the next day

In the course of the night, we were visited by a skunk again (the smell!), by a racoon (came to the porch looking for cat food), and by a possum (that one marched straight into the cage). Lots of activity for just a few dark hours! The good news? The chickens remain safe and accounted for. The very rickety coop that Ed beefed up with a layer of additional wire has held up well. The roof has been clawed by determined predators, deep holes appear to the side overnight, and yet -- the chickens march out the next morning seemingly oblivious to the smells, the ditches, the bits of tattered roofing. Amazing.

It's still warm today but we're promised rain later, in the day so early in the morning, I survey the beds and decide they could use a raking.

Ed chips all my cuttings (with the oldest hand mower you've ever seen, picked up from a ditch I believe), I spread the mulch back on the flower beds...

And only then do we go inside for breakfast.

The talk is of tariffs. The race is on for his company to introduce a machine design he has been working on. The hope is that it will save them. (They're raising the prices of course, to reflect the new -- call them what they are -- taxes.) Tense uncertainty is the name of the game right now.

My survey of the news brings up dismal stuff: 45% of Americans approve of the leaderships in place right now. I so want to ask them -- what change are you hoping for and what indication do you have that you will see your desired prosperity? And perhaps more importantly, are you aware of the suffering caused by these slash, burn and destroy tactics? And you're okay with it?

I switch to reading about A.I. There is an article in the NYTimes -- a discussion with Ezra Klein -- titled "The Government Knows AGI is Coming" and I do recommend it, but I wont provide a link because it is VERY long and I know most of you wont read it. I'll save my gifted pieces for stuff that I think will be more "of general interest." But here's the thing: I am sure that Artificial Intelligence will be at the center of our life within 2 - 3 years. (It already is there at the peripheries.) I don't think it's a good idea to shrug off the geeky details now, because we are too close to the time when we will need to understand the complexities in order to participate intelligently in the discussion. We have seen what happens when huge swaths of the population are left out of meaningful discussions (because they rely on soundbites delivered by their favorite news delivery). You don't want to stay uninformed now. You really don't.

After spending too much time buried in news, I go back outside -- to rake, to cut, to clear. Yes, I'm a little stiff, a little breathless, a little tired. But I have a garden waiting to emerge. I do not want to get off to a slow start. 

 

And in the afternoon I pick up two bouncy kids.  

Lots of play and reading to catch up on!

 

 

 

Evening: wet, but this is a good thing. Spring rain is an absolutely necessity for a healthy garden. Oh, did you notice my reference to "spring?" We'll be bouncing around between warm and cold in the next few weeks. Understandable. Regardless -- we are not in the thick of winter anymore. And isn't that just grand!

with love...

March 3rd

I was nine on October 16 1962. Oh, do I remember it! I was in New York, my father was then the Polish Rep to the United Nations. It was the start of the Cuban Missile Crisis and we were coming awfully close to a nuclear war. The TV was switched on the minute my father came home from work and it stayed on for a long time. I was terrified. I remember shaking and asking my father if this war would really happen. Shhh, he said, quiet now. But, but why would the leaders of our countries want to destroy our planet? They have children, don't they? My father stopped listening to the news and smiled at me. For a fleeting second, he smiled his closed-mouth grin and said -- yes, they have children.

As I listen to the surreal dismantling of our country's rule of law, to news of the destruction of towns, cities, families, lives in the Ukraine, to the indifference in the leadership to our collective health, be it before a pandemic, or the seasonal flu, or cancer, or Alzheimers, or ebola, or malaria, or even measles, to the bulldozing of efforts to slow down climate change, I have to ask again, at age 71 now -- don't these people have children and grandchildren? Is this the world they want to leave behind for them? Because honestly, I dont think Mars is in the running to take them in right now.

And now we are onto March 3rd.

This date in our northern hemisphere calendar seems to always make me feel stale... Like a loaf of bread that's seen better days -- dried out, maybe a bit moldy. 

I think it's because in the winter season leading up to it, I coasted in a winter fog. Everything I did or did not do had a good excuse. Projects stalled, movement -- hit or miss, money spent without a thought to frugality, foods eaten recklessly, resolutions -- a thing of another era. All because of the cold days, and salty roads, and short daylight hours, and brown landscapes. Like this one:

 

 

And then comes March 3rd, and I take stock and I cringe. What have I done with myself, my days, my goals and aspirations??

Spring is around the bend. Fresh, invigorating, beautiful, energizing spring. And here I am, feeling stale. Swamped by  horrible news stories, endless tax forms, spread sheets of expenses going forward, while the garden still wears its winter clothes which honestly look like rags right now. It's a post-winter mess out there!

That's March 3rd for you.

But it is an unusually warm day. And thus a good day to begin to turn things around.

After breakfast.

And after I do my Wisconsin taxes (which put me in a foul mood because they did not generate a refund this year and I'm sure it's because I made some accounting error but oh well, I'm not redoing them in search of $54).

In the early afternoon, I step outside. (No kids today -- there's a bug in their home making the rounds.) Initially I'm thinking I'll clear maybe one flower field. (I have 12 of them, some small, but some very big, like for instance the Big Bed!) 

And I work on it.

And work on it.

Until the sun has long set. 

I didn't do a great job, but it's adequate. And I cut back spent flowers not in one or two, but in ten out of the twelve flower fields. 

Ed said -- don't work too hard on the first day of yard work, but it was too late. I did work very very hard and yes, it was too much, but I'm alive and well so there you have it!

I will surely be sore tomorrow.

 

 

 

with love...

 

a March Sunday

Beautiful day! I should clear the garden! Go for a long walk! Maybe bike ride?

 

I do nothing like that.

First of all, another skunk meandered to the barn this morning. We decided to take him to an agreed upon habitat. That required truck transport. Because who wants to put a skunk in a car! 

Ed's new old truck wouldn't start. The hood to my car would not open so we could not easily jump start the truck. By the time all those messes were cleaned up, it was 11. Breakfast was, thus, very late.

 

 

And then? Tax filing time. I have to do this now. I'm not here in early April. I absolutely have to do this now!

And so this year, you get to listen to me complaining about tax filing earlier. (Last year, I believe I complained around April 12th.) And let's be clear: I'm not complaining about paying taxes, I'm complaining about the complexity of the enterprise!

As a retired former state employee, my tax situation should be rather straightforward. We're not dealing with large numbers here by any means. However, I take all kinds of small actions to boost my savings and they trigger tax consequences, so reporting all this stuff is one big headache. 

Most people would either hand it over to an accountant or use one of the software programs online, but Ed has convinced me over the years that you learn a lot by doing this stuff yourself and so this is what I do: fill out all those work sheets and schedules and do all my computations, tearing out my hair along the way.

The sweet guy is there to help, and I do call on him to give me advice, even though I'm the lawyer and once-econometrics major, so tax computations should be for me as easy as, say, fixing a bike would be for him. But it's not and I do some hand wringing and plenty of groaning along the way.

When the groans become too loud, he says -- listen, dont worry about making mistakes! They're depleted over at the IRS. No way will they catch up with you! 

No! -- I tell him. They got rid of those who would have gone after rich people. It's cheaper and more rewarding to go after the likes of me, because I wont fight back and my mistakes will be easy to detect!

After another louder than necessary groan he says -- it's actually a good brain exercise.

True, and an even better exercise in patience.

I finish the fed forms. I still have Wisconsin. Saved for next weekend. Groan, in anticipation of it!

 

Gorgeous, we really should go for a walk.

And we do. In the early evening, into the setting sun.

It is a total release. Of tension over the week's havoc and destruction. A week of embarrassment and shame felt after watching one once-supporter-of-democratic-regimes (Republican) after another tumble and crawl out to the dark side. Of heartfelt sorrow for the losses sustained by those brazenly kicked out of work for... doing their jobs expertly. Too expertly. Over so much more... 

I did not mention two things yesterday (because I got home so late...): first of all, if you are a subscriber to the Wall Street Journal, then you may have come across the article describing the horrible scrambling that has to take place because of the governmental chaos (tarriff and otherwise) in the company where Ed continues to do design work. Ed is interviewed  and I think the reporter did a fine job showing how much is lost when these smaller companies have to shift their production and marketing to places that can offer greater stability. (The article is titled "A Manufacturer Tried to Get Ahead of Trump's Tariffs. It Still Got Whipsawed." but I cant gift it to you because I am not a WSJ subscriber.)

The second memorable for me detail is that we heard yesterday the first calls of the returning sandhill cranes. And sure enough, on our drive to the local county park, we saw some today, co-mingling at the moment with the Canadian geese.

 

 

It's Sunday. Family dinner? No, not today. I was supposed to do supper for just three: my daughter, Ed and myself. Don't ask why.  It's one of those complicated situations of a visiting grandparent and time spent en famille and, too, it's Oscar night and Ed hates the Oscars, so my daughter was to keep me company. And then she woke up with a bug.

So I watch alone. I mean, Ed is technically here, but hiding upstairs. Nonetheless, it is, for me, a release to have this award show on: to take in goofy thank you speeches made by those whose business it is to act out our best and worst fantasies. How many times have I told a scared child who is watching a tense show or listening to a frightening story -- it's total fiction! Someone's imagination, on the screen (or on paper)! Tonight I am lost in those stories and performances and it feels oh so fine to think about nothing more than the jokes offered, the music performed, the dress or suit worn on this one occasion of total bland entertainment.

with so much love...

March madness

I've said it before: I am not a fan of spectator sports of any kind. Yes, the Olympics -- for the winter sports, because I like watching people ski and skate. But the competitive angle only makes me nervous. And team sport? Really, if I never had to watch another game of any kind I'd be just fine. (I am much relieved that neither Snowdrop nor Sparrow or Primrose appear to be headed in the direction of competitive sports. I can't tell with 3 year old Juniper and I am a little worried that Sandpiper, if give the chance, would throw himself mightily into any athletic competition, but so far, I've not had to be a "soccer (or any sport) grandma." Still, when everyone around you gets into a high pitched frenzy about big time events such as the World Series or the Super Bowl, I'm aware of the tribal banding that takes place and I know most people around me are tracking, and betting on, and watching games that are taking place.

I am aware, for example, that this month often sports (ha ha) the moniker March Madness, because basketball championships (the NCAA Championships, and yes, I had to look that up!) will crown the tournament's victor ... well, in April, but we still call it March Madness.

The thing is, I feel the label is fitting for this March of 2025. We are in a mad tailspin of ... well, I don't know what. Chaos? Destruction? And it is mad.

Nonetheless, it is up to us all to survive this insanity so that eventually we can rebuild. And one way to survive it is to take a stand, yes of course, but, too, to keep on truckin'. With a constant reminder -- this meanness and tyranny is not the will of any majority. This is not who we are. 

Now, together, let's remind ourselves of our better natures. and of the finer things in life.

And speaking of nature, here we are, first day of March and the temps swung downward! Way below freezing, all day long.

(nonetheless, the two robins came out to celebrate the eventual coming of spring)

 

 

But it is cold. And so I am greatly surprised when very early in the morning, Ed asks -- want to go to the winter farmers market? 

Madison holds a weekly market at the old Garvers Feed Mill every winter Saturday morning, but we never go. Why? Because it's all about root vegetables and baked goods and meats and cheeses, with a few hoop veggies thrown in. We already get our bi-weekly supply of hoop veggies and carrots from our CSA farmers. We dont need more baked goods. We dont eat meats. Why go?

Well, because it's fun. And it's not often that Ed is inclined in the direction of an early morning market outing.'s

The Garver's Feed Mill was once a factory (indeed, the largest factory in Wisconsin), engaged in the production of sugar. In the early 1920s it switched to storing, selling and distributing animal feed. But these days, it looks like what you see above, or better yet, in the photo here .

At the market, we do pick up a few things. Blueberry walnut bread. Cheese curds. Salad greens. Happy moments, milling once again with family farmers, cheesemakers, bakers.

And of course, we are on the side of town that has Madison Sourdough. On our way home, we stop there for our week's supply of croissants.

I have one for breakfast. Which is very late!

In the afternoon, I read. 

(on the couch, next to a sunning cat)

 

Do I have a suggested reading for you for today, this first day of March? I do. Much is being thrown at us right now about the Ukraine and Russia. One sentence summaries of a war that is aggressive, nonsensical and horribly destructive. I suppose being raised in postwar Poland, I'm not unbiased (against the then Soviet Union). However, this I also have -- a life long reading of "their side" of the story, initially because it was forced upon us, and then because Poland's fate remained intertwined with Russia's political ambitions. I tend to dismiss one sentence summaries and I'm always on the lookout for something that provides background and a more thoughtful explanation. I found it today in the New Yorker, in this article. It's very long, in the way that the New Yorker articles often are, but if you want to try to understand why Putin is so hell bent on destroying the Ukraine and why he has the support of so many Russians, you'll give it a read. And of course, you'll understand perhaps why our own two villains in the Oval Office haven't a clue about what is really at stake here.

 

Evening: unusual tonight because it is the night of Snowdrop's first performance as Hero in Shakespeare's Much Ado about Nothing. Hero (aka Snowdrop) is Count Claudio's love interest. A victim of nasty gossip, she almost loses the love of her life. She faints in dismay when he disparages her, but the truth prevails in the end and the two (along with bickering but in love cousin and her equally bickering but also in love bachelor) marry and dance toward a satisfying finale.

(you cant take photos during the performance of course, but this is the final dance and so I think I'm ok!)

 

 

Snowdrop is delightful. 

Her love of Shakespeare is delightful. Her engagement with play writing and her social contacts with the drama kids are delightful. I have to think it's a phase (because it was for my daughters as well), but it surely is a smile-inducing one for us all.

The Young Shakespeare Players put on the full play, all four hours of it, and Sparrow lasted all the way til the very late ending, so I think he deserves to be included in a photo!

 

 

Such a wonderful beginning to the month that will eventually bring us full blown spring!

with love...

still February

Well that's a stunning ending to this normally cold and indifferent month: a high of 52f (11C) today! And sunny.

And windy, but who's complaining! 

(Well, the chickens are -- not about the weather but about my coming to feed them on the late side...)

We have some small animal altercations which we've not been able to control well: a skunk keeps visiting the barn at night (he leaves his signature card behind). And a racoon came to the porch last night. We had to scramble to chase him out and hide Pancake's food dish (which normally stays out on the porch). One of these animals clearly visited the sheep shed as well overnight, creating a mess in search of food. You have to wonder why these beasts are suddenly desperate for additional food sources. And then you remember -- it's spring. Pregnancies abound. Appetites soar. 

There's nothing we can do really, except be diligent about hiding cat food and chicken feed. We do use the trap to scare off these animals (nothing like an overnight in a cage to give them pause) and sometimes we remove them to an approved place far away, but honestly, you just have to cross your fingers and hope your chickens will be spared and eventually that these invaders will look elsewhere.

 

Breakfast: I tell Ed that all his blood donations have resulted in me sitting across the table from a guy who has the word blood emblazoned on his chest. (The free t-shirts he gets lately have a message about giving blood, which is fine, unless you have to look at some iteration of that message every single day. He donates frequently and so there are many t--shirts!)

The topic of blood makes an appearance again later in the day as I tune in to the meeting between the leader of a nation ravaged by war and, well, two angry men who are at the helm of this nation. I'm not sure anyone can stomach the berating and finger wagging of our "leadership" at a man who has bravely lead the defense of his country in a hellishly bloody war. But I force myself to watch the details. And it is shocking. I know my Polish friends must be watching as well. What must they be thinking! Hard to believe we traded away an alliance with economically successful democracies around the world for a phony alliance with a floundering dictatorship headed by a war criminal.

 

At noon, Ed and I go for a walk in the new development. The wind is fierce, but this may be a good thing: chase those thoughts away, clear the mind, face the sun, let it go...

(Oh! The pond behind the farmette lands is almost completely melted) 

I pick up the kids at school and quickly drive them over to the farmhouse.

On the one hand, it's a rushed visit -- the girl is tech crew for a Shakespeare performance tonight and needs to be (who knows why) behind the scenes two hours early. We drop her off at 4, then Sparrow and I go to Barrique's where we meet up with my daughter for an end of week/end of month moment.  

I try very hard to stay with our favorite topics: kids, friends, events. Future plans, current small successes. Only toward the end do I let loose with my anguish over what took place in the Oval Office today.

And then I go home. The last day of February: lovely for us. Heartbreaking for so many...

with love... 

Thursday no work day

My gifted for you article comes today again from the NYTimes. It's about America's glorification of working long hours. You can read it here. There are few articles in the paper these days that make me smile, but this one, and the (Readers Pick) comments that follow did make me at least pop a lopsided grin. Not because it provided a humorous counter to the chaotic news of the day, but because it described something that I'd long thought was absurd -- the bragging that I've so often come across on this side of the ocean about how long and how hard someone, a successful someone, will have worked that day and every day. Even though they didn't have to put in all those countless extra hours.  I'd always wanted to say --  okay, do it if it brings you pleasure. But if you're asking me if I admire your life's choices, I'm going to have to say no, not really. [Caveat: I'm not talking about people who are forced to work overtime or two jobs to make ends meet. I'm talking about those who have a choice and who choose grueling hours only to then boast about it.] 

I'm not denigrating hard work. But I do wonder why we continue to admire those who claim it's a mark of success to make big money working long hours, often under great stress and with not much pleasure. That feels skewed in the wrong direction. Shouldn't we hope to come to a point in our lives when we can work less and find joy in all that this planet has to offer?

I'm not lazy. And neither is Ed - though he claims he is! But we love to do what we love to do. Working daily on a blog, or all spring and summer out in the flower fields -- this is deeply satisfying work. I like what it brings me -- peace, joy, a calmness that otherwise can be elusive. The days I find to be most frustrating are ones that are too full, where I have no time to take long pauses. Those are failed days for me and it has always been that way. 

In younger years, I longed for more time with my kids. With friends. Time for travel. For books read in a coffee shop. For visits to a greenhouse to pick up seedlings for the garden. For long forest walks. These days I need those more than ever! In my view, Americans have never been given the opportunity to lead a balanced life. Short, unpaid vacations mean that you ration your leisure hours. Is this what we want going forward? There is an oft repeated saying that I remember coming across when I was still very young -- something like "No one has ever said on their death bed 'I wish I'd spent more time in the office'." I remember seeing it and rolling my eyes -- as in "well duh...!"

Go ahead, Mr. Billionaire. Work 120 hours per week if you want to. But don't think for a minute you're superior because of it. If you weren't such a destructive, mean bully, I'd feel sorry for you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a few birds outside I want to listen to. (Today: bluejays, cardinals, sparrows.)

 

Another gloriously spring-like day. A few days ago Ed and I were skiing. Today, there's not a speck of snow left on the ground.

Another leisurely breakfast.

During my morning walk to feed the animals, I noticed how many spent plants were still standing in the flower beds. These will have to be cleared. Typically, I do a major yard clean up in early April, but this year, I'll be away for a chunk of that time. I should get to work now!

And yet -- I'm not ready for it. February isn't a gardening month for us here in Wisconsin (unless you have a greenhouse). My drive to stay out doors hasn't surfaced yet. I'm waiting for March!

(My over-wintered plants are perking up on the window sill; by December, I thought I had lost the bougainvillea and the rosemary. But both are now finally generating new growth and the bougainvillea is starting to even bloom again)

 

 

The great weather (a little cooler today, but still warm for February, and still partly cloudy) is a bit of a problem for the planned ski lesson for Snowdrop. Will there even be snow at our local ski area?

I pick her up after school and we head out. 

A week ago the fields and forests were completely covered with snow. Today -- not a speck to be found anywhere.

Except at the ski area! Their snow base is solid enough to withstand this warmup, though they are switching to a spring schedule next week and if I'm reading the weather correctly, they're not likely to last the whole week. But today, things are looking okay!

I signed Snowdrop up for one more ski lesson and for the first time, her instructor is a woman - Maddie. [I ask her later to rank them and she doesn't hesitate: Matthieu is still at the top, but Maddie comes next.] 

As I send her off for her lesson, she tells me -- you should ski! You know you want to!

Should I? I'd brought my book to read in their warm lounge. The snow is slushy. I'm wearing sweat pants and light gloves. And it's such a bother. We have a very short amount of time.

And yet...

The hills are nearly empty. The equipment is right here, the sun is out... and they have senior rates!

I quickly get boots, skis and a helmet. 

I tell myself I'll just play around on the magic carpet slopes. "Practice my technique." Snowdrop waves and grins as we ride up and ski down, often passing each other.

 

 

 

 

 

But I push myself to at least do a couple of runs from the top of the chairlift.

It's okay, but the intermediate run feels icy and I dont enjoy it. I go back to the gentler slopes, determined just to have fun. To feel that confidence again. To love the slowness of the descent.

And I do. And when the girl's lesson is over, I suggest we ski for a short while together, just the two of us. And she is delighted.

 

 

 

 

 

I never know if this will be my last time on skis, but I have to say, if it was my last time -- it was a remarkable and memorable one.

We drive home in high spirits. 

(I pause to photograph a setting sun, but Snowdrop points me to the opposite side of the road -- where the trees and fields pick up the red glow of the last rays. It's beautiful!)

 

 

And at home I cook a big pot of chili. A deeply satisfying dish for a deeply satisfying day.

 

with love...

Wednesday showers

Well they can't all be sunny, can they... And I'm not likely to move each day as much as I should, or would like to. Nor will I give a daily scrub to drains, cars, dish racks and such, on some path to a spring cleaning. Because some days are meant for contemplative quiet time.

True, I feel a cold hovering in the background trying to decide whether or not to attack me. I'm beefing up my defenses by resting more, doing less. I'm also thinking about writing. I think if I downgraded my engagement with politics, with learning about what's going on in this country, with trying to understand the background stories of some of the major players (today: rereading this one, from two years ago in the New Yorker, about Musk) -- if I significantly cut back on all that, I could, for example, write more. [People whose brain functions are intricately interwoven with putting down words somewhere, somehow, so that thoughts settle down and clarity emerges, always want to write more.]

Something to consider going forward. 

But not today. I do, however, have reason to smile as another driven writer -- the one who wrote her play while pretending to be poring over her math work in school -- finally copied her script (I'm told) for her fellow actors. I hear more about the rehearsals as I pack the two kids into the car after school. At least the rehearsals are taking place at recess and not, say, during science or music classes.

It's a pleasant car ride because, well, it's very spring like out there...

(puddles everywhere? the chickens don't mind!)

 

 

... and, too, I tell Sparrow that the time for the ice cream shop has arrived. The boy does love his ice cream cone.

Since he always asks for vanilla and she always requests chocolate, I ask them if they'd like to taste sample other flavors. She goes for it! brownie, mint chocolate -- variations on a chocolate theme, to be sure. Sparrow looks at the display (having just finished his vanilla cone) and asks -- could I just have a sample of vanilla?

I did bake the WORLD'S BEST blueberry muffins this morning, so I suppose I'm not a complete couch potato today...

(Guess who is a complete couch potato??)

 

But for the most part, the day was quiet.

No sunshine? No problem. Spring weather is often wet. Oh, and I still had some chicken noodle soup leftover from when I cooked it up over the weekend. Perfect for that battle with the possible cold. I think I'm winning! 

with love...

Keep at it!

That is what the day is telling us: keep those spring thoughts flowing, because really, tough winter days do not last. I promise you: there will be an end and we will once again be planting seeds for a better world garden.

Today's weather is fabulous! 

A high of 50F (10C) once again, with plenty of sunshine! (There can never be too much sunshine in February.)

I have a breakfast date downtown with my two downtown-living friends. I joke that this is the one day I put aside my sweatpants and put on urban attire. It feels good to take pride in your appearance every now and then and these two have an eye for the aesthetic (I suppose we all do, except it's buried beneath a pile of other preoccupations in some). Our regular meetups are always beautiful in the presentation (and delicious in the execution). And of course there are the urban views. Today I face Lake Monona and John Nolen Drive -- which I take to get downtown, and which is where I always snap the skyline pictures, like this one from this morning:

Breakfast:

Inevitably we talk about The News. But in moderation. We talk, too, about what lies ahead on the micro level: in our own back yards. It is one splendid beginning to a good day.

 

And of course, it's reclaiming the pleasure of being outside that puts it over the top for me: my bike was getting it's annual checkup this week (something that Ed rolls his eyes about, since he cannot understand why I would buy into this "need for annual checkups" -- for my own person or for my e-bike). I called Trek (lovely people work there!) and they promised to get it back to me by noon. 

 

 

 

A few minutes later, Ed and I are on our beloved bike loop. 

The somewhat less hilly one (which normally takes us 40 minutes but today took us, um, 45...).

I keep saying again and again -- this is fabulous!

Because it is.

 

 

There's something about bike riding in the country: you are at once fast and yet you notice every detail. You take in so much! And there is joy in taking note of the melting snow, the puddles, and of course, the bright sky framing our beautiful landscape.

Did I put aside the news stories for the day? Of course not. I had some moments of satisfaction though as I watched people gather in protest against cuts in Medicaid in front of Senator Johnson's office. There's so much cruelty taking place right now that your head spins as you try to understand what's going on. Cuts in Medicaid are especially pernicious because, of course, they cut into benefits for the scared, the  sick, old, the vulnerable. There's something unreal about tipping the balance in this way -- towards siphoning off care for those who need it most. Watching the protest made me remember that people do care. Many people do care. 

 

In the afternoon I pick up the kids. 

I never know what stories they'll bring to the car from the day, but by now I can certainly guess that Sparrow will start with all that went wrong in his day and Snowdrop will do just the opposite. Nonetheless, by the time they we got to the farmette, Sparrow had emptied out his bag of woes and Snowdrop had ran through the details of her exciting projects and all was good again.

The day would have ended radiantly, except that after dropping them off in the evening, I glanced over the car's interior and any other day I would have sighed and moved on, but it was just too much: the car was full of kid messes, crumbs, mud, salt stains, debris, dust. Normally I do a grand spring cleanup -- inside and out -- once the temps are warm enough to work a hose and a powerful vacuum on it, but I just could not stand the horror of it right now, so I brought out the hand vacuum and a bucket of soapy water and set to work. This is the third day in a row where I found some domain of our daily life totally beyond the pale in terms of grime (yesterday it was the dish rack, the day before  -- the shower drain), in need of an overhaul and scrub down. Maybe that is, in fact, the surest sign that spring is here? There are things you can tolerate in the winter, but come spring, your visual sensitivities are on high alert. Soon the lilac will bloom, damn it! Surely I need to clean up accumulated grime in preparation for it!

I'll end with my humble appreciation for this extraordinarily lovely day. I know there will be more in the months ahead. And that makes me very happy.