eve of solstice

Remember when we all thought 2020 was the worst year ever and we would soon put all worries behind us?

Well now.

But in fact, 2021 gave the vast majority living here so much to be grateful for, including a rapid, coordinated response to Covid. Most of us benefited tremendously from the vaccination program -- the super quick distribution, the continued science that allowed us to get the booster just when we needed it so badly, the vaccination of most of our kids. All this was huge. [To say nothing of the political calm that we have been given. No one can deny that no matter how divided we remain, the screaming from the top and therefore from the bottom has receded substantially. If noise ruins hearing, then I would bet in 2021 everyone's hearing has improved tremendously and I say this as an older person who especially values the calming of the decibel output around me. From the CDC: Noise above 70 dB over a prolonged period of time may start to damage your hearing. Loud noise above 120 dB can cause immediate harm to your ears. Now isn't that the truth!]

I have a calm day today. I was to drive down to Chicago with my older girl, but we postponed that due to some small snafus that sometimes happen when you have a newborn. We'll try again the day after tomorrow. Practically, this means that today is suddenly uncomplicated, but the days before Christmas will be a bit of a whirl. That's okay. I can handle holiday whirl!

We are today on the eve of winter solstice. Whereas in June we begin losing precious light from our day's routines, in December, we start getting it back. Today, on the eve, the sun rose at 7:26 and it will set at 4:25. Tomorrow, on the day of this year's solstice, it will rise in Madison again at 7:26. And here's the thing: the sun will then set at 4:26. People forget that solstice happens at a moment in time. For us, the reversal begins tomorrow at 9:59 a.m. and by afternoon we will already have claimed back a minute of light. So it's not actually true that the so called shortest day is really the shortest. Oftentimes the day before (today!) holds that honor.

But here's where science and perception collide: this day may be the true shortest one, but on the other hand, the sunshine made us feel as though we suddenly jumped into a wealth of more light.

(the hens, racing to follow me)

 

Breakfast, with a Northlands Keap candle, was positively bursting with light!

(Candle continues to guide me into the afternoon and evening.)

Thought of the day? Well, I was thinking about the upcoming days and how I may feel obliged to make resolutions. It's a frustrating exercise because let's admit it: older people do not change their habits and ways with ease. For instance, once long ago I may have worked hard on being more funny in person and in writing (I like the idea of making people laugh), but these days I know that that bird has flown. I cannot be funny. I have worked with words all my life, yet I cannot generate a sentence at the snap of my fingers that would make you hiccup with mirth. Not only am I not Seinfeld, I'm not even as quick to spot the ridiculous as is my three year old grandson. He can make you laugh. I cannot.

So what's left? I suppose you can always tell yourself to be better at all that you already have been doing. That's terribly uninspired. Let's see if I can be more original. How about this: eat fewer vegetables. Ed and I probably eat too many. 

And so I go round in circles, looking for ways to set goals for change in the new year, even though I am pretty content with my wee corner of the universe right now. [I could do without the pandemic, but I cannot fix that one. I do mitigate as best as I can, but I am human and I am capable of succumbing to temptations. For example, in Chicago, I entered a local food shop, which broke my record of going 21 months without entering a grocery store. I figured that I HAD gone into pastry shops in Paris so why should this small Chicago specialty foods shop be different, but then I know we always seek to justify our actions to make ourselves feel better about the path we followed.]

And so for now, the young families are doin' okay, I have a wee Christmas tree and I am for that and many other reasons, grateful and content.

With love...

Sunday

This is as normal a Sunday as we're going to get this year. Sure, there are the markers of Christmas. And my trance from having met my youngest granddaughter, Juniper. (I'm sure you can't see the Juniper berries in the middle of the green jar, but I can!)

But it is otherwise a quiet day, one where I am catching up with stuff, having been away, and getting ready for the next week's thrills, which are sure to be many.

It's cold outside (below freezing all day), but Ed is anxious to move a little, so we do go for a walk in our county park, but it's a gentle one. Nothing ambitious, not even a camera around my neck for this one. 

And then I am home, cooking up dinner and making lists of things I meant to do but for which I couldn't find the time! It makes you feel good to at least jiggle your senses and point them in a certain direction for future reference.

In the evening, the young family is here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For us, this is the definition of normal: they're here, we eat, drink, talk. Kids play. Or hang on a lap, listening in to grownup patter. So normal. So very nice!

"Catch that noodle, Sandpiper!!"

four days old

On this wet, but so soul-warming December day in Chicago, Juniper is four days old. I think about her as I wake up in my "room with a view."

She will always be the youngest for me, just as Snowdrop will always be the oldest grandchild and as the carriers of two ends of this very special banner, they carry the burden and the glory of where they stand. With Snowdrop, I began learning how to grandparent in a way that would meet her needs and, too, the needs of her parents (because each parent looks to you for different things, both at the emotional level and of course in terms of connection to their child). With Juniper, it's a whole nostalgia trip! Each previous grandkid has been where Juniper is now. And she, coming last, is the beneficiary of all their firsts, their personalities, their experiences. 

 

 

And since I do know that she will be my last little one, everything is special: my breakfast with her this morning, that important meal, with a four-day old...

And after: Did you know that if I put the camera on the table, I can stand with you by the white cubes and the tree and click us together? Like this?

(Or, put you down on the couch, by the tree, so you look like a Christmas gift to us all?)

I pick her up, we walk some more.

And I notice how with her, I don't want to rush to the next stage (as I admit to sometimes wanting with the other kids, not out of impatience but out of curiosity). I could walk her up and down, and up and down forever, with her skinny little newborn feet and her eyes, either shut tight or gazing out wondrously at the blobs and fuzzy images suddenly put before her.

When the older girl returns from a quick outing with her dad, I look at the whole family unit, big sister at the helm, leading the way forward for all of them (because what parent does not structure a day, a week, a life without first and foremost thinking about how their routines and behaviors will impact the child or children at home...).

More family members means more permutations: older girl with younger one and mom, dad and older girl, mother and babe...

And just before I go, one last big hug for the girl who was my partner in crime while we had the house to ourselves for the days her parents were at the hospital...

And now I'm back in the car, driving home, for once not worrying too much about the distance between us. I'll be back in Chicago on Monday.

For now, more thoughts, all of them loaded with smiles. Lighted candle, coffee with chocolate covered gingerbread, and half a cookie (Ed took the other half)  that I made with Primrose the day her sister came home.

Juniper comes home...

We waited. After an early wake up, several play sessions, leftover croissants for breakfast...

 

After singing Christmas songs, together and solo (not me!), and working through a Christmas activity book...

We learned what I know too well: releasing a person (let alone three people!) from the hospital takes time. When the young parents text me that it may be after lunch before they bring Juniper home, I decide that I need to distract Primrose from the wait. 

What better activity than to bake cookies! My daughter's house is so well organized that I have no problem finding needed ingredients. Primrose and I set to work.

I will have made more Christmas cutout cookies this year than ever before!

Thank you Wash Post for including a good recipe where you don't have to keep the dough refrigerated for endless hours before baking! 

And just as Primrose sits down to lunch, her sister comes home.

(Still in her baby cap...)

 

(cap off: lots of hair!)

Juniper is the seventh baby I have held close to my heart and I have to say, I have to marvel at how special each one is and how different from the others!

Oh, she sleeps, she cries (but not that much, at least that's today's verdict), she yawns, she snuggles in bliss into mommy's fold...

But she also appears to be mesmerized by her new environment (which I know she cant really see, but she hears it well!)

So Primrose has a sister. The young parents have two girls. I run a few errands for them and then I leave them for the night. I decided to overnight at a hotel just a short walk away. These guys need that first night alone as the new young family. I'll see them again tomorrow.

Juniper, you just knocked the socks off of all of us! Welcome. 

With so much love...

(Out of my hotel room window: Chicago) 

 

Juniper

To me, the tiny blue juniper cones are what make a holiday wreath or a swig of pine branches on a door so beautiful. They add that frosty, wintry blue color. They are the spice of the season! Here they are on the farmhouse front door:

 

 

Let me just add this from Wiki:

A juniper berry is the female seed cone produced by the various species of junipers. It is not a true berry but a cone with unusually fleshy and merged scales, which gives it a berry-like appearance. The cones from a handful of species, especially Juniperus communis, are used as a spice, particularly in European cuisine, and also give gin its distinctive flavour. Juniper berries are among the only spices derived from conifers, along with spruce buds. 

 

On December 15th, late into the evening, while winds howled and temperatures outside soared, Juniper was born. She is as tiny as a newborn, healthy as pie, and totally adorable. 

(From her first face-to-face, via phone, with her sister, Primrose)

The winds never let up once, but we were safe and everyone was feeling, well, rather celebratory!

But in the morning, my whole focus comes back to Primrose. I have one whole day with her (parents and sister are coming home tomorrow) and she has this one last moment of being an only child. It's huge to suddenly having a sib. Primrose was anticipating the changes for a while now and since she is a girl who is very in touch with her own feelings and with those of her family, I was not surprised to hear her voice apprehensions about how this will all play out. I have told her many times that eventually it will be grand and I think she believes this to be true, but still, I am determined to give her a last whiff of being the one who sets the rules of the game. 

(playing with beads from Aunt Goat, aka my older girl)

(breakfast with grandma)

(I tell her the headband she's chosen for her dance is from Poland...)

After last night's winds and storms, the air settled and winter came back to take its rightful place here, in the upper Midwest. The sun is out, but it's some thirty degrees cooler and still gusty, though not at last night's levels. Nevertheless, I coax Primrose into a walk while the sun is pretending to make it a warm day out there. I had placed an order at Floriole Bakery and Cafe and we set out to pick it up. With a stroller, since it is a bit of a walk (across the river and into a different neighborhood of this very neighborhoody city).

(a tad windblown, picking up our stuff at the bakery: like in Paris only different!)

(can the wind sweep the cap away??)

And the evening? Well, I'm trying to keep the house in order for the arrival of Juniper and parents tomorrow. Time for some of us to finally meet this already greatly beloved babe!

(Remember how I used to take timed released photos of Primrose and me by the white cube when she could hardly stand unsupported on her wee toddler feet? Some things never change...)

with love...

wait and play

In Chicago, on a bizarrely warm day. (High of 64F/18C in Chicago, and 67F/19.5C -- a December record in Madison.) Here, awaiting the birth of a new grandchild.

 

By the time Primrose wakes up this morning (and she wakes up early!), the parents have already checked into the hospital. The day, therefore, belongs to just Primrose and me.

 

Breakfast, just the two of us.

 

Since she has been out of school for a week (closure, due to Covid), I wondered if she would be tired of playing all day in her same old house.

She is not.

Primrose is a leader and I was not surprised that she has ideas as to what we should do.

Let's play messy house! -- was her first suggestion. Talking her out of this required brain work, though in fact, Primrose's idea of a "messy house" is pretty close to my idea of "house in order." My initial panic (what if my younger daughter returns home from the hospital to find everything in the wrong place??) was somewhat mollified.

Primrose allows her imagination to carry her forward. Everything is merely a stepping stone toward a vignette out of school or a home. We act out the various personalities encountered there: mom, dad, teacher, student. Shifting sands, shifting stories.

Too, we read. She has her favorites. Some, but not all, are about Christmas.

 

(while she naps...)

In the afternoon I virtually push her out of the house for a walk. I mean, we are setting records here in the Midwest! No way should we skip an outing.

Crazy warm! Where is this air coming from? Scooting in a light sweatshirt, through gusty winds and past Christmas lights: memorable!

This calls for a gingerbread cookie upon the return home. From Clasen's in Madison!

 

We eat a quiet dinner of stuff I sautee for the two of us. You feel the wait most of all in the evenings. Maybe tomorrow we'll wake up to some good news!