The day

Say what you will, everyone should have a birthday where 1. they’re healthy 2. and the weather is grand. It also helps if it’s a week-end.

How to begin? Easy.

A chocolate croissant, a latte, an NYT story about a depressed NY chef.





Then, the market. Madison’s own. Uncomfortably crowded at times, but still, it is The Market.

People say that at this stage, the market is too dominated by flower sales. What’s wrong with flower sales?









Besides, there's always music to love and adore. Right? What, you don't like bagpipes?





Next, a bike ride. I ask my biking pal Ed to think of a good loop, and he does. First we travel from Brooklyn to Albany. Because he knows I like New York. Then, onto local roads that remind me that this is… not New York.







Happy cows; rare to see this pastoral scene outside happy cow countries


Oh, and as it’s my birthday, I ask for an official photo.





A quick return to Madison. I am so ready for a Caribbean therapy session at Cameo (the Spa on the Square). You know, I should have guessed it would include a soak in a tub. But with changing lights? The name for this part of the spa treatment: chromotherapy. Really. (It felt like a nice long bath with lots of New Age music and rainforest sounds in the background.)





But the mud pack was grand and the essential oils of this and the other were fantastic.

With smooth and supple skin, I walk across the Square, where EVERY set of Capitol steps is occupied by women in white.







she's checking her rear, he's thinking -- can I stand being married?

Time for the movie, In the Land of Women. You have to know that I have been amused by Meg Ryan since her Sally, then Sleepless, then French Kiss roles. So this would be an acceptable step in the Meg run of films. Even though she is more credible in comedy confection than in a serious rendition of a mother-daughter struggle. Still, it’s nice to look at a big screen again.





And finally dinner. At Sardine. I truly think it deserves the crowds. There is something quite right about it. And, unlike the 297 restaurants in NY closed last week for health violations, to my knowledge, Sardine has no rats, roaches or mice droppings. It feels so fresh in there! Honestly.

birthdays

I call my occasional traveling companion, Ed.

It’s my birthday this Saturday!
I don’t do birthdays.
Yes, but I do birthdays and my family, who does birthdays oh so exceptionally well, is far away…
I wouldn’t know how to proceed.
I have it all figured out. I’ll send you the specs for the day.
Do I have to give you a present?
Birthdays, to me, are about doing stuff, not getting stuff. Still, if you feel so inspired…
I wont feel inspired. This is making me way too nervous.
It’s all in the mindset. Think: fun!

A birthday. On a week-end. With beautiful spring weather. I'm thinking: an early morning latte, a walk to the farmers market. A bike ride maybe. And then – the ultimate: a Caribbean wrap at a local spa. I’ve never done that. It seems very indulgent. Something you should maybe do only on a birthday.
Evening comes, a movie – of the Meg Ryan type – then dinner.

It used to be that I would cook dinner for a bunch of people on my birthday, but this has proven to be about the worst thing that I could put forth. Some people do not like big dinners. Other people do not like people at big dinners. Still others do not like to eat. Or cook. So it becomes a one way thing, where I am perennially the cook and people are either hating the food or each other or both. My dinner cooking days are in a sleep mode.

Ed’s line: every day is a special day.

Bullshit. Most every day is a work day or a chore day and quite likely a combination of the two.

A birthday. On a week-end. With beautiful spring weather. A day for guilt free leisure. So un-American. So me.

in the country

Late afternoon. The thermometer registers 70. I head out on my bike.

I have made my way through so much of the countryside just outside Madison and still, I am, each time, amazed how American it feels. And I mean this in an expansive way.

Three girls, sitting in the driveway, because it’s warm, school’s out, the week-end is here.




Three Hmong women, walking through a cornfield.





I ask them – are you looking to farm it? Yes, they say. They have heard this parcel may be available for the season. Do you want to grow things for the market? Oh no! We don’t know enough about farming. Just for home use.

Can you imagine the incredible determination behind this (potential) venture? Would you have it in you to take over a wetlands cornfield and make something of it for your family, just for the season?





A robin watches all this. He is unquestionably the marker of spring. Hey robin, do you simply observe, or can you tell me a thing or two about tomorrow?

fizzle

You take a balloon and you slowly let the air out. With a great sputter. And what you have left is a shrunken heap of rubber.

It sort of describes my day.

BUT. April is a month of change. Spring forward. Leap, bounce, alight.

So, give me a day. No more than that.

In the meanwhile, mind your eating habits and munch on some of these (as I did).

swear

Twenty years ago, I became an attorney. I stood in the courtroom of the Supreme Court of Wisconsin and I swore to be a decent lawyer. I think that’s what I swore to. I was preoccupied then, worrying that my two little ones (in the audience) would make it through the event. Their dad was keeping tabs on them. We survived.

Today, I attended a swearing-in ceremony in the courtroom of the Supreme Court of Wisconsin.





There is a tradition in this state. If you are a parent or a spouse of the soon-to-be attorney, you may choose to present her to the Court and swear to her good character.

I swore to my daughter’s good character as she took the attorney oath. (I deviated from the text. I swore, but additionally, I swore that her dad and sister would attest to her impeccable character as well. The Chief Justice looked at me and said (to paraphrase): that is surprising. The fact that her father would agree with you? Understandable. But that her sister would? Are you sure?)





Justice Butler spoke to the group of eighteen Wisconsin attorney wannabes. He talked of being a role model way back when judging a gumbo contest. He talked about loving food. I really warmed up to that. He and I chatted afterwards about our love of food.





At the close of the event, Chief Justice Abrahamson told my daughter that I was an okay mom. Wisconsin is that kind of a state. People say nice things about one another. Oh, but Chief Justice, do you have any idea of how wonderful my daughters are?

let it be(e)

The colors of spring: yellow, sprouting from the green – nice.

Bees love it.



For some reason, this side of the ocean does not.

And I am also blameworthy. Hating to stand out that much in the Old Neighborhood, I would pick on my patch of May yellow, eliminating at least 25% of the perceived menace.

Now, downtown, I walk past buildings with patches of the unnatural deep green that is the commercial lawn and I see no yellow. Until finally, I notice a little patch, clearly overlooked by the sprayers and pickers.

The bee is happy (or at least busy).

I need go to my neighborhood flower shop to find that springtime yellow again. And it is there.

The proprietor asks me if I would like to relieve her of a batch of lemon tulips that she could never sell because of their incredible swoop. She is always giving me free flowers. She is like that.

Another rejected batch of yellow. She and I admire their beauty and then she wraps them up for me to take home.

the buzz

If the most important thing in your life is the making of honey and you live in Wisconsin, then you were in luck today. The opportunities began to present themselves and the weather was on your side.





For me, the buzz reverberated to other sectors, including to that of technology as I discovered the very real availability of the cell modem. Imagine: an Internet connections in all places where a cell phone can pick up a signal! Even in Europe! And, sit down for this one -- in France! So that I need no longer check into small b&b’s and ask if the owners perhaps have heard of le Internet, and if so, would they like to share? Imagine!





But perhaps the biggest buzz came as I finally placed my signature onto 589 pages attesting to the fact that I agree to the terms of condo ownership. The best part of the closing transaction? Arguably, finding out that within half a block of the condo, a café is to open. And its hours are to be set at: 6a.m. ‘til midnight.

In my town, this is exciting news.

wheels

Bicycles are an enigma for me in many many ways, but, I am committed again to a (virtually) car-free spring summer and fall and so it was time to spring clean Mr. G and take him out for another run.

Out comes the de-greaser – a messy job of wiping down the chain, only to then fill it with grease again. I scrubbed down parts that seemed to profit from a spit and rub type cleaning. A shiny red bike, ready for the season.

So that I can huff and puff up hills and speed down again, with eyes glued to the road for any sort of menace that would cause me to go flying over the rails.

It can be scary stuff.

In the country, the first thing I do is ride to a coffee shop – ridiculous, I know.

I look for signs of spring at last, full force, a blooming type spring but it’s still too early. I live in a place where change happens typically on the eve of Earth Day – April 21st. I should know because I was born on April 21st and I have always found it fortuitous to be over the hump of winter by the time my marker of the next year and the next comes to pass.

In the meantime, three photos from my ride. I only snapped a half dozen, so there you have it. A shack, a road and another enigma. For you.

done in by the Sad Liberals

What do the Canadian Rockies and Sad Liberals have in common? The two forces that caused me to skip a day of blogging.

Amazing. In the remote villages of Sicily, in Japanese ports and towns where I longed for WiFi in the same way a kid longs for candy, in the northwoods of Wisconsin and the deserts of Arizona – I would always find a moment and a connection, to put a sentence up on Ocean.

But yesterday stumped me. Right here, in Madison.

The day was taken over by condo crisis number 859. [The closing is on Monday, but never fear, I may disrupt everything and insist on a postponement – at the last minute, I read the latest loan disclosure statement and found a major misrepresentation. Or misunderstanding. Or something.]

And the evening? I biked back to the Old Neighborhood for a reunion of the Sad Liberals – a group that spontaneously came into existence on the eve of the last presidential election.

(The sadness is slowly lifted, as hope pokes through. See our faces? No more tears. And no, I don’t know where the men where hiding.)




Sure, I had my camera, and I paused in front of my previous home to see if the planted by my perennials were okay there without me. They were:




Then came the food, the wine, the games. And still, I left in good time to post. But it was unrealistic for me to bike the seven miles back to the loft and so I called for a ride back and promptly fell asleep in the truck that hauled me and my bike home.

Apparently, I could not be woken easily.

And the truck did not have WiFi anyway.

By the time some degree of mental alertness returned, it was past midnight and the moment to post had long passed.

So there you have it – done in by the Sad Liberals. If you’re on the other end of the political spectrum, you’re probably smirking. I admit it – had I not affiliated myself with that lot, I would have had a clean record here, on Ocean. With the exception of the Canadian Rockies. Blame Canada for that one. Yep, blame Canada and the liberals.

wistful

Just three days ago I was posting photos that were to acknowledge the beauty of Paris in April. I feel I ought to give equal time to my home town.

So, April in Madison (sad, isn't it?):

trilogy

I need say absolutely nothing. I took three photos today – here they are:

Wake up, look outside:





From my office, a poignant view of the struggles endured by determined students:





And after, the kind of scene that would make your heart swell – say around Christmastime?

construction

It is the only photo that I took today, but what a story behind it! – my housing issues are resolved and I quickly shift toward planning the space I'll be moving into this summer.

April in Paris

An Easter Sunday afternoon. Such crowded streets! Open bakeries, pastry shops and the occasional store. Packed cafés and restaurants.

Play music, skate down the Boulevard St. Germain, kick a soccer ball around.

Lovers, friends, families, so much public display of affection! Paris, transformed into a stage for the presentation of love.

A four hour walk from one end of the Left Bank to the other and back again, covering the blocks between St. Michel and the Eiffel Tower, in search of whatever it is I am always in search of in Paris.

[On Monday I travel back to Madison. In the next three weeks, I have an insane amount of work to do, to get me to the end of this semester. I imagine that the term “pulling all nighters” will suddenly become part of my vocabulary, on a farily regular basis. In anticipation of this, let me warn that posts here will be very short. I do promise a sentence and a photo every day, to keep Ocean rolling, but that’s it. It will be an interesting challenge to come up with a one sentence/photo statement for each day. Until the third of May, when I break out of my self-imposed blogging limits. The semester ends then and I will be setting out on my great biking adventure.]

But that’s then. For now, in photos (chronologically), a Sunday walk in Paris. In April.



used books and scarves




café life




window reflections: Ocean author




music on St. Germain




skaters on St. Germain




reflections: a familiar tower




peeking through budding trees




April tulips




April in Paris




April in paris, close up




spring soccer on Les Invalides




evening sun, near the Odeon

from l’Ile de Re: the ride

Whatever made me do this*?? Insane. I should act my age and bake cookies in my free time. Or in the alternative, sip a nice noisette and watch people go by all day long.

I’m thinking this as I push myself to go up the bridge that will put me back on the mainland. I hate precipitous drops (it doesn’t help that it’s into the ocean) and I dislike uphill pedaling, but there is no other way to return except to cross that bridge once again.





It was a clever idea, I thought: rent un velo and bike over to l’Ile de Re. The island is maybe a dozen kilometers up north from La Rochelle and it is connected to the mainland by a bridge. (I hadn’t quite realized that it’s a three-kilometer bridge.) Once you survive the crossing, you are in a beautiful setting – a 35 kilometer long stretch of land, with fishing villages, beaches, oyster beds and small vineyards – all that prettiness for me to enjoy on a beautiful, sunny day.

I thought: what’s 80 kilometers of biking in a day… Tough Polish peasant stock here. I can keep up with the French bikers. Surely.

There was an issue though. The bike had to be back at the shop by 4:30. They close then and by the time they reopen, I’ll be back in Madison teaching a class.

But so what. I will watch the hours and tell myself, halfway through: time is up! Now turn around and go back.

In the meantime, it feels tremendously wonderful out there on l’Ile de Re. A dazzling little place.









…and because it’s near lunchtime, I pass many happy people eating at the countless brasseries and bistros that line village harbors.



how many French people does it take to fill a café table? (ten here)


And so I am tempted. And I sit down. And I order a wonderful, best ever salad, with some shrimp on the side…



with endive!


…and I lose track of time. Monsieur and madame at the table next to mine engage me in a conversation and I listen with a smile to their recounting of when they visited America.

I have family there, you know. It’s a fascinating place! I love California! (Predictable. All French people love California, especially the vineyards.) Are you on vacation?
Sort of. I took my work along, but I am on a week long spring break now.
We here in France get two weeks off for Easter, two weeks for Christmas and six weeks in the summer. And then some other holidays as well. (I know, I know. That's what the French think of us: we are crazy workaholics over in the States.)
So you are also on spring break?
Yes, we like to travel in France in the winter and spring. Too crowded everywhere during the summer. We’re from Toulouse. You know Toulouse?
Foie gras land.
Yes! But the food is good here as well. (They are eating heaping plates of seafood.)
When we were in the States, it was for a family reunion with our cousins who moved there a long time ago. We all say “let’s have lunch,” and the Americans open the refrigerator and take out some things to eat! You eat a quick lunch, no? Here, we make a big deal of it. We sit down and take our time.

Yes, and while in France, I take my time as well. So much so that I neglect to count back the time that I need to bike to La Rochelle.

Madness. It’s madness. The wind is in my face, the hills which seemed insignificant before seem monstrous now. I ache, but I cannot stop.

Okay, I do sometimes stop. A photo opportunity! How can I resist? I’ll pedal harder when I am done, surely that’ll put me back on track.

It is not inconsequential that I take photos of men fishing. I like to take photos of people fishing. Here, they do it variously. But they all have this in common: they are not in a rush. I should learn from them.













Through absolutely hellish maneuvers and a hair-raising sprint through the crowded downtown, I do in fact make it back to the shop at 4:29. I promise, you, it was that close.



seconds before closing


And afterwards? Do I collapse in my pretty little room with the crisp white everything? Hell no. I go for my blow out meal at Richard Coutanceau – one that defies a recount. If you are within a thousand miles of the place, you should make a point of going there. (I do not know where people on a budget would be without French fixed price menus. They are what allows the likes of me to occasionally enter the great culinary halls like this one.)

Let me just show you the dessert: tomatoes, leeks, some orange peel, cardamom ice cream. And yes, the combination works! Mildly sweet, but with a delicious zest to it. Beautiful.




I have previously admitted to my absolute bedazzlement when I meet a renowned chef. It’s very adolescent, really. Richard, with his Michelin rosettes may be the highest in the French hierarchy to ever shake my hand and chat me up. I am certain I mumbled something totally incoherent. I blame it on still being in a trance after the velo madness.

* One reason for the velo challenge now is to test my skills in anticipation of a two-week bike ride. Coming up in May. Check in then!