Friday

It's done! Not without adventure, but I surely can say that the bulk of the work of moving my mom (or at least her stuff) to a new place is behind us.

I can sit back now and reflect on the process itself  (hmmm...maybe I should wait until she moves in on Monday...). About all the good people that I worked with -- I mean, really good people, both in county government and in the taxed and stressed but you'd never know it medical services. About my least favorite part of it all. No, not the carrying lifting and loading. Not the hours of time spent on shuffling papers. Hands down, the toughest was going through all of my mom's stuff, every folder, paper and acquired item and deciding what to toss, sell, give away, take. Take note all you aging readers! Tear it up and toss it away. You don't need half of what you think you need.

Breakfast is very early. "Two moving people and a borrowed truck" have a job to do!






We pick up the truck and drive to our storage unit on the outskirts of the city. Loading the truck is tricky. There is just enough room for it all. Well, one of the chairs sort of towers over everything, but still, we're good!






It's a scant ten minute drive from storage to mom's new place. Rural scenery. On a beautiful, sunny day.






Time to unload the truck!

You know gorgeous, I think we lost that chair...

Indeed! It's gone. Fell off along the way. We find it later in a ditch. Shattered. Good thing we stuck to quiet rural roads!

 I'm so very glad that part of the move is behind us.

We haul her stuff to the unit, set up some of the mechanicals and take off. I'll unpack tomorrow. This afternoon, I'm back at the farmette with Snowdrop. 


She is (at first)  a disappointed little girl. The shed cats are out and about and she wants with all her heart to befriend at least one of them. There are barn cats that grow tame with age. We've seen them on nearby farms. The guys here are not quite there yet. Ed and I can pet most of them, but not at our whim. And this little girl is a whole new kettle of fish. They run if she approaches.






We suggest she meets them in their home turf -- the shed. She's willing. She wants to move all her toys into the shed and wait for them here!






She is eventually appeased with one cat gazing curiously at her from a short distance. I tell her that over time, they'll be as used to her as they are to the cheepers who cross their path (and who, by the way, love having Snowdrop in their midst).






In the evening, Ed and I eat take out Chinese food. In a crazy busy day, you need to make room for some slight extravagance. Something that can celebrate the good and healthy in all of us.

Thursday

The wind howled, the trash cans outside toppled, signs telling you to drive carefully (because of the animals) on our long driveway fell off their posts.

Still, it very much feels like early spring.

Breakfast.






Much of my morning is devoted to coordinating my mom's transfer (Monday!). There's the discharge, the transport, the move-in. It's going to be a radical change for her (for the better, I hope!). She has been in a nursing home rehab for nearly three months and she has insisted on isolation.  No visits, no computer, no calls (I'm the exception).  The hope is that next week, she will resurface and resume an engagement with the world. in a supportive environment.


In the afternoon, I pick up the kids and bring them to the farmette. Showers come and go, the walkways are mushy and muddy -- all typical early spring stuff, all wonderful!











It's dance day of course.












And then I'm back at home. Late, but satisfied that all that needed to be done today was taken care of. Tomorrow, Ed and I will don our mover hats. "Two people and borrowed truck." Best part? We move for free!

sun salutations

It's wickedly beautiful outside again! A constant reminder of how splendid early spring can be! I don't think anyone cares that it's still just a handful of degrees above freezing. Sunshine dazzles. The spirits lift, the step grows more bouncy.

We've had a string of such days. Two takeaways from good weather: it's a prod to get you moving more (not by car, on your feet!) and it's a reminder to take dreary days in stride. They do not have a hold on your life. Eventually, the sunshine will pull you out of yourself once again.

Breakfast, ready and lovely.






An appointment follows, but after that Ed and I have a window and this time we don't dally: to the county park!






The walk is grand and not too slippery.






Hey, would you believe it? Even as the ice fishers still throw down their lines...






... someone else is taking advantage of the thawing ice!






Neither activity looks appealing to me! And as if to demonstrate the uncertainties with walking on ice, I step on a patch, out there in the park meadows, it shatters in its thinness, I fall and end up completely wet. Icy wet. This kind of mishap is way more funny on sunny days!


The kids are equally spirited today. Snowdrop still chooses indoor play (were he given a vote, I'm sure Sparrow would pick the option of "whatever my sister wants!"), but there is always a pause outside now, to take stock, to appreciate the disappearing snow cover, to salute the sun.











For a few minutes anyway. The great bulk of our time is in the farmhouse.





Ed plays volley ball tonight and so I forgo the movie watching in favor of a quiet evening. Time to think a little about grandparenting, about parenting, about the children in our lives. I track with great attention the growth of three right now and give as much care as I can to all of them. So you could say that I've tended to five kids in my life. Does that make me almost an expert?

Your approach to family life changes as you get older. On the one hand you are more limited of course (you are not in charge of their lives, and besides, your physical stamina diminishes somewhat), on the other hand time gives you a better understanding of where you need to tread carefully and where you can relax. On balance, are grandparents less anxious about their grandkids? I think so. There is a broadening of our perspective. And the realization that few people have tried and true answers and so why not lose the angst? Why not accept one's uncertainties and vulnerabilities and enjoy the flawed but wonderful run through life?

Spring. It came early this year. And I am so glad!

Tuesday

Well that was a first! Typically, I write portions of an Ocean post throughout the day, as time permits. In the evening, I work on the photos, with one eye toward a movie Ed will have selected. I finish it all off and, if my eyes stay open long enough, I do a final edit. Then I publish.

Last night, Ed and I plunged into a discussion of sailing when I was in the last throes of wakefulness. As he then sidestepped into a phone call with his sailing friends, I retired for the night, forgetting to do the final edit, forgetting to publish, forgetting pretty much everything except that the world felt complicated and the simplicity of sleep was suddenly very appealing.

That has never happened before.

I woke up still in the thick of a hundred messes and complications, but honestly, it's like the ugly carpet you put off replacing -- once you've been stomping on it for days on end, you forget that it's even there. You get used to most everything in life, except, perhaps, a tragic loss. I have no tragic losses to knock me down now and so I bounce around, a little bit dazed by how much is at play, all swirling around me (retired people tend to favor predictability), not unlike the snowflakes coming down on the farmette lands.






Yeah, snowflakes. Not that we mind. These are the snows that quickly melt. The early signs of spring have not forsaken us! Yet.





What's so confusing and discombobulating? Well, everything that should follow a known and familiar path is a little twisted right now. Adjustments must be made!

Take the cats. I think there are some skirmishes between the little ones and the shed cats. This means that Calico and Cutie are even more jittery than usual. Feeding them is a challenge.

Then there's Ed's sailing. He has another trip forthcoming and he is trying hard to convince me to join up with him for at least some portion of the journey. I love going places with him so very much, but I explain to him that sailing even on so called gentle waterways (say a river) is, to me, like getting on a long and bumpy flight, where you feel miserable and squashed and bored the entire time. At least the flight takes you to someplace you want to be. The sailboat trip is it! At the end of it, you simply return home.

My own travels are still in place for spring, but it is true that I study carefully the data on the spread of the coronavirus. If things get even more complicated, I'll have to cancel the whole thing. And no, I did not buy travel insurance. I did the purchases in early January when we were all as innocent as the first petals of spring flowers that rise up above the half frozen soil.

As for my mom -- well, we're proceeding full speed ahead with the move in a couple of days. I have to put some order into the chaos of this. I have the weekend to work on it.


So let's dispense with the generalities. How about today? Was it gloriously spring-like despite the snowfall? Maybe. I watched the day unfold through sleepy eyes. Ed had a very early appointment and so we ate breakfast right about at dawn. (My very sleepy co-conspirator.)






Then the clouds rolled in, the snows fell, the clouds moved on. A good day for farmhouse work!

In the afternoon, the kids were here of course. 

We read (or rather re-read) many Katie Morag books.











Too, there's the art...






And there are the stories.





And dances and prances and a million glances. All good, all loving and kind.

In the evening, I stirfry a bunch of veggies into my sizzling shrimp.

There ought to be a proverb for this type of day: don't measure your snowfall by the number of snowflakes that come down. Or something comparable.

Now, back to the movie, the photos, then on to a quick edit and a click for publish. So predictable, so nice.

Monday

Sunny, busy, early spring-like, so busy.

Well aren't we all!

For me, there is an acceleration of mom stuff. I want to have her in her new place early next week. That's ambitious, but doable.

But first, breakfast.






Then I get busy. Lists, phone calls to various sources and resources -- all this before a meeting with my mom and a staff member of the new facility -- uff! Good time management is a skill worth having, even in your retirement.

But there is still time left for a walk. And here, Ed and I take advantage of the new development's network of quiet roads. This is one good consequence of losing farmland to a massive new buildup next door: we now do not have to get in the car to go somewhere for a safe walk. We've got the the newly emerging neighborhood right by the farmette land. And it's not all parceled lots and mushrooming new houses. There are still pretty landscapes to behold. Like the one across the road from us.






This is when the sun really takes hold, chasing away all remaining clouds and giving us brilliant spring light. The kind you can only dream about in December.

And in that dazzling sunshine, I then set out to pick up Snowdrop and Sparrow at school.










It surely had to have been the best part of the day!

And yes, I fell asleep tuckered out, forgetting to click "publish." When was the last time that happened? Never!

transformative!

Days like this one are rare gifts, straight from the storage bins of beautiful earthly surprises. May it be duly noted that today, we move on. The winter crazies are finished. Oh, Ed will remind me that we may still get a snowstorm in a week or two or three, but it doesn't matter. We have crossed the border into spring territory. We are safe from the biting, gripping, threatening clutch of winter.

I open many windows at the farmhouse to breathe in the fresh air.

(Ed closes them behind my back: to him, bringing in cold air while you still have your thermostat set to warm air makes no sense. He was not raised in Poland, where the command to "wywietrzyc" a house, a classroom, any interior -- meaning to let fresh in and chase stale air out -- is as common as washing your undies on a regular basis.)

Breakfast. Almost celebratory!






The forecast calls for sunshine only in the morning and so we seize the moment! It's already 40F (4.5C). Good enough!

No, better than good: it is transformative!

We go to the Brooklyn Wildlife Area -- our favorite place for short hikes (though we enter at a different point, so we're not really boring old repetitive people!).






There is still plenty of snow around us, but it is wet snow. Walkable snow. None of this slippery ice stuff I worried about.






The sun rays play tag with forest trees, the breeze is gentle and kind.

We reach the first bench perched on a low hill and we pause there for a few minutes, faces upturned, as if on a mountain top in a fabulous ski resort, only without the people, without the fuss...






We continue along toward our favorite bench, you know, the one with the beautiful view toward the wetlands, the farmlands -- all of it bursting with that magical feel of spring.






It is the most perfect first hike, celebrating the coming of spring.











The rest of the day pales by comparison. We trim crab apple trees. I open windows, Ed closes them. Dinner is just the two of us -- kids are with other grandparents today. I do hope they, indeed, everyone in Wisconsin, had a chance to take a big whiff of that heavenly earthy early March air! Sublime!

that extra day

The other day I tried to explain to Snowdrop how in most years, we'd be onto March this Saturday. It wasn't a full explanation of the counting method that gives us a leap year, and I certainly didn't mention the fact that leap years don't fully solve the problem -- there are still eleven minutes that need an adjustment every hundred years, but still, the point was made: this year we have an extra February day on our plates.

Not many people up north love the last days of February, so you have to wonder why did we add another day to this month? I mean, why not spring us with an extra April day every four years instead?

Still, today is absolutely lovely here, in Wisconsin. Maybe a little cold (we went over the freezing point, but only a touch, and only for an hour or two), but sunny as can be. More please! May March shower us with more sunshine!



And how did you spend this extra February day? For us, it was sort of strange. After the rush to fit everything in yesterday, we came to a grinding halt with my mom's transfer today. It's the weekend and so I cannot move ahead with anything. We'll pick up speed again on Monday, but today was a day for sitting on our hands and waiting.

Well, not just that of course. There was breakfast.






And lots of reading. And in the late afternoon, when we did that crossover to 33F (0.5C), Ed and I went for a walk. He wanted to be ambitious and head out into the wilderness, but I pointed out that most everything is still covered with ice and slip sliding along a trail isn't exactly fun, so we walked as we sometimes do come wintertime, along the road that snakes it's way along Lake Waubesa.

(pretty rural scenery...)






(a bit of Norman Rockwell, no?)






Ed thought it would be fun to cut across the lake on our return...





I said -- go right ahead, I'll take the road and meet you on the other side. I do not like walking on a frozen lake. Yes it seems solid. I guess.
He responded -- chicken.
I made clucking noises.


A late winter sun is lovely, too, inside the farmhouse. In the course of the day, it travels from one room to the next, along walls and tables...






... and gives us that sense of well being that comes from feeling warm and safe, even though, if you glance at the news, there's every reason to feel anxious and despondent. It's as if that extra dabble of light reminds us that there are bright spots out there to behold. For sure.

Friday

I feel like I am trying hard to fit into a dress that's two sizes two small. Purchased for leaner days, ideal at another time, a total misfit for right now. The zipper can't contain all that flesh.

That's the best description I can come up with for this day.

A typical Friday will have me feeding animals, dishing out breakfast, and grocery shopping for the week in the morning. Snowdrop is at the farmhouse in the afternoon. In the evening, I take her home.

But it just so happened that things stirred up with my mom again today. There is an assisted living residence that has a small apartment for her. If we deem it to be acceptable. I surely can't decide without visiting it and so in between animals and breakfast...






... and restocking the fridge and pantry, Ed and I set out to Sun Prairie, a small town just a few of miles to the east of Madison, to visit her possible new home.

Afterwards, he and I go to Finca to talk about it.






As in all such cases, there are tradeoffs. The apartment is smaller than the one I liked to the west of us. And it's farther from the farmette. Still, it's fresh, bright and with some amenities that she may in fact like. A senior center across the street. A water aerobics program (she's a fan). Stuff that may make a difference in her days.

By the end of the morning and after many conversations (with her, with the staff), we all decide it's a good choice. And so we begin the next stage of the game: getting ready for her move, anticipating that this is likely to happen soon.

I just barely make it with the groceries.

Now comes the steady anchor in the day: Snowdrop's visit. (Sparrow is with his dad.) Predictably, there's lots of uninterrupted reading...






And playin' around...











And in the evening she goes home.

Alright, it all fit: squeezed into one day, like a sausage. But just barely!

Thursday

Last year all winter long I fretted about the chickens. It seems like an overblown attack of the crazies in retrospect, but when a hawk took one of the cheepers (the young, and graceful Cupcake), I became sensitive to how fragile life was for the farmette brood. Kittens seemed destined to suffer during harsh Arctic blasts, cheepers were like a walking KFC commercial for birds of prey.

This year's animal troubles were concentrated in October and November. We seem to have coasted grandly through the tougher winter months. (Well, it is true that Stop Sign has disappeared. Gone for many weeks now. Did old age catch up with her? Or had she enough of all the cats in her space at the farmette? Never mind that they're all her kids -- she seemed to prefer solitude.)

If winter is for worries, then perhaps I should redirect my efforts and fret some more about the human viruses that are plaguing us this year. Wisconsin's flu season is turning out to be severe. And of course, there are the other viruses...

Thinking about all the above this morning, I prepare the usual breakfast...






... and I look outside onto these last very cold days of the season. We're well below freezing today and tomorrow. February is asserting itself!

And this is when I see it again: the red cardinal. Here's a photo through several layers of glass and screen, so you get just that speck of color:






He's been with us all winter long, hovering by the garage in the same way that the kitties hover by the porch and the cats by the sheep shed.

Cardinals do not migrate south. They seek shelter in evergreens and we have plenty of those around the farmette. They live in pairs and I'm fairly certain his brown mate is somewhere around, but if she is there, she's more elusive. Perhaps she will appear, unruffled, unbothered, come springtime.

Which brings me to this moment of deep satisfaction: the sun is now coming out from behind puffy, irrelevant clouds. That sunshine will be with us through the rest of the cold spell. By the weekend, the freeze will recede. We will have above freezing temps every day, as far as the predictive eye can see. We made it! We survived winter!






Is that good news, or what?!

The kids, of course, take all this in stride. Happy little larks, who can still find joy in a landscape that seems winter weary and drab...











(Snowdrop goes straight to her ongoing story... Sparrow and I read countless little books.)






It's dance day for Snowdrop. Can you tell she's a lion? Me, I notice that she is managing the hula hoop pretty well!





Evening. I need to talk to my mom. A place has an opening for her. I'll be checking it first thing tomorrow morning. I'm thinking -- this next week is going to be a busy one for me. March, coming in with the roar of a lion.

I had been reading some books with the kids when Ed came in from running some errand. I look up and say -- for once, I have no idea what to cook for dinner. Snowdrop throws out suggestions from the sideline.  Why don't you make some soup, gaga. You like soup. With onions maybe?

Much much later I cook up a pot of soup. With onions.