Saturday

It was a strange, though not uncomfortable night. Tired and sleepy, I luxuriated in bed, thinking how different a Covid diagnosis would have been three years ago! Back then, I would have tracked my oxygenation levels, ready to be whisked off to the hospital should they drop. I would have looked for signs of trouble in every part of me. Now, I allow myself to stay in bed and think about these years of Covid and how they reshaped our lives and yet, we who believe in vaccinations and medicine are not pummeled by this virus. Most of us can expect to come out okay at the end of the day. Well, at the end of the week! I realize that I am greatly benefited by having had a recent booster. If I had to catch Covid, I could not have picked a better time for it. My responses are at their strongest this very week.

And by my usual get up and get moving time (7!), I'm feeling less tired and less raspy and I know that sometime in the middle of the night, the virus got kicked in the butt hard and if all goes well, I can expect it to back off and leave me alone. Soon.

Now, how to face our weird and screwed up days, here at the farmhouse? The 3 cats slept downstairs. I would have let them out but it rained all night and Pancake, the 7th interloper at the farmette, hogged the porch so I felt I should let them have their peace in the living room while I closed myself off upstairs. (Ed has the shed cats -- the three who never come to the farmhouse -- to keep him company.)

In the morning, I chase the cats out and head to the barn to free and feed the chickens. 

I poke my head into the sheep shed and shout over to Ed to feed the cats. I can't do it. It's his germ-free safe space. This, of course, terrifies the three felines that are in there with him. They flee as if a tornado had swept through the premises. (All the cats hate unexpected noises.)

And then I eat breakfast. Alone.

Honestly, I'm feeling lazy. And mad that this last trip ended with Covid. I had managed to do close to a dozen trips since the pandemic struck and I'd gotten it into my head that if I only follow precautions, I should be fine. And I was fine. Even during the peak of the spread last winter, I was fine. Until this fall --  I wasn't. 

Still, I am exceptionally lucky. In every single way. I am home, I can call my doc and get the antivirals. I have Ed to shout to across the farmette lands. Oh, not just that -- I helped him fix the brakes on his car this afternoon! Masked, with doors open, I pumped the brakes while he puttered and muttered and used tools to do who knows what. 

And here's another thing we can do together -- go on a bike ride!

True, it's not especially pleasant outside. Cold and gray (but with some breaks in the sky!). But the rains have stopped and I have to get used to the new normal of cold weather. Right now I'm still bundling up as if I were in the highest mountains in the middle of January, but my blood will adjust soon and winter will be nothing more than a clothing annoyance in terms of searching out the caps, the scarves, the missing second glove...

(We combine it with a walk in our favorite park. Keeping a nice distance apart!)

(Hey! The gaggle of cranes and geese is at it again!)

Back at home I think about how weird it is to have this virus that I have been basically avoiding every single day, sometimes with total preoccupation, sometimes with a little less, since March 8, 2020. Friends ask me how I'm doing and I have to say that there are two unpleasant aspects of Covid for me (apart from the mild raspiness which is nothing more than an annoyance) -- the taste in my mouth (remember when we read that Covid messed with your tastebuds? oh yeah!), and the psychological effect of getting this thing that I've been dodging for so long. I've become so complacent about being able to zip through travel without catching anything, that I allowed myself to book endless trips going forward. My pandemic-ly deferred travel budget went into overdrive! Now I'm thinking -- each trip will pose a new risk. And each time I come back sick, I mess with the lives of those at home. Oh sure, I'm careful in travel. I avoid the obvious crowds, stores, shows, and I mask up, with my super duper KN95! But of course, not while eating.. 

Ah well, life moves on. 

Now, excuse me while I pace. I cant let go of my movement rings, just because of a dumb old virus!

with love...

Friday the 13th

The rain continues. Ed comes up at around 5 to tell me what I already know -- it is going to be a wet day. I confirm it on the map showing the radar clouds moving in, continuously, clouds that will bring showers or a steady pounding of rain, with gusty winds and bone chilling temperatures.

But wait. I turn to him with this discovery: there's going to be a window of dryness. Just one. Right after 6 a.m. But you have to catch it quickly because by 7 the rains will resume.

I tell him -- I'm going to go out and bike then!

He looks at me with a look that is somewhere between skeptical, bewildered, and amused. Why? -- he asks. It's the rings. You're OCD with them. It's dark, cold and wet and you want to bike now. (A shake of the head follows.)

And maybe he is right. But this is what happens when you've closed those movement rings for one and a half months, even on the day when you had a long overseas flight. Should I give it up now? 

Listen, it's a healthy obsession! -- I tell him. 

Let me ask you this: where exactly are you going to bike? 

I have a feeling that the question was prompted by a sudden concern for my safety. But I have a strong headlight and I plan to stick mainly with bike paths.

I put on many layers. And gloves. And my warmer jacket. 

Outside, it is indeed still dark. The sun will rise in a little less than an hour, but it wont be visible given our thick cloud cover. Gloomy dark. Well, I'm up and I'm dressed for it. I take out the bike, grateful for the strong headlight.

And what's this? It's raining. Not hard, but with big fat drops. What happened to my window of no rain??

I'm not going to give up. I left a snug warm house for this! I'm sticking with the ride. People ride in the rain, don't they?

The wind is vicious. The rain? Well, I've seen worse. (I've also seen better.)

But I'm concerned that I may be caught in a downpour and so I do turn back. A 35 minute ride wont close my rings, but it's a good start! We'll see what the rest of the day may bring!

At home, I feed the animals. Getting closer to sunrise now...

And I cook up some oatmeal for breakfast. Oatmeal in the morning, soup for supper. It's that kind of a day. The two cats that are most tied to the farmhouse (Dance and Unfriendly Snowflake) join us, grateful for the warmth coming up from the furnace, grateful for the companionship. 

Chores. The morning has a small handful of them. And since I'm out driving around, shouldn't I pick up some croissants? I miss croissants!

I'm home now. Still have a couple of hours before I pick up the kids. Ah, but it's cold outside! Or am I getting a cold? Nah... Feel great. Still, I've been traveling. I always test myself for Covid when I return. I didn't this time because I was still the one mask wearer at airports, anywhere in lightly crowded situations. Besides, I just got my booster three weeks ago. Still, I have all these Covid tests lying around, expiring as we speak. May as well use one.

Say what? Positive?!

I dont believe it. I feel fine! A little raspy after walking around in Paris with air quality being at an all time low there. A bit drippy after that ride in the rain, but fine! I want the rain to stop so I can finish my circles! Ed doesn't believe it either. Test again!

I test again. Positive.

This is where it would be very appropriate to insert a curse word.

We brainstorm. Should I go to a hotel? Yes, maybe. But it's complicated! Should I stay upstairs in the bedroom? Ed points out that we have a furnace that's recycling air from all rooms. What comes out of the bedroom will blow out elsewhere in the house.

We finally decide that he should move to the sheep shed for the duration of my quarantine. Me, I don't like the sheep shed. He has warmer feelings towards it -- he lived there before I agreed to move to the farmhouse. 

Meanwhile, I have to cancel my babysitting commitment and hope, really hope that I did not pass on Covid to the kids. (They can't have been the source of this -- the timing is all wrong.) Or to Ed.

I pick up Paxlovid (my doc recommends it for us old people who aren't on meds that may trigger adverse reactions). I purchase the new season of Curb Your Enthusiasm. And I call Ed. A lot. Back for a day, parted again. 

The words I miss you have been spoken so often, on both sides, and the thing is, they're so true.

with love...

home

I pulled into the farmette driveway just after midnight. There had been some rain and the air felt very autumnal -- cold and damp. Inside, Ed had dozed off, as had Dance. You could say I woke the household up! (Who was more happy to see me -- Ed or Dance? I'd say it's a tossup, though eventually Ed's effusiveness tapered off and Dance just could not get enough of me.)

It's impossible for me to walk through the house and not straighten things up as I go along and of course that just sucks you into a tidying mode. That and catching up with Ed stories (the pawpaw trees, the assembled Amazon couch which we decided to send back...) took another couple of hours and so I didn't get to sleep until, well, this morning! For a while.

Up at 7, as always, rain or shine, Annecy, Paris, or farmhouse. I look out, expecting rain, but there seems to be a pause. A very, very limited pause that will last an hour or so. If I want to get in my movement, it will have to be now. Not after breakfast, not after I've rested some, now, immediately after feeding the animals on my walk thought this drizzled landscape.

(Remember the Auberge Gaura? White and delicate? Here's mine -- pink and bold...)

Ed, having just finished a long Wednesday ride, has no interest in riding along. Who could blame him! I put on my winter jacket and deeply regretted not stuffing gloves in my pocket. It's nippy out there!

I cannot say it was a thrilling ride. Everything in life cannot be thrilling or exceptionally sublime. But it was a good, invigorating ride! A pretty one...

And as always, it had an element of surprise. Today I come across a field of Sandhills and Canadian Geese. These birds are so common here, that they didn't so much surprise me as they astonished me in their sheer numbers. 

As I pause to watch these flocks of birds co-mingling in the harvested cornfield, I see a handful of cranes take off. And then suddenly they all take off, joining the small group, filling the sky with wings and song.

At home, I fix a breakfast, coax Ed into a photo...

And turn to the laundry. One of the jars of honey that I'd purchased at the French honey store -- the one that is made from thyme flowers, thus promising you medicinal benefits you can't even imagine! -- had leaked honey inside my suitcase. Attending to sticky clothes suddenly tops my todo list.

And then we move on to the next project -- packing up the parts of the couch that was delivered in my absence. Ed had assembled it, I sat on it once and agreed with him -- it was like sitting on a slab of stone. He had had the presence of mind to photograph the way it had fit into a huge cardboard container. Back it went, piece by piece, with my occasional assistance. 

We are on Square One in our couch acquisition project. Rumor has it that there is another one on Amazon that Ed likes. At just over $300, it's even cheaper than the one we're sending back! Let's see if we do better with it! 

In the afternoon, I'm picking up the kids again. In the rain. 

How quickly they fall back on their routines here! How easy it is to make them happy...

I expect to be wiped out by evening and that surely is the case. This is the weather for a soup supper and this will be my last job for the day -- cook up enough soup to last forever! And then finally I put my feet up, Ed turns on a missed episode of Just a Few Acres Farm. It's so good to be back...

Goodnight!

going home

A noon flight out of Paris means that I need to be up and out before 9.  That's easy. Wherever I am on this planet, I always am up and out by that hour. In fact, I'm packed and out of my room this morning by 7:30. Deliberately, so that I can take a stroll before breakfast. To look at Paris one last time.

Yes, the sun rises later here. At 8:04 today. I walk under the thin light of the crescent moon. A croissant moon. 

I could have walked down to the River Seine, but somehow in this warm weather I have too often defaulted toward the Luxembourg Gardens. I find myself walking now in much the same way I will walk toward the train, an hour from now, suitcase in tow. But I'll put away my camera then. It's now that I am unencumbered and can pause to consider, to admire. Streets, cleaned by an early morning spray of city water. 

There's that moon again, now shining ever so slightly, competing with the sun which will be up in the next half hour. The Pantheon, happy to take on the rays of either, of both.

The park is still closed. Official opening at this time of the year: 7:45.

I'm at the gates at 7:40. The guard clicks the padlock. Parisians, regulars I'm guessing (bonjour to the guard, bonjour, always bonjour), are coming in now, cutting across to vast space, to work, to school. But their numbers are small. The park still belongs to the statues.

Next time I see you, it will be 2024.

Out of the park now, back on the streets. That moon! Forcing me to look up, to see the chimneys, the pigeons up there, against a now purple sky.

Oh, it's turning pink! Here's my hotel, against a rose sky. Would I come to Paris this often if I didn't love my stay in this place? I always think - if it's raining, if I'm feeling tired, I can always just stay in my room overlooking this quiet street and read, or write. (Except that I am never feeling that tired! Not yet anyway. Maybe in a year or two...)

I don't go in just yet. I have enough time to see if Paris is waking up yet on the busier intersections of streets, cafes, bus routes.

No, not yet. Tables still empty. No cafe cremes, no croissants, no people.

If I wanted to watch the morning unfold over a period of time, I'd choose my table carefully. Face the streets, pick a block where there is likely to be some activity, but not too much. This might be a good spot!

Idle thoughts. Time to return to the Hotel Baume and grab a breakfast there. Alone today. I didn't want to drag Pawel and Karolina down too early. These people have insane mornings back home. In Paris, they should not rush.

But they do come down in time to say goodbye. I'm so grateful to them that they spent their most precious resource -- time -- to make this trip. That they had the enthusiasm for it. That they gave me all those days of happy smiles and beautiful conversations.

They sit down to their morning meal (their flight to Warsaw is much later), I head out the door. To the RER train station. I'm now totally back to trains, even though I'm a bit overloaded today. But hey! Since my pre-Covid trips, they've built an elevator down to the train station entrance! No more lifting my suitcase down a long flight of steps.

At the airport, there is added security. My terminal has police with rifles drawn. Is it that the war, the far away war, has everyone on edge?

I see a sign announcing that in 2027, there will be a fast train from the airport to the center of town. Just 20 minutes. (Right now, it takes anywhere from 30 to 40 minutes.) Why are these speedy trains popping up everywhere except where I live? 

At the airport, after security (no passport control -- I'm flying still within Europe) I can't resist a final taste of that wonderful morning mouthful.

And then I board the flight to Amsterdam. Yes, that's a bit of a bother -- to fly north instead of west, but the fares were cheaper on this route and so here I am, landing in the canal city, yeah, like the Annecy canals and bridges only different. (And no, I don't go into town: it's just the airport this time.)

From Amsterdam, I'm off to Minneapolis, all fine, all on time, and of course, it's always the last leg then that drags. The many hours at the Minneapolis airport. The now posted delay in the outbound flight to Madison. The hope that it wont in the end get cancelled. Usual travel stuff. Still, it feels very much like I'm already home. Like if I stand on my tiptoes, I could see the farmette from here. Almost!

With love... 

last day in Paris

It's always amazing and surprising how a week away seems like a mountain-load of time. Did I really just leave the farmette last Monday? It feels like I've been gone for weeks. In this lies one of the beautiful aspects of travel: just a few days give you the break that you need, so that you can return freshly focused on the life that is your everyday,

I return to Madison tomorrow, but today, the day is completely Parisian and my own. I've done all that I wanted to do. I have no imperatives or even ideas as to what must happen on this last day. There's a semblance of a plan -- I meet my friends for breakfast and then I meet them for lunch. Otherwise -- I can roam, in the way that I like to roam when I want to clear my head and get myself ready for the challenges that always lie ahead.

So, breakfast, with these two.

And then... well, I head out! Where? Well you might ask! Never in my travels have I been so completely without a goal, without a destination. I walk out the door and I try to sense which direction would feel good, where I should turn, where I might pause. I take very few photos. I just keep walking. 

(No matter how well I dress, what jewelry or make up I slap on when I am here, I can never ever hope to measure up to the Parisian older woman. An example: )

And I see that I am heading west, and somehow I managed to find myself on the street with the Rodin Museum and I glance in through the fence...

(school children, leaving behind the Thinker...)

... and this gives me a sudden urge to enter. So I buy a ticket, which I suppose is a bit of a waste because I have no intention of visiting the museum, I just want the Rodin gardens. 

(The Museum, as seen from the garden)

That felt good! 

Next? Well, there is the Invalides Square -- I cross it often and I seem to be crossing it right now, so I must be heading in the direction of the Eiffel Tower, no?

And here's were you run smack into the Rue Cler Market. Lovely autumnal produce. Plums, grapes, mushrooms. Flowers.

I wasn't going to pause, but then I noticed the honey store and of course I dont really need honey because we have quite excellent local honey back home, but maybe I should walk in anyway to see what's there...

I leave with honey. Predictably.

I suppose in the end, this structure was in fact a destination point. Not because I must see the Eiffel Tower on my Paris trip, but because it's on the other side of town from where I'm staying, so if you want to crisscross Paris, chances are you'll wind up at some point at the Eiffel Tower. Especially if you're as much stuck on Left Bank rambles as I am.

On my walk back, I run into my friends. At a shop with children's stuff. That's not terribly surprising -- we were aiming toward the same lunch place where we had a meetup scheduled. Still, it's kind of funny to look up and see someone you know paying for a book in the line just in front of you.

Okay, lunch. Of course, I take them to Cafe Varenne. Is there anyone I haven't taken to Cafe Varenne for lunch? (Well, if I think you wont like it, then I wont suggest it, because it would make me sad to see you trash the place that is such a favorite of mine! But Pawel and Karolina are not trashers of anything -- they're upbeat and great fun to have here and so we sit down and order -- and one dish that Varenne does well is the one with snails. This proves to be very amusing because we cannot get the snails out of their shells and we are almost at the point of cracking the shells to pieces, when finally, through ingenuity and perseverance those two succeed. Me, I just eat the spoils of their effort!

We part again after lunch. I have a few stops to make and so do they. Food, a book, a cup to replace the one I bought here and then broke at home last week. I feel like on this trip I didn't really shop for anyone (except for the grandkids) and especially not for myself, yet somehow I am now carrying several bags and they are heavy. How can this be?

The truth is, I've been walking a lot today. Four hours? Five? I am tired!.

This is what you want to be at the end of your trip to France -- you want to be tired (it means you really fit in a lot), and happy to go home.

In the evening, I again pick a new restaurant for myself: Maison Cluny. (Pawel and Karolina have family in Paris and this evening is reserved for them,) Aside from being well liked, it has this virtue: it is close. A seven minute walk. Today, I need close.

This place, too, gets a glowing review from my hotel and I have to say, the newsletter that the hotel sends to its visitors (which anyone can also find online) has been spot-on with all its suggestions (they can be brutally honest!). The outside terrace of M. Cluny is on a spacious and quiet side street, so that you aren't breathing in car noise and car exhausts all evening long. 

I order two things -- a pumpkin soup which I swear every small Paris restaurant offers at this time of the year, and a pasta with a pimento sauce and bits of shrimp and other shellfish. 

Both are right up there!

I walk back to my hotel very slowly and not only because I have to attack the job of packing up for tomorrow's very long trip. I'm tired, I'm reflective, and I still want to soak in that last evening in Paris.  And I search for ways to take a bit of it back with me: a smell, a mood, a wistful attachment to all that I've seen learned in the hundreds, no, thousands of strolls up and down these streets. 

Still, I am tired. And I am also very happy to be returning to the people and things I love back home.