into the lair but fought him off when he tried to join her for breakfast. And she teaches him exactly those bad manners. When later I bring out food for him, he utters a little hiss, even though he knows I am bringing him food. The two of them are the world's grouchiest cats!

(the little one)






Breakfast. All good. No frustration there.





The rest of the morning is devoted to mom stuff. Petty frustrations throughout.

No kids today. Just mom stuff. I visit her and guide her through some paper signing with one agency person standing by, handing one sheet after the next. This should have been straightforward. It wasn't straightforward. Too, she asked for one more thing out of her old apartment. Dang! I had already given permission for the managers to enter it and take away (as donations) any and all items left behind. I don't want her to be charged February rent.

And so after my visit, I hurry over to the apartment one more time. I get the item she identified today (phew!) and the two chairs she changed her mind on last night. However, stuffing the two chairs into my small car is a problem. I try the trunk. I try a folded down back seat. I try the front seat. Ed happens to call just then and suggests the roof. I have no straps to tie them there so I shove them somewhere between the front seat and my lap. Driving back is an adventure. I can shift gears into the first, second or third, but I'm not so sure about the fourth and fifth. Just as well: I cannot buckle my seat belt, so going slowly is probably a good idea.





At the farmhouse, it strikes me that Ed and I are in a very serious mode. This stuff with my mom is serious. Too, we've been reading too much news. Laughter has fizzled. It's all sweet and kind but still,  somber tones are the new normal. Perhaps it's inevitable. Nonetheless, I'm hoping for a reset to cheerful in the days to come.

So, a day littered with small issues. Perfect material for major frustration. Still, I'm not the "easily frustrated" type. Give me something to chuckle about and I chuckle. Tonight, as Ed pops some corn, I suggest we start with a few episodes of "Curb Your Enthusiasm" before moving onto Band of Brothers. Laughter, followed by humility. It's a good combination.

Sunday

Early in the morning, I feed the animals...





... then feed us.




We're in a hurry: a truck is waiting for us at the house of a friend of a friend (Ed's truck is out of service for the rest of the winter season). We'll be using it to move my mom's stuff into storage so that she wont be obligated to pay another month's rent come February 1st.

It's a large truck, with a cab that has a back seat. We stuff it to the max and in piling one thing onto another, we're able to move all the stuff that I deemed worthy of taking in one trip.





I had been fretting about this for a while, but in the end it was doable. With Ed's hand truck, we were able to transport even the heaviest pieces of furniture first to the elevator, then to the truck and finally to the storage shed. (It would have been so much easier if we had had full use of an elevator, but the building manager did not make it available for us and so we had to make do with a lot of threatening beeping and buzzing!)

Afterwards, we return to the apartment and arrange all the stuff for donation (meaning things I deemed not worthy of a move to assisted living) neatly. We cart out endless loads of what my mom may have called "collectable items," but I call trash. (There's lots of plastic unfortunately.) One last look at her old apartment and I turn the key on that chapter of her life. (Or so I think then.)

We have one last lug: of an old dresser that we had bought for her when she moved here. She doesn't want it, preferring a more conventional one off of Amazon, so Ed and I are taking it back to the farmhouse. It's so solid that no kid can turn it over under any circumstance ever. (As opposed to my old dresser, now in use by a UW math student... remember that story?) And this is actually the hardest part of our day: lugging that monster up our narrow farmhouse steps. For me, the steps just kept growing in size and toward the end I swear I had to hoist the damn thing up ten feet into the air (or so it seemed). But we manage and now everything is where it should be. For now. Once my mom's new residence is secured for her, we'll put on our moving caps again!

Late in the afternoon, as we collapse on the couch at home, Ed asks me -- so why would you feel anxious about the move? You do it and then it's done. Why fret?

Why does anyone fret or worry about the unknown? Why not just accept each day as it unfolds, take on each challenge, walk through it, move on to the next?

I suppose because we are not all like Ed, who moves at his pace without ever contemplating that the world may come crashing down around him. And if it did come crashing down, he's sit there under the rubble and remove one board after another until he could get himself up to move on to the next task. With a solid pause and a nap on the couch in between.


In the evening, I take note of two things. First, I call my mom and find out that she changed her mind about relinquishing a couple of chairs. She wants them back. It means another trip back to her apartment. They may not fit into my car. Sigh...

The second thing is light and lovely: the young family is here for dinner. The five photos below say it all.


























Later, much later, Ed and I watch episode 6 of the mini-series we'd been occasionally plugging into -- the Band of Brothers. It's a World War II drama -- a good one to watch on days when you're feeling whiny about the drippiness of any particular January day. Your peanut issues seem even more peanutty. I mean, really really peanutty.

The farmhouse is warm, the dinner was so good, the candle burns slowly, the night is quiet, the popcorn is near perfect. How lucky can you get!

Saturday

As I ride the bus through sloppy snow showers, past foggy landscapes, I think less about the mess outside, about the mess in Washington, about the mess in my schedule this week and more about the wonderful young families in my life. Happy, hard working, with generous hearts and healthy spirits. Good people that do so much to make me smile.


I have only a half day in Chicago. And looking back on it, I see that there definitely is a food theme to it!

Of course, we start with a breakfast. A mini meal for the adults, somewhat more milky crunchy and substantial one for Primrose.







And is it coincidence that immediately after, the little girl turns to her own pretend cooking?






And pretend ice cream eating?






(I smile when I recall her real eating yesterday evening: I opened a bucket of real pickles -- made with salt, rather than vinegar which in my Polish opinion is a cheat. I wanted to cut myself a slice and Primrose insisted on eating her own whole pungent pickle. She's got Eastern Europe in her blood for sure.)

And do you really think it's just chance that leads her to pick the book about pizza for a repeat read?






(I did say "repeat read," didn't I?)







Our bigger meal (aka brunch) is at Lonesome Rose. I love this place as much as Primrose does (though she opts for the tacos, while I pick a tostada).






It's just the right amount of food and the atmosphere is always cheerful and welcoming. And they cook well too! Such a bonus!






Oftentimes I linger with the young family after a Saturday brunch. We may visit a bakery, a coffee shop, or a toy store. But not today. I need to get back to the farmette and get ready for tomorrow's move and the week's tasks.

(walking in the direction of the L train that will take me to the bus station)


 


It will not be an easy set of days, but again, it hardly matters. The young faces are before me and their smiles are lovely and contagious.


At the farmette, Ed has done a good bit of tidying, sparing me the normal Sunday clean up. I cook up a big pot of vegetable and bean soup that will last us into the week. It's always good to have a pot of soup ready and waiting, don't you think?

Friday

If you are the type of person who easily gets despondent when dreary weather sets in, you'd be in trouble today. Another inch of wet snow fell overnight, but Madison temps are rising above freezing today and anything more that comes down from those gloomy gray clouds is bound to be super wet and unpleasant.

I have a list of early morning phone calls and I'm tempted to get to them before feeding the animals, but the cats are at the porch door begging and so I relent.





As I set about filling the cat bowls with food in the sheep shed, my phone begins its relentless ringing. (I left messages up and down organizational chains and now come the call backs.) I am amused that this noise -- of my cell phone playing Vivaldi's Spring (which has been my ringtone for years and years) -- terrifies five of the six shed cats. They abandon their food and scramble to escape. It's quite the sight to see the whole bunch of them push to get out an opening that can just accommodate one cat. Only Dance looks up with indifference. I would say that she is, by now, only a little feral. The others are still one foot in a human space and one foot out the door.

Breakfast. Ed and I review the weekend ahead. I'll be coming back from Chicago late Saturday and on Sunday we are planning on moving my mom's stuff out of her apartment. I am apprehensive. Ed assures me that he will take all heavy pieces of furniture apart so that we are able to carry them. I don't quite believe him. The young family has offered assistance, but I will have none of it. I may be insanely busy, but they are all super insanely busy. If we can, Ed and I will do it ourselves. If not, we'll worry about it next week.






One last look at the farmette lands, in their winter rest mode...





And I'm off to spend 24 hours with Primrose and her parents.


Chicago's weather is even less cooperative. The city's snowy surfaces are melting. It's foggy and I'm expecting a barrage of rain. It's a mess out there!

I hoist my duffel bag over my shoulder, zip up my jacket and take out my umbrella, just in case. Primrose and I can take a little rain, right?

(pause for "lunch" at a coffee shop...)






I pick the little one up at school... (just starting in on post-nap afternoon snack)





... and we walk home. Salty slushy puddles are impossible to step over. But we manage to just barely beat the rain.


Home at last. I throw down all the damp stuff and turn my attention to the little girl. She is just about 22 months old now -- a happy, spunky, curious toddler who sometimes still seems close to the toddler of yesterday, but more often, she acts as if she is awfully close to little girlhood.






So many new words! So many playful gestures! (It's interesting to me that none of my grandchildren belong to the broody quiet genre. They all clamber to be heard and Primrose has a vocabulary that allows her to get to the heart of what she wants.)






It's a spirited and splendid afternoon!






In the evening, my daughter and I go out to dinner. We're celebrating her birthday! Our meal is at the wonderful Daisies Restaurant.


 


On a wet wintry day, can you think of something better than a plateful of extraordinary pasta?

It's a beautiful evening. You can't let the weather get to you. Nearly always, it's what's inside that counts. Especially now, especially when you're with people whose smiles and laughter warm your heart and soul.

Thursday

A gentle snow fell on our farmette lands, covering all that was messy and trampled down, confirming once again the beauty of a winter in Wisconsin.




My morning walk to feed the animals is short but oh so sweet!

(all, waiting for breakfast)










Ed would have preferred to sleep in (and by that, I mean way past a decent morning hour). An evening of volley ball followed by a night of reading wipes him out. But, I shouted up to him that it's now or never. Breakfast is ready and I'm going to eat it. I have a full morning before me!






He comes down. The sweet thing about the guy is that he always opts in for breakfast.


Despite the snow, the rural roads are drivable. This is good, because I have two more assisted living places to visit. Perhaps you remember that I'm looking for a place for my mom and I toured one in Verona two days ago. I liked it. (In these searches, you have to force yourself to ignore the reviews. I've been warned about that: someone has a bad experience with the food or with an attendant and ten relatives write scathing comments. It's very rare that satisfied customers go to the trouble of posting remarks. So personal inspection is essential.)

Last night, I found two more places that could potentially offer housing for her. The first one is in Oregon -- another suburb of Madison. I really wanted to love this place, not only because it's ten minutes up the road from where we live, but, too, because it's close to downtown Oregon (library, park, even a swimming pool).

So maybe I'm influenced by the pretty snow, or maybe the place brings forth memories of winter weekends in New England (in the years I lived in New York), because it does look to me like one of those older residential buildings straight out of Vermont. And there the prettiness ends. It's drab inside. Needs a face lift. Sort of like the motel that once may have been pretty, but age has done nothing kind to it. Ed later tells me that he expected as much. The older assisted living homes do not have the money for any major facelift and these structures just do not age well. So if you were on a road trip, wouldn't you choose the newer motel, rather than that old drive up place where the air conditioning rattles and the bathroom sink shows decades of use?

I suppose it's all in what you need. This small place (with terrible views -- which to me would be a deal breaker right there!) offers a level of coziness and care that my mom would not like but someone else might relish. It does appear to have a very dedicated staff. Still, it would be a real step down for her. (Even though she has been living in a very uninspired downtown building, her apartment is clean and fresh. Or at least it was clean and fresh before Ed and I tore it apart.) She has had enough steps down in the recent months. She doesn't need another one.

At around noon, I visit the last place on my list. This one is in Fitchburg -- another suburb of Madison. This one is also close to me, though I honestly don't view that as a benefit or liability. I drive up to a decent enough building. But again, once inside, I am disappointed. The rooms are tiny. No kitchenette, not even a refrigerator. Older people, yes, of course (one woman beats my mother at 98!), but also an older interior. And a little too intimate. One big happy family, unless you don't like each other -- then not so happy.

I am so glad that the first place I visited was pleasant, or else I'd think we were in for sad times ahead.


From the assisted living property, I drive past the lesser lake (frozen, with ice fisher-people) to pick up the kids at school.






Happy kids...






Busy kids... ("can I finish this project?")






At the farmette, I bring out the sled. I mean, if not today, then when? Snowdrop reassures her doubting brother. He relaxes. He's thrilled!






Inside, we yet again go back to the book making project.





But not only. We play ball. We do puzzles. And we read. How I love books for kids! They have just the right amount of child impishness and adventure in them to make a reading time come alive. On a winter afternoon, they are like a warm quilt for the soul.


Evening. Ed and I read through the documents posted about my mom's benefit eligibility. We have a number of questions. That's a task for tomorrow morning. Early. Because by 10 am, I will be on the bus to Chicago.

Wednesday

It's the kind of day where you dutifully walk from one place to the next, one assignment and then another, one job done, another still ahead. March briskly, look ahead, proceed in an orderly fashion.

Breakfast first.





Then it begins: throw in a load of laundry, fill the tank with gas, visit mom, deposit some papers to the medical staff, go to grocery story to do Friday shopping now, because I wont be here Friday to do it then. Unpack groceries, make a second cup of coffee, get kids.

How easy it is to fill a morning!

Perhaps the highlight here was my pause by the rack of seed packets at the grocery store. Should I pick up some ruffled cosmos? Nasturtium? They do run out sometimes... How about some California poppies? In thinking about these flowers, I start looking ahead toward the next season -- one where I wont be quite this busy. One where I can actually dig holes for new plantings and snip hundreds of spent lily heads. That season will come. But for now, the march is on: one task, followed by another and another.


The kids do put a (temporary) halt to everything. I have to pay attention now to their quick movements. They are, of course, as sweet and charming as can be, but if the afternoon is to be productive and well spent, sitting back and admiring their charm is not the way to go. I should be guiding them now and though I may sometimes take a backseat to their games, the need for a gentle intervention -- a push or prod, is always there.

Today, Snowdrop and Sparrow play very well. We read, they do art, they do puzzles. And they cavort on the couch.

(reading snack)




(on a cat patrol)




(working on another super pig book)




(going for an orange segment)




(keeping watch)





And then they go home.

And Ed goes off to play volley ball with his group of winter volley ball enthusiasts.

And I research every listed assisted living facility within spittin' distance of here. It looks like next week I'll be negotiating my mom's acceptance into a place that will have an opening for her. The comparison shopping (and I do not love shopping!) starts now.

Tuesday

Well, I'm cheerful. Try to knock me down for it! Go ahead, just try.

See? it didn't work. I remain cheerful.

You could say it's the sunshine effect.






I don't dispute that sunshine in the winter is like mac and cheese on an empty stomach. Still, there's more:

We're getting closer and closer to spring. You don't yet feel it in your bones, but the days are indeed longer (sunset today: 4:55 pm) and the time to start looking at flower nursery stockpiles is upon us. Just one or two more day lilies! Just one or two! Take, for example, this one: avante garde. Don't you think it has "farmette" written all over it? Expensive, to be sure, but maybe just one?

But we don't talk about flowers just yet. Breakfast...





... is reserved today for discussing the details of my mom's move. I had a very depressing set of hours over the weekend researching available assisted living options for her. Most places weren't willing to consider her. I had visions of being left with nothing more than a room in a one star rated house at the edge of a forest in northern Wisconsin as an option. My mother is not an "edge of a forest" type of person.

Still, one place in Verona (a suburb of Madison) didn't exactly say no. I mean, they sort of said no, but nonetheless, they were happy to meet with me to discuss her case. To listen to my description of her interests and disposition. To show me what might be available. Maybe.

And so this morning, after breakfast, I drive out to Verona. Alright, it's not central Madison, but since my mother has reduced mobility at the moment, does that matter? I felt trepidation. You know how it is to be on the housing market: you set out full of energy and optimism and then you walk into someone else's cluttered space and you wish the design was a tiny bit different, well, a lot different, and the carpet has dog stains, and the living room window looks out on a ten lane highway, and your heart sinks because there just isn't anything better in your price range? I was thinking that my hunt for my mom would follow this pattern, even as we need a place for her and we need it pretty quickly.

And lo! Honestly, in my opinion, the place is just lovely (meaning their marketing team presents the place well).

All this is a tiny bit premature in that I still haven't heard about her eligibility for this next step. But I'm doing my homework and the first visit was a good one!

I suppose there is a bit of a let down: the place comes completely unfurnished. This means that Ed and I have to lug dressers, tables, chairs and bookshelves out of her current place, into a truck, then into the storage unit, only to move it yet again once a place is identified. There's a lot of lifting and moving before us.

Still, there is hope for a good outcome!

To celebrate my bouncy mood, I suggest Ed and I take a quick walk in the county park just up the road.






And now it's time to pick up the kids.

(Sparrow, want to take your cap off??)






(Snowdrop, currently in love with these chips...)






(Playing with letters: Sparrow, can you say the letter "O"?)






(Snowdrop: that's pretty funny!)






Toward evening, I take the kids back to their house, pause for a few minutes to check in with my daughter, then proceed to meet up with my former colleagues for a quick dinner at a small Indian restaurant we like.


So it's a full day once again. But a kind day! A sweet day, with a continuous sprinkle of good events. And a reminder that spring is not long in coming.