Saturday - 267th

How much do you like holiday music? I have found that people have really strong feelings about this: negative or positive. Let's see if you can guess where I land...

You're right! I have always loved it: choral, instrumental, traditional, jazz and even occasionally the playful stuff (Muppets come to mind). It's all great. For 25 days I can't get enough of it. Since I don't like using ear plugs, I am so grateful to Ed for tolerating this. (His music engagement is... slight.) Yes, I keep the volume really low, but I do consider it an essential part of life on these very short days of winter.

And the days are indeed short (though not as short as in, say, Poland).

And they are cold. 

I notice that frosty crispness on my morning farmette walk. But then, I notice a lot on this short stroll!

 

 

Ed and I were listening today to a snippet on public radio about the concept of taking a forest bath, where you slowly absorb, with all your senses, all that a forest (or even a few trees) can offer. Deliberately, intensely. For me, the farmette pine grove offers this space where I can connect to all that grows around us. It's just magical to me, especially now: winter pairs well with pines!  

(A fragment of my morning forest bath...)

 

 

 

I do a bit of housecleaning before breakfast and so Ed and I get to our meal just before it's time for me to meet up with my Polish friends (always at noon my time).

The Zoom Polish call has become an anchor for all of us. Sure, we have our families, our friends and pals, but navigating this strange new world is hard and sharing our own personal sagas is important. We do it together, every few weeks.

Unfortunately one (absent) friend from our group has taken a turn for the worse with COVID, but it helps to talk this out with all the others. Who would doubt that sharing information that's not so great is important.

And it is true that I am the one who is especially grateful for these Zoom calls. I'm the outlier, the one who lives in that strange country where they can't seem to get the virus under control. Poland, too, has had a bad run of it lately, but it never had the initial surge that we did and even the second surge appears to be tapering off a bit, though accurate data are hard to come by. 

As we Zoom chat, we don't have to say out loud what we miss most -- we all miss our kids and grandkids terribly. And after that? Friends. (Though for me, seeing these people would require such a long trip! Right now I am not thinking that far ahead. At the moment I don't miss travel at all, because travel has been contaminated with transmission. How soon will it become the bedrock of my retirement again? I cannot tell. One month at a time.)

 

In the late afternoon, Ed and I drive out to the Brooklyn Wildlife Area. Deer hunting by rifle is over in Wisconsin, but hunters are still prowling around. They're allowed to go after squirrels, rabbit, pheasant, quail and grouse. Too, you can still kill deer with a bow and arrow or a muzzleloader whatever that is. (Yes, I could look it up, but do I want to?)  It is overall safer now especially if you wear blaze orange, and we do.

The views are familiar to us, but still very pretty! Against a beautiful Wisconsin sky.

The sun is setting by the time we come home.

Music on, candle lit, salmon panfried with a tart sauce and cheesie veggies to fill that ache for something comforting.

Be good, stay healthy.

With love...

 

Friday - 266th

A full day! So let's not get lost in the detail. No need to mention morning walk to feed the animals and the fact that the cheepers were hiding, possibly because an opossum has been prowling around here in recent days. And I can skip the details on how Tuxie caught a mouse and brought it to show off to others as they had to make do with regular cat food for breakfast.

Speaking of breakfast... Ed, if you're coming down then hurry up! 

 

 

The kids once again come to the farmhouse and this time they both seem to enjoy a brief moment in the brilliant sunshine that more than makes up for the coolness of the day.

Inside, it is nearly a repeat of yesterday: Snowdrop plunges into her pretend play, Sparrow takes out every bit of toy food (and there is a lot of it) many times. (In between, he'll be back with the duplos.)

 

We do read, alternating chapters of a book for the girl with less demanding books for the boy. 

 

 

And Sparrow asks to paint, which is a bit more fun to watch than having him do art with markers where no cap ever gets to go back onto the marker unless Gogs makes a fuss and then ultimately does it herself.

Snowdrop has her school meetings... 

 

 

... and we realize that it wont do to have the teacher announce at 11:30 that art equipment, found in the school box, would be needed for the 12:30 meeting. It appeared, for example, that the little girl would need glue. In the end, I found some glue sticks that were last used many years ago. Dry as anything. Ed watched youtubes on how to undry glue sticks.

It did not work. It was the second time in the scant meetings with her class that Snowdrop was left scrambling through no fault of anyone's really. Just circumstances. 

 

Still, good moods prevail. More than prevail!

And it tickles my heart at the end of our time together to hear Snowdrop say -- let's do a nature walk! And for Sparrow to repeat excitedly -- I love nature walk! (Sparrow loves a lot of things.) 

 

I'd always wanted someone else to love that spot among the pines here at the farmette. I found two aficionados, admiring with me the marvelousness of a path softened by pine needles and decorated by pine cones.

Later, toward evening actually, Ed and I take our walk in the county park. By the lake.

 

The colors are sublime. The sun is low, the world is quiet.

 

At the farmhouse? There are things that need to be put back, small cleaning jobs, some catch up stuff to do on the computer and as always in this month of short days, the light disappears ever so quickly. That's okay: the candle flickers, the tree lights throw color everywhere. 

Thursday - 265th

We start our December schedule today. After isolating for 14 days (and testing), the young family rejoined our bubble for this one month and the sitters stepped aside so that I could pop into the lives of the two kids once again.

The morning is hurried. Breakfast, with a groggy Ed, in the kitchen.

 

 

There's just enough time to feed the animals, to attend to a few chores and tasks and then boom! The kids are back at the farmhouse.

They haven't been here since late August and although both of them were eager to plunge into their world of games and toys here, I'd say that Sparrow was just his usual happy self...

... whereas Snowdrop, a girl with big feelings, was besides herself with joy. Words like "I can't believe I'm here" and "it's like a dream come true" were spoken and she bounced with glee from one set of favorites to the next, settling for a long while with her dolls for which she loves to create imaginative contexts, roping me in of course, as we pretend to set one group of her "kids" into one story line and another in some competing place. This is such a common and uniquely farmhausian play scene (the well behaved kids versus the less obedient, the model eaters versus the sugar gobblers, you get the picture)!

Sparrow? Oh, he'll still spend a lot of time with toy foods and duplo blocks. I call him the "take out kid" because he loves to take out a lot of stuff, piling things from every corner in one heap, otherwise known as a mess. I spend not a small number of Fitbit steps chasing after him and putting things away.

 

It is a school day and at different points, Snowdrop has to check in with her class for 20-30 minutes at a time.

 

She is quite familiar with the routine and with the Zoom shared screens and all the rest of it, which is good, because I still find the whole set up of online assignments and random videos and questions rather puzzling and there isn't a cohesiveness to the school day, nor much opportunity to engage socially with the kids, which I suppose is understandable, as many of the kids are on the quiet side and engagement is not always easy.

Somewhere in there I'm supposed to fit in a lunch and I thought after the 11:20 mini lesson would be great, but during this class segment the teacher asked everyone if they had had a good lunch so I suppose the expectation is that they eat before that class. Oh well. We ate after.

I'm supposed to take the kids home in the mid-afternoon so that Sparrow can do a full nap there (he never sleeps long here: the house is small, the noise carries). Leaving the farmhouse turns out to be hard for Snowdrop as she has a long list of things she still wants to do. It takes a bit of effort for her to let go, but she does rally and we have a quick but lovely walk around the farmette lands...

 

 

... before I take them home.

 

It is, of course, tough to bounce around like that: from all to not much of anything, to all again, then later in the winter back to nothing. On the other hand, we have this gift of December and who knows what the world will look like in January and so I feel immensely grateful for the days that I do have with at least these two bandits!

 

When I come home, Ed asks -- do you want to play tennis? We should seize the moment, before it gets too cold! 

I'm amused. Ed, it is too cold!
Not as cold as it will be soon, so let's go!

And we do play. I'm terrible today, possibly because I have been on my feet since early in the morning and I hadn't even paused for lunch, but still, chasing after missed balls is surely great exercise, don't you think?

Evening. I need to make a frittata. 

 

 

 

 

 

I mean, something warm, with lots of eggs, veggies and cheese, for a cold December day that for once was full of movement and energy and child noises. You can almost pretend we're living in normal times. Kids, melting cheese, a game of winter tennis. What more could you demand...

With gratitude. And love...

Wednesday - 264th

Morning walk thoughts:

I have the sense that we came around full circle from our starting point back in March, when Ed and I announced that we were isolating and the young family assessed their options and decided to join us in an isolation bubble. Because as of this evening, we are in that bubble with them once again. For the next five weeks.

Except it's not the same, because all this time has passed, all these months of such utter caution on my part, on Ed's part, of needing to mask up and stay distant and outside with the kids, months where I couldn't enter their house, and in the meantime one season morphed into the next and now we are in December and the holidays are upon us. In other words we are back where we were, even though we're not at all where we once were. And it feels very strange to jump from a yes world with the kids to a no, no, keep your distance!, and now back to that yes world once more.

Then there are the cats: six of them now here, at the farmette. All sibs and half sibs, all more or less getting along, all eating together in the sheep shed, so that I don't have to worry about feeding one but not the other, or about having the cheepers go after their food (which has a lot of ground chicken in it so ugh! Not good for cheeper snacking!).

Except that this morning, I see someone new loitering by the writers shed. As if waiting. White with big black patches, matching none of the litter here. Quite beautiful actually. Silent. Watchful. I want to give her some food, but to do so, I must distract the other cats and also the cheepers and -- wait a minute, wasn't I in this place already once? With two little kittens who tried so hard to stay here even as the rest of the cats chased them to high heaven until I had to isolate the kittens to keep them safe and fed? Please, let this not be a rerun of that dynamic! Cats do come and go and you always wonder -- where from? where to? How kind will fate be to them?

Breakfast. With sunshine.

Little tree in the corner, now decorated.

 

A little later: 

The passage of time. Never is it more evident than on the day you pull up to the Christmas tree store and ask for the fattest tree on the planet because you want the kids and grandkids to be happy, and so you really want a fat balsam or fraser, with branches spilling out to the other side of the room!

Except that this year, I do a curbside pick up, which means that I don't actually go into the tree lot but stand to the side while the young store staff members hunt around for fat trees. Finally satisfied, I let them tie it to the roof of the car and I drive over to my daughter's house and they all take it inside.

And in the late afternoon:

I return to my daughter's house and here we are, all bubbled up again, safe, without masks, without worry. Well, part of me will always wistfully look south toward Chicago, where my younger girl lives. Still distant for a few more months, still with masks, outside, etc etc.

 

The plan for tonight is that we trim that fat tree. And we do!

(how fat is it?)

 

And yes, Snowdrop is totally set on appearing in her same-old leisurewear option, nothing else will do (can't I wear my most special shirt on this special day??), but she graciously agrees to wear it underneath her lovely matching-with-brother sweater dress. Sparrow, in the meantime, looks like your Christmas poster child in his sweet holiday pullover.

 

I do try for a classic photo that would document this Christmas, at this moment, for these two kids, but you know how it is: first one child looks great while the other moves...

Then the other looks joyous while the first one wiggles...

 

Still, there's a lot of love and good will in those two...

 

Pretty soon to be these three. Did I tell you that my older girl is pregnant? An end of May baby. Smart wee one: hiding at a time where the world is rough!

I stay for dinner. Not that I'm hungry: tree trimming came with an abundance of delicious snacks.

 

So strange to have had to be close, then far, and now close again. (For a while anyway.)

I'll take that strangeness, oh so gratefully. With precious hugs that have been withheld from so many of us even as we all need them. A lot.

Tuesday - 263rd

December! How cool is that! In fact, I'll take that literally: it's very cool. We wake up to 18F (-8C) outside. Crunchy earth, frozen waters.

But so very sunny. Isn't it true that many things can be tough or discouraging, but you have one glorious big ticket item -- like sunshine -- and your whole mood is given such boost.

We eat in the sun room. Ed, I'm ready.

 

I know that I said I'd be rejoining the bubble with the young family in December, but that doesn't happen until tomorrow evening. We're following the 14 day isolation requirement (plus testing) literally. To the hour. So tomorrow, not today. [As we approach their 14th day, there is rumor that the CDC guidelines are changing as we speak. A shorter period may be sufficient. But the details are sketchy and we are close to our 14 day goal anyway.]

I do have a sense of urgency today. If there's stuff that needs to be done, this is the day to finish it up before I get very busy again. So, one final run through online shopping. And yes, I'm satisfied that all the orders went out and if I'm lucky, all deliveries will be made before Christmas. Maybe. Things have been iffy lately, but I surely am sympathetic to those who have to play the elves and get our stuff delivered so very rapidly. We just have to sit tight. They do all the tough work. I am grateful.

 

Once more I coax Ed to do something active with me in the afternoon.

 

It's not that cold! -- I proclaim. Indeed, it's a couple of degrees above freezing.

You want to play tennis?
Like, outside? On the court?

Why not?
Because it's a couple of degrees above freezing!

We try it. At our local deserted, forested tennis courts.

At first I am so tightly wound up, possibly from the cold, the winter clothes, the absurdity of our game, or possibly because we haven't played since summer, that I can hardly return anything. But in time, the tension leaves the elbow, the shoulder, the leg, the other leg and disappears somewhere in those tall pines behind us. I can't say I would want to do this every day, but today, a wintry game of tennis felt just right.

I return in time for a Zoom call with my now southern (New Mexico and Florida) friends.

 

As I listen to them recount their holiday weekend, I'm thinking -- there is something remarkable about being able to eat at least some of your meals outside in December. I have pangs of wistfulness when I listen to their description of the weather there. But only for a few minutes. I have this soy candle with an amazing aroma of apple cider burning right now, and another one that promises to bring a faint whiff of pine boughs right into the farmhouse living space. Neither would have the pleasurable impact had we warm weather in December. The Danish or Norwegian hygge (cozy comfort) only makes sense because it's so damn cold in both places starting right about now.

It's soup weather, wouldn't you say? Time to take out the yellow pot and stir up the veggies and beans and spices in a chicken broth. Winter food. Just right for December.

Late, very late, a big box arrives with any number of holiday odds and ends, including the tree lights. I can end the first day of December with the tree.  And yes, it does make the walls glow with purple light. Utterly fantastic.

 

 

 

Monday - 262nd

Today was much like yesterday, only colder and the walk was better.

I'm not talking about the morning famette walk -- that early lap around the backfields of this property, to the rear of the barn and home again.

True, I love these first minutes of outdoor time. I get a feel for the weather, I can smell the dry crustiness or the damp slushiness of the earth. The day is fresh and young and I'm ready for it. But I get how this isn't particularly exciting to you: oh, another sprint around the familiar. Yawn. 

And it's nearly always followed by again a very familiar breakfast. Today, in the sun room, even though there is no sun.

But these steady and stable routines are not what turned the day into a more adventurous and pretty one for us. As I said, the walk, the big walk, the hike was (in stark contrast to yesterday's stroll) glorious.

Once again, we really hesitated about going out. The temperature never passed the freezing point. For the last day of November, that's not totally strange, but it is on the colder side of cold. Still, a morning of shopping (online once more) needs an afternoon of rejuvenation. I call Bruce Company -- a place that always has abundant Christmas trees, all freshly cut in Wisconsin -- and purchase a small tree for curbside pickup. And I suggest to Ed that as long as we're driving 15 minutes to Bruce's, mightn't we drive another 15 and hit the trails at Indian Lake County Park? 

It's a beautiful park with nearly perfect trails, but the drive to get to it, plus its weekend popularity push it off our usual list of favorites. But on a cold Monday, late afternoon no less, it's nearly empty. And the clouds part just enough and the colors are sublime. Want to walk with us?

On the way home, we stop to pick up the tree. So pretty, if a bit unusual in shape! No decorations yet. I'm waiting for the little lights to arrive in a day or two. Still, it definitely feels grander doing life's chores and tasks with a tree in the corner, bringing that bit of the outdoor world straight into the farmhouse living space.