boxes

Time to get serious here: I have a couple of days to pack up my life and move. (Doesn't that sound dramatic?) But of course, if I don't transfer everything that I need this Wednesday, I can come back for it anytime. Ed and I are not at war. We will never be at war. We are each others besties, in that at the most trivial level and at the most profound, we have shared something deeply rewarding for the both of us. I'm moving not because that has been ruptured, but because I need him to open his eyes to a reality that he refuses to acknowledge. It's that simple. 

It's nearly a scorcher today. Misty at first, but very quickly the mist melts into nothing and the sun warms the world around me.

Once again, I eat breakfast on the porch, alone, with my lists, but also with a picture of the ocean. Ed send me a tracker of where his boat is at any given time. They left the harbor today and are heading south.

Boxes. I need to put stuff in boxes for when the movers come. I thought I did not need too many. We always imagine we have less junk than we actually have. That is the curse of capitalism: it requires more boxes for moving. I remember when I moved from Poland to America in 1972. I had two rather small suitcases with me. True, I was moving into someone else's home, but still I left behind pretty much everything. My parents threw away all that my sister didn't manage to salvage for me. Now? I'm moving more than just two suitcases.

At lunchtime I take a break. After a week of being away on vacation, Bee is back online and I take the time to talk to her. Funny how much can change in a week! She knows me really well and yet this decision of mine came as a shock to her. So I wrap it in the context of events, feelings, belief system that at the core of it all. 

And then it's back to boxes.

When you do a move you face these realities: 1. Even those of us who do not acquire new stuff on a regular basis, the accumulation over time is incredible. Of what? Oh, everything! At the very least, you learn that you have more stuff (more boxes!) than you thought you had. 2. Dirt hides well. Try moving a bookshelf away from the wall. It's a horror show back there, especially if you live in an old farmhouse where beetles and spiders visit your home on a regular basis. Eventually they die. And create their own graveyard in nooks. 3. You find small things you completely forgot you had. For instance, I came across a photo of Ed that I grabbed when we were going through his parents' stuff some fifteen years ago. You know how he looks now. This is how he looked when he was much younger:

 

 

 

As I reach behind cabinets and empty bookshelves, I realize that I had taken on too much in the last years. I can't keep up with all of it. It's one thing to plant a flower bed (I love that part!), it's another to take on the overgrown farmette lands. To attack weeds everywhere, to create meadows, to trim trees and bushes, to take down tall grasses. And the house is tough too. It's old. Floors should be scrubbed, walls should be cleaned. The glass roof should be washed, the porch ceiling has more cobwebs than I can count. Ed will say that I need do none of this and he is correct, theoretically. But of course, he and I have very different threshold of tolerance. When I moved in, the place was stunningly immaculate. It isn't that anymore. It's another one of those things that we should have addressed early on, but we didn't. Ed and I are very good at coasting, avoiding the difficult in favor of contentedness and calm.

 

Yes, the young family is here for dinner. 

 

 

 

The adults know that it's the last one in the farmhouse. The kids? They know too, but we dont focus on it. Who knows, maybe they'll be back here sooner rather than later. 

I clean up quickly and yes, I do remember to put away the chickens and feed the cats. The two older kids help me with that! At the very least they keep my spirits up. 

I feel my job now is to stay positive for the whole lot of them in the process of changing my life around. This is when I really want to be at my best -- when I'm embarking on something tough and just a little frightening. This is when I want to dig into my reserves and show my strength. And love. So much love!  

night to dawn then night again

A fuzzy head from too little sleep is not something you want on a crazy busy weekend. And of course, there is this rule that the more tired you are, the harder it is to sleep. It doesn't help that I am to drive Ed to the airport at 3 in the morning.

In the car, both of us are quiet. And here I can't say that it's tiredness that's causing us to fall into a tunnel of silence.  I dont think either of us wants to add to all that's been said. I for one dont want to put significance into any one thought. I want the entirety to sink in. But I worry: he may not get it after all, may not understand, may not want to work toward a solution. Ed can stand still in his tracks if the alternatives aren't to his liking. What then? I can't think about that. I have a move coming up. 

It storms in the dawn hours of the day. So his flight out is delayed and he misses his connection in Chicago. I had suspected this might happen. He'd booked this flight with a tight connection because it was cheap. A risk. And yet, today, he doesn't pay the price for it: they put him on an even better, more direct flight. To Bangor Maine. (He'll be sailing down the coast. A crew of four men.) For me, the day is full of such metaphors and analogues. Ed and I took a risk coupling up 20 years ago. And it turned out even better than what we thought it would.  But inevitably, a key difference caught up with us and now we're struggling to make it go away. 

After some pretend-sleeping, I feed the animals...

It's going to be a hot one today. I eat breakfast outside, with my lists at my side. No Ed, just lists of what to take, what to pack, where to start, what to leave behind. 

And then I take a long break from all the move related stuff. I bike over to the park to meet up with my good Madison friend for a lengthy walk all the way to the town of McFarland. My friend and I connected just a little over twenty years ago -- at a time when my marriage was ending. She met Ed then and so I need not explain him to her. I'm grateful for that. We talk specifics. What happened, where am I heading, why did I do this. It helps to connect all these themes into one big narrative. But the story is long (hence the idea of a book!) and it takes us nearly two hours to get through it. I want to not skimp on the details. I want her to know that neither of us are angry, that we both love each other, that neither of us did anything awful. We merely should have anticipated that we'd be in this place exactly now, and we didn't, so now here I am, taking dramatic steps with the hope that Ed will align with me on this one.

In the afternoon, I do not pack up boxes. There's a reason for it: the young family is coming tomorrow for dinner and I do not want the kids to be unnerved by a house under siege. But I get organized. I do laundry. I clear out shelves. I polish the table and clean canisters. And all the time I wonder where all this is heading. 

(Is this the last lily? Maybe.)

 

Evening. Reheated chili. More animal chores -- ones that are Ed's when he is here. As I walk back to the farmhouse, I cant help but smile at the porch lights. Leftover from Christmas. Why? Because, I like them. Ed likes them too. I think.

 

 

good night, with so much love... 

twenty four seven

I feel that if I worked round the clock, I still would not accomplish all that I have to do. Usually people dont decide to move, to find an apartment, arrange for the move, supplement it with all the things you need for it, set up accounts, policies, wavers, pack up most of their belongings and get going, all in the space of one week. At the age of 72. Alone.

It is hard to explain (especially to Ed) why I needed to act with such insistence and speed. Here's why: our divisive issue is so fundamental that I cannot imagine sharing days with him unless we reach an agreement. It seems very phony otherwise. Like I'm doing it for comfort and ease. It turns out that I do have fundamental values and that I would rather wreck my stability and my contentedness than abdicate my core beliefs. I'll die poor but at peace, knowing that the principles that have guided me all my life were essential. They shaped my behavior at every turn. they helped me make choices. (Ed would argue the same: his core beliefs are fundamental to his life.)

This morning, after stepping out to feed the animals...

 

 

...he and I sat on the porch over breakfast, together...

And I repeated all this to him, and he explained his beliefs to me once again, and we both agreed that we were at the extremes of a continuum -- he on one end of it, I on the other. I'm sure he wishes I would budge. Indeed, he tells me -- but I dont want you to do anything for me, at all, ever! I put up with it, because it seems to be important to you. He is correct. It is. And I wont change, because I believe mine is the good way to be, the right way, doing least harm and conferring greatest benefits to all.

In the meantime, I'm making moving decisions left and right. It's reassuring to know that I can still multitask! I haven't totally let go of that skill set that allowed me to parent, work, volunteer, cook, clean, garden, etc etc all my adult years. 

And in the afternoon, I pick up first Sparrow, then Snowdrop.

You may think I should plead a mental health day (or, more appropriately, a packing day) and skip kid care, but of course, anything and anyone that can take my mind off of The Move is a godsend. 

I try not to play the game of "this is the last time." I take in the scene I have had before me for so many years and I smile. Yeah, a bit wistfully, but still, the smile has to be there.

One more talk with Ed before we catch a little sleep. We'll be up at 3 to go to the airport. And then comes the serious packing for me.

with so much love...

 

I have a new idea for a book!

When you live to write (as I clearly do at some level, or else why keep Ocean going for so long?), each calamity, each big event, each pivot is an opportunity for a story. 

There is much about my twenty years with Ed that is remarkable and unusual and worthy of pen and paper. We never had a conventional approach to our time together. Many people wondered how I put up with him, and how he put up with me, given that we entered each other's lives with completely different mindsets and worldviews. But we did it, and it was exceptionally grand! Very slowly I learned how his mind works and he learned how I look at things and we found a space where we could live in unity and peace. And love.

This changed three days ago. It's not that things spun out of control. He still is in the same place and I am in mine, but this time and for the first time, a large issue loomed and we could not find a common platform. He is happy to ignore that glaring mismatch, but I am not. My view is that we either work it out or we go on to live separate lives in separate spaces. This is why I am moving. To give us time and distance to figure out if we can still find that common platform.

On the upside (and haven't I said there always is an upside?) -- if we fail, I surely have great material for a book! (When we are together, I'm careful which stories appear on Ocean; that of course is true for all family and friends who make it onto these pages.) 

This morning was like yesterday's morning and the one before that: up before dawn, talking, explaining, trying one last time to reach that platform. But we get stuck again. With a sigh, I go downstairs and commence morning chores.

He comes down for breakfast, but I ate early today. Sorry!

And then I plunge into the turmoil that is The Move. And it is one big mess. I'll give you just one example. I decided to leave our bed in the farmhouse (even though Ed is perfectly happy to sleep on a couch, or even better -- on the floor) and to buy a new one at a discount at Wayfair (for those who dont know it -- it has a large selection of bargain-priced furniture, though with a slight edge over Ikea quality). Because it was cheap, I knew that it would come in many pieces and it would take me a mountain of time to build it, to say nothing of tools and skills which I do not possess. So I opted for their "put it together service." $80, but worth it! Booked for Monday afternoon.

Except that the bed is being delivered early. Like, really early. Like, today.

What's a person to do?? The apartment complex has a delivery room for small parcels. When I chatted with the AI "person" on the Wayfair site, it told me that small parcels will be left behind. I explained to the numskull that a bed was not a small parcel and that an early delivery would not be possible. This got me nowhere. We shall see how this one gets resolved!

You may think that I am spending my day packing. I am not. The kids are still coming here after school and I do not want them to see boxes everywhere. Nor do I even have boxes. Those, too will be delivered. Maybe today, maybe Monday. 

A lot of modern moving requires time on the computer. To set up services, to issue insurance certificates, to sign documents, to ask questions, to arrange meetups, to open accounts. I have rarely typed so much and filled in so many verification codes as I have in the last 24 hours!  

And what is Ed doing at this time? Well, baking pies and washing windows. I have never seen him so... domesticated! (He has been meaning to wash the windows for... a while.)

I watch him and think -- his routines wont change. He'll get up when he always gets up. He wont sit down to breakfast because his presence at the table in the morning is a courtesy, recognizing my love of these meals together. He'll work on his machine designs and listen to podcasts and talk to work colleagues, eating when he's hungry, sleeping when he is tired. On Wednesdays he'll ride his bike, on Thursdays, in the growing season, he'll go to the local market. He moved from sheep shed to farmhouse when I came onto the scene. The guy controls his emotions well. He will be who he is, do what he does.

Me -- well, everything changes: my residence, my gardens, my habit of getting croissants at Madison Sourdough for us. My push to open up the porch in the spring, my Sunday dinners with family and him. My spontaneous bike rides -- with him. Hikes in the local park -- with him. Cooking dinner in the evening while he stays on the couch or sometimes watches the news hour with me. The kids running into the farmhouse, racing each other even though I tell them not to. The kids riding the toy car up and down the living room, Snowdrop picking and eating farmette asparagus, cherries, raspberries, strawberries, peaches, watermelon. Naming cats ("let's call her Dance!"), chasing chickens. Me, moving my computer to the other couch every morning, while he sticks to the big one, the one we picked up by truck together. Me, making salads for two, every night. Me, with Dance besides us on the couch. Me, kissing him good night as I go upstairs before him. 

And yet, I initiated this.

I'm not the first to have something cut short. People get sick, homes burn down, partners die, others get divorced. But here we are, alive and well, in love and I'm moving out, neither of us angry, neither of us different than we were two weeks, two years, two decades ago. And just like that, everything will change for me. 

And he protests: gorgeous, everything changes for me too. My life revolves around you. 

So neither one wants this and yet here we are. I put in a request and it was denied and I can't accept his no this one time. This only time. 

 

In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop. 

 

 

 

All the kids like Ed, though the Chicago two are understandably more cautious around him. Primrose once asked how come Ed doesn't play with them like the other grandparents. Well, true enough, Ed is a different kind of grandparent. Snowdrop is the one who absolutely adores him. She's not a snuggler, but she'll snuggle next to him on the couch when she plays on the computer, so often his computer. She has been coming to the farmhouse almost daily since she was two days old. She's grown up next to him and he learned to love children thanks to her. There was a time when he did play, upon her request. She'd ask him to act as her husband at her pretend wedding. He'd comply even though he hates the institution of marriage and any ceremony whatsoever. Today, he is extra nice to her, because he knows she is not happy with the situation.

Her days, too, will change, in ways that I can't easily articulate. The farmette is her safe place, as it has been for me.

And yet here we are, stuck. 

 

(this is my favorite farmette view in the late afternoon)

 

Ed and I have one more day -- tomorrow -- before he goes off sailing. It is not going to be an easy day for either one of us.

with so much love... 

 

and the one after...

Can I brag a little? I'm good in a moment of crisis. I'm sure I will be the one dragging people out of an airplane after it crashes. If I'm told I must pack my bags, leave the country, and go into hiding, I'll start making lists of what to take. Maybe people who get tossed around between cultures, people with somewhat clueless and robotic parents, people who take on change as if it were part of the everyday (did I tell you about the day I got fired from a job? No? Well now, that was a life changing event!), maybe people like that are all good at the moment of The Great Unravel. I seem to have a pattern: crisis leads to quick action (remove passengers from plane!), followed by emotion (lots of tears), followed by very speedy mobilization. 

I am at this moment in my "very speedy mobilization" phase. 

But of course, there are the chores.

 

And breakfast. I thought I'd be eating alone, since I'm being a tough as nails partner right now...

But no, Ed wants to join me.

He makes another rather feeble attempt to get me to drop my idea of moving next week. Feeble, because he knows it's pointless: I've decided this is good, that there is no other way (that I can think of) to get him to focus on what he needs to focus on in order to preserve the awesome partnership (what a poor word choice that is! but is there another?) that we have going. Besides, I've signed a lease.

 

It is going to be an unusual move, to be sure. Ed will be out all week sailing. My lease starts Monday, but the movers aren't coming until Wednesday, so before that I'll be carting stuff myself. And because Ed will be gone for a few days (how long? we dont know -- ocean sailing is always unpredictable), I'll basically have to be at the farmhouse at least twice a day, and perhaps overnight. Without a mattress. Because of the animals. So, partially moved, for only part of the time.

I gently remind him that we were supposed to be biking in Door County this month (his idea) and that he let that one slide. And at least on this one, he feels sheepishly bad: let's go when I come back from sailing! Come on, we can stay in a really nice place! I have to smile at that: Ed, I'm moving for a reason! I'm not paying rent elsewhere to go on a vacation with you! At the same time, he knows and I know that we will be spending time together in the months ahead. How much time together? I haven't decided. We will see. 

 

with so much love... 

and the next day...

I woke up thinking that I took a step in the wrong direction. That I can slide the whole discussion Ed and I have been having under the rug and we can go on as before, and life would be so good, so easy! He has been trying very hard to get me to change my mind about moving. I can change my mind. Deposit lost, but mental health preserved. 

But then, I ask -- and you are willing to meet me halfway on this issue? Because to me, it's imperative that you are willing.

And we talk some more, all morning long and I see that he just wants a free pass, a slide under the rug, to be maybe resolved in the future and I have to remind him: Ed, we do not have much future left! We should have resolved this years ago! 

The move plans, therefore, are not altered. The lease is under my review. I sign it. The movers are booked.

 

I walk to the barn with a half smile. A week ago, I would have never guessed that I wont be watching the seasonal changes at the farmette through the kitchen window. 

Ed is up early and hovers in the kitchen as I fix breakfast for myself.

 

 

 

First, he trims some tomatoes from our garden for me to cook up tonight...

Then, of all things, to decides to bake an apple pie.

How many times has he baked an apple pie? Any pie?  

We talk again about how this move of mine is supposed to play out. He is so in favor of postponing it (well, actually cancelling it). But I don't see the point of dawdling and I haven't a clue how else to open his eyes to the fact that the ball is in his court. Even if he doesn't see it there.

All morning long I work on a massive clean out. This is the good side to all this! I am finally motivated to go through stacks of kid books, plastic toys, my old papers, clothes, all that. We have a car full of bags packed for Goodwill. 

And then it's time for me to pick up the girl.

Radiant and happy.

 

 

 

And just a little bit worried about her future at the farmhouse. About her future with Ed. We will both keep on reassuring her, but of course, we're on a new path here. Ed and I can only hope that it's leading to a good place. Maybe wanting a good outcome (as we both do) is enough. We shall see.

with so much love... 

 

blowin' in the wind

Here's my way of making big, life changing decisions: I give it a fleeting thought one day, I let it slide, and then I return to it and decide. With some consideration to the consequences, but just the most obvious ones, like -- will this kill me? Otherwise, I face whatever then follows.

That kind of impulsiveness is regarded in our society as a flaw of character. Unmeasured, Juvenile almost. Many have questioned how it is I go about selecting life's partners, but basically, it's worked out okay. My marriage lasted 28 years. And Ed? We've been going strong for twenty years and I have loved most every minute I have spent with him.

But last night, we got stuck, on a topic where we do have some difference of opinion. And we reached no solution and I decided that we are not likely to reach a solution any time soon. Suddenly trying to work out something is feeling so laborious, even though it should be so easy.

So I decided to move out. At least for a while.

To be clear: I am not mad at Ed. I love him. He loves me. But there have always been two imperatives that can make this work for me despite our differences and he's choosing to ignore one of them for reasons that aren't clear to me, so here we are, in love, but about to be separated.

People are indeed strange, to which category I most certainly belong.

But, but, what about my flowers?? Indeed. I can't afford to go to a place that will provide even one tenth the land (and my love for it) that the farmette provides. So I'm going with no land. No nature out the back door. No city either, just an expanse of lawn which I hate, but this is what you get if you move to an apartment building just at the edge of the city. Lawn, and I do believe there is a garbage dump below. 

And yet, I feel this is what I must do. Not so much to preserve my honor. I have no honor. But, I do not want to feel the way I feel now. Ed and I cannot remain suspended like this. One of has to make a move. I'm taking the initiative.

 

In the morning I feed the animals...

Eat breakfast alone...

And go out on an apartment hunt.

Actually, things being what they are, I did the hunt on line in the middle of the night first. It was a process of elimination. I dont like most apartment buildings nor their location.  The walls will be thin, there will be noise. I hate noise. But, it's clean and it has western exposure. So, sunshine. Just three windows and all on one wall -- another huge difference from where I live now -- with windows on all four sides. I swore I would never again live without large windows everywhere and yet here I am.

The building I found has a motif of rock bands (I kid you not). Tells you what they're aiming for, right? But apart from that, it feels okay. A place for the car, for my bike. Small rooms that have me scratch my head -- where is the table for family dinners supposed to go?? 

Why does it not bother me? Well, it does, but I am so bothered by losing what we have shared for twenty years that nothing else seems all that important.

 

In the meantime, in the afternoon, I still have the kids to pick up. I tell them that they will always be welcome at the farmette, but what a farmette it is slated to be now -- furniture missing, garden overrun...

Not this place anymore... Giggles and hose sprays and trees to climb and always always flowers for them to pick.

So this is where I am at. Ed is heading out on a sailing trip this weekend. I'm charged with minding the fort in his absence. And I will of course. But too, I'll be moving. With lots of tears. How can it be otherwise. When he returns from his trip, he'll help me set up the TV and the internet in the new place. Probably stay for supper. Just not at the farmhouse.

With so much love... 

 

Chicago

It is a stunningly beautiful day in Chicago. Cool, sure, but that just adds to the charm. Clear blue skies out the window of my hotel room... Wait, not exactly skies: there's more to see out there: imagine, people living one on top of the other... That's a city for you.

 

 

 

I want to get to the young family's home rather quickly. I will have missed their outing to the farmers market (too early for me!), but I most certainly want to be there for Juniper's first soccer practice this year.

Except, my Uber decides to ditch my call at the last minute. So I have to wait for another. And the second Uber takes the express lanes on the highway and then can't get off of them anywhere near where he is supposed to get off. I'm amused. But I do need to pivot: okay driver, I changed my mind, let's go straight to the park. Oh, city travails! But, I do get there in time for the arrival of the little girl, ready for her soccer game!

She is with the 3/4 year old set. Warm-ups first!

And now for some practice. Juniper is a great dribbler and kicker! Waiting for the right moment to kick it in...

Nice work, Juniper!

(where there's a park, there's a playground)

 

 

From there, we go to brunch. I asked to return to the Lonesome Rose. It's been a while.

These are the last few moments I have with the younger family. 

It's not a very long visit, but it has all the requisite elements: I am part of their weekend. I see what the girls are up to. I catch up with the parents. I eat grandly with all of them. And I coordinate plans for my next Chicago visit. And of course, I get to hang out with these two:

 

On the drive home, as always, I go over all the little details of my time with all four of them. I can really savor it, let it swirl and settle in my head, in my heart. So much joy and satisfaction from one overnight! So greatly looking forward to the next one!

 

At home, Ed wants to head out for a walk. I'm willing, but it really is buggy out there once again. How is it that we cannot get these mosquitoes to retire for the season?! Still, we walk. We need it, bugs or no bugs. I take no photos. This is not the time to pause for anything. Walk and swing your arms and occasionally slap your face when they land. And hope that this really is the last of them.

In the evening I catch up on reading. Here's an interesting story about what's new in Warsaw, Poland: a brand new library at the metro station? Indeed! 

Tomorrow I return to my routines. It's been a full weekend!

with lots of love... 

to Chicago

It's been too long since I've seen the younger family. August travels -- theirs and mine -- cut out the possibility of meeting up before the start of the school year and now here we are in the grip of autumnal weather. Time to head south, to Chicago.

 Because the two grandgirls there have weekend activities, I'm not in a rush to get to Chicago. Indeed, I have time to harvest some peaches to take with me, and to pack up corn from Stoneman's. And of course, I take the time to check things outside and to feed the animals....

 

(the last of the last) 

(dahlias and nasturtium)

(path to barn)

 

 

I have time for breakfast with Ed...

And I have time to go to the market on my way out. To get Wisconsin flowers for the Chicago guys. 

The downside of this rather leisurely start to my trip is that I hit more traffic coming into the city. Ah well. It gives me time to think. 

Two young families of mine: so different, with one leading a very Madisonian family life, the other filling its days with the very best of a city life. I think about yesterday's get-together in Madison. It was to be small. It wasn't small. And there were kids. Young, and some not so young -- middle school bound! Five of those kids slept over -- friends, banding together. Snowdrop loves this, as does Sparrow, and Sandpiper goes along because that boy loves chaos. I'm not sure when anyone could clean up after the party, or after the sleepover. But eventually order will be restored. 

In Chicago, too, though there are only two kids, the whirligig  of weekend activities is in full swing. One girl danced, then had a birthday party, the other girl is off with mom picking up treats at a favorite bakery. Tomorrow she'll play soccer while the family cheers on. In there we will fit in some playtime and meals together. 

Two families, so different in the minutia, perhaps style, but at the core, the same, really. A strong foundation of love, kindness, prioritizing concern for others, prioritizing growth and learning. And with ready fixes to those snafus and stumbles that I myself couldn't figure out as a young parent, young wife, newly formed American. I'm not sure my own parents wanted me to do better than they did (other than financially -- they thought I should have married into wealth; I did not), or wanted me to find a different path, to repair their blunders, to find joy in each and every day, but I sure did want that for my kids. And here I am feeling rewarded, because their family lives are in fact better than what I had to offer. I may have repaired my parents' obvious missteps, but I didn't repair all of them, perhaps not even enough of them. One could debate this. But these two daughters of mine, on the other hand, are hugely happy, with solid friendships and a grand homelife with husbands who care deeply about the same stuff and in much the same way they do.

These were my thoughts driving into Chicago. 

I do get to my girl's home just in time to see Juniper "walking" with her mom, holding on to bakery treats.

(lunch, with a sneak bite of a cookie)

 

 

And eventually, Primrose comes back from her Saturday event, excited to share details of her slime party...

 

 

... and to listen in on a story her dad is reading to her sister...

 

 

 

(with a post-nap hair fix for the little girl)

 

 

... and now I have before me the whole family of four as they teach me about the virtues of K-Pop music.

We eat dinner at Bar Parisette -- a lovely Chicago bistro that really does bring the culinary delights of that  French city right to their doorstep.

 

 

 

I know myself well enough that I don't linger after dinner at their place. I have a hotel room downtown at the Sofitel, because all their neighborhood hotels were already booked solid by the time I looked around for a room for the night. The Sofitel has great last minute deals and it, too, has enough elements of Frenchness to make me feel I've taken a trip to some place that's just a little removed from my faremette everyday.

It's been a lovely day! The girls are getting to be so... not little anymore. A joy to watch, to talk to, and yes, because I can exercise grandparental rights -- to hug whenever the occasion presents itself. It is just a snapshot of their city life, but it is full of color and clarity and all those hues of warmth and love.

Yes, so much love...