joyful weather and then some!

Okay, this is beyond fabulous: sunny today, and a high of 69f (21c). There will be a lot of ping pong bounce in temperatures in the next two weeks but without doubt, we are in spring territory! 

 

 

 

I want to search for flower tips this morning. Really, where are they? I have a very tiny success in this.

How could we be this much behind in this year's growing season? I check Ocean posts from years past: on March 10th of last year, our crocuses were at their fullest bloom. But was that an anomaly? In 2023, we had a huge snowstorm and we went skiing on this day.  In 2022 we had traces of snow on the ground. In 2021, we had emergent tips of bulbs -- so, slightly better, but not by much. And in 2020? Well, that was a sad set of days! Covid struck. Suddenly the absence of crocuses slips to a very low tier of importance. 

Ed is wrapped up in machine testing and analysis this morning, so I eat breakfast alone. It's late enough! We haven't quite switched to Daylight Savings Time in our habits.

Since I do not have child care today (another grandmother is still visiting and the two older kids are off from school), and since the day promises to deliver one fine stretch of warmth and sunshine, Ed and I decide to do a bike excursion to the Olbrich Gardens. I'm in search of spring growth and the Madison metropolitan area always gets a head start on this. Us rural folk trail behind.

The bike ride itself should take no more than 50 minutes each way, but it takes us significantly longer to pedal back. The winds are strong and I try to limit my electric assist.

But it is a magnificent ride! 

On the way there, we stop off at Madison Sourdough. I pick up a coffee and some pastries and we take these with us to the Gardens. You cant eat inside the Gardens, but there a tables just by the entrance and we claim one for this heavenly picnic in the sunshine. In this somewhat sheltered space, the wind is minimal and I am down to... a cami!

As we nibble on an almond croissant and a pain au raisin,  I tell Ed about an article I read this morning about two men from Mexico -- one illegal and one who eventually claimed citizenship -- who'd been working in this country (in Chicago) for many years. Both are Trump supporters. Despite the fact that one is threatened with deportation and the other has relatives that are threatened with deportation. So why this seemingly nonsensical backing of a person who may disrupt or even destroy their livelihood? Well, according to this article  (from the NYT) -- they're angry. The Venezuelan migrants who sought asylum were dumped in Chicago, busloads of them, but they came with papers, phones, insurance, vouchers and scheduled hearings. The Mexicans got none of this. And, in their view, the Democrats didn't do enough to create pathways to citizenship for them. I found one reader's comment  (it received the most thumbs up votes) interesting: They've become true Americans! Willing to hurt even themselves as long as they can be assured that someone else isn't getting anything more than they themselves have gotten. And so I ask Ed -- don't you sometimes vote against your self interest? I mean, you (and your partner) started a company, so you are an entrepreneur, you have at least some investments, so presumably you should vote Republican. (Forget about Trump who is not a true Republican.) But you consistently vote for Democrats. Not for business friendly Republicans.

I swear I hear him snort at this. I absolutely vote with self-interest! In the recent decades, America's strongest economic growth has been under Democratic presidents. They've given us stability, regulatory certainty, and opened up markets. And please, it's not in my self interest to breathe polluted air and watch the poisoning of our environment (something that Republican politicians seem to be comfortable with).

 

We go inside the Gardens. I know where to look -- right by the birch trees. And yes! The snowdrops have opened up! Our first blooms of the season!

Everything else is deeply buried under last years spent growth. Brown on brown. Just like at the farmette.

We bike home deeply satisfied. Wind and sun, pastries and flowers. Could it be a more beautiful afternoon?

Sure, a cool-down is coming tomorrow. But who can complain -- today was so completely sublime!

with love...

joyful weather, continued

As promised, the skies are blue, the temps are rising. It is, in one word, joyful out there!

 

It's thrilling to be alive in this moment, at this time and in this place.

And yes, I even like Daylight Savings Time, though I understand the arguments on the other side.

Speaking of arguments on the other side, they bring me back to politics, but not in the way I've been confronting them in recent weeks. Today, after a delicious breakfast of sweet nothings...

... I glanced through the paper and settled on reading Ezra Klein's opinion piece in the NYTimes. The title tells you a lot about its content: There is a Liberal Answer to the Trump-Musk Wrecking Ball. (And yes, I. gifted it for you so you can read it for free if you want.) It's not a piece I especially stand behind or for that matter disagree with. But I read most of the Readers Picks comments that followed and I must say, I very much liked the discussion the article provoked. So much so that I kept interrupting Ed's work on his machining design to share and discuss points raised in Klein's piece and in the comments section. I spent a good two hours on this -- obviously a luxury only a person without family and work obligations can have. But here's the point -- it's a hugely challenging topic: how to govern in the America we have today. It's clear that we don't have a consensus on how to move forward. Many think our country right now is ungovernable. (In Klein's piece -- that would mean that we are incapable of building a fast speed train in America, in the same way that we cannot provide health care for all.) Many weighed in from other countries (prominently from Europe, also from Japan -- democratic countries where high speed rail service is superb). And many weighed in from states featured prominently in the article (California of course, but also Texas).

The point is that Trump is a horrible nightmare, but also in a way a distraction. Weighing the divergent opinions on what's missing in the lives of so many Americans (enough so that they would vote for Trump) and how to address what Klein calls this "crisis of scarcity or perception of scarcity" is what we have to do now. Intelligently. None of the solutions will come from the leadership in place at the moment. Of that I am sure. (Indeed, none have been proposed. Wrecking is not the same as building.) So what's next? Even if I may not have strong opinions on this, I thoroughly enjoyed and benefited from reading the opinions of others. It was a morning well spent.

[And yes, I have an update or two: Pancake still comes and goes. He is eating well and looks somewhat better. Thank you all for your concern about his fate and sharing your worries with me. Ed and I both think that the downsides of trapping him and taking him to the vet outweigh the potential benefit. We've trapped 7 of the ferals thus far so we know what's at stake. Pancake is not a good candidate for this right now. Indeed, this evening, he was once more embroiled in a fight with the interloper cat. We don't understand the dynamics, nor even who the aggressor is, but my guess is that Pancake lives to defend his territory and right now, he considers the farmette lands his territory. And in other news, I decided to give a hard-shell suitcase a try! I know it will get scuffed up. Who cares. I need to try something different from what I've been with for decades now.]

 In the afternoon Ed and I bike to McFarland -- the town across Lake Waubesa. It's a brilliant day for it, albeit windy! Still, Ed's down to shorts and a t-shirt. (We have a high of 59F/15C.)

(biking next to the railway tracks and a sandhill crane)

 

As is our love, we go to the Cafe there (Grace), where Ed eats lunch and I sip a latte. Total bliss.

On the return, he asks -- want to go the hard way?  Well that's ambitious! The "hard way" loops around a bunch of hills -- more of an exertion for him. I can always up the electrical boost. But yes, it's beautiful out there, let's give ourselves that challenge.

We pause by Lake Waubesa. It's melting, but not totally yet. 

 

 

There is a dock at the side. We park our bikes and sit, facing the sun. Soon my sweatshirt and my shirt come off. I tell Ed -- if you close your eyes, it's like the Alps on a sunny day. Utterly sublime.

It is true that I return to the nightmare of tax forms afterwards. I still had to do my mother's taxes and I spend some time on finishing those today. It is the last tangible thing that I have to do for her and it does feel very final. I was "in charge" of her life for so many years now that it almost felt like I'd always been in charge and to some extent it was indeed on me -- to get her through her separation from my father way back in 1980, to support her various moves, to make sure she had the income to take care of her expenses, and finally to make decisions for her, even as she resisted my decisions to the very end. With a person her age (she almost made it to 101!), you're always wondering if you did the right thing. If you filled out the right forms, purchased the needed goods and services, maximized her well being. You need to be tough to withstand the protest, the dissatisfaction, the constant anguish coming from someone who didn't think life had been fair to her. And yet, on balance, it all worked out pretty well. She lost her vision two days before she died. In the 71 years that our lives overlapped, she never went hungry: she had climbed out of childhood poverty remarkably well. And of course, there was always family for her -- sometimes to feel good about, oftentimes to grumble about, always to add interest and rich emotion. So yes, tax forms filed, a door closed. What is left -- well, you leave behind memories. She did that. They are plentiful -- rich in color, drama, and a certain perseverance. She was there, for 71 years of my life, she was there.

There is no Sunday dinner today. My daughter's family is ensconced in the visits of other grandparents. What with the play and various friend parties and sleepovers and performances, they've had a packed weekend. If they need anything, it's quiet time.

Which means Ed and I, too, have a quiet evening at home. For us, this is the epitome of luxury. Not having to go out, not needing to do anything really except cook up a few farmette eggs, add some veggies, make a salad and flip on a show for an evening of light viewing. Something with laughter. Yes, we've had a good set of days.

with so much love...

 

joyful weather

You know the kind, don't you? Weather that makes you sing. Seasonally appropriate of course, but still pushing the extremes of loveliness. 

We begin a several day period of joyful weather.

 Sunshine and warming temperatures: this is spring's gift for us. And I love it!

(Tuxie and Pancake: used to be at war with each other, but in recent months a fragile peace is in place)

Pancake update -- he had a quiet night. He ate ravenously yesterday evening and this morning appeared insulted when I "only" gave him a can of wet cat food. He doesn't like the "turkey" selection! He went off to study birds instead.

(several of the cats are good mousers; two are capable of bringing down an occasional bird; I've not seen Pancake do either, though living in the wild surely has to have given him such skills)

And the birds! They are a riot of sound this morning. I picked out cardinals, sparrows, red-winged blackbirds and a downy woodpecker. Did you know how melodious woodpeckers are? It's not all about the tap tap tap!

I drove to Madison Sourdough for breakfast treats. That place is surging in popularity. The line extended way outside. Luckily, I preordered.

And now for our celebratory breakfast photo. Why? Because it's International Women's Day and I feel very attached to my womanhood, even if it has had its troubles in the male-dominated epoch I grew up in. 

Happy March 8th, my compadres! 

Then came an hour, well no, three hours of toiling over a decision that has taunted me at the sidelines for many many months. It has to do with travel: I do a lot of it and I always just take a carry-on. My trips are usually in the 9 -12 day range and I can fit everything for that amount of time, with an extra tote added during winter trips to the mountains. But I'm going on a somewhat longer trip soon and I finally decided that the carry-on wont be large enough, especially since I'll be switching places -- country, city, you name it -- and, too, I'll be using the trains a lot, and it wont be easy to maneuver the usual supplementary tote in addition to the suitcase up narrow train stairs in double-decker wagons. 

So I need to purchase a larger suitcase -- one you can check in. One that will keep me from having to take along anything else.

Oh the agony of investing in this! I mean, I'm old -- how much travel do I have left in me? A lifetime warranty is a bit laughable, especially since I expect to do short trips again after this one. But I can't afford to have it break while it's being thrashed about on trains, planes and automobiles. 

By lunchtime I was down to two choices and I am absolutely incapable of deciding which is the better. (Basically it's the choice between soft and hardshell and I have read every review on the planet and yes, there are millions of reviews out there.)

I cant decide. I put away the computer and Ed and I go out for a walk. To Brooklyn Wildlife Area! We have the time. And it's a gorgeous day.

Of course, gorgeous March days soften the frozen earth, melt all snow, and create a messy hiking terrain. We expected the trails to be slightly muddy. They were significantly muddy.

Nonetheless, it was a glorious walk!

(it's still a brown landscape, but that wont last...)

(with a slice of moon overhead...)

And now comes a tricky part: there is a gathering of grandparents at the local pizza place. Some grandparents have come up from Chicago to see Snowdrop's final performance as Hero in Much Ado About Nothing. One has come from Buffalo. They're all (along with parents and Sparrow once again) getting a pizza and then going straight to the theater. I am going to skip the play. I love Snowdrop to pieces, but it is a long production (four hours!) and though I do make a point of seeing all of her plays, I limit myself to just one performance. Still, it is a very rare thing that all the Madison grandkids' grandparents are in the same room at the same time. In Chicago, we had such a gathering on Juniper's birthday (it is of course a different set of grandparents for Juniper and Primrose) and it was sweet to have us all there. So I hop over to at least share this meal with the guys here today.

Yes, I'm tempted to just follow in with them and watch Snowdrop do a beautiful Hero interpretation, but again, I have to place limits on the grandkid activities. I have plenty of these sweet guys in my days. Let the other grandparents delight in being with them to cheer her on and to play with Sparrow tonight.

I return to the farmhouse, hand over some pizza slices to the guy who does not attend gatherings if he can help it!

We watch a show, we exhale, totally looking forward to another day of joyful weather. And another after that! How wonderful it is to be creeping up on spring!

with love...

more of the same

I was sound asleep when last night's fight took place, but Ed heard it. More distant, but audible. Same problem: an animal comes, Pancake is attacked. (Or is it that Pancake attacks to defend his space?) And in the morning I see the results: our porch feral is even more beaten up, scratched, gashed, wounded. He doesn't even come out of his little enclosure for food. Eventually I coax him out for some water. (He says "no thanks" to food.)

 

 

I tell Ed - we have to do something! But of course, there is no solution. Unless we bring Pancake inside (not gonna happen -- he's really feral!), he has got to brave the menacing world out there. And maybe that is his fate? Maybe it's in his genes to keep fighting? This morning, as I walked to the barn to feed the chickens, I saw him come out of the porch and follow me at his usual distance. (He does this every morning.) And then he disappeared. For mny hours. It's cold outside, he's wounded and yet he chose to leave his warm enclosure (we have a heated blanket inside).

The day is on the miserable weather side of things. Light snow turning to rain. I wouldn't mind, except I'm really missing the early crocuses this year! Even the Helleborus is completely dormant here, in Wisconsin. And the snowdrops? Blooming profusely... in England. No sign of them in my yard.

(Here's our healthy and very pretty sheep shed cat -- Tuxie.)

 

(snow, eventually changing to rain...)

 

 

Breakfast. Dance, Ed, me. Granola, fruit, coffee. It's a winning combination.

Afterwards, I read.

And drive over to my clinic to test for measles antibodies. Not sure if I had an effective vaccination and my doc told me that my travels make me a candidate for upping my protection thanks to the antivaxxers out there.

Which brings me to this question: in listening to a report on NPR  on the consequences of suddenly canceling USAID programs that give humanitarian and especially medical aid to those in need of it, I learned that on the average, those life saving programs (and I mean really life saving... for millions of people) -- they cost $38 per American household per year. And I want to ask those who are chortling with glee over the removal of aid (to a child with TB or malaria or HIV) -- would you not want to hand over $38 if it really could save a child? Even if it meant you'd have to give up something meaningful to you, like, say, one ice cream treat (!!) for the family. (It costs me $12 to buy two single scoop ice creams for the two kids at the Chocolate Shoppe here, in the dairy-land state.) 

Speaking of kids, time to pick up my two grands. It's pajama day in school once again.

We have a quick turnaround, because the girl has to be at her Shakespeare production (she is tech crew tonight) by 4. The upside of it is that I get to hand over Sparrow to the parents over at Barrique's coffee shop and so we have a chance to pause and summarize the week behind us.

The sun comes out as I drive home. You have no idea how good it is to see it poking through, between leftover puffy clouds! We're going to have a fine weekend and a spectacular week! Blue skies and of course, daylight savings time. Leaving behind the vestiges of winter, leaping forward into spring.

with love...

born to fight

I do not want to criticize nature. It gives much more than it takes. I could not achieve a state of peace, calm, tranquility without it in my life, in copious amounts.

However...

Survival does require a certain amount of fight. Nature commands us to punch out the enemy. Maybe even eat them for breakfast. And nowhere is that more clear than in the animal world. 

Last night, strange sounds came to us from the outside. Eerie ones. Aliens, landing in our back yard kind of sounds. Our two farmhouse cats perked up and walked to the door, ready for combat (actually, they only appeared ready for combat: when I cracked the door open, they backed away). Ed went out, saw nothing, came back inside. I went out and the noise resumed. I made my way to its source. There was Pancake, our porch feral cat, in a face off with a giant newcomer. A cat the size of a coyote (or maybe the night shadows added volume to his body..). I took a broom and put it between them. The interloper backed off. Thankfully, no one attacked me, a.k.a. the peace keeping force. I went back inside. 

The next morning, as I came down to feed everyone, I glanced out on the porch and there was Pancake. Beaten up, bedraggled. With sores, dirt covering his black and white fur, and a limp. And sadness in his eyes. (One can only hope these animals are not carrying the Avian flu virus. How to protect them? I don't think there is an effective strategy out there at this point.)

I've never been tempted to make friends with Pancake because his presence on the porch makes it difficult to send cats outside (they are a bit fearful of him). Ed, on the other hand, has long petting sessions with him which, I admit, have helped tame the dynamics between all. Today, I could not help it -- I'm out there soothing the poor guy, finally offering him a gentle pet, to let him know that I understand his need to defend what little space he has carved out for himself on this planet. (I then scrub my hands. I mean, he could be exposed.)

Up and down the animal chain, we have fights, vicious fights. And I know that the way things work is that we need food and animals need food and we all cannot be vegetarians, but is there really no humane way to resolve this? Must there be fights?

Walk to the barn? Cold! The slush froze overnight, so slippery, too. 

 

Immediately after, I had a visit with my cardiologist. This is an annual thing and today it's rather amusing, because in the last three years I have worked my way through three cardiologists. I did not reject them -- they all retired! One by one! So now I got assigned to someone very young. And that's good, because the newer generation of docs is happy to talk to you about heart health as measured by, say, your smart watch. 

[My heart, by the way, is basically fine, and I see a cardiologist for quirky things that are not likely to kill me.]

One question (out of many) that I had was how much can you push yourself at my age. In spring, I garden hard. With shovel and rake work that lead to blisters on my hands. When I travel, I push myself with walks, hikes, treks that are very long. With or without elevation. Is that good?

Turns out this generation of docs thinks it is: every extra hour beefs up your cardio health (with the proviso that you have good heart function as you set out to add all those hours, which, of course, only a doc can assess). I have a season of arduous gardening/walking/biking before me. It's good to know that I am likely to improve, not damage the old heart with that effort.

And then Ed and I ate breakfast.

 

Yes, it was late and yes, we talked about the news of the day (no tariffs, a threat of tariffs, sudden tariffs, imposed tariffs, postponed tariffs, dangled tariffs -- we've had it all, within the first 6 weeks of the new leadership! And for what??). But, too, we noted the sunshine outside and the warmth of the house and how totally lucky we were to be coming into spring. Gently, slowly, surely.

 

In the afternoon, the kids are here once again. 

Sun's out, jackets are discarded (even though it's just a few degrees above freezing). Who am I to protest. Besides, it's a short walk from car to farmhouse.

Evening comes, the kids return home, I turn on the news. Which story sticks out? I'm at a loss to pick a winner. How about the interview with the former Commissioner of Social Security who advises us retirees to start saving cash as the combination of increasing numbers of retirees and crazy staff reductions is very likely to result in a malfunction and at least a temporary interruption of payments. So maybe that one? 

 

I reheat soup and make a salad, keeping an eye out for porch invasions -- raccoons, cats, maybe bobcats. I can only hope that the skunk family will stay away. And please, guys: no more fights. There's nothing to be won here. Nothing at all.

with love...

green

Maybe for you, March conjures up images of green landscapes. Or maybe you just see green because of the upcoming St Patrick's Day. Well, we're not starting off with a whole lot of green stuff this March. Indeed, either last year's spring came very early or we are now very, very late, because I'm noting crocuses in bloom in my photos from March 5th 2024 and there's not even a crocus tip poking through yet on March 5th 2025.  I had to canvas the fields long and hard to find just these tiny tips of future daffodils:

Green? Ha. Brown, with a slap of wet snow this afternoon. 

 (This is our beautiful and gentle Tuxie. Honestly, I'd give her over to cat adoption if it weren't for the fact that she seems so content here. She lives in the sheep shed but does love the great outdoors.)

Again, March is like that: wet rain, wet snow -- these are not unusual. We've had menacing ice storms too. The weather isn't really the problem for us northerners. Because we see through it. We appreciate the emerging signs of spring. But this year I'm left wondering -- where is the green stuff??

Breakfast -- I'm thinking oatmeal is appropriate for this kind of a day. (Hey! He's wearing a green shirt!)

 

 

 

And yes, we do talk about the News -- or at least I do. As always, I'm agitated -- by the absurdity of it all. When did disdain for elites move away from dislike for the wealth to the dislike of knowledge? Of expertise? So that the ethos of a billionaire is applauded, but that of a scientist struggling to keep us safe from a pandemic or from cancer -- ridiculed and ostracized? I try to make sense of an alignment of the poorest with the agenda implemented by the richest for benefit of the richest -- how did those at the top pull that one off?? I did not watch the 100 minute self adulation last night, but I read about it today. To applaud a brave child with cancer with one hand while tearing down the search for cures and the benefits offered to such a child with the other -- does this seem commendable to people? You're applauding this... why?

This is when Ed tells me to stop reading. That I'm not the better for it. And perhaps he is right. 

 

I look outside and oh am I glad we did the bulk of the yard clean up the last two days!

No way am I going to do anything at all that's outdoorsy. I distract myself with doing exercises for my knee. Exercises for balance (I love these because I'm good at them!). Exercises for upper body strength. For my neck. Did I miss anything??

And then I go (very slowly -- it's nasty out there) to pick up the kids.

("I'm holding an icicle!")

Of course they want ice cream. Of course they do. I'm past questioning the appropriateness of pairing ice cream with a blustery snowy day.

Me, I'm inclined to cook up a pot of soup for supper.  Steamy hot. With grated cheese and green kale. I think that's as far as we are going to get with green stuff this week.

with love...

 

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...