the rare one

What would it be like? The perfect winter day in Wisconsin: solid snow cover (no dirt patches in sight). The sun would be out, full blast. The temperature – a little above freezing. Not enough to create slush, but enough to keep you, well, warm.





It cannot be a work day. You don’t notice much when you spend so many daylight hours indoors. Oh, and you cannot have a dental appointment. You’re basically free. How often does this happen?






Some years – never.





This year – oh, without doubt – today.





It brought out the child in Ed (admittedly, not too buried to begin with),





…and the sun loving side of me…





But mainly it brought out an appreciation for that speck of beauty that lays buried in the winter months of the northern Midwest.





We were not the only ones at Indian Lake Park. An Italian family of sledders…





…a celestial slope of angels…





…there to throw out the arms and say – what a beautiful day!

the rare one

What would it be like? The perfect winter day in Wisconsin: solid snow cover (no dirt patches in sight). The sun would be out, full blast. The temperature – a little above freezing. Not enough to create slush, but enough to keep you, well, warm.





It cannot be a work day. You don’t notice much when you spend so many daylight hours indoors. Oh, and you cannot have a dental appointment. You’re basically free. How often does this happen?






Some years – never.





This year – oh, without doubt – today.





It brought out the child in Ed (admittedly, not too buried to begin with),





…and the sun loving side of me…





But mainly it brought out an appreciation for that speck of beauty that lays buried in the winter months of the northern Midwest.





We were not the only ones at Indian Lake Park. An Italian family of sledders…





…a celestial slope of angels…





…there to throw out the arms and say – what a beautiful day!

detour

Two things my dentist said today stayed with me. First, he thanked me for encouraging him to write. He has become an impassioned chronicler of life (his life) and I should think this is a good thing, though it could be that his family feels otherwise.

The second (and related) comment was more somber – it’s hard to make life interesting when you’re older, he said to me.





A quick interpretation would be that this is just him. Me, you – our lives are an amazing grab bag of riches! (Admitting to the mundane is hard.)

But if you think about it – if you work, if you clean your house and cook your food, if you exercise and go to your dentist fairly regularly – you will most certainly use up your interesting hours. And if you (like him?) find your work only mildly interesting (perhaps filling teeth is less interesting than teaching, though maybe he feels otherwise), then it becomes hard to create a life that, on balance, is remarkably interesting.

Of course, “interesting” need not be a worthy goal. Being hardworking, creative, respectful, nurturing – any these would form a rich life. And, interesting need not be found in the positive. Interesting can be born of tragedy. Who wants that!

Still, I go back to my dentist’s words and I see his point: for the ordinary, for us -- making an average day interesting – I have to admit it -- it can be a challenge.

detour

Two things my dentist said today stayed with me. First, he thanked me for encouraging him to write. He has become an impassioned chronicler of life (his life) and I should think this is a good thing, though it could be that his family feels otherwise.

The second (and related) comment was more somber – it’s hard to make life interesting when you’re older, he said to me.





A quick interpretation would be that this is just him. Me, you – our lives are an amazing grab bag of riches! (Admitting to the mundane is hard.)

But if you think about it – if you work, if you clean your house and cook your food, if you exercise and go to your dentist fairly regularly – you will most certainly use up your interesting hours. And if you (like him?) find your work only mildly interesting (perhaps filling teeth is less interesting than teaching, though maybe he feels otherwise), then it becomes hard to create a life that, on balance, is remarkably interesting.

Of course, “interesting” need not be a worthy goal. Being hardworking, creative, respectful, nurturing – any these would form a rich life. And, interesting need not be found in the positive. Interesting can be born of tragedy. Who wants that!

Still, I go back to my dentist’s words and I see his point: for the ordinary, for us -- making an average day interesting – I have to admit it -- it can be a challenge.

looking out

Draaaaaaag myself home. No great bounce here... Suuuuch a long day.

Maybe your work is all fun and games. You would be the exception.

BUT… there is not a work problem (except unemployment) that cannot be addressed with equanimity and a smile. So, in the weeks ahead, I shall proceed in such a fashion.

Today? Well, I hadn't time to take even a coffee break. But, late in the day, I looked up and thought – this is nice. A tree. In shades of gold. Very lovely. Let me remember it: a day can be made better by a tree.

looking out

Draaaaaaag myself home. No great bounce here... Suuuuch a long day.

Maybe your work is all fun and games. You would be the exception.

BUT… there is not a work problem (except unemployment) that cannot be addressed with equanimity and a smile. So, in the weeks ahead, I shall proceed in such a fashion.

Today? Well, I hadn't time to take even a coffee break. But, late in the day, I looked up and thought – this is nice. A tree. In shades of gold. Very lovely. Let me remember it: a day can be made better by a tree.

Wisconsin winter

Even on bright days, the colors outside are monochromatic.





In February, I have often gone to the orchid greenhouses (just a few minutes from where I live) for the much needed splash of color. This year, I could not wait until February.





As always, I walked away with an addition to my wee collection. I fret about these babies all year long. Because they understand the pain of living here, up north, in the winter. And each January and February – the most ridiculously cold months of the year, they reward me with this:





In an interview, President Obama joked that the DC schools closed today because there was an inch of snow in DC. His daughters reminded him that in Chicago, schools never closed. In the meantime, Shelby, a blogger and commenter from Alabama, sent me this. It’s funny because, with only minor tweaking, it’s true (note my tweaks in brackets):


Wisconsin Winter Habits

60 above zero: Wisconsinites plant gardens. [ed: actually, we do it in colder temps]

50 above zero: People are sunbathing in Green Bay [ed: and elsewhere in the state]

40 above zero: Wisconsinites drive with the sunroof open [ed: of course!]

32 above zero: The water in Hayward gets thicker.

20 above zero: Wisconsinites throw on a flannel shirt [ed: the less hardy types]

15 above zero: People in Wisconsin have one last cookout before it gets cold [ed: I guess…]

Zero: Wisconsinites close the windows [not true: many NEVER close the windows; something about fresh air, bla bla bla]

10 below zero: Wisconsinites dig their winter coats out of storage [ed: about right]

25 below zero: Girl Scouts in Wisconsin still selling cookies door to door [ed: absolutely!]

40 below zero: People in Wisconsin let their dogs sleep indoors

100 below zero: Wisconsinites get upset because the Mini-Van won't start.

460 below zero: ALL atomic motion stops (absolute zero on the Kelvin scale). People in Wisconsin can be heard to say, "Cold 'nuff fer ya?"

500 below zero: Hell freezes over. Wisconsin public schools open 2 hours late [ed: except for UW]

Wisconsin winter

Even on bright days, the colors outside are monochromatic.





In February, I have often gone to the orchid greenhouses (just a few minutes from where I live) for the much needed splash of color. This year, I could not wait until February.





As always, I walked away with an addition to my wee collection. I fret about these babies all year long. Because they understand the pain of living here, up north, in the winter. And each January and February – the most ridiculously cold months of the year, they reward me with this:





In an interview, President Obama joked that the DC schools closed today because there was an inch of snow in DC. His daughters reminded him that in Chicago, schools never closed. In the meantime, Shelby, a blogger and commenter from Alabama, sent me this. It’s funny because, with only minor tweaking, it’s true (note my tweaks in brackets):


Wisconsin Winter Habits

60 above zero: Wisconsinites plant gardens. [ed: actually, we do it in colder temps]

50 above zero: People are sunbathing in Green Bay [ed: and elsewhere in the state]

40 above zero: Wisconsinites drive with the sunroof open [ed: of course!]

32 above zero: The water in Hayward gets thicker.

20 above zero: Wisconsinites throw on a flannel shirt [ed: the less hardy types]

15 above zero: People in Wisconsin have one last cookout before it gets cold [ed: I guess…]

Zero: Wisconsinites close the windows [not true: many NEVER close the windows; something about fresh air, bla bla bla]

10 below zero: Wisconsinites dig their winter coats out of storage [ed: about right]

25 below zero: Girl Scouts in Wisconsin still selling cookies door to door [ed: absolutely!]

40 below zero: People in Wisconsin let their dogs sleep indoors

100 below zero: Wisconsinites get upset because the Mini-Van won't start.

460 below zero: ALL atomic motion stops (absolute zero on the Kelvin scale). People in Wisconsin can be heard to say, "Cold 'nuff fer ya?"

500 below zero: Hell freezes over. Wisconsin public schools open 2 hours late [ed: except for UW]

mixed images

In the morning, I wait at the bus stop and I think 1. It’s really cold... can we have a break? Just below freezing would be really nice for a while; 2. I am staring at the lot where the Westside Community Farmers Market sets up in better times.





You may think that this is a depressing thought. But no. Think of it: in three months, the market will replace the snow pile. Not bad!


In my office now.

I look out and I notice a tent out on Bascom Hill.





Oh! It’s taunting me! Na na, you just agreed to camp in the cold in Scotland! Look, look – does this look like fun?

Eh, it’s a coincidence. I know this tent is probably an ad for something.

I go out to look around. From every side it looks like – a tent. No ads.





Do you suppose it’s a warning?

Ridiculous. I need a good night’s sleep.

mixed images

In the morning, I wait at the bus stop and I think 1. It’s really cold... can we have a break? Just below freezing would be really nice for a while; 2. I am staring at the lot where the Westside Community Farmers Market sets up in better times.





You may think that this is a depressing thought. But no. Think of it: in three months, the market will replace the snow pile. Not bad!


In my office now.

I look out and I notice a tent out on Bascom Hill.





Oh! It’s taunting me! Na na, you just agreed to camp in the cold in Scotland! Look, look – does this look like fun?

Eh, it’s a coincidence. I know this tent is probably an ad for something.

I go out to look around. From every side it looks like – a tent. No ads.





Do you suppose it’s a warning?

Ridiculous. I need a good night’s sleep.

flying on the cheap

In my nightmarish scenario, the IRS and various bill collectors will be chasing after me, clamoring after my nonexistent funds and I’ll turn to them and say – sorry, I have a plane to catch.

If I wasn’t born restless, I most assuredly became this way very early in life. I was the family go-to girl when trips needed to be planned and motels booked. I was all of 8 years old.


Ed and I are in the process of negotiating our spring and/or summer travels. As usual, I am strictly bound to a work schedule and he is not. He cares about one thing: if it has to be across the ocean, what’s the cheapest place we can get to?

I spend time searching. Bizarre: it’s Scotland. Half the price of any other destination.
My occasional traveling companion is enthused. Let’s hike in Scotland! With a tent!

I know Scotland to have finicky (that’s being kind) weather. I lived there in the Fall of ’77 with my then partner, soon to be husband. We were graduate students and we put many a shilling piece into coin heaters to take the chill out of an interior. Memories of those quick-to appear clouds stay with you. And now, almost 35 years later, I’m to go back -- to camp?

It’s rare to see Ed positively chirping about Europe and so I find myself weakening. I look at trails through the highlands. I can do this. We purchase his ticket.

Only, I need to get there as well. I’ll be coming from the south and I’ll have a handful of days to kill before he shows up. I could, in the interim, take (the very cheap) Ryan Air to Sardinia…

You’re going to Sardinia? I want to go to Sardinia. Fly down from Edinburgh. Why am I going to Edinburgh if on the same day I am to fly down to Sardinia? Because it’s cheap and you like cheap. Will you camp in Sardinia? Maybe we should go to Barcelona instead. You hate cities! I’ll fly to Sardinia and wait there until you can join me and then we’ll both fly to Edinburgh and camp in the highlands. And then go home, right? Sure, only we have to stop in Paris overnight on the way back, because otherwise we’ll surely miss our connection. Just one night in Paris, correct? Actually two. The airfare returning a day later is way cheaper…

Outside, the winter continues to hit below the waist. The news on the economy is bad, the work for the weeks ahead is daunting.




But hey. Sometime in May or June, I’ll be pitching a tent as the sudden dark clouds explode with torrential rain and the winds gust with such force that they close the bridge on the return from the Isle of Skye. Our food supplies will be low and we’ll have to make our way to the nearest pub and eat whatever they have. Blood sausage maybe. And I’ll say – aren’t you sorry that you yawned when I suggested a gentle hike along the coast of the Mediterranean? Yeah, that’s what I’ll say.

flying on the cheap

In my nightmarish scenario, the IRS and various bill collectors will be chasing after me, clamoring after my nonexistent funds and I’ll turn to them and say – sorry, I have a plane to catch.

If I wasn’t born restless, I most assuredly became this way very early in life. I was the family go-to girl when trips needed to be planned and motels booked. I was all of 8 years old.


Ed and I are in the process of negotiating our spring and/or summer travels. As usual, I am strictly bound to a work schedule and he is not. He cares about one thing: if it has to be across the ocean, what’s the cheapest place we can get to?

I spend time searching. Bizarre: it’s Scotland. Half the price of any other destination.
My occasional traveling companion is enthused. Let’s hike in Scotland! With a tent!

I know Scotland to have finicky (that’s being kind) weather. I lived there in the Fall of ’77 with my then partner, soon to be husband. We were graduate students and we put many a shilling piece into coin heaters to take the chill out of an interior. Memories of those quick-to appear clouds stay with you. And now, almost 35 years later, I’m to go back -- to camp?

It’s rare to see Ed positively chirping about Europe and so I find myself weakening. I look at trails through the highlands. I can do this. We purchase his ticket.

Only, I need to get there as well. I’ll be coming from the south and I’ll have a handful of days to kill before he shows up. I could, in the interim, take (the very cheap) Ryan Air to Sardinia…

You’re going to Sardinia? I want to go to Sardinia. Fly down from Edinburgh. Why am I going to Edinburgh if on the same day I am to fly down to Sardinia? Because it’s cheap and you like cheap. Will you camp in Sardinia? Maybe we should go to Barcelona instead. You hate cities! I’ll fly to Sardinia and wait there until you can join me and then we’ll both fly to Edinburgh and camp in the highlands. And then go home, right? Sure, only we have to stop in Paris overnight on the way back, because otherwise we’ll surely miss our connection. Just one night in Paris, correct? Actually two. The airfare returning a day later is way cheaper…

Outside, the winter continues to hit below the waist. The news on the economy is bad, the work for the weeks ahead is daunting.




But hey. Sometime in May or June, I’ll be pitching a tent as the sudden dark clouds explode with torrential rain and the winds gust with such force that they close the bridge on the return from the Isle of Skye. Our food supplies will be low and we’ll have to make our way to the nearest pub and eat whatever they have. Blood sausage maybe. And I’ll say – aren’t you sorry that you yawned when I suggested a gentle hike along the coast of the Mediterranean? Yeah, that’s what I’ll say.

sunday

The whirl of a good week-end. The super spin of a good week. The tiredness of Sunday, at the tail-end of it all.

I leave you with a photo from the Inaugural Ball last night. Three images: the host (Ian), the superhero (Barack) and the local hero (Tammy).

sunday

The whirl of a good week-end. The super spin of a good week. The tiredness of Sunday, at the tail-end of it all.

I leave you with a photo from the Inaugural Ball last night. Three images: the host (Ian), the superhero (Barack) and the local hero (Tammy).

style

Thinking about the need to refinance my condo makes my brow furrow. It’s as if everything worth complaining about right now is, in one way or another, linked to that process of refinancing. I know, in the scheme of things, a mortgage is only a mortgage, but as I said – many strings of worry can be pulled from this one little pile and by the time you’d pull on most of them, you’d admit that I have myself a nice bundle.

It’s not as if I am made snarly or grumpy by this – not like this guy at the café, whose brow is even more furrowed, or the bull that’s positively fuming…





…but I am more than slightly preoccupied with the idea that I should be more careful in the way I proceed in life.


I have, today, a diversion and it is getting myself and Ed to an Inaugural Ball (not official, not even in DC, but large and formal nonetheless). When I downsized a few years back, I gave away all that I could not imagine ever using again. However I envisioned my life, it was not with formalwear. What formalwear I had (one glittery sweater) found its way to Goodwill.

Still, I can fake formal by slipping into something black and short. Ed, however, presents a problem.

If you want to go, you must dress up, I tell him. So, do you want to go? Do you want me to go? You don’t have to go. But you’re going? Yes, I am. So do you want me to go?

We have had some version of this conversation on and off for the past several weeks. Today we finally reached the end: So are you going? Okay.

And now we are on round two: can you please wear your black turtleneck? (Ed does own a tie: he never took the price tag off of it: $3.99. I love beautiful ties. This is not one of them. ) The black turtleneck? The one without the ridges. Why not the one with ridges? Because that one has little rips and the color black has faded to a streaky gray. I’ll have to see if the other is clean. I’m near the bottom of my clean clothes so it may be unavailable. Let’s make it available. And no jeans please. Should I wear a jacket? (This is a leftover from a funeral.) Yes please. It has cat hairs. Get rid of the cat hairs. You sure I should go?

Living in Madison shifts your attention from concerns with how clothes look to concern with how warm they are. Spending time with Ed erases preoccupation with appearance even more. He tells me “you look wonderful” randomly. When he thinks he needs to score points.

But I miss thinking about style. I like looking up and thinking – wow, her shirt matches the painting. Nice.





We leave the café. Down the road, we pass an empty train, standing, waiting, looking sort of magnificent against the blue snow of the late afternoon. You’re going to let that photo go? It’s too cold to get out. Really?

I get out and take the photo. An endless line of empty cars. Beautiful.





It’s good to have diversions from concerns about refinancing.

style

Thinking about the need to refinance my condo makes my brow furrow. It’s as if everything worth complaining about right now is, in one way or another, linked to that process of refinancing. I know, in the scheme of things, a mortgage is only a mortgage, but as I said – many strings of worry can be pulled from this one little pile and by the time you’d pull on most of them, you’d admit that I have myself a nice bundle.

It’s not as if I am made snarly or grumpy by this – not like this guy at the café, whose brow is even more furrowed, or the bull that’s positively fuming…





…but I am more than slightly preoccupied with the idea that I should be more careful in the way I proceed in life.


I have, today, a diversion and it is getting myself and Ed to an Inaugural Ball (not official, not even in DC, but large and formal nonetheless). When I downsized a few years back, I gave away all that I could not imagine ever using again. However I envisioned my life, it was not with formalwear. What formalwear I had (one glittery sweater) found its way to Goodwill.

Still, I can fake formal by slipping into something black and short. Ed, however, presents a problem.

If you want to go, you must dress up, I tell him. So, do you want to go? Do you want me to go? You don’t have to go. But you’re going? Yes, I am. So do you want me to go?

We have had some version of this conversation on and off for the past several weeks. Today we finally reached the end: So are you going? Okay.

And now we are on round two: can you please wear your black turtleneck? (Ed does own a tie: he never took the price tag off of it: $3.99. I love beautiful ties. This is not one of them. ) The black turtleneck? The one without the ridges. Why not the one with ridges? Because that one has little rips and the color black has faded to a streaky gray. I’ll have to see if the other is clean. I’m near the bottom of my clean clothes so it may be unavailable. Let’s make it available. And no jeans please. Should I wear a jacket? (This is a leftover from a funeral.) Yes please. It has cat hairs. Get rid of the cat hairs. You sure I should go?

Living in Madison shifts your attention from concerns with how clothes look to concern with how warm they are. Spending time with Ed erases preoccupation with appearance even more. He tells me “you look wonderful” randomly. When he thinks he needs to score points.

But I miss thinking about style. I like looking up and thinking – wow, her shirt matches the painting. Nice.





We leave the café. Down the road, we pass an empty train, standing, waiting, looking sort of magnificent against the blue snow of the late afternoon. You’re going to let that photo go? It’s too cold to get out. Really?

I get out and take the photo. An endless line of empty cars. Beautiful.





It’s good to have diversions from concerns about refinancing.