Where Ocean author modifies plan to make this an AC-less, car-less summer

The van is standing idle, feeling deserted, abandoned, like some kind of ostracized aging animal. I don’t need you anymore – I say brazenly.

Oh yeah? Didn’t you just on Sunday take it downtown because you were “running late?” That was because I thought it would storm. Hey! I did grocery shopping on the bike yesterday! I stuffed grape-cranberry juice and a bottle of wine into the back pouch and worried that if I fell it would smell boozy all around me.

[progress report on injury sustained during last week’s bike crash: bruise is still good ice-breaker during stalled conversations, in the style of Kruschev’s “wanna see my scar?”]

And the AC: Europeans aren’t into creating freezers out of indoor spaces during the summer, you said. Am I imagining it or is there a soft purr of the AC unit in your house? I have a business meeting here right now (he he, here I am on the computer, businessing it up!) – I cannot expect the person across the table to tolerate beads of perspiration on their eyebrow as we look at forms and papers. Watching sweat drip has a dampening effect on most human interaction.

But just for a little while. As soon as the little lassie is out the door, off goes the AC and it’s back to basics for me. Sort of. Last night my neighbor made jugs and jugs of lethal lemonade (there was Citron vodka there, right?) over ice – it would not have tasted so cool and refreshing had it been without ice. Though maybe then I would have had less of it…

Hounding Bassett

Even long time Madison residents (me for example) are only vaguely familiar with the Bassett neighborhood of the city. Located just south-west of the Capitol, it is a place of old warehouses and varied housing styles.

Mr. B and I biked over and poked around. It’s an interesting area of downtown Madison: once popular only among students, now it’s drawing back a diverse crowd of more stable residents. The blend is endlessly fascinating.

Some photos from my morning spin through it:

this gives you a feel for the larger structures in the neighborhood 

many associate this neighborhood with Madison's listener-supported funky radio station: WORT; peddling by, I heard (fittingly) Dar Williams coming from inside... 

one of several old warehouses -- converted to usable space 

the neighborhood is crossed by tracks that pass over a bridge spanning the waterway between Madison's two lakes; to the side, two fishermen 

close-up: the bird on the tracks watches as the fish bites 

an artist taking it all in... 

a corner gorcery store and across the street: an upscale cafe (Jo's) 

inside Jo's, a spot for a latte (it remains to be seen if the latte is any good: I'm a a harsh judge) 

one last look at the Lorillard tobacco warehouse that first drew me to this area: from the back...

...and from the front 

If you could only read Polish…

You would enjoy reading maching tracksuits this week. Kinga, a Pole, moved a few days ago to the States along with her American husband, Gary. Both are posting their impression of being in the States (Gary had been living in Poland for a number of years now). Kinga writes in Polish, Gary in English. Kinga’s observations about her surroundings make me smile. It is like me, looking in afresh on life here, commenting with my own set of childhood (i.e. Polish) experiences!

During my last trip to Poland I made a point of meeting these two bloggers. Two of their Polish friends joined us and we sat drinking beer at an outdoor table, at the foot of the sweeping Tatra mountains.

I thought then: Gary has had to make adjustments during his years of living in Poland, but Kinga will have to make far greater adjustments when they move to the States. The conversation was full of Polish-style banter, but it also turned intimate very quickly, with a great deal of reflection on everything from literature to relationships. Both the men and women tripped over themselves to throw in their two zlotys, in the rapid fire way that Poles typically communicate.

Dusk turned to night and in the space of those hours it became so clear to me that there indeed is this great cultural divide: it is in the manner in which people relate to each other -- the expressions they use, the themes they pick out, the common understanding of what is ordinary and what seems curiously alien.

Even if you don’t read Polish, you can track Gary’s English text (they alternate posts): he writes as an American who is returning here after many years of being away and also as one who is aware of how Kinga is experiencing this country. Having read both sides of the blog, I can assure you that he represents Kinga’s thoughts about their new surroundings quite well!

Letters I wish I had it in me to write, part 2

Dear Trek bike person,

You made me laugh and laugh this afternoon! The final straw was when you told me you couldn’t take a look at my bike because it was (inadvertently) positioned under a birds’ nest and therefore likely to get blasted with baby bird diarrhea any minute. And when you told me that Mr. B and I should not call it quits – it showed how cool you yourself were. I’ll be ready someday, I know I will. Just not today.

Dear home of many decades,

In the end, no one thing has proved to be so stable and reliable in my life as you have. Each dark winter day I would come back and you’d be there – not preoccupied, not distant, not cold. There, every single day, reliably, waiting.

And so it is perhaps incomprehensible to some, to you, why it is that I have to leave you. I love you more than any thing in the world. Sometimes, for reasons that are complicated and convoluted, one has to focus on a future that is stark but sane. You cannot be part of my future. It in not my fault. Perhaps it is not anyone’s fault. It just is. Remember: no one will have loved you as much as I did, no one.

Dear computer,

If you die on me now I will be a beaten person. So pretend you are not old and ragged. My car is old and ragged. Much of my day feels old and ragged. But you, you are a mere babe. So act your age! I’m in no position to seek a replacement.

I'm wondering...

At what point do you tell your aging parent this: no more. You cannot continue to frown upon the life I live and the decisions I make. I will not listen anymore?

At what point do you look up and notice how good and kind friends are when you need them to be just decent (you are all that way! every one of you, temporarily or permanently out of state, emailers, dinner and/or walking companions, latte enablers – all!)?

At what point do you get a new, sexy bike helmet (I tell myself that, knowing damn well that no bike helmet is really sexy) even though you could maybe (though not certainly) get by with pounding out the dents and still strapping the old one under your chin?

At what point do you admit to your neighbors that, for reasons having to do with the soft warm air coming in from the outside and the harsh long week you’ve just had, you are drifting off to sleep, even though they are still there, in your house, engaged in a fantastically lively conversation?

At what point do you tell Oscar that his blog has been magnificent of late (while sitting and commiserating about how awful a latte is as compared to the real thing, on the other side of the ocean)?

At what point do you quit getting a charge out of spooking the neighborhood kids by showing them the extent of your hip bruise from the bike accident (they all get a thrill out of how extensive it is and I feel I am doing them a favor by shocking them into always wearing a helmet and being cautious out there on the roads)?

At what point do you hear the storm, open the patio door, stick your feet out into the rain and think: I can get through all this, really truly?

[the above? my past 24 hours in a nutshell.]

Stick with me and I guarantee at least one brush with death per day

A late afternoon at the Madison’s Memorial Union. So hot! Must be near 100. Friends decide to take out their pontoon boat. They motor over to the Hoofer’s Dock, nice, leisurely. Sandwiches, beer, snacks. The kind of hour where you get heavily engaged in the weighty issue of whether you’d prefer to be with a boring person or a smelly one. Amazingly, most choose boring.

Mmmmm, it isn’t hot anymore. Must be the cool lake breezes. No, not that. Must be the clouds. Wonder where they came from… Was so clear a minute ago.

Let’s roll over to the Governor’s Mansion. He is too pro environment. He is not! Is too! Is not! Why can’t we have Katherine Falk as governor?

Wouldn’t it be cool to swim to shore. [Here, Ocean author jumps overboard.]

Great water… A bit weedy. No bottom. Wonder why it says DANGER on those bobbin’ little numbers? No matter.. Feels wonderful, the temperature is just right. Captain of the boat is swimming as well.. All’s good here in the warm wetness of Lake Mendota. Kind of choppy in the water now. Hey captain? See that line of rain? It’s on the other side of the lake, not too far from us.

Back on board: Hey Captain? See those flashes of lightening? They’re hitting the lake. Hmmmm, not so pretty. [Ocean author wonders if she can take picture of lightening hitting lake for the blog. Ocean author fails to take picture of lightening hitting water.] Look at that! Red lights are flashing on the shore. Meaning: all boats must come in. No kidding! So, you’re scared? Nah… what are you going to do…

Hoofer types are on the dock waving pontoon boat away. Don’t dock here! Storm winds will blow the dock right into your boat! Go anchor at the cement one. Captain fearlessly ventures out into the storm to anchor at the cement one. Captain wonders if maybe leaving boat to the storm would be a good idea. Boat is insured. Captain is sick of boat and would not mind collecting the insurance money.

Storm’s coming! Bring up the chairs toward shelter. Ohh, from this perch it’s exciting! Bring it on! Hail, gusty winds – they’ll wipe the earth clean and dust off the cobwebs! Storm declines the invitation and decides to head north. Storms are that way – they taunt you and tease you out there where you’re vulnerable on the open waters and snub you when you make it safely to shore.

from the Union shore: a dazzling sun; the water tempts... 

from the Union shore: watching others sweat it out 

on the boat: those crazy hazy days of summer 

on the boat: united under unfriendly skies