Thursday

Let's talk numbers.

I wake up this morning to a big chill. High of 9F (-13C). And it's not going to get any higher than that. Stuck at 9. Which is 20 degrees warmer than tonight's temps: we'll be going down to -11F (-24C) tonight. Which is cold, even for Madison. Add to it a gusty wind and we're talking a windchill of -30F (-35C). That's painful. I mean, we've been there before. This is no record for us. Still, no one likes to tread down that frigid path.

The cats are wise. All eight spend the night in the sheep shed. Yes, eight. Six sheep shed cats plus the two little ones. The young newcomers are still unsure of what's what. When I come in to feed them this morning, they leap up and out the cat door. I imagine they'll get used to our coming and goings.

Breakfast.





On my (mental) list for the grocery store, I have listed the usual flowers. I buy some every week -- whatever is cheap and lovely. Of course, picking up anything the day before Valentine's Day is a challenge -- not for want of bouquets, but because everything is suddenly not cheap. Nonetheless, Ed will have wanted me to get a bunch of something nice and the grocery store's nicest selection is in the roses.

They are charging $19 for two dozen. This I view as an unnecessary extravagance. I'm sure it's targeting the guy shopper who wants to appear over the top generous to his girlfriend/spouse/partner (forgive the gendered pigeon holing here -- I'm just making guesses now).  Me, I can't fit 24 roses into my little pitcher. I would prefer to spend $12 (of Ed's money -- remember, it's his gift) for 12. But, I live in a land where less is most often not viewed as more.

(twelve roses fit perfectly!)





In the afternoon, I pick up the kids in my usual way -- first Sparrow, then up the steep stairs to get Snowdrop. On Thursdays, I always run into the grandparents of the girl's classmate, their to pick up their four year old granddaughter.  They always ask me the same thing: "you look after both?" and "every day??" I know they feel like they ought to do more than just Thursdays. And their grandkids are way past the age where you have to carry them up and down flights of stairs.  I tell them bluntly -- I'm 66. I can do this still. (Though I admit, the stairs are tough.) They smile with relief. We're 72, they tell me, as they make their way into the classroom.



Here's how well these two bandits know the lay of the land. As we enter the farmhouse kitchen, I hustle to put stuff in their proper place: jackets here, boots there, backpacks over there. My own jacket - hung here, purse in the corner, phone out. In the two minutes it takes me to do this, Snowdrop raids the cabinet for her beloved bag of potato chips...







... and Sparrow opens the closet where he finds his preferred bag of Annie's cheese puffs.





Yes, they do get healthier snack offerings. But this is their secret indulgence. Their big treat of the day.


Today is dance day. The story? I have no idea. All that I notice is the sweet smile. Snowdrop is the dancer who never forgets to dance with joy.

Wednesday

The good thing about weather predictions in recent times is that they are quite accurate. If they say there will be snow, followed by an arctic blast, you can be confident that there will be snow, followed by an arctic blast.

The bad thing is that if you are not looking forward to the arctic blast, you can't hope for a reprieve. Just grin and bear it. It will surely come.

We are anticipating real winter stuff in the next couple of days. Consider this Wednesday a last puff of moderate winter air before it gets nasty around here. We're at around freezing now. There'll be a 45 degree slide in temps tonight. And snow. And wind.

My morning is full of stuff. Mom papers, mom visit, my own appointments, household errands. All smashed together into a handful of hours. It's a good way to handle life's hurdles: pack them in tightly, then exhale as you check off the last item on your list.


But before all this, there are the cats and there is breakfast. Both bring surprises: Miss Calico and Cutie are not porch cats anymore. Or at least not full fledged porch residents. Having discovered Paris (the warm sheep shed), they're not willing to give it up. They run back and experiment with going up the ramp and back inside the shed. We are hopeful that at some point they will fully integrate with the pack of half-sibs living there. Dance is the grand dame in that group and she will teach them well.






The second surprise comes from Ed, who comes down to join me for breakfast despite the early hour. This is a treat!






These are the morning's highlights. Fast forward then to the afternoon which, of course, brings the two grandkids here to the farmhouse.

Ooops! I let Snowdrop listen to a song on my iPhone in the car. Mistake. She is now glued to it.






And speaking of being glued, I've noticed that both kids are returning again and again to the Duplo Lego sets (which are perfect for an 18 month old Sparrow, but Snowdrop has found a way to create story setups out of them as well).






Book reading remains a delicate balancing act: how can we convince Sparrow that it is absolutely worth his while to snuggle with us on the couch as we read page after page of chapter books that he most certainly does not follow? Snacks help, but eventually the little guy wears down and asks for something more to his liking, using his limited vocabulary of course: help! down! momo? (Not sure what that last word symbolizes... perhaps it's really mama, as in -- I'm going to call my mother and tell her how bored I am listening to stories about a girl who appears to have strong emotions as she navigates life as a third grader).










In the evening, Ed plays volley ball. This Wednesday ritual of his makes for extra quiet time here at the farmhouse. Time reserved for letter writing, candle burning and, of course, reading. With a glass of wine. And popcorn.

Tuesday

Two loops?
Okay.

Two loops around the county park hill on skis, two kittens now back on the porch, two people at the kitchen table for breakfast. (Not necessarily in that order.)


















The motivation to go out and be active sags right about now -- in the middle of February. In another couple of weeks, the California poppies will begin their wild display of orange. And you don't have to wait until then for west coast wildflowers to start their thunderous blooming season. Desert marigold, desert lily, sand verbena, desert sunflower, apricot mallow -- they're on now! You'll say -- that's an unfair comparison. You're listing desert flowers! Fine. But on the Channel Islands off the coast of Santa Barbara, lupine and poppies and paintbrush and yellow coreopsis are also on full display.  How heavenly is that!

So you get a tiny bit wistful, even on pretty days like today, when the sun shines down on your wintry landscape and your windshield is covered with frosty designs.






But, we push ourselves out and as always, we're happy as winter clams to be on the now groomed snow trails in our local park.






The kids, at play, in the afternoon:
















In the evening, I'm out again, this time for a dinner with former colleagues. This is the month when you never feel like going out, but when you do so, you're always glad you did.

Monday

Classic beauty. You know the type -- one that everyone agrees on. Take a vote and you have near consensus: stunning!

Of course, even though there is near universal agreement, it does not take away the fact that beauty is subjective. I once listened to a report disputing this. Research had indicated that there are objective indicia of beauty. That they act like magnets, creating attraction even if there isn't an ingrained social belief that something is a marker of beauty.

And maybe that's right: symmetry and harmony are pleasing to the senses. You are at peace when you are in the presence of near perfect alignment.

I am, of course, talking about the weather.

I wake up to what surely has to be a classically beautiful winter day. A fresh snow cover, temperatures just below freezing, plenty of sunshine. It's stunning!






Everything is perfectly aligned!






And yet... Maybe I am drawn to things that are a little bit off. I'll take classic beauty, but I'm one of those who is intrigued by skewed, mismatched vignettes. And of course, perfect weather days torture you: good bye quiet morning with a book. The great outdoors beckons. You'd be a fool to turn your back on this!






Still, Ed is sleeping in and I am not going to wake him. Not even for a late breakfast.






By noon he's feeling better and wakeful and so yes, we pile the skis into the car and head out to our nearby park.






And it is a gorgeous run. Crisp, exhilarating.





Though you know, I'd be okay with some rain and mud in the next few weeks. A sprinkle perhaps, a melting snow, the first appearance of a green stem...

One can dream.



In the meantime, the kids just can't resist a snow drift.











In the evening, Ed asks -- want to go out to dinner? 
Sweet thought, but clear skies make for cold nights. Let's stay home. I'll cook up a couple of chicken brats...

Sunday

The snow is coming down steadily, just as predicted. It's pretty, but it feels cold outside. Or maybe it's that I am officially looking forward to spring?







I want Ed to sleep in today and so I am extra quiet as I come down to do morning chores. I see that Stop Sign is on the porch, but Miss Calico is gone. Silly girl, putting herself at risk for all the wrong reasons.






Everything moves slowly. There is no rush. I want to savor the quiet. The rest of the month is super busy for me and so a day of calm should be a good thing, right?






I must have clanged a dish or perhaps cleaning the coffee maker caused too much of a rumble. I hear Ed stirring. So we have breakfast together after all.





He thinks we should ski. I look at him and shake my head. Is this any way to kick the bug that's been ravaging your system all winter long? It's windy and cold outside, I tell him.

We go out anyway. For a handful minutes. To shovel. Then home again.



We play a game Ed has taken to lately: if you could not live where you live, where would you set up home? It used to be that Ed would say New Zealand. I'd laugh at that. Neither of us have ever been to New Zealand. Still, a quite, kind, and beautiful landscape tugs at him. Today, he's drawn to British Columbia (which he has been to, so it's fair game).

He brings up houses for sale in Victoria on his computer. Would you live on a houseboat? -- he asks me. Then he checks himself. No, you need a garden. Let's look at houses with garden space.

We pick one we like. Small, clean, bright.

So we're set? I ask.

We laugh and go back to our various reading materials.

No Sunday eve dinner of note. No kids, no parents of kids, no need to pop open a bottle of Prosecco. Just quiet. Ed rests, I read.

Saturday

Such a curiously off balance day! Or perhaps it feels that way because Ed has not yet fully recovered from a cold that first hit him at the end of November and the noise that accompanies a dragging recovery makes for a very interrupted sleep. For both of us. I tell him -- you should have it checked, even as I worry that the mere suggestion of a need for a check up makes it less likely that he will follow through. With Ed, you need to use triple psychology to get him from point A to your desired point B, otherwise you may well push him back to point Z.

Other oddities? Well, when I look out on the porch this morning to see if Stop Sign is around, I see none other than Miss Calico. So! She has figured out how to leave the sheep shed! Unfortunately, she is anything but happy to see me. Well no wonder. She associates me with her traumatic experience and then with an entrapment in the sheep shed.

It's a pleasant if somewhat cold day and the big cats are mostly prowling around hunting mice. When I go into the sheep shed to feed them all, I see that Calico's sister is still hiding in the corner. So, she's the slow learner. I wonder how long it'll take her to follow her sister's brave leap out the cat door.

Breakfast...






Miss Calico comes back to the porch, but only to grab a few bites of food. Then she is out again and unfortunately, I see her aiming toward the road, most likely to return to her second hide out. Oh, silly cat! I'm not your danger point! It's the cars that will get you if you dont be careful!

The sun comes out for a little while and even though it's below freezing, I use this rather pleasant moment to clear some of the branches that were cut down by the MGandE tree trimmers. And while I am at it, I take out the sheers and trim some of the nearby hydrangeas. These beautiful bushes are terribly invasive and if I don't do a heavy pruning job in any given year, I am bound to regret it. I may as well hack away at them now, because during springtime, I have far more interesting things to do in the flower fields.

It feels odd to be pruning your garden in February. Odd, but in a pleasant sort of way.







In the evening, the young family comes over for Sunday dinner. This was my idea. We are expecting a snowstorm tomorrow and though the path of this weather event is not yet certain, I sure hate to have them driving even in only moderately bad weather.











After dinner, they want to see what video clip he's watching. He diverts them to something more child friendly.





Okay? -- he asks. Are we done?
No! She begs him to read. He never turns them away.

Friday

You could say that the sails of the ship carrying my mom to her new living arrangement had been temporarily dropped this week, as we wait for that stiff breeze to push her forward again. Meaning -- I'd done the application for benefits, and when she was approved I'd selected her managed care program, I'd moved her stuff out of her apartment, and I inspected her next possible residence. Now came the wait for the managed care organization to interview her, draw up their own assessment, and send all the paperwork to the worker who would partner with me in the search for her new placement.

The sails were hoisted again today, the day of the big interview with her new care program. I am present for it and it takes up the whole morning (followed by an afternoon of phone calls to her various docs, with requests for goods and services that she will need going forward).

I'm neither surprised nor discouraged by the process, since I think everything has sailed as per expectation, with no glitches or snafus or ill winds. I don't think my mom shares my enthusiasm for it, but then, as the case workers confirmed after the lengthy visit, she has yet to accept the new reality. (The new reality is that she moves at a much slower pace than she did two months ago.) Nothing about it is particularly satisfying to her. Really, nothing. The hope is that once she is in a new place, her mood will improve.

All this means that my day has to be arranged differently. Oh, I still get up to feed the animals. And it is unsettling to go to the shed, because the two newly fixed kitties are still in hiding and indeed, I'm not even able to locate one of them -- Miss Calico. I hope she isn't stuck somewhere behind a machine, wasting away. Ed tells me that's silly and she can surely extricate herself from wherever she is hiding, but I'm not so sure.

Oh, and the poor guy does drag his sleepy self down for breakfast with me.






And then I am off to my mom's and I don't sit down to exhale until the tail end of the afternoon.

The kids are at home with a parent and I promised I would come over to read a book or two to whichever grandkid is hungry for a snuggle on the couch with a good story. After the reading comes the play!










And I pause to have a catch up chat with my daughter (and her entourage)...






(winners all!)





And then I return home. The farmhouse looks so sweetly quiet and serene tonight. There is a pale light cast by a near perfect moon. A cat moves stealthily across a field of snow, another sits on the path and watches me, hoping perhaps that I'll veer to the shed and open another can of cat food.

I do head that way first, just to make sure the kitties are there and still breathing.  And they are and so I head back to the farmhouse, throw down my jacket, my bag, my camera, and take out the frying pan. Salmon burgers tonight. Followed by popcorn.

Thursday

You must never feel 100% certain about anything. With the exception of love: if you feel love for someone, then you're good: you can trust your emotions. Otherwise -- proceed cautiously and listen to the evidence.


It's a pretty day today. Any day with this much sunshine feels like a gift. But again, I have to take pleasure at watching the sunshine stream into the farmhouse. I am too busy to spend time outdoors. (Too, it's cold. And icy and slippery. I'll leave the trails and paths in parks and preserves for the surefooted, or at least for those with spikes in their shoes.)

I seem to have permanently moved grocery shopping to Thursdays. Between our breakfasts, and the refrigerator raids of my fruit loving granddaughter, I have a fruitless fridge once again. (The girl has developed a great love for mangoes. Add that to her love of all cherries, all berries, oranges, apples and baby tomatoes!) Time to stock up.

But before I set out, I, of course, visit the shed. I see that the little kittens, just back from the vet last night, have been exploring. (In their sniffing expedition, they seem to have missed the litter box we put out for them!) That's a good sign. Nonetheless, they are hiding when I come in. Ed's sheep shed is filled with papers, tools, machines. It's tough as hell to find two kitties among all the workshop junk (he would not call it junk). And even when I do locate them, they stay put, out of reach. Cowering in fear. I leave them alone.

There is, of course, breakfast. But my afternoon coffee break makes for a prettier photo. I have added a fresh bunch of daffodils and freesias! (Here you have it -- a tribute to that pause at the kitchen table, be it morning or early afternoon.)





Later in the day, the clinic sends the documents with info about yesterday's kitty visit. I was positive that the little Calico is a girl and the bigger kitty is a boy. I was so wrong: they are both girls. Snowdrop's name for the bigger one ("Cutie") seems more fitting!
 

In the afternoon, the kids are at the farmhouse.






It's a day of intertwined play.











Sparrow has figured out that his family loves hugs. You may be in the middle of baking a souffle or making strategic decisions about where to invest your life's savings and out of nowhere, you'll hear a plaintive "Huh! Huh!" and you'll know it's Sparrow, looking for a hug.






(In an attempt to participate in Snowdrop's story with babies, he finds his own (Lego) baby and takes her for a long, circular ride around the farmhouse.)






(All's well that ends well around the dinner table!)






Thursday is also Storybook Ballet day. Today's tale is Aladdin.






In the evening, Ed and I try to coax the kitties out of hiding in the shed. It's slow going. As we walk back to the farmhouse by the light of the beautiful (nearly) full moon, I wonder if they'll ever warm up to this new setting, and the shed cats that live there.
Maybe... Ed responds, in the safe way that you can respond when you simply do not know.