Sunday - 226th

 I finished mowing just as it began to snow.

So this is it -- our first snow of the year. Not heavy yet, not lasting either, but definitely cold, wet, white.

The mowing job is one of many that I attacked today with an extra load of determination. And I began before breakfast. We don't really mow our grasses anymore -- just a path running through them. There are advantages to this new way of treating your landscape, not the least of which is time saved: it takes about a dozen minutes to mow down paths. We do this once a week during the growing season and they look brilliant! It takes much much longer to mow all the grasses. Over an hour for sure. 

The downside is that many nasty prickly plants worm their way into the former lawn areas. You cannot walk through the grasses without picking up burrs. But, we decided that no one walks through the grasses anyway (except for the cats), and we are protecting habitats, and it all looks fine, without that trimmed lawn look which neither of us especially wants to see here. 

Still, at least once a year, you have to mow all those tall grasses down, so that in spring we can once again encourage some flowers and more delicate perennials to come back. So today I hauled out the tractor mower and got to work.

With a pause for house cleaning and breakfast!

As if that wasn't enough, I also set out to bake a cake (from one of my favorite cake bakers -- Maida Heatter). When I asked my daughter if I could do anything for her, she sheepishly admitted to craving mightily a chocolate layer cake. Done! It will be part of my dinner delivery tonight. Unfortunately, I only have one 8 inch cake pan, so I have to bake the layers in stages. It takes time.

 

Okay, food delivery!

 

And then home again, to finish up our own dinner here.

I am proud to say that I have kept to my 10,000 step daily goal, even though sometimes I put in the last 1000 awfully close to midnight. However, I do feel today was a bit of a cheat. Riding the bumpy tractor-mower I think added (to my counting device) a few hundred steps not taken. Shhh! Don't tell anyone!

Saturday - 225th

Another large, round number in our isolation tally! Sad but true.

Still, from a distance, we watch the world go by and even though yes, there is that distance, I feel not entirely disconnected from the rest of humanity. (Ed, well he has me to look at and admire. That's it. Otherwise, now that the front steps are built, he sees no one. Even curbside pick up errands are run by me, as I am more obsessively reliable with the whole distance thing.)

The morning is cold. The day is cold. The season is cold. We expect nothing less. And in fact, today, I go on my animal-feeding-farmette-strolling walk in a winter jacket.

 

Breakfast, still with flowers from the yard. Enjoy them -- there will not be any more flowers from the yard. Not until April.

In the afternoon, I have a meetup (distanced, masked, outside) with Snowdrop. She had had an unfortunate encounter with one of their cats and I got a very discombobulated little girl before me, ready to snuggle in her sleeping bag and not come out. But, what are grandmas for if not to smooth out the upset, to throw out disparaging comments about a cat that would dare make my grandchild unhappy, and eventually to coax a smile out of the little girl.

 

 

I see that she is wearing part of her Halloween costume. (Snowdrop is currently quite smitten with mermaids so predictably, she choose to be one.)

She discloses more of it now as she takes off her jacket. I shiver as I look on. I mean, it is just in the upper 30sF outside (about 4C).

Children have such different perceptions of temperature than I do!

I leave her eventually and as now is my routine, I head out to pick up our CSA box of veggies, and while in that neighborhood, I take a little stroll. To admire houses flanked by autumnal trees, to look wistfully at a cafe that I once frequented with the kids, to enjoy being part of the greater world that I know still exists out there, beyond our safe isolation at the farmette.

 

Evening has me cooking up a few ingredients for what we affectionately call a Caesar salad. Oh, it has the eggs and the lettuces and then a bunch of other stuff I find in the fridge on this day (spinach, carrots, squash that I roast up, radishes, avocado, olives, cheese, cucumber, peppers and a scrap of smoked salmon). 

I'm going to drizzle some maple syrup on the squash... -- this from Ed. Me, I just smile. It's good to have such wee things in your day to smile about.

Friday - 224th

A rainy day. Still, one must walk. So I do my farmette morning spin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And we eat breakfast.

And then I sit down to think about the upcoming holidays. The last weekend of October is the time I typically begin work on a holiday card. With good reason. I have more time then. November's Thanksgiving and December's pre-Christmas craziness leave little time for musings about holiday messages and designs. Too, there are sales now. What I might do today will cost me 10 or even 20% more if I wait until, say, Monday.

But how do you write a holiday card in these crazy times? I look at my past cards: Joy, Merry and Bright -- such themes just don't cut it this year given that just about no one I know will be spending the holidays in a manner that is likely to be very merry.

I look for suggestions on my previous year's card making website. There are the usual messages of Merry this, Joyous that, but I also see options that could only belong to this era: "What a Year!" and, amidst pictures of frolic and fun -- "Our Real Life Looks Nothing Like this!" Well, that's funny, but sort of sad at the same time. What if I played around some? Stick "Oh What Fun..." next to a photo of a Zoom meeting. Or, here's an idea -- "Cherish the Moment" -- with a bottle of wine and an empty glass. Maybe several bottles of wine, all empty. Not exactly a Ho Ho Ho. Not even a Ha Ha Ha.

And, too, working this far in advance makes me uneasy. What if someone I want to reach during the holiday season falls sick before then? What if we're in such a political and pandemic mess that anything cheerful is like a slap in the soul for us all?

And yet, would I not wish things to improve? Wont I want my beloved family and friends to find an ounce of holiday happiness, despite it all?

I go back to my search, looking at and rejecting dozens of formats and messages. Finally, when evening comes (it takes me that long!) I settle on something that may work, unless we're completely on another planet by then, but hey, then it wont matter, right?

In the evening, I visit with Primrose. I'm fixing dinner, she's eating dinner. The end of a week for her, for me. She sings for Ed, we talk about Halloween. FaceTime is a beautiful invention.

 

Late evening. Fish, broccoli, salad. A dumb movie, a few more steps on the treadmill. And a good night wish to all!

Thursday - 223rd

It rained hard all night and for most of the day. The night rain was lovely. That rhythmic patter of big drops on the roof is as good as a waterfall spilling warm water on your shoulders. Total balm. The daytime rain -- well, that's a different story. I look out...

... I do go to the barn to feed the chickens, and to the shed to feed the cats, and then I go right back to the farmhouse with no great desire to go out again.

(Breakfast)

 

Except, there's the matter of the rhubarb cake. Yesterday, I had taken a small piece over to Snowdrop. When her mom came out to do an exchange of pans and containers with me, I could see the look of disappointment in her eyes. What, no piece of cake for me?

So this morning I baked another rhubarb cake, with the every last rhubarb stalk I could find in our garden and in the afternoon, I drive it over to the young family's house.

And so it is a day of baking, and it is also a day for Zooming once again with my Polish pack of friends.

It's not exactly a lighthearted chat. One of them now has COVID. There is also COVID among their family, their friends. Poland has infection numbers that rival our own (though Wisconsin still beats everyone!). 

Still, no one wastes time feeling sorry for themselves. Coping mechanisms click in. Spirits rise to meet the social moment. We are destined to enjoy any gathering, even this weird one, on our computer screens. 

 

Evening. Drizzle drizzle drizzle. Reheat leftovers, light a candle, feel the comfort of a warm space. Surely not a bad way to spend the final hours of a very wet day.

Wednesday - 222nd

I love my morning walks that cut through the farmette lands, I do.

 

And nature hikes - I adore those. They're all almost up there with morning breakfasts with Ed -- it's all so meditative, serene, soothing.

But here's something I've noticed too: if you've been isolating yourself for 222 days, never once in that time entering a store, an eatery or cafe, nor even coming close to a group of people -- friends or strangers, you come to love something else, too: walks through emergent new neighborhoods, ones where new homes are popping up at the speed of an overzealous corn popper.

I know I was among those who spoke out against the development that is going up to the west, north and eventually east of us. And it is true that the development poses a danger to the fragile wetland habitat it abuts. But since we lost that fight, I've come to appreciate two things: first of all, the construction here has been made to be much more sensitive to environmental issues than it would have been, had so many people not voiced repeated objections way back when. And secondly -- and this ties into my isolation -- I have come to love my walks through this developing new community of homes.

For one thing, it takes me exactly 300 steps from the farmette property to reach their sidewalk. That's a three minute walk along a rural road (and one that has plenty of shoulder space, so that I do not actually have to walk on the road at all). This is nothing short of fantastic for a person like me, who loves proximate walks. The kind that don't require a car ride first.

Rural roads are not safe for walking. Talk about distracted drivers! Empty roads invite all sorts of unsafe driving behaviors. Too, they invite recklessness of a different kind. For instance, why were there two empty vodka flasks thrown out a car window onto our property just in the last day? And all those beer cans! Amazing how many people disregard drinking and driving laws. Really shocking. 

But also, I love something else that six months ago would have meant nothing to me: I love the sound of new construction. Of workmen pounding nails to the loud music of seventies or eighties rock. I love seeing people fill the homes with their own nesting objects. Porch chairs, potted plants. One is putting up solar panels, another is fencing the tiny yard, allowing me to speculate -- for a dog? A child? There is human activity everywhere and to me it is as social as it gets and I am enraptured by all of it.

I took such a walk later this morning, as Ed shut off the gas (and therefore the furnace) to continue his work on the water heater. The house is actually plenty warm even without the aid of a furnace, but still, when he says things like -- "let me know if you smell gas," I know it's better that I leave the premises rather than imagine that there is a gas leak and I'm just not sensitive enough to pick it up. (He says these things to tease me. Ed is very careful when working with gas pipes.)

One of these days I'll have to take pictures of some of my favorite houses. I'd say it's a middle income neighborhood -- nothing very large or extravagant, lots of tiny lots and townhouses and single story small homes. All interesting, just because, well, it's touched by a human hand.

(as seen from the back of the farmette...)

 

In the afternoon, I am with Snowdrop, outside, distanced, with masks. Except when she is eating a slice of Ed's birthday rhubarb cake.

We are so lucky! All that gray cold dreariness? Gone. It's cool, yes, of course. But not too cold for some time outside! And the sunshine! Stunning sunshine!

Because I know that Ed is out biking, I don't rush home after my Snowdrop time. I go to the park that is not too far from where she lives. Owen Woods. I have to say, this little bit of nature conservancy has some of Madison's best late October colors. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ed's home in time for supper. And popcorn. And the next episode of the the series that has us tuning in every day, even though it's not very good. Perhaps we feel drawn to the characters, as if their familiar faces too were part of our social world these days. Isolation makes you like a heck of a lot of things much more than in the days when you actually had a choice of how you might want to spend your waking hours.

And maybe that openness to finding pleasure in strange places is a good thing. Maybe.

Tuesday - 221st

A momentous, memorable day! First the weird: 

I did not go upstairs to bed until close to 3 a.m. It took me that long to gather documents the credit card company needed to believe that I was really me. Apparently buying a couple of dresses and tshirts for my grandkids put me in the category of a heighten fraud alert and from there, I spun down a rabbit hole so deep that I am told it will take many days to clear the card for action. I understand their protective stance, but given that I am a rather stable, no changes, same type of purchases, from same vendors kind of card user, I cannot understand the security risk at all. Time to dig out my old dusty other credit card. Oh, I am tired! Late hours are an Ed thing, not a Nina thing.

The upside of such late night shenanigans is that at the tolling of the midnight hour, I get to wish Ed a very happy birthday and he gets to wish me a very happy anniversary.

It's our round number day! 10/20/2020 (In America, we put the month down first). Ed is 70. And, we have been together 15 years.

How well I remember the day our online exchange turned into the real deal! He picked me up in his rusted out tiny Geo Metro -- a faded red with pink stripes -- and we went for a drive. To an apple orchard, then to watch the ducks and geese fly in where the river meets the lake, then home. 

We've been together ever since.

In all our years, we've had only one blow-up and it was in fact a fairly recent thing -- last November -- and we were both deeply at fault. 

 I live with a person who never spouts off criticism or passes judgment on the choices I make or others make in life, a person who loves animals and nature without reservation, a guy who never wastes, never spends money on needless stuff, a guy who thinks deeply before he speaks and who is possibly the most widely read person I know. A man who uses his hands as well as he uses his brain. An older dude who never met a child he felt close to, until he met my grandkids. Fifteen years of a beautiful life.

So you can understand perhaps why we would take this day, this double anniversary/birthday seriously.

It begins with me reminding Ed a few days ago that he cannot do as he has done before -- haul me off to hunt together for a card. He's on his own. The internet has to be his friend. He agonizes over the choices, but I offer no help, except to say that I prefer his own words to prefab commercial writing.

Then I ask him for his favorite foods for the day. Oh, the terrible indecision as to what I should prepare! But in the end, we will eat what is truly our own best discovery -- a home made pizza. 

 First though, a morning walk for me. To feed the animals and to take in the season's gifts.

[There will be 15 photos here today and I will admit at the outset to uniformly adding warm tones to all of them. Because that's the way the world appeared to me today.]

Breakfast. Happy birthday, to you!

 (He looks on with a smile at the card Snowdrop made for him. He wont pay attention to any cards from big people, but kids -- well, they hold a special spot...)

Happy anniversary to both of us...

And now I get on with baking a cake. This is an easy choice: I pick the last of the rhubarb and bake a rhubarb-almond-yogurt thing he likes.

And even though it is not warm outside, nor is it sunny, we do take the time to walk along our favorite county park trail.

(Our selfie...)

 

A celebration geared to our own beloved routines, foods, habits. 

 

 

 

Seventy years, fifteen years. Happy years indeed.

With so much love...

Monday - 220th

The day started off with a call from Ed's friend. Their buddy, colleague, company board member, like-minded pal had just died this morning. Suddenly and unexpectedly. How can you not be sad... The guy lived in Arizona, but visited here frequently and stayed with us more than once. He was a New Jersey boy and that put him just close enough, geographically speaking, to Ed's home base, so that I often thought he was the only one I knew here who actually sounded like Ed. Both had the entrepreneurial drive, both had big hearts, both didn't mess with empty niceties. But man oh man, what a guy! When traveling recently with his wife through Holland, he looked at all those tulip bulbs in stores around him and thought -- Nina has a garden, she would like some. Shortly after I got a shipment of tulips.

I took my morning walk on this very cold day thinking about spring and tulips.

Breakfast. Surrounded by farmette flowers, including tiny lilac buds that I found today. I don't know why the white lilac decided it's May rather than October, but it did, and we have the flower buds to prove it.

Afterwards, Ed unloaded many wheelbarrow-fuls of dirt, followed by many wheelbarrow-fuls of wood chips, to bring the grade up to the front steps. You could say he spent the better part of the day shoveling dirt. Me, I polished windows at the front of the farmhouse -- something that one does to clear the mind as much as to clean a pane of glass.

Where do you go with a day like this? Too cold and gray for outside indulgences, too isolationist (220th day for us!) to abandon yourself into the warmth of a coffee shop where you can sip, eat and people watch. 

So I walk on my treadmill (there are goals to be met!) and then I buy clothes online for the kids. Because buying clothes for the kids is somehow deeply satisfying for me: I imagine I'm wrapping these precious souls in warmth and color. Unfortunately, my credit card triggers a fraud alert. I spend the next 3.5 hours on the phone with fraud agent number one, then agent number two, then supervisor of agent two and presumably one, all trying to clear the card. They couldn't do it. I finally said -- no more. I'm calling it quits. Write a new script on how to clear cards and call me back when you're done. 

It was a bold gesture, leaving me neither satisfied nor in possession of an active credit card. That is not a good place to be when you are in isolation, but there is only so many times I can listen to someone tell me that this time they have fixed the problem only to find that they haven't done anything of the sort.  

 

For supper I reheat yesterday's crunchy chicken, because if ever a day needed comfort food it would be this day.

Sunday - 219th

My, but it's cold! It rained last night, but only because we stayed a tiny breath above freezing. Tonight we will finally get our first deep frost of the season.

It's time to say goodbye to the scattered annuals. Because the nights are going to stay cold going forward, it's no use trying to shield them anymore. I love them for the way they carried us through the growing season, but their work is done. I pick a handful of nasturtium and cosmos blooms for the breakfast table -- one last reminder of how much beauty unfolds from one small seed, planted with the hope that always comes with spring.

Much of the day lacks a coherent theme. Call it a day of dabbles. I don't clean the house, but I clean the sink and I vacuum the play room. I do not work in the garden, though I do lay some stones. I don't take long walks, but rather I move to my 10,000 step goal in short bursts of activity.

Ed is taking a pause with his water heater replacement and so we have both heat and water for the day. I'm grateful for that and, too, for a functioning toilet! In the middle of the night, Ed whispered to me -- are you awake? the toilet is broken... Then, a few hours later -- are you awake? I took it apart and decalcified the fill valve. Not surprisingly, he slept in today and breakfast was very late.

Toward evening, I work on supper for the young family. Crunchy chicken, in the same way I've been fixing it for at least three decades. I do it with my eyes closed!

 

 

Both Ed and I deliver it to their home. He misses the kids. Masked and distanced is better than nothing.

 

And now we are home again. I've clipped all the annuals I can plunk down in vases. 

 

Time to retreat into the warmth of the house and eat our own portion of the same dinner. Comfort foods for a cold night. A perfect pairing.