Wednesday

I worked hard today. True, I did not move a muscle (or so it seems in retrospect), but still, I buried myself in a project and I did not pause for anything. 

It was a day for that kind of effort. Foggy, drizzly outside -- typical spring stuff, but nothing that would pull you outside. 

And that's a shame, because I really must finish clearing the flower beds in the next few days. Suddenly, there is life! Bulb tips are popping through, standing like upright dominoes that have no intention of toppling, ever.

 

I'll rake and clip tomorrow. Maybe. Not today.

Breakfast, with tulips (store bought) and Ed.

And then I am lost to the world.

I suppose that's a poor choice of words, considering that my project was of "the world." I'm planning out a trip for someone and I am articulating and coordinating every detail, as this person could not manage distant travel without assistance. Were it my own trip, I'd imagine the basic framework, but I would have no commitments to anything in particular. Walk, eat well, visit a museum. Spend lots of time in the park and buy a dress or a shirt for the kids. That's it. But today, I'm putting in a Herculean effort to finish up an itinerary, sketched out to the first and last dinner. And all things in between. 

This takes time. Mountains of time if I want to take care and do it right. So I give it time and I do little else. Even dinner is one of leftovers. Total immersion, I tell you. 100%.

 

Tuesday

Spring often arrives with a tempting palate of nice days and then it goes back to being as it should be in the early stages of the season: wet and cold. Therefore, as expected, we are entering a string of wet and cold days. Since we did not have any heavy snowfall this winter, rain now is a good thing. Our plants need the slow trickle of water. The soil will soften, the cleansing of a winter garden will begin. Still, when I go out to feed the animals, I put on my winter jacket and zip it up to my chin, just to keep out the chill.

Judging by the absence of daffodil tips now, I'd say we are a good two weeks behind the season as it presented itself in the last handful of years. But there's reason to feel hope. This morning, I saw the first farmette flower bud. It's a snowdrop (unless it's a crocus, but I vote snowdrop).

Soon it will joined by all the bulbs that are just about ready to burst out of hiding. For now though, we have to be satisfied with store bought flowers. Daffodils, for example, are abundantly available and are always the cheapest blooms in the buckets. Lovely to the core!

It's a Snowdrop pickup day today, but I don't bring her to the farmhouse immediately. We sidestep to a shoe store. I'm on the lookout for good walking shoes that she will actually like and wear. (Right now, she lives in her Skechers. All good, but she needs a backup plan.) Is she excited about the store detour? She is not. Bribes are offered. She goes along. But in her usual way, once there, she gets excited.

Is there a pair of shoes she likes? Nope. The sales clerk insists that she up her size to give room for growth, but Snowdrop likes things snug, unless it's a dress, in which case only loose will do. So, we wave a friendly goodbye and head home.

At the farmhouse, it's our comfortable usual. Read, play, eat. Actually, a lot of all three.  Everything about her visit here today is low key. Everything. (She has liked Olivia books since she was two or three. That's fine, I like them too.)

In the evening, I return her home. It's a predinner wind-down moment...

And then I come back to bake a frittata at the farmhouse. As I come in, I comment on the nastiness of the icy cold rain outside. Oh, but it's so warm and cozy in here! -- Ed reminds me.

And it is. But I do light a candle to add an extra layer of coziness as the rain pelts against the window. Maybe a faint spring scent of wild rose and ferns?  Plants that love just this kind of steady drizzle that seems without a beginning or an end.

second day

I love spring. All of it -- the good and the bad. Only a day that was so full of important family moments would keep me from noting this all important seasonal transition that took place yesterday. And now it's the 21st of March and we are already on the second day of spring!

(Tuxie, our extraordinarily beautiful and shy cat, looking out)

 

 

At the farmette, each day of this season is important: will it bring enough sunshine? Enough rain? Will the ground freeze recede in time, so that we can plant our peach trees (which are hiding bare root in the fridge until the right moment)? 

We talk about this at breakfast.

Ed is ready to do this year's tomato planting (seeds into cups, cups under a lamp inside), but I don't join him in this project just yet. I have my scheduled Zoom call with my friends in Warsaw. 

We are a somber lot.

I note to them that for the first time in two years, we go through two hours of conversation without once mentioning the word Covid. With just a few detours, we spend all our time discussing the war in the Ukraine. The devastation. The resistance. The displacement. Warsaw, like all cities in Poland, is filled now with Ukrainians, some living with some of my friends, and friends of friends, and so on. The stories are of cruelty, of inevitability, of heroism, of disorientation, trauma and uncertainty.

 

So it's hard to switch over to spring highlights once I'm off the zoom call. But I have to try. In addition to doing all that we can to help those, say, in Mariupol, which is quickly becoming another Aleppo, destroyed according to the same playbook of total erasure --  in addition to support offered there, we must hang on to what's preciously important here. Even something as trivial in the scheme of things as planting tomato seeds and peach twigs.

(The seeds are in for the year! The peach trees will be planted in the next week or so.)

We walk the farmette lands, pausing at each nut tree we planted last year (all 67 of them!), to check on progress and to fix cages where needed. Some trees have small buds, others still look like twigs. In a few weeks we'll know for sure which will need to be replaced.

It's a beautiful spring day today. 74F (23C). Stunning. In this, in the tiny buds, in all that's loving and good in this world, we find hope.

With love...

one last bit of wonderfulness

We end a weekend of celebrations today. But it doesn't feel like an end really. For one thing, it has so many new beginnings that the terminology here is complicated and not altogether helpful. For instance, this weekend was the first grandchild's birthday that we could celebrate with the whole family since the pandemic. And here's a big first - it was my first time that I could see all five grandkids at the same moment, in the same space. We tried for a photo yesterday and then again today.  Instructions fly for the kids to do this, quit doing that, push the hair back, keep fingers out of mouth, etc. but even though they listen and try, inevitably, there will be a babe who feels put upon and so some soothing words and cuddles take place and then we again remind her to do this, and him to do that and then the other babe will have had enough! It's all very fun and funny. Here's today's best effort: 

But of course, all that came later in the day. In the earlier hours, I could still blend into a Sunday morning with my younger daughter and her family. My breakfast, for instance, was with Primrose.

Though Juniper wasn't too far away!

Primrose has an early morning ballet class (remember? I attended a few weeks ago, when I was last in Chicago) and we drive over to the studio together: mom, grandma and the dancer.

And from here, we head over to the Chicago grandparents' home where we are treated to a splendid brunch. Both young families, together! 

As the big kids play, and Sandpiper wanders around trying not to crash into some unfamiliar object or person, I have a chance to spend some time with Juniper. She and I happen to match today!

I suppose pictures are not the only markers of moods, but still, they do tell the story, or a story very well. As you know, for me they matter. Perhaps I wasn't born with a visual mind, but I surely went in that direction in life. I began taking pictures when I was in elementary school and by high school I was quite serious about it, even though film was expensive and black and white, and I could only do so much with my camera. When we crossed over to digital photography, the doors opened wide for me, not so much for the sake of the art form, but because I am a story teller (good or bad, it doesn't matter -- my days unfold along story lines) and illustrations are very much a part of my narrative.

So let me post just a few more from the brunch. I'm focusing on those whom I don't see on a daily basis. It's my last chance to catch a moment and build a wall of permanence around it as I move ahead with this great project of mine -- to record and to fashion stories out of a day's events -- pieces of which you see here on Ocean.

(We're all taking quizzes to see which character from the movie Encanto matches each of us.)

(too young to participate in that activity...)

(Perfect age for lap play)

I drive home in brilliant sunshine. Not much time to unpack or take stock. Ed is biking, I'm in the kitchen fixing a quick dinner. Yes, the Madison young family is coming over tonight! We'll be missing some Sunday dinners in the weeks to come, so today we get together one more time, in this smaller group. 

Yes, yes, I miss the younger family. I wish they lived around the corner. Nonetheless, we all do live on the same planet and look up at the same sky and come night time, sleep under the same moon.

To all of you patient and good souls -- good night. It's been so very special sharing this weekend with you.

With love...

happy birthday to you...

It's not yet officially your birthday, but man oh man, are we all ready to celebrate! We, your family, Primrose, have waited a long time to sing this to you in person: happy birthday to you...

This day is certainly for you!

Morning preparations. Dress up the baby!

We move the party to the very excellent venue of Jeni's Splendid ice cream -- a neighborhood shop with remarkable ice cream flavors and a crew happy enough to let you use their space for parties, so long as you clear out before they open to the public at noon. [Jeni's is a Philadelphia style ice cream, meaning that it uses no eggs; the richness is in the magnificent grass-fed milk and cream, and the flavors paired with it.]

Here she is -- the just-about-four year old! And her three month old sister.

("That stays there, okay?")

Proud parents...

All those cousins, here to celebrate.

Happy Birthday, sweet sweet Primrose!

Lots of ice cream...

... for everyone!

Seconds and thirds are just fine!

The "two older girls..."

More ice cream, please!

And in the afternoon we are back at the house. Selfies are becoming a favorite for Primrose (and me!). We take one, look at it and laugh and laugh!

"Oh, how quickly they grow..."

(one more present: baby cacti to care for....)

Here's someone who deals well with a lot of excitement...

And now the cousins are here again!

Cousins, grandchildren. Call them what you will. Treasures, beloveds.

So much happiness in one day! We waited a long while for this. A seemingly interminable while. Finally. A most beautiful evening that could go on forever. (Lot's of emotion, can you tell?)

With love, always and forever...

Chicago Friday

If I lived in Chicago, I would do this so often! I'd come to my daughter's house just to hang out.  Especially when she is still on maternity leave. I'd say good morning to Juniper...

I'd watch her do her tummy time...

I'd eat breakfast at their table, all the while keeping an eye out on the little one; she bathes in the kitchen sink, I munch on granola.

Lovely moments, all of them!

Yep, that's what I'd do: evening hangouts at my older girl's home, mornings here, with my younger girl. With school pick ups of kids, a cup of coffee here, a glass of wine there. Or the other way around.

Of course, no one's life is really like that. Time is precious, for her, for me. Schedules permit too little down time for anyone and most especially for working parents.

Still, today I have this lovely image of being that ensconced in the trivial routines of an average day. A chat with my son in law about an article he'd read, a discussion of the superior qualities of baked goods for lunch, and the freewheeling cuddles, stories and games with their ever magnificent children.

Toward noon, I break from the small routines to do something I haven't done for years! Not since I twisted Ed's arm to gift me a session for Valentine's Day (or was it my birthday?) many many years ago. What is it?  Oh, a session with a local massage person to work some magic into ancient limbs and muscles, kneading and grinding and knuckling them into some kind of a divine wonderfulness. I have a friend back in Wisconsin who subjects herself to this every single week. She says it's life saving. Me, I don't want to find out that there are even more expensive life saving items or strategies out there, so I prefer to think of it as a luxurious treat that happens once in a blue moon. And it happened today and it was superb! My muscles feel so coaxed and cajoled into a state of relaxation that I feel I could move mountains once again. Or at least play with a baby on the floor without groaning when the time comes to get up.

Lunch, from Kasama, a Filipino eatery in Chicago's East Ukrainian Village. Exquisite baked goods.

And in the evening my daughter and I walk over to pick up Primrose at school. It's raining, it's windy and freezing cold, but as is her habit, we walk. An adventure to be sure!

And at home, Primrose and I return to our play module, starting off with one story line, but ending somewhere altogether different and unexpected.

Dinner, en famille. Delicious food from the Valle d'Aosta region of Italy.

Bed time should  be early, because tomorrow we need our wits and energies to be in top form. It's the birthday  celebration for the (nearly) 4-year old among us! But, there's this lure of downtime together with the older guys once again. When the children are asleep. 

In other words, when you visit your adult kids and their families, there is no such thing as a good night's rest. It's simply too much fun to be... awake.