by Nina Camic
Hey, new readers! If you want a quick summary of how it is that I came to blog, read this:
It is the year 2004. My two daughters are away at college (younger one) and law school (older one). Wow. Suddenly I have time to write! Not big stuff. Little stuff. Bloggy stuff. And so on January 2, I start to post on Ocean. I test styles, I add photos. Things evolve.
Over the years, I tell you just a little about my past life. You’ll have found out that I was born in Poland, but due to my dad’s diplomatic career, I spent some childhood years in New York. Eventually, as a young adult, I moved back to the United States. I married, had kids, went to law school. And after a short stint at a law firm, I came back to the University of Wisconsin Law School, this time as a faculty member.
I taught law for twenty-five years and then took early retirement so that I could hatch new ideas and immerse myself in other projects. In the meantime, my marriage ends, my daughters graduate from law schools (both of them!), life moves forward.
I meet Ed. On line, then in person. Ed is his own guy. Ed is Ed. One date and we are together.
I’m done with suburbs: I live downtown. First in an apartment loft, then a condo. Ed is indifferent to the apartment and hostile to the condo. Ed likes life in his sheep shed. He travels to see me daily, but never tires of calling my brilliantly clever living arrangement ...a dump. (Ed: if I wanted to live in buildings like this, I would have stayed in New York.)
Five years after meeting Ed, I pack up my dwindling belongings and move to a farmhouse on his land (just south of Madison). We renovate it. Ohhhh, the farmhouse needs it! A hundred years of issues. But, Ed has skills and he has time. With the help of a small construction team, the place is patched, mended, finished and (in April of 2011) I move in.
Alright. That’s the chronology. Here’s what else you might want to know: I love our farmette (it's not really a farm anymore), but I am very often on the road. Away. Ed used to tag along. I have been known to call him my occasional travel companion. These days, he prefers to stay home and look after the chickens.
Anything else? My younger daughter lives with her husband and their little ones (Primrose and Juniper) in Chicago, my older one teaches right here at UW in Madison. She and her husband have a little girl (Snowdrop) and two little boys (Sparrow and Sandpiper). This makes me a grandma!
That’s it. Anything else you’ll have to pick up by reading along. Curious about my childhood in postwar Poland? Pick up my book, Like A Swallow!
Your pictures and words provide me with a delightful distraction from working on my Santa cookies.
ReplyDeleteL'homme ne vit pas seulement de pain. Usually I’m willing to try new foods, however, I don’t know if I could eat some that was still moving. In regard to your previous post: Having never learned proper cheese etiquette, I could use some enlightenment also.
Paris IS beautiful (but that thing doesn't even look like any oyster I ever saw).
ReplyDeleteSCohn
Nancy: you'd know this much: you get a tray with some half dozen cheeses. Big chunks of them. You are a regular oinker if you wipe out two of them and substantially deplete the remaining four or five. I mean, think of the economics: The cheese course is usually around 10 Euros in most medium priced restuarnats. This dude just ate at least 25 Euros worth of cheese.
ReplyDeleteSCohn: I turned one shell upside down and around so you could see the bottom, so it looks odd. This one was especially encrusted with all sort of brittle shell matter -- home and fodder for these little critters I suppose. The guy shucking them was doing so outside the restaurant, at the market stall, where passers-by could buy their handful to take home. The stuff was oozing freshness. Literally.
Paris is beautiful and I'd love to return for a visit. The last time I was there was in 1992 and it was my honeymoon. Maybe you and I can go together sometime. It won't be as romantic as my last visit, but I know it'll be a good time anyway.
ReplyDelete