Tuesday - 228th

On this at first cold, then beautifully sunny day, we waited.

Oh, I did the usual -- feed animals, do household stuff, fix breakfast. We ate part of it out on the porch because Ed got giddy with excitement when he saw that some of the cats were hanging out there...

 

(We did retreat after a while. It was barely 34F (1C). My coffee and oatmeal had turned cold instantly.)

And then we waited. For Ed, it was to get the motivation needed to do the final big leap into the installation of the new water heater. He says it's the most difficult step and he needs an inspirational boost for this last huge job.

For me it was to decide where to take this day. I had letters to write. Okay. I wrote them. I had steps to take. But where? There was another calico cat sighting in Stoughton. Do we follow up on these constant calls claiming for sure that they saw THE cat, that it can be no other, that she was RIGHT THERE? The owner who lost the cat no longer wants it. The sister cat is in a good permanent home. What's our game plan here anyway? As Ed said -- if we're going to help a feral cat, why that one? The retort would be that it's because the missing cat was inadvertently separated from her sib. Sure, but now her sib is with a new owner who wants only one cat. Should we quit responding to the calls with alleged sightings? One reason to suspend them -- they are even less likely to be successful now than they were many moons ago.

 

As I wait to figure out what to do next, Ed comes in to remind me that we have almost no cheeper food left. Forget the water heater, forget cat dilemmas and head out to Farm & Fleet for a curbside pickup, stopping on the way at Edna Taylor Conservation Park, because there is no step movement in a curbside pick up and I need my steps and the sun is just brilliant!

Edna Taylor isn't an especially large park, but it's right by the Farm & Fleet store and it is surprisingly pretty considering its central location. Here, take a walk with us! All 4,300 steps!

Afterwards, we pick up our Farm & Fleet stuff and drive home and for this beautiful sight alone, the trip was well worth the indecision, the waiting, the detours and procrastinations. Dozens upon dozens of sandhill cranes. Here's just a wee fraction...

A frittata evening. With broccoli and potatoes and onions and garlic and mushrooms and lots of shredded Gruyere cheese. Like a pizza only different, right?

Monday - 227th

A young man knocked on our front door today. Masked, keeping to a distance. Since we actually have a front entrance these days (for years, we did not), it now looks like a home with regular inhabitants, as opposed to a crumbling abandoned house with derelict squatters inside. The visitor wanted to encourage us to vote. I waved him on, told him we're done, and thanked him for his effort.

And I had to wonder -- is this what it takes to get people to do their job and vote? You know, to pick legislators and this year -- a president, in exchange for all the government services we readily haul in and protections we make use of as the need and/or age arise? Does it really take the efforts of these earnest young people, who perhaps could be doing something else with their time if people just filled out a request form, got their ballot and voted (or in the alternative, hauled themselves to the polling place to vote)?

Want a way to get yourself really depressed? Take a look how many people of voting age in this country actually do not vote. In 2016 -- more than 43% of eligible voters did not bother to cast a ballot. Mind boggling. I mean, I don't expect our numbers to have been up there with, say, Belgium (according to the Pew Research Center, over 87% of eligible Belgians voted in their general election in 2014), or even Australia (same source, about 79%), but geez, at 55.7% we are at the bottom of the pile in terms of fulfilling our civic duty to participate in this democratic process. Sometimes, I just want to say to nonvoters -- you don't like it? Well now what's your alternative? Because believe me, there are plenty of traumatized people in countries with repressive regimes who wish to high heaven that they could kick their rulers out, only they can't. Not without risking their lives to do it. Here, we just have to give a thumbs up or down by casting that damn vote.

If you haven't done so yet, please, go vote.

There, I've said my piece.

 

It's a cold morning. Bits of snow linger on raspberry leaves and crab apple branches. The cheepers are hiding in the barn when I come out to feed them. I do my morning walk very briskly.

Breakfast in a toasty kitchen. How I love our furnace! (Hear that, furnace? Don't you act up on us this year!)

I have a lot of catch up work to do that requires sitting still for long-ish periods of time, but I do coax Ed out for a neighborhood walk by early afternoon. I need my steps!

For the first time, I'm wearing a cap and mitts. Badly torn up mitts. Beyond repair mitts. Needing to be replaced mitts. E-shopping will have to figure into my day, that's for sure.

It's great fun walking through the new development with Ed. So much of it is a construction site and we comment on all the styles and technical details of building a home, and of course, we pick our favorite solutions to perplexing gradation problem. My FitBit sings with pleasure as we walk up one street, down the next.

Evening: leftovers for supper. It's dark these days when we eat (and for once, that's not a statement about how late we eat). But you know, in less than two months our daylight hours will once again begin to stretch out in a race toward summer. Lots to be grateful for, even as we inch our way closer and closer to winter.

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...