Sunday - 303rd

There comes a time in January when I start thinking about spring. It's the month when I take out the plant and seed catalogues and click on favorite gardening websites. This year I have a whole new space to plant -- to the east of the farmhouse, where trees once shaded a large patch of land, but the trees have been taken down by Ed and the soil is ready for spring planting. Looking at my records from past years, I see that I always put in my first plant orders now, in January. Nevertheless, this year, my head isn't there yet. I'm stuck in winter thoughts.

I try to give myself a little push. For example, this week I started purchasing tulips for the kitchen table. My grocery store sells inexpensive bunches of tulips year round, but I scoff at the idea of putting out a vase of these guys say in November. In my mind, tulips are harbingers of spring and I allow myself the pleasure of looking at them once the countdown to spring begins. So let's think about the coming of spring! Here you go: pink tulips for breakfast!

It doesn't fully work. One foot solidly stuck in winter. I'll give myself another nudge next week. We'll see how that goes.

(It doesn't help that once again we are in a spell of low lying clouds. Spring thoughts do not respond well to a dense cloud cover.)

And I have this further insight about my days right now: I'm too well-read.

When the kids were coming to the farmhouse, in the time I was tending to them (on average five hours each day), I never once looked at my online reading material. I read stuff in the early morning and then again in the evening. In between -- I'd at most check headlines to make sure the planet was still spinning in the way that it's supposed to. Sometimes not even that. My mind was clear of worldly thoughts. 

But now -- well, I subscribe to three paid publications and each one sends me fascinating emails all day long with links to their most interesting stories.  A lot of it is news analysis: I know every detail about the insurrection in D.C., plus what every smart person has to say about it and what us average folk think about it and, too, I know what other news sources abroad and here, all over the political spectrum are saying about it, because my three publications delve into all that as well. Similarly, I have a huge knowledge base about COVID -- its origins, progression, treatment, future prognosis, current implications. And the vaccines: how they came to be, who is getting them, who is rebelling against them and for what reason. And that's not all. As I am rifling through these online pages, I come across other stories that catch my eye. For instance, did you know that "the polar vortex is splitting in two, which may lead to weeks of wild winter weather?" (WashPo, Jan.5). Or, why would I not click on this link: "New Pandemic-Related Emojis For the Next Keyboard Update?" (New Yorker, today. Actually, they're pretty funny! Go look at them here!)

So my five hours with the kids has shifted to one hour of better cleaning and bookkeeping and four hours of online reading.

This has to stop. Beginning tomorrow, I'm coming back to the days of childcare model: I will read what I can read before breakfast and return to it in the evening, in between cooking dinner, and writing an Ocean post, and eating popcorn over a movie with Ed (last night's Peanut Butter Falcon was fiercely entertaining!). A little tight, but I did it before and I can do it again! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to read a piece I came across about why resolutions are doomed to fail...)

Later:

In the afternoon, Snowdrop calls. What are you doing? 

I'm baking a rhubarb cake. (In looking through our frozen fruits and veggies, I came across a large bag of rhubarb. That's right! I'd forgotten I chopped boatloads of stalks back in the summer. It struck me that I could do more than just cook up a dinner for the young family once a week. I could bake a cake! They are once again stuck in their house, with too few hours of childcare and too much work on their plates.) What are you doing?

I'm walking a cat on a leash. 

They have three cats. Could it be that one of them is now a victim of an eager girl's play story?

Gaga, it's just pretend.

I hear meowing.

It's got batteries!

I return to my cake.  

Food delivery! 

Such good kids...

Evening. Ed dozes on the couch. We didn't ski today, but we took a brisk walk -- enough to knock him out now. I finish up cooking our portion of the same supper the young family eats. 

A new week starts tomorrow. Think it'll be a good one? Sure. Keep the hope!

Saturday - 302nd

As I lay awake this morning, waiting to see if we would be lucky enough to see sunshine today, I thought about our cross country skiing options. Weekends are tricky. It's hard to avoid people on any of the groomed trails. But of course, we do not have to stick to groomed trails. Snow is snow. You can take your skiing habit anywhere. Downhill skiing is more limited. Cross country frees you to explore a greater range of winter landscapes.

All these thoughts of skiing made me wonder when I last skied down a mountainside. Didn't I return to my beloved Cervinia in the Alps just a few years ago? Didn't I lure Ed to a downhill slope near our home also just a couple of winters past? I checked Ocean: oh how time flies! My return to Cervinia was in March, 2007. The nearby Tyrol Basin -- my last downhill run -- was in February 2014. Why haven't I gone anywhere since? 

I read my posts from Cervinia. It was a dangerously windy set of days. At many points in the day the gondolas carrying skiers up closed for safety reasons. Nonetheless, I made it to the top of the mountain ridge and skied down into Switzerland. Then up by gondola and back down into Italy. I got knocked down by an out of control skier and nonetheless I kept on going, even though I was bruised and shaken.

Most of my Polish friends (who were in fact my first skiing buddies) still continue to ski (though not this year -- the pandemic wiped the season out for them). They are older than me (I was a wee young one in our cohort) and yet they still ski. Why have I retreated?

At the end of the day, downhill skiing is, in my view, a social thing. Even if you do a solo run down a miles long slope, you like to meet up with someone eventually and ride up with them to the summit again. And more importantly, after a day of skiing, you're dying for company. Perhaps not the rowdy apres-ski stuff that some young people relish, but just to have a good hot meal with your beloveds -- friends or family -- to cap a day of adventure. I stopped downhill skiing because return trips to beautiful mountains always depleted my travel budget even as at the end of each skiing day, I was lonely and not too happy.

I do miss the mountains in the winter. But I can't see myself returning to ski them. That image of a dinner alone after a day on the slopes keeps me away.

So, was there sunshine on this day? Well, my morning walk did reveal clouds, but of course there are clouds and then there are cloud covered skies. Recently, when I had complained to Snowdrop that we have had too many cloudy days in a row, she protested. Clouds are pretty! -- she reminded me. It's true, but days and days of dismally gray skies did not show off any clouds, just darkness and an absence of sunshine. So today is different. Take a look:

Actual clouds and in between, a glimmer of hope. Not sunshine exactly, but close to it.

Breakfast. Very late.

Immediately after I get a Zoom call from Sparrow. His sister has gone off on a bird watching expedition and I guess the little guy needed a pick-me-up. There he is, chortling away as always.'

His sister comes back home right as we are finishing one of his favorite books. Yes, it's grand to see the both of them again.

And then Ed and I do go cross country skiing and every few minutes we happily spot a splash of sunlight, before the clouds cover it up again.

And yes, our friends are in the fields, giving us a friendly stare...

I'm thinking, maybe next year we'll take all the grandkids skiing. Snowdrop and Primrose are real ice gliders. Sparrow? Well, maybe he'll watch from the sidelines. With his baby sibling. And our resident deer.

Friday - 301st

Seriously? You're vacuuming? On a weekday? This was Ed's reaction when he saw me run the machine under the couch. I know what you're doing. You're filling your hours with busy work.

He is wrong. I'm just vacuuming because it hasn't been done for a couple of weeks and I can see from afar all that accumulates underneath the furniture. It's really remarkable: popcorn, okay, I get that. But feathers and buttons? Who even wears anything with tiny buttons around here? Oh, oops: Snowdrop and her tiny sweaters.

Well he's wrong anyway!

The early morning walk had been a little chaotic. We have the usual below freezing temps and what seem to be the ever present gray clouds, but the fog has lifted and I guess the animals prefer the dry winter air because they are all out and about, including the cheepers.

 

(the younger crew...) 

 That's well and good, but the old girls quickly get disoriented in the snow.

 

(the elderly hens, lead by Tuxie the cat)

I find myself carrying Java (the oldest and calmest) to the garage to rejoin the young ones there. I try hustling the others to follow. To no avail. Ah well, as Ed says, at the end of the day, all chickens end up on the barn wall.

 

Over breakfast, we talk chickens. It has come to this.

 

 

 

 

Vacuuming isn't the only catch up activity on my list for today. Budgets -- mine, my mom's -- emails, I mean, I'm sure your imagination allows you to think of all that can pile up if you've just spent five weeks doing few if any of your household jobs. 

Ed and I do go skiing, this time along a trail that isn't part of the park system, or at least not the park that is our favorite haunt. I offer a mild protest. There is, in my view, nothing pretty here -- no forest, no prairie. In the summer, the path abuts the wetlands. In the winter, well, there are a few trees, a few scraggly bushes, and lumpy patches of frozen ground. Too, it is just close enough to Madison's Sewage plant that I swear I can smell the stuff every now and then, when a stiff breeze brings it our way. (Ed claims I'm making it up and that there is no smell. He is wrong.)

Still, I agree that one must occasionally vary the repertoire and the end destination here -- a bridge over a stream -- is pretty enough. We pause for a while and discuss if the swimming bird is a duck or a goose. Let's just call it a guck.

 

 

 

 

By dusk, I am home. In time for these two!

Great plans for the remaining winter months have not been hatched yet. I offer no excuses. It could be that they will never be formed let alone hatched. It could be that I'll spend too much time reading news analyses and by spring my eyes (to say nothing of my brain) will be glazed over by virtue of an over- abundance of screen time. 

You never know what the next day will bring, right? We could all be pleasantly surprised.

Thursday - 300th

300 days of isolation! Crazy, no? Still, we are safe. 

This morning -- a gray, misty, cold, icy morning once again...

 

 

 

... with a late breakfast...

... I kept thinking about a passage from a book I read a long long time ago. I was 12 then and mostly liked the romance books that I picked up at the very tiny Young Adult section of the New York Public Library. But, we were soon to return to Poland and so I actually purchased this one book, a nonfiction story (written by Marie Killilea) about raising a daughter with a disability. That part -- about caring for a disabled child -- was powerful enough, but something else in her narrative really made an impression on me: the author presented a beautiful depiction of family life.  Every day stuff. I was enthralled. 

There was one little snippet from that book that came back to me today: it's where she describes the time after the departure of her older adopted daughter. It was a simple scene: the girl, young woman really, had left to live elsewhere (with her new husband I think). The house was suddenly very empty. Marie writes how she takes out the leaf from the dining table, no longer needed now that the family is that much smaller. And this just proved to be the wrong thing to do: the physical act of accommodating in this way the shrunken family unravels her completely.

Because I am remembering so vividly this passage from the book, I do not put away stuff that is here, at the farmhouse for the pleasure of the kids. I'll do it -- I'll tidy up spaces, perhaps redecorate their play space, put away the books they have been demanding all December long, but not today. Not the first day of an empty house.

Still, the farmhouse is small and the telltale signs of the kids' presence are everywhere. And each time I see a flash of one item or the next -- the rose on Snowdrop's placemat, the soup pot filled by Sparrow with plastic veggies, the markers used just yesterday by the little girl -- the feeling of sudden loss washes over me.

But, I'm busy. For one thing, I have a Zoom party with my Polish friends, all properly horrified at the news from this side of the ocean.

 

 

And then later, toward evening, Ed and I do a ski run. No rush today, just a nice easy glide through the prairie and into the forest.

And so the day passes. Will all my winter days be equally slow, equally without new ideas? To avoid a slide into the feeling of sameness, where each day is just like the next or the one before it, I made a list of projects. Looking at it now, I'm thinking few of the items are any fun. They sound like the laborious stuff that I should have been attending to all along, except that I had this excuse: the kids.

Perhaps tomorrow's job will be to come up with a better list!

 

 

 

Wednesday - 299th

And how does your heart feel today? There is so much horrible stuff going on right now in the greater world out there beyond the farmette lands, that it feels unreal that I should think, feel, and write about my life as a grandmother of three and soon to be four magnificent grandchildren. But I will do it anyway because this is where the good stuff happens. It's where joy and beauty reign.

Even though, I have to admit it, it's a tough day for Gogs. After five weeks of intense time with Snowdrop and Sparrow, where they have spent a significant part of every day here at the farmhouse, we have to now cut off those visits -- all those hugs, snuggles, games, meals -- all of that comes to an abrupt end. The sitters, who have been waiting patiently in the wings, have been promised a return to childcare duties starting tomorrow. And they are magnificent at their job and they are needed, because the young couple cannot maintain total isolation 100% of the time, especially if Snowdrop returns to in-person learning in a few weeks. 

Thus today is my last day with the kids for, well, let's not speculate on how long. Let's hope for not terribly long. Because, well, because the farmette is waiting for them, already feeling the pain of the emptiness that comes with their absence.

We wake up early to a foggy day. 

 

 

More prettiness out there! (But I do miss the sunshine.)

Half the cheepers -- the younger lot -- decide to finally venture out and test the winter waters. Or rather snow. Which they hate. Their claws are not clad in warm footwear. 

The older girls, wiser by many years, stay in the barn.

Breakfast. I give Ed a break. No photo. He'll be my one human contact for a long time. May as well give him peace and quiet during today's morning meal.

And then the kids come over. It's hard not to think, and write, in terms of lasts. But it is a last. For a while. 

Snowdrop knows that change is imminent. Her play is different today (and therefore so is his). She alternates between boisterousness, engaging Ed in a balloon game (with many rules!)...

And later, in a dress up talent show, with Sparrow, who is shy about it, but loses his timidity entirely when she coaxes him into laughter.

 

 

Then, in other moments, she just wants to snuggle and read passages of December's favorite books and explain to me the virtues of having a Barbie with purple hair...

 

 

Too, we settle in to draw a little, and definitely (at the request of both kids actually) watch a couple of episodes of Olivia (each one is only ten minutes long). You wouldn't guess it by looking at this photo of the captive audience, but Olivia is pretty funny.

 

Toward the end, I tell her that she should consider taking any toy that she may want to have at home. She pauses and thinks about the implications of it. I reassure her that we've done this before, that it will be fine. She accepts it, stopping only to write on the frost of the screen porch door as we leave. (Mine is the I love you. Hers is the rest, Sparrow works hard on adding an S, for Sparrow.)

How I do love my grandchildren! And yes, I know I am the lucky Gogs. I had them in my home for five weeks. I know that. It makes for an abrupt end, but I'll never forget how fortunate I was to be handed this month of Snowdrop and Sparrow (and not too infrequently -- their parents). Not being able to spend regular old hangout time with my Chicago younger daughter and her family is that more bitter side to the sweetness of this complicated month.

 

In the evening Ed and I ski. It's therapeutic. With so much going on, with the sudden end to an extraordinarily busy period in my life, I need to glide, to take in the winter loveliness, to feel at one with the world out there.

 

 

And I do.

Our evening friends -- the only friends we see regularly these days:

And home again. 

 

 

I try not to look at all the things that remind me of the presence of kids here (everything!). I reheat leftovers and here's a novel thing: I take out a bag of frozen veggies and throw it into the mix. I decided to work through the bags of frozen produce I purchased in early March, unsure then about the future of our food supply, about the virus, about safe grocery shopping. A sign of hope: use up the freezer stuff. We wont be needing it. (Don't prove me wrong!)

I finish supper with Primrose in Chicago. A child's voice. Such a welcome thing!

 

And Snowdrop calls. Not because she needs to connect so soon, but because she has learned to use her mom's phone surreptitiously and to click on my number.

Evening quiet. We're used to that. It's the daytime quiet that will feel way off..

Tuesday - 298th

A memorable day!

... For the wake-up to lovely sunshine! Just one day of blue skies (the clouds are slated to return tomorrow), but oh, are we thankful for it!

 

(just before sunrise)

 

 

 

 

 

... Memorable, too, for the wake-up to no hot water. And no heat. And no gas in the stove. How could this be?! I have a million things to do! It's not just any day, it's Snowdrop's birthday. She is six and there should be friends and a party but of course, there is none of that. There is home and there is the farmhouse and right now the farmhouse is very cold..

I rouse Ed. 

The gas is somehow stuck. Not flowing into the house. We call Madison Gas and Electric

They take a long while to come and that's a good thing, because before they do, Ed locates the problem: an iced-over pressure regulator on the gas line. Phew! A close call. He de-ices it and we're back in business!

A very rushed breakfast... 

 

 

... and then the kids arrive. You'll see a lot of Snowdrop here today. A party of photos of the girl who deserves a party! (And her little brother who just wants to be with her every minute of the day.)

(admiring mermaid banner)

(this one: )

(school: ten minute phonics lesson)

(letting me take her 6-year old portrait)

School, play, read, play - your typical mash-up of activities on this unusual day.

The birthday girl is in great spirits and that's such a good thing! Of course, she is often in great spirits. Snowdrop has a wide emotional range, but her default setting surely is exuberance!

Watching her grow up is indeed grand. Each and every child on this planet has a unique gift. Or two, or more. Whatever the little girl's gifts may be in adulthood, right now, without a doubt, I'd say she is a master story teller. As it's her special day, I can share something from her encyclopedic storehouse of stories. It's from yesterday actually. She was discussing things mathematical with her other grandmother and in being told she can make up a story math problem, you know, with the usual subtractions and additions, Snowdrop enthusiastically offers one of her own creation: Here it is:

LUCY AND JACK’S SNOW DAY

 

Lucy and Jack are waking up. Lucy opens her window and yawns and then she says "Look at that snow! It's a snow day, Jack." she says. Jack wakes up. "What, Lucy?" he says.  "Jack, it's a snow day!" said Lucy. "Lucy, don't get too excited," said Jack. "First we have to get ready." "Yeah and wake up Mom and Dad."

she said. "Okay," said Jack. "We'll wake up Mom and Dad first." "Well, what are you waiting for?

Let's wake up Mom and Dad." she said.

 

"Shhh!" said Lucy.

"Let's jump on their bed." said Jack.

First Mom woke up. "Aah,kids... why are you jumping on my bed?It's only 7:30 in the morning."

"Mom," said Lucy, "look out your window. It's a snow day."

Then Dad woke up. He said "No peanut butter pancakes."

"Dad... Mom can cook but you know we can't cook."

"Sorry,kids. I was dreaming I was at a mansion where they brought me everything I wanted and next I had wanted peanut butter pancakes."

 

"Kids, let's go have breakfast." said Mom.

"Can I have peanut butter pancakes?" Dad said right away.

And then Jack said, "And I'll have peanut butter pancakes too." And then Lucy said, "I'll have peanut butter pancakes too!" "Wait, kids and Dad," said Mom. "I think I'll have peanut butter pancakes too." "What are we waiting for?" said Lucy."Let's go downstairs and have our pancakes."

After they ate their peanut butter pancakes, Lucy said, "Jack, race you to the door!" "Hold on, young lady. First we have to get ready for the day and then you can say 'Jack, race you to the door.'"

"Okay," said Lucy. "Let's go take a bath." Lucy and Jack took their bath and got dressed. Lucy said, "Let's go outside and play." "And have a snowball fight," said Jack. "Well, let's get ready and go outside." said Lucy.

When they got in their clothes and went outside, Lucy said, "Let's have 14 snowballs. I'll have 3. How many will you have, Jack?" 

"Hmm," said Jack,"how many will I have? Well, how about I have 11?" "Yeah, you should have 11," said Lucy. "Let's go have our snowball fight."

In the end Lucy won because she didn’t use a single snowball until Jack ran all out.

Some day someone will have to tell her that her teacher will expect a two line problem. For now, I just have to smile and say -- this is sooo Snowdrop!

With such radiant sunshine outside, I push for the outdoors.  Not terribly long: Sparrow's patience with snow is still pretty thin. (Snowdrop, on the other hand,  could play out there for a long long time.)

Gaga what's Snowdrop doing? Snow angels? I think she's just enjoying being in the snow!

 

 

 (Sparrow with snowman)

(Snowdrop is not a snowman builder. She prefers her magic meadowland pretend play.)

 

 

In the late afternoon, I take the kids back to their house and I speed up the preparations for a farmhouse celebration. The cake needs to be frosted...

Too, I fix the girl's favorite dinner (crunchy chicken, pasta and corn), blow up some balloons and bring down the presents. Snowdrop had meekly asked -- gaga, will you be giving me a present? Yes, little one. I will. 

[And, just before the young family comes back to the farmette, Ed and I have time for a quick run on a ski trail! That's how close we are to the county park!]

 

(frozen lake, ice fisher person...)

Just after sunset, the young family comes and the birthday celebrations continue!

First on the agenda: connect with the Chicago young family.

The balloons, the gifts -- it's all rather spirited! Snowdrop takes a moment to recharge.

(dinner)

(cake)

And then, one last photo. I will see the kids one more time, tomorrow, but there wont be anyone to take this pic: of the four of us on the farmhouse white couch, where we have had so many rambunctious play moments, interspersed with the occasional viewing of their beloved Olivia the Pig film clips.

Time for them to head home.

The farmhouse is warm, the water is warm, the stars are out, the heart feels very full.