New Year's Eve

The end of a calendar year. I lock up the little shop on the corner and walk home. As I prepare to spend an evening with a person who chooses not to celebrate what he would call Hallmark events (did the Romans or the Mayans worry about Hallmark?), I give some thought to why it is that I do celebrate the flip of this calendar page.

New Year’s Eve. We think we’re giving festive encouragement to the year ahead by eating well and drinking bubbly stuff the night before. Fine, but we’re doing it at the tail end of the old year. To properly herald 2010, our first meal, not our last, should be the festive one!

[I plan to scramble eggs, reheat a baguette and pour bubbly stuff into freshly squeezed o.j.]

But speaking of food, what about tonight? Well, my occasional traveling companion and I held firm: lobster meat for me, a chicken and bean burrito for him.




My concession? Defrosted lobster meat (none of this fresh stuff, flown in from Maine and cooked on my stovetop), dressed and served with corn on the cob, along with a toasted baguette. From my favorite baguette place (I reserved one – they sell out early these days).





[Note to commenter: a lobster subway, right?]

Ed’s concession? He’ll eat his burrito at the same table, at the same time, and we’ll both not needle each other about our choices in life.




And then maybe we’ll watch a movie. With a macaroon for dessert. From Dinan.





No, no partying. At least we’re in agreement there – neither of us functions well in crowded places, even if such places are at the homes of friends.

I’m guessing (and I am good at this!) that Ed’ll fall asleep well before midnight. And that his first words in 2010 will be these, spoken when I wake him to say Happy New Year: What? What?? Oh, thank you.

New Year's Eve

The end of a calendar year. I lock up the little shop on the corner and walk home. As I prepare to spend an evening with a person who chooses not to celebrate what he would call Hallmark events (did the Romans or the Mayans worry about Hallmark?), I give some thought to why it is that I do celebrate the flip of this calendar page.

New Year’s Eve. We think we’re giving festive encouragement to the year ahead by eating well and drinking bubbly stuff the night before. Fine, but we’re doing it at the tail end of the old year. To properly herald 2010, our first meal, not our last, should be the festive one!

[I plan to scramble eggs, reheat a baguette and pour bubbly stuff into freshly squeezed o.j.]

But speaking of food, what about tonight? Well, my occasional traveling companion and I held firm: lobster meat for me, a chicken and bean burrito for him.




My concession? Defrosted lobster meat (none of this fresh stuff, flown in from Maine and cooked on my stovetop), dressed and served with corn on the cob, along with a toasted baguette. From my favorite baguette place (I reserved one – they sell out early these days).





[Note to commenter: a lobster subway, right?]

Ed’s concession? He’ll eat his burrito at the same table, at the same time, and we’ll both not needle each other about our choices in life.




And then maybe we’ll watch a movie. With a macaroon for dessert. From Dinan.





No, no partying. At least we’re in agreement there – neither of us functions well in crowded places, even if such places are at the homes of friends.

I’m guessing (and I am good at this!) that Ed’ll fall asleep well before midnight. And that his first words in 2010 will be these, spoken when I wake him to say Happy New Year: What? What?? Oh, thank you.

comfort zone

It is definitely true that my comfort zone does not overlap perfectly with the comfort zone of my occasional traveling companion. And here’s another truth: the older you get, the higher the brick wall gets around that comfort zone.

Mine and his are pretty high.

It’s lead to an interesting discussion as to what should happen this year on New Year’s Eve.

Since I don’t know when, I’ve celebrated the end of the year with a dinner that is special. In leaner years, much saving took place so as to support this meal of all meals. It was an evening for the best – the evening when I first ate at L’Etoile in Madison. We would take daughters and when midnight came, we’d almost always be licking the last bit of flavor off of a plate, totally content.

This has not been Ed’s path. New Year’s Eve? A Cousins sandwich – two for $5, preferably.


For the first time, I am not eating with daughters this New year’s Eve (they’ve flown the coop so to speak) and Ed and I are trying to find a way to solve the New Year’s Eve quandary.

Let’s get burritos from Chipotle, he tells me.
Let’s not.
Okay. You want to go out somewhere that’s not fussy?
No. I don’t mind the not fussy, but it needs to be special.
We really haven’t had Chipotle for a long time. It’s special.
Let me buy a lobster and make lobster rolls.
No.

Two stubborn people, with very high brick walls. Where will be the opening? I’ll let you know tomorrow.

In the meantime, I find myself at an unlikely place today. True, I am in the neighborhood. But you don’t usually find me wandering into Henry Vilas Park. To glance down at him, with the mustache.




I have very mixed feelings about zoos. But somehow today I have warm thoughts about animals, even if they are, unfortunately, in captivity. Maybe it’s because I am having all these musings about comfort zones. Because surely these two, nuzzling away at each other, are outside theirs.




Though I later read that Bactrian camels -- the two humpers – actually can handle snow covered terrain. And here’s another thing: most every camel on this planet is domesticated, so I have to shed my images of herds roaming deserts in the wild.

So maybe these nuzzling beasts aren’t outside their comfort zones after all. Maybe it’s just me. Struggling with middle ground.

comfort zone

It is definitely true that my comfort zone does not overlap perfectly with the comfort zone of my occasional traveling companion. And here’s another truth: the older you get, the higher the brick wall gets around that comfort zone.

Mine and his are pretty high.

It’s lead to an interesting discussion as to what should happen this year on New Year’s Eve.

Since I don’t know when, I’ve celebrated the end of the year with a dinner that is special. In leaner years, much saving took place so as to support this meal of all meals. It was an evening for the best – the evening when I first ate at L’Etoile in Madison. We would take daughters and when midnight came, we’d almost always be licking the last bit of flavor off of a plate, totally content.

This has not been Ed’s path. New Year’s Eve? A Cousins sandwich – two for $5, preferably.


For the first time, I am not eating with daughters this New year’s Eve (they’ve flown the coop so to speak) and Ed and I are trying to find a way to solve the New Year’s Eve quandary.

Let’s get burritos from Chipotle, he tells me.
Let’s not.
Okay. You want to go out somewhere that’s not fussy?
No. I don’t mind the not fussy, but it needs to be special.
We really haven’t had Chipotle for a long time. It’s special.
Let me buy a lobster and make lobster rolls.
No.

Two stubborn people, with very high brick walls. Where will be the opening? I’ll let you know tomorrow.

In the meantime, I find myself at an unlikely place today. True, I am in the neighborhood. But you don’t usually find me wandering into Henry Vilas Park. To glance down at him, with the mustache.




I have very mixed feelings about zoos. But somehow today I have warm thoughts about animals, even if they are, unfortunately, in captivity. Maybe it’s because I am having all these musings about comfort zones. Because surely these two, nuzzling away at each other, are outside theirs.




Though I later read that Bactrian camels -- the two humpers – actually can handle snow covered terrain. And here’s another thing: most every camel on this planet is domesticated, so I have to shed my images of herds roaming deserts in the wild.

So maybe these nuzzling beasts aren’t outside their comfort zones after all. Maybe it’s just me. Struggling with middle ground.

conversations (where the goal is to clear the head)

We should take a walk today. Sun’s out. I need to get moving again. It’ll clear my head.
Okay...
Maybe we should cross country ski...
Okay... Want to cross country ski?
Too much hassle.
Do you want to hike around Blue Mounds?
Too far... I have work to do.
Okay...

(Later, revisiting the same theme, but in a slightly less contrary mood)
Let’s head out somewhere anyway...
(My occasional traveling companion waits, because it’s pointless to offer ideas, knowing they are mere targets for a “shoot ‘em down” session)
Maybe the Arboretum is a good compromise for a busy person like me. Even as I know that you’re less busy. Hardly busy at all. No, actually quite unbusy. (I did say slightly less contrary)
Okay...

We head out.




It’s bright as can be, but that clean angelic sky is deceptive: there is the bite of a deep freeze. But is everything frozen solid? I’m not sure...

Should I cross over?
Want me to?
That’s pointless. I’m lighter. I’ll take the risk.
I don’t really think there is much of a risk, but I want to sound gallant and brave.





I cross and, like for those who have crossed before me, nothing happens. Ed follows.

And now we come to a place in the forest where birds congregate.

I'm losing all good shots! They're too quick and too hidden in the thicket.
Do a manual shot.
I can’t see without my glasses!
Again, you can’t win with this one. Eventually, Ed mutters the equivalent of "huh.”

One lovely little robin, undaunted by the cold, appears intrigued by the sound of my camera (it squeaks when it tries to focus). He comes a little closer and settles on a relatively unobstructed branch.





Thank you, robin.

More birds. Big ones. Turkey birds. They huddle around a large feeding tray.




Long shadows of the afternoon. Too cold to sit down now and contemplate life. But, the head is clearer now. Work can proceed, life can go on.

Time to head back.




Hey, thank you.
Okay...

conversations (where the goal is to clear the head)

We should take a walk today. Sun’s out. I need to get moving again. It’ll clear my head.
Okay...
Maybe we should cross country ski...
Okay... Want to cross country ski?
Too much hassle.
Do you want to hike around Blue Mounds?
Too far... I have work to do.
Okay...

(Later, revisiting the same theme, but in a slightly less contrary mood)
Let’s head out somewhere anyway...
(My occasional traveling companion waits, because it’s pointless to offer ideas, knowing they are mere targets for a “shoot ‘em down” session)
Maybe the Arboretum is a good compromise for a busy person like me. Even as I know that you’re less busy. Hardly busy at all. No, actually quite unbusy. (I did say slightly less contrary)
Okay...

We head out.




It’s bright as can be, but that clean angelic sky is deceptive: there is the bite of a deep freeze. But is everything frozen solid? I’m not sure...

Should I cross over?
Want me to?
That’s pointless. I’m lighter. I’ll take the risk.
I don’t really think there is much of a risk, but I want to sound gallant and brave.





I cross and, like for those who have crossed before me, nothing happens. Ed follows.

And now we come to a place in the forest where birds congregate.

I'm losing all good shots! They're too quick and too hidden in the thicket.
Do a manual shot.
I can’t see without my glasses!
Again, you can’t win with this one. Eventually, Ed mutters the equivalent of "huh.”

One lovely little robin, undaunted by the cold, appears intrigued by the sound of my camera (it squeaks when it tries to focus). He comes a little closer and settles on a relatively unobstructed branch.





Thank you, robin.

More birds. Big ones. Turkey birds. They huddle around a large feeding tray.




Long shadows of the afternoon. Too cold to sit down now and contemplate life. But, the head is clearer now. Work can proceed, life can go on.

Time to head back.




Hey, thank you.
Okay...

daughters

No one can make me laugh like they can.




And although I have grown used to their quick arrivals and unwelcome departures, this time, the transition is too sharp and too complete.

The tree comes down, the house is tidied and off they go. My living space is suddenly too orderly, too immaculate -- stripped of their spirit.

I look around, confused. Wasn’t it just a minute ago that the room was fragrant with pine and cluttered with bright lights and cool wit? Didn’t I just have to nudge someone to move over and make room on the couch? Why isn’t there a half finished Klarbrunn (our beloved local fizzy water) in the fridge? And why isn’t anyone putting out plates of food for us to snack on while I fix dinner?

Abruptly empty.

And cold.

Inside and out.



Lake Mendota, slowly freezing over

daughters

No one can make me laugh like they can.




And although I have grown used to their quick arrivals and unwelcome departures, this time, the transition is too sharp and too complete.

The tree comes down, the house is tidied and off they go. My living space is suddenly too orderly, too immaculate -- stripped of their spirit.

I look around, confused. Wasn’t it just a minute ago that the room was fragrant with pine and cluttered with bright lights and cool wit? Didn’t I just have to nudge someone to move over and make room on the couch? Why isn’t there a half finished Klarbrunn (our beloved local fizzy water) in the fridge? And why isn’t anyone putting out plates of food for us to snack on while I fix dinner?

Abruptly empty.

And cold.

Inside and out.



Lake Mendota, slowly freezing over

last night

I would count this as a tough day, posting wise. It’s not that I stayed home and had no occasion to use the camera. From early on, the camera was out and clicking.




And we did go out – my daughters and I. To lunch, to shop, to the movies – conventional mother-daughter events, no?

Sure. But it’s always a wrenching day, that last day of their winter visit. How can it be otherwise?

The air is brisk, cold now. The sun appears for a minute at a time, no more than that.





Eh. Not interested in photographing anything really. Until a daughter nudges me – see that? Buried cart?





Yes, that one feels right. Buried. With only one wheel poking through.


One last dinner of favorites (never cook new things for daughters returning home; they only want the old things, again and again), one last night together, one last night of them passing through...

And then there will be the tough days. Not yet, not until after the Christmas tree comes down. Tomorrow.

last night

I would count this as a tough day, posting wise. It’s not that I stayed home and had no occasion to use the camera. From early on, the camera was out and clicking.




And we did go out – my daughters and I. To lunch, to shop, to the movies – conventional mother-daughter events, no?

Sure. But it’s always a wrenching day, that last day of their winter visit. How can it be otherwise?

The air is brisk, cold now. The sun appears for a minute at a time, no more than that.





Eh. Not interested in photographing anything really. Until a daughter nudges me – see that? Buried cart?





Yes, that one feels right. Buried. With only one wheel poking through.


One last dinner of favorites (never cook new things for daughters returning home; they only want the old things, again and again), one last night together, one last night of them passing through...

And then there will be the tough days. Not yet, not until after the Christmas tree comes down. Tomorrow.

many happy returns?

I was prepared, at the shop, for a day of refunds. Of disappointed recipients who wanted anything but what they got. The miscalculated present. I was expecting those.

But I got none of it. You could posit that the returns came before my shift, or that maybe I was sleeping on the job. You’d be wrong.

In the alternative, you could suggest that we, at the shop, listened well to buyers' queries and gave good counsel in return, or that the shop product is so excellent that only a fool would want to return it.

Better. That’s better.


I was thinking today how life is so often a guessing game and how we are forced to predict outcomes with very little information.



rosé at Brasserie V

It’s the day after Christmas. What I really need is for a big clean-up truck to roll in and pick up the debris after yesterday’s celebration. One that could sweep up and put things away and one that maybe would be capable of erasing thoughts of anticipation and replace them with thoughts of reentry into the real world.


Very late in the day, I had a holiday relapse: I baked another four dozen cinnamon rolls, in case daughters, in the last day and a half of their visit here developed an insatiable yearning for the smell of yeasty dough and cinnamon breads baking.


It’s well into the next calendar day before I make it to bed.

many happy returns?

I was prepared, at the shop, for a day of refunds. Of disappointed recipients who wanted anything but what they got. The miscalculated present. I was expecting those.

But I got none of it. You could posit that the returns came before my shift, or that maybe I was sleeping on the job. You’d be wrong.

In the alternative, you could suggest that we, at the shop, listened well to buyers' queries and gave good counsel in return, or that the shop product is so excellent that only a fool would want to return it.

Better. That’s better.


I was thinking today how life is so often a guessing game and how we are forced to predict outcomes with very little information.



rosé at Brasserie V

It’s the day after Christmas. What I really need is for a big clean-up truck to roll in and pick up the debris after yesterday’s celebration. One that could sweep up and put things away and one that maybe would be capable of erasing thoughts of anticipation and replace them with thoughts of reentry into the real world.


Very late in the day, I had a holiday relapse: I baked another four dozen cinnamon rolls, in case daughters, in the last day and a half of their visit here developed an insatiable yearning for the smell of yeasty dough and cinnamon breads baking.


It’s well into the next calendar day before I make it to bed.

Christmas Day

What better way to start the day: light the room with the colors of Christmas bulbs, eat warm yeasty breads with cups of frothy but strong coffee...

And of course, the music: always there is the music. Choirs from England (a favorite – from Clare College), and more jazzy sounds and more playful ones – Muppets included. All day long, there are songs.

I sit before the tree now without a thought of what needs to be done tomorrow or next week. All that needed to be done by today is behind me. Only the hens have to make it to the oven. My cooking marathon is near an end.




One daughter naps, the other reads. Their dad has come and gone.

Outside, there was rain, then there was snow, and finally a snappishly cold wind put an end to all that talk of a mild winter.




Gifts opened, admired, loved. One person’s everyday needs and desires recognized and translated into a package wrapped in paper with snowmen. All that's left now is imagining how that gift will follow the recipient through days of work and play in the cold winter that still is very much before us.

The everyday is a holiday Ed is here. If everyday is a holiday, then surely today deserves holiday treatment. He works on a puzzle, then stirs the pan juices that will be incorporated into the chipotle gravy.





We’ll eat our dinner early and head out to a show late and maybe upon returning, we’ll have a second slice of the bouche.




I thought about Ocean and Ocean readers more than once today. Thank you, those of you who wrote messages and cards. And thank you to those of you who, through coming back, demonstrate the same need to find some small grain of pleasure in the ordinary. I hope your holidays were splendid and delicious.

Christmas Day

What better way to start the day: light the room with the colors of Christmas bulbs, eat warm yeasty breads with cups of frothy but strong coffee...

And of course, the music: always there is the music. Choirs from England (a favorite – from Clare College), and more jazzy sounds and more playful ones – Muppets included. All day long, there are songs.

I sit before the tree now without a thought of what needs to be done tomorrow or next week. All that needed to be done by today is behind me. Only the hens have to make it to the oven. My cooking marathon is near an end.




One daughter naps, the other reads. Their dad has come and gone.

Outside, there was rain, then there was snow, and finally a snappishly cold wind put an end to all that talk of a mild winter.




Gifts opened, admired, loved. One person’s everyday needs and desires recognized and translated into a package wrapped in paper with snowmen. All that's left now is imagining how that gift will follow the recipient through days of work and play in the cold winter that still is very much before us.

The everyday is a holiday Ed is here. If everyday is a holiday, then surely today deserves holiday treatment. He works on a puzzle, then stirs the pan juices that will be incorporated into the chipotle gravy.





We’ll eat our dinner early and head out to a show late and maybe upon returning, we’ll have a second slice of the bouche.




I thought about Ocean and Ocean readers more than once today. Thank you, those of you who wrote messages and cards. And thank you to those of you who, through coming back, demonstrate the same need to find some small grain of pleasure in the ordinary. I hope your holidays were splendid and delicious.

Christmas Eve

The house is quiet. They’re all out. I could start on the cinnamon rolls. All that yeast work.

No, not yet.

I should finish wrapping.

No, wrong moment for that.

Indeed, part of me, that childish part, wants to walk over to the tree and give a shake to a box or two already there.

But I wont.

I’ll sit quietly for a minute and watch the eve of Christmas Eve take hold.

The day was busy. Of course. Picking up foods to make tonight and tomorrow was itself a huge task. So there wasn't much time for taking stock. Enjoyable, sure it was a thoroughly enjoyable day. And very pretty, in an icy sort of way.









But busy. Now, for the next hour, I need not be busy. I can wait. And listen. O Holy Night from Carla’s Christmas Carols is playing on a daughter’s iTunes. Jazzy. Lovely.

So much of what is around me is simply lovely.