batty world

Camera remains intermittently broken. Bats cannot take care of all the bugs that are out there right now. Riding on the roof of the car is fun. The lake is too murky to swim in. Really, the mosquitoes are horrendous. Moonglow pears are back!

My day in a nutshell.



The Westside Community Market was the place to be if you wanted a real deal on the freshest and the most honest foods. Oh, I can rave about the corn, the oysters ‘shrooms, the soy beans. And the onions and the cukes. And the goat cheese. With garlic. And sticky buns. (All made it home with me). But the stars of today – moonglows. Unquestionably. Reason to celebrate. Get some in the next weeks. They’ll make the nonfunctional parts of your life suddenly appear like a piece of cake to zip through.





A good weather week-end.

I asked Ed to come up with a place for us to explore. Preferably with a smaller ratio of mosquitoes to person than 1,000,000 to 1. Oh, and not too far from Madison.

The man tried. He suggested Yellowstone Lake Park. (Yes! In Wisconsin.) Here’s a DNR blurb on it:


What makes Yellowstone Lake unique is the lack of mosquitoes and a glossy-eyed mammal with wings.
The 968-acre park is the summer home to more than 4,000 little brown bats. The bats roost in 31 bat houses throughout the park. The houses serve as nurseries, where the bats raise their pups.

The bats love a meal of mosquitoes. They'll eat the bugs and thereby we, the hikers will be spared. That's the theory. And it works, I'm sure, in periods of light mosquito infestation. For example, last month, when there were very few mosquitoes in Wisconsin, there were probably very very few mosquitoes at Yellowstone Lake.


We set out toward the park. Through backroads, where the photo ops were tremendous. I was especially thrilled with the view when Ed suggested I relocate to the roof of the car. (He explained that he traveled through Central America that way and the views from up there were better than great; I rode -- okay, crawled, okay, inched, okay, basically stood still -- a more modest distance of maybe 300 yards). Unfortunately, my Sony SLR, after a brief hiatus at the Repair Center in Texas last month, failed me yet again. Out of the several dozen shots (there's only so much time I will spend on the roof of a car), only one, the worst one, of that I am positive, came through:





Not that I knew this at the time.

At the Park, we inspected the bat houses. No action there. Ed tells me they’re sleeping. I’m thinking they better get with it. You don’t sleep through a grape harvest in France, you should not sleep through a mosquito invasion in Wisconsin.





We hiked. The camera worked, on and off. The bugs? I'm alive. That's all I'll say.

Here are some off photos from when the camera was on board with me. I know, I know, I have a note of bitterness and resentment. Don’t read too much into it. It was such a beautiful, warm and sunny day.

blown away

Ed, my occasional travel companion, has taken to watching clips from the NYT food section on the Net. It didn’t take long for him to start salivating for the food that was being prepared in that tiny little video box. Look here, tomato paella. Now, doesn’t that look just fantastic?

I can take a hint. And indeed, I have a paella pot that I brought home some while back from Spain. And so last night I made the tomato paella. Ed was blown away by it. Nothing I had ever cooked previously was so quickly devoured.





Great. At least it gave me something to photograph aside from weather patterns on Bascom Hill.

But could it be that I am supporting the creation of a monster? Today I see him poring over further video clips. Stuffed artichokes. Eggs with shrimp. Pan-seared salmon.

I say to him: Ed, I have a million cookbooks and a second million clipped recipies carefully taped into fat notebooks. You want me to cook something, go ahead, ask me. I have favorites that have become family legends of goodness. I can cook up a storm that’ll rival all kitchen storms.

I may as well save my breath. Ed relishes the act of discovery. If I come up with twenty great things to make, he’ll eat them in a distracted sort of way. But if it is of his own finding, his whole being lights up.

And so tonight it’s back to the NYT clips. Salmon in curry sauce this time. May this new love of food video-ettes end there. I mean, while I have no objection to making fried falafel (the clip he had me watch just today), I remain loyal to the cookbooks that have been collecting dust on my shelves for months. Years, perhaps.

Now, back to commentary on my ride to and from work and to observations about the weather on this busiest of busy work weeks: it was windy today. Nicely so. At least I thought it was nice. The sailboats by the Union? They were having a tougher time staying upright. Blown away by a hefty breeze.

work

It pretty much describes this week.

And since I do not, anymore, blog about work, you are left here with posts about…the weather.

It is an interesting topic though. Partly hot, partly wet, partly cloudy, it offers variety. It’s spicy, you could say.

Walking to the bus stop from my office, I noted that the grass was too damp for student lolling. But, Bascom Hill is crisscrossed by solid walkways. A good place to exhale and think green thoughts.





UPDATE:

Mixed up weather means you can't expect much. But, this is Madison! Land of sky! One quick trip to my rooftop shows it off perfectly: downtown, ensconced in green, protected by a rainbow.

the last one

That’s it. Storms tomorrow will push this bubble of hot bliss out of reach until next year. The temperature outside or inside a room is not something I ever even thought much about forty years ago. How could that be? I lived in Poland, damn it. Wasn’t I ever cold?

There is cold and there is cold. Crank up the (Warsaw) radiators and the internal space becomes toasty pleasant. None of this forced air stuff, or thermostats that become a battleground for people who cannot agree on what’s comfortable in life. Did you notice that cool trumps comfortable most every time?

Outside? I can handle outside cold, so long as we’re not all sitting huddled over a mug of cocoa, in five layers of sweaters afterwards.

I mind Wisconsin’s weather less than I mind her residents’ fixation on keeping the interiors cool in the winter and frigid in the summer.

Oh, but why am I even writing of this… Today, we hit the nineties and I am over the top happy. As was she, the student outside my office window. Only notice the telltale signs. It’s fall alright. Pushing in on summer.

biker

Interestingly, in coming up with something to say about myself to my first day, first semester, first year law students, I said (among other things) that I bike. Now, that’s curious, because I wouldn’t typically focus on this as a defining characteristic. Real bikers bike. Or they do biker things (I can only imagine what). Quickly, I balanced this disclosure with cooking, neglecting to remember that I do not cook nearly as much as I did, say, two, three, four years ago. At the tail end, I lamely added that I also write. I mean, write non-law things.

I mention this for several reasons:

1. I truly deeply love the first day of classes;

2. One tends to obsess about things that one did yesterday over and beyond what one did, say, last week or last year. This is a good thing. Sometimes.

3. One tends to hide things that are truly important.


So long as I defined myself as a biker (!) I may as well post about my bike ride home. Excited yet?

For those who no longer live in Madison but have nostalgic leanings toward the place, you will cry (as opposed to, say, on January 29th, should you live anywhere south of here).

It was a sunny day. I was biking down Park Street and looking up, I saw the frisbee pair. There is always a frisbee pair on Bascom Mall on days like this.




Turning toward the lake, I caught sight of these studious types. Oh, come on. Suspend judgment. They probably had classes earlier in the day.





Finally, a comment on water. There’s a lot of it after the rains of last week. So much so that sometimes, even the ducks have had enough.

labor

So who asked the mosquitoes to come to this party? And don’t they believe in reproductive restraint? Unbelievable.

I wanted to photograph a dragon fly snacking on a mosquito, but restrained myself admirably at the last minute. Not for humanitarian reasons – I was simply unwilling to get devoured for the sake of a good Ocean photo.

It’s been a week-end of work. Surely you can tell. Culminating in a labor day full of...labor. And, consequently, light postings. Ocean Lite -- easy on the brain, not entirely satisfying on the palate. Ah well...

Because it is Labor Day, my moment of rapture and joy (sitting at Ancora and going over the pages of my unnovel) could not be. Ancora was closed. Still, when biking in search of a small nonfat cappuccino with a double shot of the strong stuff, I came across this: a sudden and fleeting view of corn stalks, late summer greens and the Capitol dome. Fitting for a Labor Day post from Wisconsin.




[It’s September 3rd. Thirty years ago today, I leapt into an act of adulthood. That I survived is remarkable and not entirely of my own doing. How could I not say -- thank you. ILYAFA. ]

the unexpected

What would you consider the unusual, here, on Ocean? A season with very very limited travel? Posts that describe in great detail the purchasing of a bathroom scale? So funny, so very very funny and yet – so un-Ocean like.

I was reading articles for my soon to begin semester and I was especially amused by one that talked of the proliferation of on-line dating. The author raised the usual questions: what’s binding about the blurb you put out there, describing yourself as being basically better than you are? The article also mentions the phenomenon of the disappearing relationship – the one that vanishes without notice. One day you’re emailing and building your future together, next day one of you skips out and is never heard from again.

And so I wondered: what if your blog switches gears and becomes something inexplicably different for no good reason?

Not likely, here, on Ocean. Predictably, I travel. Predictably, I get busy around the teaching months. And predictably, I post a photo, more than one oftentimes, taken sometime in the course of my day.

Today I biked a familiar path between Ed’s sheepshed (yes, Ed lives in a sheepshed) and an Ancora in Fitchburg that, believe it or not, I favor over and beyond most any café in Madison. It’s a 3. 67 mile trip between the two. A perfect back and forth.

And today, I came across these two characters, trying to find a safe haven in Fitchburg. Forget it! Move on!





And on the way back, I passed this person, diligently working a field. You have no idea how bad the mosquitoes are this week. Every few seconds, she would raise herself and swat away. I could hardly pause the minute it took me to take the photo. The world has far far braver people in it than I can even imagine.






Finally, just meters away from Ed’s sheepshed, I passed this field. No comment on it. Just that it’s beautiful, especially when the sun lets you know that in a second or two, shadows will replace light.

just curious

How would you describe/title (any or all of) the three photos below? They’re from this morning, from the Westside Community Market here in Madison.

I’ve come up with stuff: two-toned… or, all that glitters is not gold… but all that’s rather conventional. And, actually, quite revealing. Surely, there are other ideas out there?

If you have thoughts, pass them on. Comments are fine, but, as always, email is great for the shy at heart.

from Cambridge to Madison

Yesterday, I called it a day. There were no more nails to pound. One last meal at Henrietta’s (she was the first to implant the the words “fresh and honest” in my brain), and, then, just one last decision to make, like these people, at Herrell's…




Mango with banana?

And finally, a rush to the airport. And a handful of flights home.

Home. No lobster rolls and corn grits here.


Still, after work, I can take out my bike and, within minutes, be surrounded by flowering goldenrod. And soy plants.








Ed, my occasional traveling companion, leads me on a loop around the town of Marshall. The roads are so empty that I could dance circles around myself and no one would notice. Maybe the cat and the rooster. That's it.




I didn’t even mind the hills. Such a day!

from Cambridge: success, ltd.

Eventually I can do it. I can figure out how to drill in fasteners into tough walls. How to work blinds into uneven window frames. I can.

It’s easier to drive a nail through a brick wall than to change habits and dispositions, don’t you think?

Take this guy: will he always wear a tie? Even in the heat of the afternoon Cambridge sun?





Probably.

The day ends with grit. I mean grits. I mean both.

…heavenly corn grits with blueberries, poached peach pureé and lavender ice cream.

Now, if I could only have the daughters living within an hour’s drive of home, life would be so good…

from Cambridge: squash, lobsters and spires

I cross campus again and again. Always, there is the temptation to take a photo of the white spire against a blue sky. A classic for this place.





Less of a classic, but equally pleasing is the Farmer's Market. Also on campus. Just a few stalls, but a nice selection of fall foods. In the late afternoon sun.









Then, in the evening, I succumb to the New England temptation: a lobster roll with fries and slaw. I'm a sucker for it. And this one is pretty near perfect. How can one not love it here...

from Cambridge: 'spires

Inspire, aspire, perspire, I’ve seen it all on this day.

Without truck, I am left to run errands on foot. Screw wont go in. Get drill bit from hardware store. Not big enough. Return for another. Sweat as I work brackets into the hardwood frames. All the while, hanging on a hot cellphone which is suffering from overuse. Ikea, you are not user friendly.

But, as the apartment of the young little thing (aka daughter) takes shape, I can see her there, through the Boston seasons. Third one in our family of four to get a law degree (all the more remarkable since, before myself attending law school, I don’t think I had ever even met a lawyer; it wasn't a profession manyof us contemplated back in the Poland of the sixties and seventies).

Her apartment is just at the edge of campus, but in a neighborhood that I like. Her blocks have an elementary school, a corner park, a community garden.

Still, you can’t hide from Harvard, not this close to campus. The café up toward Porter Square is so lovely, but, before the semester even starts, it looks dangerously like a classroom, all “desks” facing forward, all “students” focused more on what their reading than on each other, the food, or the prettiness of the day outside.




A few more days of Cambridge. Of building and setting up and even maybe of reading texts together – she hers, me mine. The summer slips into fall without anyone even noticing.

from Cambridge: day one

It has been suggested that I may do well with a get to know Cambridge kind of day. You know, one with a solid brunch and a few pokes here and there to get a sense of the place.

My previous visits here have always been very goal directed. This one, too, has an agenda. It includes (for today) getting the truck unloaded, finding a Home Depot and returning the truck to its home base somewhere in the bowels of the city.

Oh, sure, I found plenty of stellar moments. Like locating the farmer’s market just outside our (hotel) door. Most markets I have gone to, outside Madison, seem shoddy little things, where abundance translates to a few bins of this or that. But the Cambridge one was bursting with good stuff. So how can you not love a day that starts with a look at these?





And, too, Cambridge has cool alleys and side streets. Ones like this:





Then, on the other hand, there are the scenes that cause you to wince at the juxtaposition of it all. You can’t miss them here. Like this one:




Not to forget though, I am here to be helpful, so my camera rests for significant portions of the day as I unload, wipe down, install. I figure it’s the last of the big moves for me. May as well go out with a bang. Have to maintain my reputation as being the one who can lift over and beyond what you would imagine. Hearty Polish peasant stock, you know.

road trip! (finalé)

Well now.

Well now!

That was a road trip to end all road trips.

I had it all this day – 800 miles of traffic, non traffic, rainy skies, clear skies, stormy skies, STORMY SKIES, so stormy, more lightening crisscrossing the skies than I’d ever seen in the space of a day. A week. A year! I swear!

800 miles with no food, bad food, super bad nothing food.

... of getting lost (how can you get lost following just one road across the country???? – hi, Ed? could you please google…). Of realizing that we set out too late (shouldn’t have watched the motel movie last night, shouldn’t have posted, should have been up at the crack of dawn). Of road construction. Of parking lots that do not like truck drivers (why do we have to park five miles away from the rest stop?).

Of New York state vineyards, in colors that I cannot describe. Setting sun colors (for at the time, there was, briefly, a sun).

I must return here to the storms: oftentimes, we were fooled into thinking we were done with them, but we never were, not to the end. Such downpours, such angry heavens. Such lightening!

…Of foxes darting out in front, of music, of rainbows, and even of fireworks, somewhere, randomly south of Albany.

We pulled into Cambridge at midnight. With a sigh of relief. And a huge smile.

What a hell trip. Loved every minute of it.

(just one photo,shot from the right side of the speeding truck: an optimistic little number, with skies of blue and grapes of gold)

road trip! cont’d

In Chicago: packing, lifting, stacking, carrying down to the curb. Finally, furniture and daughter, loaded in. Ready to go.

Wow, is it noon already?

Get on the Kennedy heading south and east.

Misleading first minutes:





Reality: worst traffic issues ever. Time spent driving from north Chicago to south Chicago: 3 hrs 50 mins.

There’s a sign saying trucks have to stick to the two right lanes.
I’m not a truck! I have two axels.
You are a truck.
Damn.

The truckers’ lane is at a standstill.

Cars edge in, truckers stand still. We are standing still.

For five minutes, let me not be a truck.


Books on tape!
Computer gets plugged in, selections are made.

Can’t hear a blasted word. The road, the truck, they’re all loud. The CDs are quiet.

We switch to music.

Finally. We lose the traffic and pick up speed in Indiana. Ha ha, ryan, in the comments said Indiana has great storms. We have blue sky, ha ha.





You know what? That’s not a clear blue, that’s a storm blue.

The rain comes, Thunder. Lightening. Whoa, need to slow down. The friendly skies are back in Chicago. Behind us.





We are chasing the storms.
By Toledo, we’re ready to quit for the night.

Road food!
A glass of wine, may I please have a glass of wine?
I’ll find out for you. People don’t normally ask for wine here.


Highway 90: it makes it’s way from my home in Madison, straight to Cambridge. I’ve done this trip more times than I care to remember.

This time, it came with storms.

And with a rainbow. No photo this time, but trust me. A rainbow.

Road trip!

road trip

It is my sixth move this year. Let me clarify: it is the sixth time that I am assisting with a someone’s move this year (one of the assists was to myself, you know, to get to the condo).

But this one is no ordinary, down a few blocks kind of move. It's to digs out on the East Coast. After surveying the options, it was determined that the cheapest and the most reliable alternative was to have me me (me!) drive a truck to the final destination – Cambridge, MA.

So, late this afternoon, I set out. Just to Chicago today. No easy feat!

I hit the storm extravaganza of the year. Lightening, downpours, winds… Downed trees, flooded streets, really – it was a mess out there. And in that mess you could find me, bravely edging forward.

Roadtrip!

By the time I got to Chicago, I knew that boredom would not be the problem for this particular journey. No indeed, survival in the face of storms, power outages and downpours, would be the goal of the days ahead.

And if I am going to go -- you know, be done in by forces of nature and global warming, let me at least record my own demise. Here you have it – scenes from the first in a series of days devoted to trucking across this great big nation.

Roadtrip!!!



clouds ahead




downpour




flashing and pouring




flooding

ode to the potato

Boiled, then served with butter and dill. Pan fried. Taken from the field and buried in a fire on the meadow. In soups. With sour milk on the side.

Staples of the Polish diet of my childhood.

And now? Rosti – shredded and pan-baked, sprinkled with fontina cheese and scallions. Sliced thinly and fried, sprinkled with sea salt. Nuked in a microwave for 8 minutes. Mashed, with roasted garlic and basil. Mixed with flour and rolled into gnocchi.

Or, a simple favorite: purple, organic, cut in halves, baked at a high temp on a sheet with olive oil, sprinkled with sea salt. Munched with a glass of chilled Burgundy or rosé, naturally.

This morning’s farmer’s market at Hilldale had the usual – good foods, dedicated vendors. And kids doing cute things. Oh, and don’t forget the women, who sit all morning long, putting flowers into tight bunches, brimming with the reds of late August. Perfect place, perfect time to daydream.









But what caught my heart today was this stand, with the organic potato guy’s crates of colorful spuds.

You a photographer? (It’s all relative, isn’t it? I mean: a camera in hand makes one a photographer, no?)
Yes…
Here, let me make it nicer for you.

He bites off a potato half and displays the vivid purple inside.









Obviously today’s post will have to be about potatoes.

Purple potatoes, baked in olive oil, sprinkled with sea salt from the Camargue and farmer’s market peppercorns. Served with steamed sweet corn, picked this morning, I’m told. Buttered with chive butter if you wish. But I like it plain. With a glass of chilled Burgundy. Okay, rosé.

food and words

I vow that I will never take my camera on my daily run to the grocery store again. What’s the point?

It’s an acknowledgement of failure: today, I did nothing more photographically interesting than this: I made my way over to Whole Foods and back.

True, I am in that bubble that puffs first weeks of pretty much anything into greatness. First week of school, of a relationship, of parenting. Oh, now, wait. The first week of parenting was godawful. Didn’t know what I was doing, but whatever it was, it was wrong. The remaining years? Bliss.

That’s the exception. Ususally the beginning is better than the middle and most certainly far more exhilarating than the bitter end. No, no, quit thinking I hate the AARP years (I’m eligible!), I just like the first week of school better than the last one. And the first one of “serious” writing is far far more exciting than the subsequent ones, when I will likely stare at the screen and think bitter thoughts about my life.

So I am on a writing high. It won’t always be thus. (Truthfully, I am thrilled.)

For you, here on Ocean, I have an insignificant photo taken from the driver’s seat (the sky was dramatic, as was photographing it in the midst of horribly impatient traffic), on my way to Whole Foods. There you have it – my day, composed of many hours by my Toshi (doesn't everyone name their computer?) and a handful of minutes in the pursuit of food.

cheer up

For those who feel hopelessly slapped down by the weather, I’m with you.

But not really. Rainy days conjure up for me images of desolate beaches and battered cottages where a lightbulb burns late into the night and a crazed writer plunks down another paragraph and then another.

So, in other words, go write a book.

In the alternative, stare at this for a while. It’s been my blast of sunshine for a several days now.

storms

All night long the sky flashed and the rain hit upon my upturned window. You’d think I’d get up and close it. You’d think.

I had maybe two dozen bursts of sleep, but each fizzled as the sky crashed outside. Like intermittent love, this was torture that messed with you in the worst way: just when you thought all was good, all was calm, the noise and fury would shake you up again. And again. And there was nothing you could do but hope that this was the last time.

By morning, I wanted to call my friend up in St. Paul and tell her to stay home and not visit as planned. This was an act of kindness on my part, since I want to see her. But a drive down in this hateful weather? Too much.

But she had left already, crawling her way through downpours and cloudbursts and every conceivable Midwestern form of rain.

My occasional traveling companion Ed called for an assist – his little red-with-a-washed-out-pink-stripe ‘93 Geo (which some would regard as too good for the junk pile, but he would see as the best form of locomotion this side of the Atlantic) refused to start.

Storms outside disturb the balance within and thus for some asinine reason I found it absolutely necessary to use this moment to list for Ed all improvements we should be making in our lives, over and beyond helping each other jumpstart cars. Amen.

Surely fighting words.

Needless to say, the attempt to inspire us onto paths of greatness failed, which only goes to show that stormy days and nights rarely provide opportunities for enlightened thought and reasoned discourse. They won’t even let you run through a full cycle of sleep, for God’s sake.

Once Ed’s car was up and running, I waved a less than cheerful good bye and made my way to Whole Foods. It is destined to be a one photo kind of day and so I'm leaving you with the best of the day thus far: wet organic basil, standing bravely on wet crates.