rushing the season

Well, a commenter last week predicted it right: we hit 40 in Madison and, consequently, the kids put on the shorts. You think I exaggerate? Outside my office window today, I see this:





I have to admit though: to the average bloke like me, forty is acceptable. You can walk and think if it’s forty outside. Your thoughts will not be disturbed.


And so I walked. All the way from the Law School, along Observatory Drive…





… down to the lake path, not very bike friendly now, but still, lovely and rather warm(ish). The hearty types (the ducks) were dipping in and out of water pools like crazy. The blackbirds? Not so much. Cowards, like me.





On I walked, all the way home.

I look forward to when these toasty days (it's all relative after all) become the norm. Just a few more months. How satisfying to see winter losing its grip!

your days

Nearing now the end of the week. Almost there. Almost. And now, here we are. Friday. Idle time? No no. For me, this is the time that's dangerously loaded with possibilities. Hours to fill by me. And eventually, at the end of the week-end, I’ll have to face up to my own judgment of it: did I apply myself? Did I use the time well? No? Darn it.

Free time is serious stuff.

If I explained all this to Ed, I’m sure he would not immediately grasp what I was getting at. You judge one day over another? What for?


Tonight, I coax him to watch Atonement with me. Not because I think he’ll like it (I’m guessing he wont) (I am right: he doesn’t), but because I think it's sort of humbling: the story is so full of pathos that it makes you rather grateful for your lot, however messed it may be. And, if you remember the plot, you’ll remember that it is about a love and life that could not be. Ed! Look how quickly it can all be taken from you! (Indeed! Such a Polish way of looking at things!)

Ed shrugs. To feel sad because you’re watching a fictionalized account of a life gone haywire – that is somewhere between ridiculous and funny.


The end of the week. The movie is done with and the week-end is almost here. Days with time. Days not ruined by bitter cold (nor, typically, by apocalyptic events). Days that you may construct as you see fit.


Ah, life... It's so much easier if you can just bitch about work and weather.

so…

Everything is interrelated. For example, what happened on Wall Street affected the way students pay for their college tuition and this completely shaped my afternoon (I hear appeals of nonresident determinations at my university). Earlier, I chatted with a doctoral student from Poland who gave me an update on the effect of the economic downturn (what a gentle understatement!) on our home country. My soon to be purchased laptop (Toshiba: the brand you buy when money counts) may have components from Poland. I’m wondering if one of my Polish nephews will stay in England (where he now works) or whether he’ll join the returning cadre of Polish workers from Britain, now that the economic climate is more hospitable in the poorer home country. And whether this, in turn, will affect my sister’s long term plans (she is now in Sweden). And therefore my own. (Where should I look for any of them during the year ahead?)

Anyway, I cannot even begin to tell you how it became very clear to me today that everything is interrelated.

Photo? Well, not much. I went down the hill for an espresso and I saw our red gym (now a campus information center) against a blue sky, with a student in a red UW cap passing in front. So I snapped.

cold blast

Very cold. None of this rhapsodizing about winter in Wisconsin. So cold you can’t uncover your head. Or any part of you. (At least they're color coordinated.)





And yet, after my morning class, I walk down the hill for an espresso. And I feel prickly good about it. And the cup of coffee stays hot, okay warm, all the way back to my office.

Still, it is very very cold.


Though, waiting on the bus stop, at the end of the day, I can’t help but notice the biker. He is actually biking along in that lane reserved for cyclists. Not unusual? Well, pretty unusual, given the temps. And a challenge for the buses: pushed out by snow banks, they have to share the bike lane. And slow down because of our brave man pedaling home.





So did I mention it's cold? Cold enough that I mind (a little) that I've taken the express bus. I have to backtrack to my condo (the bus doesn't stop at my usual stop).

But, the late sun throws a copper glow onto my condo and really, I can imagine it being spring soon, what with all that sun and the potential that it offers.

Madison coffee break

Five minutes and I’m no longer behind my computer screen, I am here. Five minutes!





And twenty-five minutes later, I am back behind the computer. Well, with a brief detour for a coffee and a baguette.





Madison, however little it offers in terms of warmth (during winter), offers fantastically easy access to a breath of fresh air, just when you need it most. Early in the day, in the middle of the night, before sunrise, at dusk. Or at noon.





Now all you people in warmer weather places – aren’t you just a tiny bit jealous?





That’s okay. We’re getting an Arctic blast again tomorrow. All this outdoor reverence will go away soon enough.

the rare one, part 2

A repeat! February begins with a day that is winter-perfect! (I hear it’s the last of a brief trend.)

Lili, an Ocean reader, first hinted several years ago that February ushers in light like no other: delicate, forgiving. Today, Lili, I had a perfect example of what you described.





And if it’s so magnificent in light and air, I should be out there, no? I tell Ed we should ski. But I have water polo! -- he reminds me. Me, I cannot imagine spending a Sunday afternoon submerged in chlorine and chasing a ball, but it need not be repeated here that Ed and I are different.

I pick up cross country skis and head to Blue Mound State Park.





It may as well be (a slightly chilly) spring. The day is full of firsts: the first entrance to a state park (the ritual of scraping off old, park stickers and pasting on the 2009 one). The first sighting of a bird in the bushes that line the trail.





The first time on skis, damn it! The first time this year. On a day where a groundhog, had he been asked, would have said – yep, nearly spring (even though tomorrow, the temps will drop and the snow will come again).






It’s Super Bowl Sunday and the trails are nearly empty. Since I am alone, I push myself harder, faster.





And then, on top of the ridge, I stop.










It’s just so beautiful outside!





Two days in a row. Probably the only two. But if you have two, that buys you time. I can wait a while now. I don’t need more. I’m not greedy. Two weeks, or even three of awfulness – fine with me.

Because today was delicately exquisite.

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.

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]

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.

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.

winter dogs

To those not from Wisconsin – I am sure you have noticed the string of photos on Ocean: all snowcovered and slippery. Many times this past week I have been thinking back to Alex (a Tobagonian) and his response to my brag about how cold it gets up here (wow, people live like that?).

The thing is, most people who do not live like this (by “like this,” I mean where the cold starts early in November and lasts ‘til early April and then continues to threaten until it’s laid to rest forever in mid-May), think that we, northerners either like it or are used to it.

In fact, so many of us alternate between enduring it and feeling repulsed by it. Oh, there’s the occasional cold but sunny day that feels robust and great, or the snowstorm that makes everything look so pretty the day after – but these are mere moments in a parade of cold and bitterly unpleasant days. And if you think that’s just my take on things – listen to our local news and weather reporters: the purveyors of doom, always looking for the hope of spring, exhausted with the onslaught of cold spells (minutes ago: it’s windy and nasty…).


Ed and I went to Trader Joe’s to restock in cheap wine and ginger snaps. A dog was tied to the rail just outside the entrance. He seemed livid at being left there, even though he had a blanket to sit on (supplied by the store) and a sweater to take the chill off. I felt for him, in spite of his most unpleasant yap and snarl.





But really, for dogs, it’s not about the weather – it’s about companionship and freedom to romp and food dumped into a dish on a regular basis. Me, I may have companionship and freedom to romp and food dumped into a dish on a regular basis (okay, maybe not the last), and still, I long for that day when it will not feel cold outside.

Maybe I don’t want a dog’s life. Maybe I just want a dog’s attitude.

sunrise

In Tobago, the public cemetery had small tombstones with dates of the birth and death marked as a time of sunrise and sunset. I passed this cemetery daily and over time, I became very familiar with the engraved sunrises and sunsets.

People who vacation on the islands love sunsets. I saw a couple standing on their balcony, camera in hand, photographing every inch of the descent of the sinking sun.

I think sunrises are so much prettier. More gentle. Especially on a misty winter morning.

Thursdays are especially full days for me and so I am up very early, early enough to watch the dark night turn into misty pink sunrise.











The day is warm, considering. Almost reaches freezing. So after my morning class, I take a walk to the lake. Supremely lovely. Misty lovely.





I ask the ice fishermen about the day’s catch. Not nearly as lucky as the Tobago fishermen. Still there for you! They tell me. Nothing wrong with hamburgers for dinner!





Later, the busride home is just a little past the sunset hour. As I leave the bus and walk the few steps to the condo, I think – nice, this is nice.





But sunrise is better.