Sunday - 345th

Who would have thought that a snowstorm in Texas would have us cracking a hole into the wall of the farmhouse! Yet that is exactly what we are now planning to do. All that talk of people running their gas ovens to keep warm lead us to further investigate the link between gas stoves and particles and gas emissions and boom! After a night of studying the literature, Ed decided that indeed, we should vent our gas stove. Through a soon to be knocked out hole in the farmhouse wall. [A suggestion to those of you who have a gas stove with a vent over it: use it when you're cooking a bunch. Or at least open the window. Unvented stoves wont kill you (unless you're leaking carbon monoxide, but that's a rarer event), but the air quality in your home will be, well, on the poor side for the duration of your cooking efforts.] You'd think that our construction team would have insisted on putting in a vent when we rebuilt the kitchen a few years back, but in fact, venting a stove is not required in Wisconsin (it is in California) and most people have no idea that nitrogen oxides are seeping into their work space when they turn on their gas stove. Funny how even at 67, I'm still learning really basic stuff about, well, everything.

We wake up to a gray day that will eventually bring with it yet another snow event. So, time to get cheerful and have a color filled breakfast in the front room!

Throughout the morning, we talk about how to proceed with the hole punching and vent installation. Ed, of course, wants to do it himself. Me, I'd hand it over to a construction team. Let's see if you can guess who will win this discussion!

And speaking of stoves and ovens, this really is a good day for baking. I am forever searching out recipes for desserts that appeal to both adults and kids, desserts that are not one big sugar high. Chocolate is often involved! Today, I go for cupcakes made with strawberry puree and topped with chocolate frosting. I'm thinking the puree will add a freshness, color and a fine taste...

 

... but of course, winter berries, imported from California or Florida, can be on the bland side. If it weren't for the pink-ish color, would we even know that two cups of berries went into the batter? Ah well. Yummy stuff nonetheless.

When I set out with dinner for the young family, it's snowing. A freezing icy wet kind of snow. And in backing out down the long driveway, the car skids right into a snowbank. I suppose it portends of the drive ahead of me. 

Ed spends a good chunk of time pushing me out of trouble  and I continue. The roads are awful. Slippery, and growing more slippery by the minute. I crawl to the young family's house thinking -- why are end of season snow events the worst? 

Happy moments!

And then the drive back. Slow, very very slow. But hey, I stay on the highway, even though it isn't always obvious where the highway lanes are.

Home again. Relieved, hungry, tired.  I glance at my Fitbit step tracker. Ed and I did not walk anywhere today yet I feel like I've run a marathon. Perhaps I have run a marathon of sorts. We all have. And we all can't wait to get to the finish line.

Saturday - 344th

The pandemic isolation, or hibernation, or let's call it sheltering has created new normals and I'm finding that leaving them behind is not easy. Many of my pandemic habits were formed early on, when we knew very little about the virus spread. When they work for you, you stick with them, even though the science behind them has moved on. I suppose we tell ourselves that there are still many unknowns and evolving variants and who knows what else. So we stay with the rules we developed now close to a year ago. 

One rule that we set for ourselves (thinking that the pandemic surely wont last) was to eat only home cooked meals. This isn't exactly tortuous, since I like to cook, but we did, in the past, have take-out once a week, or maybe two weeks. Picked up Asian foods, Mexican foods -- they gave me a break from the constancy of menu planning, shopping, preparing, cleaning up. That ended last March and, well, I've just stuck with cooking it all myself. When my daughter asked me today what I would like to eat now that such boundaries to dinner foods can surely be lifted, I recoiled: have I really prepared 344 dinners in a row? Oh my. I am looking forward to a break!

Other routines have taken hold as well: since I haven't spent time with the grandkids, I've found time to be rather regular with the walking/skiing habit. Ed and I are out doing one or the other every day. We haven't looked for grand adventures. Instead, most of the time we stick with out local county park, just a couple of miles up the road from us. The point is to enjoy the fresh air, the forest quiet, the changing landscape. We don't really mind the repetition of the trails. 

Still, sometimes there is that itch to branch out. And today, the itch took hold and you know how itches go: once they're there, you have to scratch.

I think I am correct in predicting that this will have been the last of the super cold mornings, where the reading is in the negatives (F), meaning far far below freezing. Still, the sun is out: it looks promising out there. 

We have started to let out the cheepers again -- all four of them. The possum raid spooked us and so during the cold snap, we kept them in the coop round the clock. A heating unit close to their coop kept them fairly warm. There was no need for them to be released to the frozen tundra out there. Still, they were restless. Time to relax and let go.

(four chickens and a cat)

Our breakfast? In the front room. A new habit!

And then comes the couch time -- the garden planning on my part, the discussion about how our spring will unfold. And eventually we rouse ourselves and head out. Not to the county park! Anywhere but the county park!

We drive to the Brooklyn Wildlife Area. The Ice Age trail cuts through it and we like several loops we can do there. And unlike the county parks, this combination of forest and prairie is rarely visited (except in the height of the hunting season). But wait! Things have changed. the pandemic has moved others to explore hiking, snow shoeing, trekking through the woods. The parking lot by the trail head is full! A dozen cars! Our little corner of quiet has been discovered!

The good thing about having devoted so many days to working on the Ice Age Trail is that you know all the nearby segments. And so we do an about face and pick up a secret fragment that no one knows of. 

 

 

 

Well, almost no one. We do pass three people. We can deal with bumping into just three!

In the evening, we talk about the microwave again! We've replaced it FOUR times in the past two years and we are about to do it again. I blame it on the schools. Here's why:

I was reading about the tragic loss of power in Texas after the storms and this one sentence caught my eye: many people who turned on their gas stoves to heat their homes were poisoned by the gases released through keeping the burners going full blast. 

Gases? What gases?

I turn to Ed for help. He explains all about gas, combustion, carbon monoxide, this, that, more names of gases. Really? Merely lighting your gas stove poisons the air you breathe? Well, he tells me, not if you vent it out. 

So I read up on this subject and indeed, I learn that we gas stove users do exactly that: we let toxins fill our kitchens, our lungs, our homes. What's the solution? Vent the damn stove out or replace it with an electric model. Bottom line, if I want to un-polute the farmhouse, we should cut a hole in the kitchen wall and vent the stove out. (Which would require getting rid of the microwave that's over our stove right now.)

I feel a little bit like the moment when, as a young adult, I learned that you really can't dry your hair and take a bath at the same time. Death might result. I mean, I should have put two and two together, but I had skipped grades in school, including the year my class had Physics 101, though honestly, I dont think the ancient male teacher talked about hair dryers then and he certainly skipped over any toxins released by gas stoves -- of that I'm sure. And this is my point: the school curriculum should cover stuff like that: things you should not do to inadvertantly kill yourself. How else do you learn this stuff?

Evening quiet. I glance at the (online) paper and read about the oldest recipient of the COVID vaccine -- a woman who is 111 years old. People that old are always asked about what they do to live so long. This woman answered -- it's all about wine, beer and good food. I'm not surprised. Delighting in things that fill your everyday and keeping that dryer out of the bathtub will do it every time.

To longevity. And love.

Friday - 343rd

Is there a day in the calendar year that celebrates friendship? No? Well that's a shame! Why would you not give an appreciative nod to this most important category of people? Maybe send flowers, maybe write a card, with a caveat -- your friend doesn't have to send a thank you note in return! Just enjoy the message, feel grateful and maybe even happy. Wouldn't that be nice!

I'd like to believe that I do not take my friends for granted. That I honor them, love them, thank them for their sweetness, care, and their singularly unique and interesting approach to each day. We humor ourselves by thinking we're good friends in return. That we make an effort. But is it enough? I'm thinking that in reality, we tend to obsessively fret about getting through each day without breaking bones, or burning the night's meal. We've evolved from being warriors to worriers. We agonize about every detail of our day. And yeah, we probably neglect our friends.

So I'm compensating! I'm setting aside this day for thinking grand thoughts about friends. It's the perfect time for it -- I have two Zoom chats, one with my Polish friend and one with my two southern pals. And in between, I think about how lucky I am to have these people (and others -- friendship is not exclusive!) in my life. Good people, who live elsewhere, but whose minds run along channels not so distant from my own.

But I admit it -- these grand thoughts are saved for moments when I'm not doing the usual: animal care in the morning...

 

Breakfasting with Ed...

and eventually taking a city park walk with him...

 

(the park with the great city view)

With the usual evening set of tasks, none of them unpleasant: cooking dinner, putting away the accumulated bits of another week of farmhouse isolation. But at the end, I come back to friends. What a great institution, don't you think? Thank you for being there, you guys. Really, thank you.

With love.

Thursday - 342nd

For the first time in what seems like months (but was probably only a couple of weeks), the air didn't bite your face off when you stepped outside. It was a normal winter day -- below freezing, to be sure. But it didn't slap you down and leave you shuddering. The sun was out, the white snow sparkled. Lovely stuff! (No sun in the wee hours of the morning, but it's coming!)

As with everything these days, it's hard to enjoy something when you know people elsewhere are having exactly the opposite experience. Furnaces not running, next storm barrelling through, miserable stuff! The only heartening news is that by next week, people in Texas will climb up from below freezing to near 70F (21C). Here in Wisconsin, we see temperatures that high toward the end of May if we're lucky. 

 

Whatever side effects the vaccination produced in one of us yesterday are gone today. It's like the feel good switch had been turned off for 24 hours and now someone finally flipped it on again. Breakfast, sprightly prepared, in the front room.

The less severe weather has the animals out prancing again. We're trying to feed a new stray cat, but the herd of old timers is onto us and they are not on board with it! And so feeding the newcommer (Pancake) is a challenge. Believe it or not, I spend a good chunk of time watching carefully for a window of opportunity when I can run some food over to her. I always feel like it's her last meal before the herd chases her away permanently and I'm deeply satisfied when I see her finally at the bowl, eating with gusto food that the other cats here take for granted.

(The other animals that come through here daily in search of food include these guys...)

 

 

In the afternoon, Ed and I go skiing and we do the bigger loop, through the edge of the forest, and it is so peaceful and still empty, as if people aren't believing the goodness of the weather just yet.

(driving home, we pause to admire the sky, the snow, all of it...)

And in the evening, Ed cheers Perseverance and I lose myself in cookbooks, looking for new baking ideas. Not a bad way to spend a winter day, don't you think?

Wednesday - 341st

I've heard that about half the people who receive the second COVID shot will have no reaction at all beyond a sore arm, and half will feel really sick for a day or two. I'd say Ed and I fulfilled that prediction well: half of us got sick, with joint aches, fatigue, and flu like symptoms to the max, while the other half coasted. I'll let you guess who fell into which category.

I know you're tired of me starting the day with a weather story ("still cold out there" "so many degrees below freezing!" "biting wind" etc.), but it has been shockingly cold for a shockingly long period of time and so I can't ignore it. I'll glance at the thermometer and reach for the heavy overcoat. It's so bulky and awkward that I had wanted to give it away long ago, but of course that would have been a mistake. When polar winds blow down on us day after day, a quilt of a coat, faux fur trim and all, is the ticket.

 

 

We eat breakfast in the south facing front room. I have finally tidied this kid space and now it actually looks pretty enough to host us in the morning. Of course, one afternoon of play will recreate the chaos that reigned here for several years, but for now, we are enjoying the feeling of space and order.

The day is much like yesterday -- cold but sunny. We should be out, taking in this free dose of vitamin D, but instead, we spend a good chunk of the day napping on the couches -- not unusual for Ed, very weird for me. 

By late afternoon, guilt sets in. We should go skiing. Yes we should. Now or never. Maybe not today? Yes today!

If napping while skiing were possible, I would have done it. Instead, we do our loop and come back, returning to our couches, picking up where we left off.

Evening. A simple supper of scrambled eggs and veggies. I eat it in the company of my sweet Chicago grandgirl!

Slowly, very slowly, we're warming up here in Wisconsin. I can tell, because it was not hard to chase the two most domesticated cats, Dance and Friendly (referred to by me as Obsequious) outside. 

(Friendly's favorite perch in the last few day?  Up by my favorite ceramic platters. Grrr.!)

When the temps plummeted, they shivered and balked and ran to the warmest belly of the farmhouse. Tonight, they sprinted out the door, in hot pursuit of something. (Not deer: they appear to coexist in great harmony with the deer that pass this way all winter long.)

 

 

If we've learned anything this past year it is to keep our eyes narrowly focused on each day. To resist the temptation to look ahead, to look forward only to be disappointed. But, despite the multitude of uncertainties out there, this I know for sure: we are heading toward spring. And that's such a grand thing!

Tuesday - 340th

If ever there was a day that reminded me of our senior status, this one would qualify! 

On most days, our age hardly makes a dent in our day's agenda. Oh, we aren't as speedy in our movements and there are plenty of bodily reminders of a more advanced age, but neither Ed nor I dwell on this aspect of our farmette life. It just isn't a topic of discussion or contemplation. There are finer things with which to fill your head.

But today is different.

First, there was the matter of the cat. Dance, our feral outdoor cat who likes to come in for loooong visits, refused to go back outside when Ed called it a day and came upstairs to bed. He claims he tried bribing, pushing, tricking and begging. It did not work. And so she was in for the night and of course, I was just waiting for her to chase our feet under the quilt (her favorite activity upstairs). This cannot be a new normal. I'm too old to change my sleeping habits! (There are the concerning practicalities as well. We do not have a litter box. She needs to be outside!)

I finally chased her down and out at dawn. But by then, it was time for me to get moving.

Gloriously sunny day! Oh, it's still cold, but we are only thirty degrees (F) below the freezing mark at wake up, and by afternoon, I know we'll be in the teens again (so around -8 or -9C). That's splendid!

I shovel the inch or two of new snow, I feed the animals, I check the car battery. All good. We have an early breakfast. Yeah, Dance is back inside again.

Now to the notable part of the day.

Late on Sunday we were able to schedule our second COVID vaccination. It was not easy. The system crashed, the time slots filled instantly and the supply arrived a day late. Still, we were delighted to get an early morning time slot for today. The appointment is in Cottage Grove (some twenty minutes east of us), same pharmacy, same loose protocols, but this time we are well equipped. Fine particle masks, covered by cloth ones (hey, Fauci double masks!). Gloved hand. Necessary papers in a separate plastic bag. And we're off!

In fact, it is both smoother and faster than three weeks ago. We were in and out in ten minutes, with a "congratulations" from the chatty vaccinating person.

I know you should not feel guilty for getting vaccinated. Indeed, seniors especially need to get these shots as quickly as possible. And we are seniors by any measure. Still, people talk about the joy that comes with that second shot and I can't say that either Ed or I will feel joy until everyone gets a turn. And I mean everyone, down to my youngest grandchild.

For us, there will be only three changes in the way we behave. I'll still wash groceries, wear double masks, avoid everyone outside, avoid going anywhere inside, same old stay at home do nothing. But, I will reconnect with the young families again. They're both isolated and at home, save for their children who are in school/daycare/with a sitter. My second change -- I need to resume the medical appointments I let go of back in March. For example, I haven't had my eyes checked in years. I can't see anything with any clarity anymore! Thirdly -- Ed may do some sailing later in spring. 

None of this will happen just yet. You have to wait a while for stuff to kick in.

 

In the meantime, I'm on the lookout for the much discussed and anticipated side effects of the second shot. I ask Ed if he is tired. He is not. Neither am I. Shouldn't I be? Feeling sick yet? Nope. Me neither. Darn!

By late afternoon, I decide we cannot pass up a chance to at least walk in this beautiful sunshine. It's a bit windy so we still have to bundle up, but we do a grand long hike up to the forest in back of the new development and the new school. Ed had hoped we could hike into the forest, but the snow is just too deep.

The best part? Walking home, with our faces to the sun! (Through the new development, where construction crews are hammering away, polar vortex notwithstanding!)

It's still cold enough for a supper of wintry soup -- red lentils, cooked up with onions and carrots and spiced with ginger, cumin, coriander, turmeric and cayenne pepper. 

And because we are old, after dinner, we huddle under a quilt on the couch. We share a chocolate from our Valentine box and of course, popcorn. 

We are done with shots for now, but we are in spirit with all of you who are still waiting. We applaud all the speedy deliveries, the opening of new vaccination sites, the releasing of more groups to get their appointments. We will be super happy when everyone gets vaccinated. In the meantime, we wait.

With love.

Monday - 339th

Think of it this way: when the thermometer tells you the temperature outside is at the freezing point, you know it's damn cold. Now, subtract forty more degrees from that point (yes forty!) and you have the reading on our thermometer this morning when I go out to feed the animals. With a perky little wind to add insult to an already stinging day.

And I can't just go to the barn, the sheep shed, then home again. I have to fix the long driveway: we'd eyeballed it yesterday and decided it was just fine. What's another inch or two of snow! No more shoveling required. Indeed, I took the car out last night to do a food drop off. No problem!

Nonetheless, right after I had returned home, an Amazon driver texted telling me the driveway is not passable and please advise what to do with some package or other. So this morning, I set out with a shovel. (And oh, the irony! We had some food delivered soon after, and that driver drove into a snowbank. Ed had to push hard to get his car out of trouble.)

 

But here's something that (almost) makes up for the cold: We do have morning sunshine!

Polar air isn't nearly as menacing when there are streaks of sunlight all over the farmette lands. 

Still, it is substantially warmer in here:

Since we did not ski yesterday, the push is on to go out today. I nudge him, he nudges me and finally, just before noon, we head out to our county park. Typically we ski toward evening, to avoid people, but today's sunshine is slated to disappear in the afternoon. Too, we are not going to worry about other skiers on such a cold day. Indeed, even though we ski on the more popular, groomed trails...

... we see not a single other person out there! Could it be that it is just a tad too cold??

We are, of course, used to winter cold. It's Wisconsin, right? Too, we're approaching the tail end of the winter season. These are the last days for the warmest of your warm sweaters. Indeed, by next week, we expect to be up to a mere freezing temperature. (In other words, forty degrees will be added to our bounty!) So I don't feel especially bummed out by this persistent vortexian blast from up north. But I have to say, though it's a rare day that Ed complains of the cold, today, when asked, he responds -- I'm okay except for the numb fingertips and the wind blowing right through my cap.

 

(winter sunsets are often very dramatic...)

 

 

Hot tea, candle burning, grateful: for so many things, but at this second, most grateful for the fantastic furnace that blows delicious warm air out all the vents. Well, except for one vent -- a favorite resting space for the visiting Dance. Imagine warm air gently massaging your winter cold tummy! Mmmm!

Sunday, Valentine's Day

Let's talk about this day and how it fits into the cosmos of our lives.

Want to tune out? Are you one of those (I know a handful!), who has a pshaw attitude toward this holiday? We all get caught up in a scripted life of events and celebrations that, by their very predictability, their load of expectations, make us feel bored, indifferent or even tired and depleted. So perhaps you reject the idea of Valentine's Day because you've allowed yourself to believe that it must follow a pattern, with roses and cards and chocolates and love notes and perfume -- yawn. Not for me, you say.

But can't you write your own script? Can't you step out of the preordained, the conventional, and give yourself the task of designing a day that has meaning on your own terms?

It's hard!

But let's give it a go, shall we?

Let's start from scratch. What's at the essence of Valentine's Day? Well, love of course. Pure, beautiful, uplifting love. Some of you may want to tap my shoulder and say -- romantic love. I wont argue with you, but I do think you are unnecessarily constraining yourself. There are so many components of the love I feel for Ed, why would I limit myself to a day favoring one over the rest? In the same vein, my love for my kids, grandkids, for my good friends is so deep and essential to my everyday -- why should this not be recognized? All those loves give my life direction and meaning. Why would I want to ignore them on a day celebrating love?

Okay, so now you know: I place few limits on what love I want to hold sacred today. But now I sense a different push back: why "hold sacred today?" Celebrating love once a year seems like the worst idea! If love is my driving force (and it is... without it, I would not want to get out of bed in the morning), then why celebrate it at all? Why not just live it? Every day?

Well, because the everyday bit is a tricky thing. We have to wash dishes and clean chicken coops and do laundry and shovel icy walkways and... okay, you get the picture. Your mind churns and moves from one thing to the next and then pfft! Day is done. 

But, on Valentine's Day! Ah, on Valentine's Day! It's different. You and I can pause and dwell on the fundamentals again. We can use symbols -- flowers, sweets, cards, or in some years we can play with the less conventional (because if we do the same thing every single year, and it is scripted, it will get boring! Really it will!). But here's the essential part, I think: if this day is to have any meaning at all, it must lead us to be especially thoughtful and kind to those we love. And playful! 

Being human, I do look for little gifts that validate my belief that I am not in this love bubble alone. They're not hard to find (as I'm sure they're not hard for you to find either). Here's one: Ed came upstairs late after midnight and woke me with the words happy valentine's day and love you. I had to smile, because really, he had to step out of his everyday armor to do this most thoughtful and kind act. (True, he would not have remembered the significance of February 14th, but I'm good at sprinkling hints in the weeks before.)

I let him sleep late. It is such a cold day -- coldest of all, I think -- that I hurried with my morning walk to the barn...

... and hurried back to fuss a little more with breakfast. No oatmeal today!

Because a great chunk of me does ride with the conventional, I have an unreasonably large amount of pink clothing on me today. Well, what can I say -- I like pink! Here we are, mismatched colorwise, but on board with this day. (He would not get up for the photo, so I brought the camera down to his level.)

And then I do something special for the farmette -- I finally take out my plant catalogues and plan the garden. (Normally, we put an end to catalogue delivery by meticulously calling each company and asking them to please stop sending us paper stuff, but with the pandemic, we'd grown lax.) My favorite local perennial retailer has closed its doors and so I have to extend my orbit to more distant places to find favorites. Yes, as you know if you at all look at my summer photos, I do have favorites!

Anything else? Well, Ed did acquire a card for me because he knows I like that. I did not acquire a card for him because I know he is indifferent to it. But I did order a box of chocolates. From Chicago (Vosges), for us to share. Today we ate a truffle with violet petals. Ah, love is in the air! He fixed little things that I had wanted fixed. I fussed more with dinner than I might usually fuss. And I popped open a bottle of prosecco and made him take a sip because this creates an opportunity for him to remind me how much he dislikes wine. An unconventional form of kindness, I think: give him a chance to dislike something I offer! (Gifts do not have to be purchased!)

As for the kids and grandkids -- oh, they heard from me alright! The local ones got some hand delivered foods and treats...

(included: a flourless chocolate cake, recipe: Lebovitz)

The more distant ones got something in the the mail.

 

(home again)

 

 

 

But more importantly, I thought about these guys in the best ways, all day long. Friends too: I thought about the sustaining conversations I have with them, about the trips we've taken together, about how beautiful and incredibly perfect their sweetness is and has been for a long long time. 

So, a wonderful day, a most special day! So much of it focused on the most important emotion within us. Love.

Saturday - 337th

We wake up to more snow. As I shovel our path out the door, I note that the piles are monstrously big -- the kind that you associate with Buffalo in New York, or Sapporo in Japan. The farmette lands have never looked more winter fresh, winter lovely. 

I walk to the barn, no longer surprised by the temperature readings. Bitter cold. Ho hum.

I fix breakfast, Dance comes inside and develops a fascination with the strands of reed in the tulip vase.

Yep, we're all hungry for green stuff!

I have three errands today: a curbside pickup of carrots from our favorite carrot/spinach farmer (who hands out bags of stuff at the winter pandemic-style farmers market).

Next, a curbside pickup of some bakery treats for tomorrow. Because, you know, tomorrow can be extra special, if you're feeling extra warm and fuzzy and expressive.

Finally, a delivery of said bakery items to the young family, so they can have a warm and fuzzy and expressive weekend as well.

And then I drive by a car lot, to look with longing at new cars. Me, who pretty much hates cars, who hasn't had a new car in many decades, who doesn't believe in wasting life's savings on a car -- here I am, looking at a parking lot full of them. Call it the pandemic crazy. 

Meh, they all look dirty, covered with snow, salt and sand, just like mine!

The roads are slippery. One car slides off the highway and rolls down the hill. 

Another veers inadvertently into the median. How did we move from a light snowfall to a blustery blowing snow event? 

 

 

 

Still, by late afternoon, the clouds move on to dump a winter mess elsewhere. Sunshine! Ed and I go skiing. 

There is a bitter wind that takes away any potential comfort from the sun. Eyes glazed, cheeks stiff, blowing snow covering the track. We do just one loop along the trails and call it quits. Brrrr!

The best thing about going out in the bitter cold? Coming into a warm house after, where a pot of soup is waiting to be heated for supper. Since I'd stopped at the bakery, I had a fresh cheese baguette to add to it. 

Heavenly.