from Cambridge, with snow

It’s always pretty, that lift up that takes you over the eastern edge of Madison’s isthmus.




By the time I touch down in Boston, it’s dark. And late. Delays. Hardly surprising considering the weather patterns from the last few days. I’m hungry. I head straight for the restaurant where I am meeting my little one. I’ve had images of sea food platters all day long. They all contain bits of lobster – a crustacean that I rarely (never, these days) see on my plate back home. But here, I am almost in lobster country. Isn’t Boston home to the lobster roll? With fries and slaw on the side?

Okay, but first comes the soup. Yes, I am in New England.






It’s brisk here now. In the morning, I go to the Law School and listen to a lecture. In the time I am doing this, a band of snowshowers has passed through. I look at the courtyard in front of the law buildings. I seem to bring the stuff with me. Here you go, a gift, from Wisconsin. Still, this is a feeble cover compared to back home! The paths remain stubbornly black. Dark vectors and a tangle of branches, refusing the sweeping cover of whiteness.





I’m used to this stuff. If I ignore it, maybe it’ll disappear.

I walk to the river and look around me. Not much activity here. Cambridge folk aren’t as hardy us we are. One runner. A few cyclists. Empty benches. Silence.





I look into courtyards, admire the spires, the statues, all of it. And now I appreciate the delicate layer of snow. You can’t deny it. Snow beautifies most anything it touches. At least in this month.





Still, it’s cold. I walk into a flower store to see if I can brighten a table with something not entirely seasonal. We must be close to Valentine’s Day. Buckets and buckets of roses.





I pick something with greater staying power and walk across the campus, back to the apartment, thinking ahead to dinner.

up and away

Slow crawl to work. Everything moved at a speed worthy of a broken record. [Remember how you could listen to a 45 RPM at 33 ?]

But, the sun is out, class is done, boarding pass is in my hand, suitcase -- oh, it's somewhere, in Ed's car waiting to meet up with me at the airport. And flights to one of my two favorite cities on the east coast.

And there, I shall eat. Because in winter, this is what you do: you contemplate the marvels of art and food. And send good vibes to the seeds that will bring forth a new season of bounty. Soon.

I'm dizzy with the possibilities.

whiteout

We got the snow. Without pause. Classes were cancelled. Roads were hard to track down. Trees sagged. Plows came out of sheds to do their job.

Beautiful.















Tomorrow I head out for a weekend of eating. It’s the only way.

a here we go again moment

The election back and forth. The malice directed at the other guy or woman – the one you don’t like. Seeing evil in them. I remember. I felt it. Elections encourage elevated feelings of hostility. Which continue if the other one, the one you didn’t want, wins. Hey, that’s not my choice. Yours! You idiot!

Your candidate. Her/his loss is your loss. it’s personal.

The snow. So delicate and lovely back in December. Dreaming of a white Christmas. Winter wonderland. Then.

White stuff coming down tonight. February storm warning. Snow, heavy at times. Again? Shouldn’t we move on? Change! Time for change! But not just any change! Better. I want better weather and better leadership and a better me!

The snow tonight. A foot expected. Yes, really.

what I’m up against, cont’d

Think flowers. Think orchids, blooming for weeks on end. Think April buds (soon!) and daffodils that bloom early. Think how grateful a Washingtonian (the state) would be if a month had just three sunny days in it. Think Valentine’s pink and tomato soup red. With basil. That’s regional seasonal! Basil can be grown indoors!

Just don’t look outside. Don’t go to the twelfth floor of your condo building and admire the view that you don’t have on your lower floor. On a day like today, stay on your own floor. For once, it's not better up there.





Alternatives for this day:

Snuggle with your puppy, your sweetie, or your guitar. Or, toss away your guitar and get cozy with the president of France if you’re her:




Yes, that's my new orchid plant. I proclaim February to be national (or at least regional) orchid day. With Carla humming in the background.

playing the game

I may as well bring out the apple pie. Today, I am one of you.

True, not many all-Americans choose to start a Sunday with three rounds of bowling, but, suffice it to say that when Ed said this morning “we should bowl,” I acquiesced. At Union South – the student hangout.











It’s a little downscale as compared to the suburban alleys from last week. The scoring board makes mistakes. The balls are chipped. But hey! It’s cheap. And I can work on my score. So that I don’t get LOL in my comments when I report my final count. (59 last week, 81 this week. That’s good, isn’t it? Isn’t it??)

It does not take long to feel weariness in the hand and body. I know it’s time to move on.

I suggest we head for the giant expo (at the Alliant Energy Center) of orchids. I used to grow these back in the days when I had fantasies about being a serious gardener. But mine never looked this complicated.














Yes, yes, I do indeed purchase an orchid. It is a statement of hope. I can grow these again. I can. Just you wait.



At the other end of the hall of the Alliant Energy Center, there is an RV expo. Flowers for the ladies, RVs for the guys. Predictably, Ed tugs on my sleeve and pulls me over to the big vans. I refuse to take photos. These machines are huge and sort of creepy looking. But I do like the little ones alright and Ed is clearly enthused by the mechanics involved.

I ask him – so, supposing we loaded up one of these guys onto your (very old) (very very old) pick-up. Where would we go? What would we do?

Well, you can park overnight at any Walmart parking lot in the country… or you can go to an RV park, charge up and head for the mountains and leave the RV and hike up for a few days of camping.

Now which part of that was supposed to excite me?

Still, I can see this is a tad more adventurous for him than, say, southern France and so I do not close the door on the possibility. It’s good in life not to close doors.

Similarly, I do not object when Ed suggests that we stop by Dane Brewery for a beer and a peek at the kick off. A shocking idea, given that we both hugely dislike football. And what do I say?

Sure! A nice pilsner and a plate of fries with gobs of ketchup! Why not?





It’s like reading a different blog here, on Ocean, isn’t it? You have to stay open-minded to get the full bang out of a Sunday in February.

square days

You can’t say that Madison lacks mood or character. Spend a summer Saturday morning at the Capitol Square – the place sings with the market! It’s a carnival of people, foods, flowers.

But downtown on a winter Saturday morning? Nothing would drag me there.

Except, maybe, a gentle snow, a willing Ed, and a suggestion of winter play. Of sorts.

And, though it is cold, it’s not so bad that you can’t start thinking about groundhogs and counting the days ‘til spring.

In the meantime, we are right in the midst of Madison’s Winter Festival. If that sounds a bit grandiose, well, maybe it is a tad overstating the level of frolic. It’s definitely not Mardi Gras down on the Square, but it is, nonetheless, utterly charming in a cold sort of way. Traffic is diverted, snow is covering every inch of concrete and road, kids and adults are trying out alternative ways of moving around.





And it’s all really sweet. No, truly, it is fantastic to see the Square looking perfectly Alpine, or Nordic, or some such loveliness.





Ambitious people are creating winter art. Like this ice sculptor: he's starting to chip away at an ice block:





We watch for a while, then head to the newly opened patisserie on the Square (“Sucre”). (People like me need frequent warm up spots.) Fantastic baked goods! As pretty as any in France.





Okay, back outside, our man is still sculpting and the snow is falling and it is all so wintery.





So, it’s a perfect moment to wander into the new cheese store (Fromagination), also on the Square (to warm up again).





Starting to look like Paris here, no?

Further up, snow sculptors are packing down and chiseling their stuff. Couldn’t quite figure out what this is, but it looked significantly impressive.





Getting totally nostalgic now (oh, look, he’s sculpting where the Flower Factory sells its stuff in the summer!), we decide to scoot over to Monona Terrace, thinking that the Winter Farmers Market is there. (It’s not – it’s at the Senior Center these months.)

Finding nothing, we walk out onto the bike path and watch the handful of kite enthusiasts standing out there in the cold, snowy expanse of frozen water, flying their banners.





The color is barely there on this white on white day, but still, there is something majestic in their effort to put that splash of brightness in the sky.





Satisfied, we walk back to the ice sculptor – finishing touches now.





We end the day at Sucre. Best cherry scone ever. Wonderful sandwich. Great coffee.
Life’s beautiful, here in Madison on February 2nd. Snow and all. And only a few weeks now until Spring.

the great outdoors

Over coffee, my friend said – there is so little color right now.

And she is right. On a cloudy day, there is nothing subtle or pretty in the darkened snow and the wet trees.

Or am I not spending the time to look for good frames?

I went out of my way just a few steps and regained confidence in February. Yes, even here, in Madison. Because even if I’m getting grumpy about the season, there are many who take it in stride. In fact, they seem to enjoy it. Really. Take a look.

what I’m up against

I have a friend who is completely oblivious to trends. If a repair tool works, he’ll not upgrade it just because the market offers something sleeker. If a woman can chop cabbage by hand and let her mousy hair hang down her back – why would you want to improve on that?

Modern is not necessarily better. Cheaper is always better.

I ask my friend (okay, I’m talking about Ed, my occasional traveling companion) to help me put up a hook by the shower. He agrees. He brings this tool to get the job done:



What is that?

It works – he’ll tell you.

In the meantime, as he leisurely surveys the spot by the shower door, I am crazily making improvements on my lecture. I haven’t bothered to look decent. My mind is on the class ahead. Ed glances over, mumbles some nicety and snaps this photo.




To him, I looked nice and tussled.


In the late afternoon I visit my man Jason, the brilliant man of color. Hair color. Jason does magic. Jason scrunches his hand here, blows some air there and I leave feeling like I could face the world and hold my own.




Tonight, Ed is coming over for supper. He has professed an interest in recreating a Bittman recipe. He likes Bittman and I’m willing. We’ll be eating chopped cabbage and potatoes. He will dutifully look at Jason’s efforts and make some pleasant remark. Then he’ll pick up his repair tool and work on putting the hook up.

[All this to deflect from what really captured my attention tonight: the debate.]

theft

Wednesday. The middle of the week. The middle of winter. And we're feeling it, here in Wisconsin. I leave the house in the late morning and it's only - 7 F.

Still, there is a charming beauty to it all, especially when a kind soul volunteers to drive me to work. The long way, past landscapes that are an impressionist's image of winter.





In my office, I have some more meetings, student meetings, and then a half hour of peace before my long class of the late afternoon.

I notice the phone is blinking. Funny, no one calls me here. They know better. They email.

A voice telling me I should call my credit card company. What now? I love my credit card company (it's there for me when I need to go places) and it loves me (it charges interest when I go places). I call.

We're just checking a purchase.
Oh that. I travel, I spend money in strange places, what can I say.
Did you make a purchase two hours ago in Laon, France? In an electronics store?
Did I? No, wait, in France, two hours ago? Electronics? No!
Our records indicate that someone swiped your card there.
I have my card here. In Madison.
Is there another?
There is no other.
Hmmm.

I love my credit card company for not believing that I would buy $1500 in electronics in Laon, France. Thank you, credit card company.

But who?
And how?

It is a tough world that we inhabit.

from forty four to four

It’s all about The Storm, here in Madison. Monday? All balmy and foggy and March-like. Tuesday morning? All balmy and foggy and March-like. Forty-four outside. And a bleak view out my office window.




Then comes The Warning. Huge storm system WILL PASS THROUGH! Airport will close. Visibility will fall to zero. Temperatures plummeting at the rate of 10 degrees per hour. (Until what?)

Sounds scary.

So I pack my book bag and head home. Anxiously waiting at the ugly (so ugly) bus stop, worrying that the above will hit me straight in the face and send me flying into a freezing hell of sleet, wind, snow and horrific thunder. (They said!)




Home. I slam the door behind me. Safe. Cancel all appointments for the evening. No need to go out. I’ll watch from the inside.

Sure enough, by mid afternoon, the rain turns to this (from the safe haven of behind my window):





And then it stops. Just like that. No thunder, lightening, no zero visibility. None of it.

Except for the cold. We got the cold.

fishing

Say I had a friend who loved to fish. In the company of others. (I don’t have such a friend: no one close to me fishes with a passion. Or at all.) Would I agree to stand in rubber duds days on end with a pole and a line, waiting for a pull? Or, to sit in a hut on icy Lake Menona and watch my bucket fill with bluegills, crappies and perch (that’s what I’m told fills buckets here)?

Surely I would go along, so long as it wasn’t significantly uncomfortable. Maybe I would request a hut with some heating options, like this one:





And yet, there is this to consider: how far would you go to do something you regard as substantially boring with someone you cared for? Not very far. You are more likely to tolerate boredom when you are young. Very young.

Musings on a winter evening, while preparing fish for dinner.

jumping off a cliff

It’s gone out of fashion – telling your kid “and if your friend jumped off a cliff, would you follow?” – in response to the standard kid plea of “but my friend does it!”, whatever the “it” may be. [In my case, it was biking the streets of New York (“no!”).]

It seems that following the herd is dumb, but ignoring cues from where the herd is grazing is even dumber.

So if my commenters tell me I should bowl, and I should wear a special bowling shirt and I should drink beer while bowling, who am I to ignore the green fertile lands of commenter experience?


Ed and I went bowling this Sunday morning. So full of hope…









Light ball. I need a light ball. I have weak wrists and weaker than weak thumbs.

A glance, to the left, a glance to the right. Oh, I see that there are others looking for light balls.





But the little guys get help!





And still, there are the gutter balls. And tears.




I so understand!



Ed and I start out with placing our balls straight in the gutters. Secretly, I am pleased. I am well matched!

But within four rolls, Ed gets a grip. The man is powerful. I am surprised that when he hits his pins, all pins in all lanes do not fall.





And he becomes accurate. Strike. Split. Shit. I mean, darn. Me, I’m getting weaker. He’s getting stronger.

My pickle shirt isn’t working. Hey, commenters, you told me to wear a shirt! Ed explained that you meant one with words. I have a pickle shirt. I'm wearing it! So what happened??

Oh! The beer. I forgot about the beer.

Do you sell beer before noon?
Of course!
What do you have on tap? (This is one bad question to ask in my home state: there’s too much choice.)
Blue Moon? That sounds cool. What’s it like?
Fruity.
Great! Like having Sunday brunch with a mimosa. Fruity!
(I have never in my entire life had a beer before noon. But, if this is what it takes…)

At first, my game (we’re on the second one now) falters. My wrists are protesting.

But soon, I get out of the gutter. And by the third game, I end with my best: 59!

On the phone with a close one later on, I say: guess what, I got more than half! Fifty nine!
Really? Just that? Hmm.
Wait, this is good, no? I mean, you told me you’re not so hot at this either.
Fifty nine, eh?

bowling, not alone*

It’s a day for indoor work, yet again. But with breaks.

Movies, yes, of course. Winter movies. Depressing, excellent but horrible movies.

Ed, want to see another?
In a day or two…

Searching for alternatives, Ed proposes bowling. Now, some people do not like engaging in things they are not good at. They like to smell at least the possibility of success. I am one of them. And so I remain quiet.

Ed asks: How about if we just take a look.

We do.

It’s sweet. Saturday. Kids’s day.





So if these little tykes can do this, maybe you can do this?
Maybe.

I have bowled only a handful of times (bowling was an unknown in Poland) and even if there are bumper guards, you can count on my ball jumping lanes and finding a safe haven in an unguarded gutter. Still…Ed is so enthusiastic, so eager. I'm wondering if bowling is to Ed as France is to Nina.

Tomorrow. Let's bowl tomorrow.

To get through January and February (see post below), one has to, I have to, think broadly and acquiesce.

We drive through white fields in gray light. Nothing pulls me toward the outdoors now. Nothing.




Tomorrow, we bowl.

[*it’s a mind spin back to this title.]

the long stretch

A colleague one said to me – you should never make any important decisions in February. That month just messes with you.

Can we extend that idea to the end of January?

p.s. Snowscapes are magical. Sometimes. Other times, they are like this (title: “last steps home”):



(can we agree on the word "bleak"?)

walking home

Do understand that, in all essentials, I am a person who has had a fantastic amount of good fortune. And I know it.

Posts about cold weather and work? Take them in the context of, for the most part, a charmed existence. The hugely unfortunate things that happened to me, happened in ways that didn’t destroy anyone. That’s sheer luck!

I am aware of all this. It’s why I’m not really a good candidate for whiny blogging. It would not be authentic.

Still, it was a cold day, a long day of work, and a cold walk home.

Crowds, cold, work hard, work hard, food.

My day. If yours was bigger, better, richer – go ahead, tell me about it.