the warm and the cold

Part I: the warm

Several weeks back, Ed read a NYT article on Penna olives. (Penna Olives are harvested and prepared in California. Stupendously wonderful olives. BTW, Ed loves olives.)

If I buy my favorites, we could open them all at once. You could do an olive party and so it wouldn’t be a waste. (Ed hates waste. But he loves olives and he loves the idea of eating many different types, all in one day.)

I have always wanted to go to an olive harvest (in Sicily would be fun), but they are in the wrong season for me. I can’t leave work for more than a long week-end in October or November. So I have a dormant desire to get close to the olive and no chance to let it (and myself) loose. The idea of an olive party appealed to me.

Ed ordered fourteen jars of olives. In double. (The second set is for me, I mean for us, he says. In case your party guests eat up all of the first batch.)

I invited friends whom I thought of as olive people. And I prepared a supper based on olives. (Keep it simple! – this from Ed. Ed hates a fuss.)

Everything was ready. The olives:



…and the condo. (Ed was ready too. He remembered to turn off the TV just as the first set of guests arrived.)





We ate olives and drank wines that I thought were suited for olives (red, white, rose, and rose a la methode champaignoise – meaning, everything).

And we ate cheeses from a Provencal cheese board (Provence = olives). And slurped hot roasted (in olive oil) tomato soup and downed a roasted veggie salad. With olives.








…finishing the meal off with A Ligurian cake. With raspberries and a significant amount of olive oil.





Here’s the important part: yes, you too can order Penna olives. They are fantastic! Which was the favorite (I asked people to vote)? The Olivasecca. But don’t count on my report. As someone said – this one stood out because it was unusual. The others were all brined and thus they blurred for us. A sea of olives. Mmmm. Go have an olive party. And don’t forget to include the runners up: Parmesan Romano Cheese, Stuffed. You’re welcome.



Ed and guest, talking olives


Part II: the cold

I sat in my office today and watched the students head for their last week of classes. The Mall lawns were covered with what the skies dumped on them.

I have been proud of what Madison (and, by extension, the UW) does with snow: it removes it from places where, in its slick version, it creates a hazard.

Today, I reconsidered. Look at these photos, taken in the course of a ten minute period:

























On my way to the bus stop, I paid for my photographing of the plight of others. I was a slipper and a slider. Forewarned, I caught myself each time. But barely.

I am happy that there is snow on the ground. I am unhappy that cars have a clearer path than those of us who try to live a car-free life. But, I’m determined to keep trudging. Even though it felt like one big Rockefeller Skating Rink out there. With moguls.

the olive

Sunday. The day was dedicated almost completely to a celebration of the olive.

Intrigued? Monday. I'll tell you about it Monday.

a day of everything and nothing

We were forewarned. It would start in the morning and continue for some twenty-four hours. The “it” was questionable: snow, yes, for sure that, but also plenty of ice pellets and freezing rain.

We all hoped for snow.

It’s impressive how many people love the idea of a good snow storm. I suppose one reason for not abandoning a northern state such as this is that it offers (though it does not always deliver) snow.

Thinking of the words, the imagery – it’s all comforting: under a blanket of snow, the hush of a snowfall, a winter wonderland.

Of course, we know that it is a gift for children and so we are happy for them. But ourselves? When was the last time a sleigh bell tingalingled past your door and brought you great joy and laughter?

Still, we want it. We think it’ll place us in front of a (hypothetical) fireplace, with marshmallows swimming in hot chocolate and a (not hypothetical) lover’s arm around our entire self. Comforted. Made better. All because of the snow.

It came, alright. Early in the morning, I went out on the roof terrace and watched the streets slowly change from gray to white.




Readers from around here know that by afternoon the gentle white stuff turned to vicious icy, slushy pellets. I know there’s a reason for this even as I do not understand it: the temps are near twenty and we can’t even get a decent snowfall.

I went to a park with a hill to see if anyone would dare take a sled out. One, maybe two, did.




It hurt to step outside and take the photo! Kids are made of different stuff.

I drove out into the country briefly. Ed needed a ride in something sturdier than his little Geo and I volunteered. We were snarky and irritable the whole ride in, which only goes to show that images of snow and fireplaces and blankets etc etc are all fine and beautiful, but reality typically follows a different (icy) path.




By evening, the view from the roof was made gentle by the appearance of city lights. But the ice pellets continued and there was no point in lingering. Besides, there is always the task of getting supper going.

vignettes

Ed bought me a cup of coffee today. We went to Gallup, just down the hill from the condo. The berry scone was wonderful and the manager went out to get the New York Times for us to read. Ed likes to take me out for coffee. And read the paper while I sip. Sometimes I stare into the distance, sometimes I read another section.

I stayed home to work. I took a break in mid-afternoon and walked over to Whole Foods to pick up foods for dinner. On the way back I encountered a neighbor. She was fitting pieces into a jigsaw puzzle. I helped, but only for a minute.

In the late afternoon I picked up a carpet – the one missing item in my condo. Perhaps other things are missing, but I don’t want to know. I don’t want to get too hell bent on acquiring. So, after lugging the carpet home, I proclaimed the condo furnishing project to be complete.

Later, much later, I ran into my next door neighbor. I hardly ever see him. Mostly, he accompanies his wife in her work in Richland Center. But today he was there and he was walking his dog and I remembered how much I loved dogs.
Cookin’ up a storm? – he asked, looking at my Whole Foods bags.
Comfort food, in anticipation of the weather tomorrow. Ingredients for spaghetti sauce.

In the evening, Ed came over. He never noticed the new carpet, but he ate the spaghetti and dozed on the couch and woke up only when I said it’s late.

Photos? No, not tonight.

frozen

Iced-over. Solidly unbending. Stuck. Trapped. Cold. Shivering.

On the way to work, I passed this pretty little heap of ice. Wonderful. The beginning of the long season.

nothing but rubbish

Everyone has days where they want to sit back and laugh (yes, laugh) at the fantastically perverse luck that comes their way. As you navigate the hours, there are any number of ways for you to step poorly. And hit the wrong button.

I hit many wrong buttons today.

And, I had too much work to make repairs.

The only photo that struck me as permissible on a day such as this (indeed, the only photo I took today) was one from the nearby construction project. Happy Holidays from the Hilldale Theater. In case you don’t know, the Hilldale Theater is buried in the rubble, right next to the sign.




My day, in a nutshell. Buried. Best forgotten.

photography

To photograph a day. (And write a subtext for it.) You can’t, really. There isn’t permission for it.

I was in class today and I had a guest speaker. And so I had a chance to watch the students. So photographable! But, of course, I ignored the impulse.

Much later, I spent time with my man Jason (in case you aren’t a steady Ocean reader, Jason is a hair color genius here in Madison). We talked photography. We always do these days. He is exceptionally talented with the camera. I cannot tell you how many times I thought right there, in his salon: this is a Kodak moment. Naturally, I did not act on it.

Much later, I drove to Whole Foods. I don’t like to use selling venues for my posts (markets are an exception), but on my way there I passed a gas station. With Christmas trees. There you have it: my post for the day. Because really, is there anything more beautiful than a parking lot or gas station with trees for sale? (And no one there to tell me to get lost?)

For Ocean then. Trees on concrete:

returning home

I leave the D.C. apartment early. There will be airport crowds. There will be traffic. There will be chaos.

Or not.

I settle in for a long wait at the airport and work on my book.





Upgraded on each segment of my trip, I tell myself that loyalty pays. In my travel, I have stayed with two airlines that had the worst performance records in the world (NW and AF). Now, they’re up and soaring. Together, no less (they’ve merged, via KLM). And I am loyally cheering them on.

Ed comes to the airport in his truck. I want to pick up a tree on the way home.





A habit. It’s what I do in the week after Thanksgiving. And it is the week after Thanksgiving. One holiday season over and done with, another coming at us. No complaints there. Paucity of good cheer is way tougher on the psyche.

from D.C.: patriotic

I’m not that, if patriotism means saying that your country is the best of the best. I don’t even know what that means. Good people, making good decisions? Until the moment when they mess up?

My father once said – I am a citizen of the world. I feel the same loyalty to the planet. And to the community that I live in, wherever that may be. I dislike nationalism (even though I respect tradition). I detest pronouncements of superiority, even as I believe some principles are superior to others.

So basically, I’m not one of those who goes around saying I am proud to be a Pole or an American, even though at times I am proud and at other times I am ashamed of what the governments in either have accomplished.

Still, here I am in D.C., and I haven’t confronted on Ocean the very essence of the city. I have yet to post a single photo of its uniqueness as a nation’s capital. Here, more than anywhere else, you see the progression of governance. The monuments force you into this exercise: think back and remember those who left their mark.

Tonight, I took my camera and strolled among the shadows of the monuments. I circled the Washington Monument, I acknowledged the Capitol. I paused for a longer while at the new to me Monument to World War II, I gave a nod to the Lincoln Memorial and I passed with a deep sigh in front of the White House.

I’m going to post some photos from all this. They nudged me toward giving more than a passing thought to citizenship, government and the country I now call home. Here you go: D.C. monuments, one November evening, through Ocean eyes.



child's play




at the end of the day




November trees




people, flags




two cyclists, the Capitol




Lincoln, ducks

from D.C.: southern comfort

I am in the south. I think of it as such. Even though it’s really quite cold here today, in my mind D.C. is bringing up the south.

We ate breakfast foods at our favorite local place. And I had what I would never have back home – poached eggs on muffins and fried green tomatoes, with a splash of tomato hollandaise. And a huge side of cheese grits.





And then we traveled more south. Of the border. To the quiet of Virginia. And the pretty streets of Alexandria.





But it was cold. We headed toward Misha's for coffee. It's a place where you can read and take in a steaming sip of a brew, with bites of pound cake. And chocolate chips. Or carrot cake. He's eating carrot cake.





A walk down to the Potomac, then up King again, to catch a ride back to D.C..

Looking out, we watched the full moon come out from under cloud cover, right over the Capitol. Not a good enough photo for Ocean, but something worth mentioning nonetheless: this city is elusive to me. Like the Eiffel Tower in Paris, or the moon on a foggy night, monuments appear and disappear as I move from one set of blocks to the next. People, too. Tagged, always tagged with I.D. cards, they move quickly. In and out of buildings. Nothing is out in the open. It is a city of secrets. Of Pentagon and FBI and Supreme Court private discussions. Of the everyday lives being hugely touched by what goes on behind closed doors. Soldiers on the metro. A man sweeping a gutter in Georgetown. Another shouting to the bus that refuses to come at a stop on 14th street.

An ambulance screams across M street. And another. Visitors, like in Paris, there are always visitors. Asking for directions, for places to eat, for bars to drink in. Could you tell me?... Could I? Do I know this town well enough to pass judgment? It’s getting to the point that I do.

from D.C.: the day after

I heard stores opened at 4 (that would be ante meridiem) today. Impressive.

Myself, I preferred to stay indoors, listening to the hum of morning traffic as one daughter prepared to go to work and the other – moved about this way and that.

Feeling insanely stuffed, I did the rare thing – I passed on breakfast, coffee, the whole thing. The couch seemed like a fine alternative. Listening, enjoying the buzz that was/is outside my own head.

By noon, we set out in search of food. Tryst was perfect for the afternoon after. Packed, with a humming crowd. Of diners, lovers, Net surfers, you name it.





Feeling deprived (of breakfast, not food), I ordered this:





Why do I mention it? Because it was a guiltless pleasure. There, in a room of people who seemed hugely comfortable with... life. That called for a large waffle, don't you think?


I took a long walk afterwards. Everyone at home was working, but I chose not to. Down 15th, 16th, 17th, Conn, Mass, P, O, N, finally onto M and across the bridge, where I became like so many others – a shopper, briefly, just like those around me, pulling out the old plastic card and walking away with a paper bag.





We all think we are such nonconformists.

from D.C.: food

Why do we like to eat so much? Oh life. Such meaning in the preparation of food, in the serving of it --- here, have some.

What great fortune when you are able to say this as you place food on the table. With love.

When I worked in the kitchens of a restaurant several years back I thought this was the missing link – the act of placing the food on the table and stepping back to watch the enjoyment of someone you would want to make happy with your preparations.

On Thanksgiving and on all days that you are able to cook for someone it all works: grow or purchase, prepare, serve, share. (And hope that someone helps with the clean up).

Apron’s off. Hands are stiff. Day is done.

from Washington D.C.: holiday travel

I know that news stories about people traveling around the holidays are supposed to project a mild (or even huge) feeling of misery liking company, a ‘we’re in this ship together’ moment where everyone is stalled, cancelled, or otherwise inconvenienced.

In the alternative, there are those who are inclined toward the sentimental. They read NYT or CNN (or whatever) accounts of millions traveling over the holiday and they mist up.

I find it charming – the idea that millions are heading toward a Thursday table. And that for millions there will be turkey meat and mashed potatoes on that table. (I asked in my law classes how many would be eating turkey – more than 90%; and mashed potatoes? 100% in the larger class.)

Last night the Midwest was shrouded in mists and drizzle and flights left but barely barely and it was close to midnight before I saw my suitcase (filled with pots and wooden spoons) emerge. I was one of the last to see mine rolling down. Patiently we waited. The final handful, in the end -- relieved.





Today we ate non-holiday foods for lunch. Tofu and vegetables and iced tea in a Tea Shoppe off of Dupont. Yes, do note the iced tea – a beverage of summer, a cool-down drink. It’s warm in D.C. now.





I brought with me old familiar recipes, standards. We shopped for ingredients, filling a cart and then some. My daughter and I lifted the cart and considered how much of its weight would make it to our stomach.

Outside, a guy was selling flowers – filling in for his brother who was taking a few days off. Each holiday has its colors. These are tomorrow's. (A phone call home: hey, do we need flowers?)




I considered standing around, chatting up the flower guy. He seemed inclined. But I got sidetracked by Cliff "the Moose" who was handing out/selling Street Sense. He liked my camera, but he liked his own better. Nikon this and that, with Zeiss lenses.
$6000 worth of equipment. Nice, considering I am homeless.
Where do you keep it all?
Locked up!

He showed me his photos. Good stuff.





On the roof of my daughter’s apartment building, there is a little terrace from which you can watch the sun set. And planes land. With people, coming home for Thanksgiving.

looking up

Up early. Lecture notes to finish. Outside my condo windows, wisps of pink. A November sunrise.




Looking up today. After classes, a quick espresso, the airport, and flights east. For Thanksgiving.

rubble

A day, anyone’s day can be described thus. There’s work to be done, but first, one must clear away the rubble.

So that’s what they’re doing outside my condo tower (visible to the right in the photo). Heaping twisted metal and slabs of concrete. To be carted away.





A working day.

Tomorrow evening I take off for the holiday. With a suitcase full of pots, pans and wooden spoons. Might the rubble be all gone by the time I come back next week?Doubt it. Stuff like that takes time to clear.

sometimes…

…animals and people change. A cat knocks on the door of Ed’s sheepshed. He is given food. He never leaves. But he lives in fear. Of everything. He is a difficult adoptee. He marks everything new and suspicious looking for months. Years even. When I visit, I cover my belongings under heavy plastic. In case.

That was before. Now, the cat comes up to me. Tentatively. He has the demeanor of someone who wants to engage you but wont let on. He gives a furtive look and if I reach out very quietly, slowly, he’ll relax and accept a rub on his cheek.





…you assume hostility where there is none. The cat appears indifferent to birds. He’s a mouser – Ed tells me. He walks with a nose to the ground.

You’d have a hard time convincing the robins today. The appearance of the cat makes them fly to higher branches. In truth, the appearance of me makes them fly to higher branches too.





…you assume that things people do cannot hurt you when, in fact, they can. Birds and cats move across their respective terrain, oblivious to the men in orange, with guns.





Wear orange vests! – I tell the cat and the birds. Unfortunately, the robin is hell bent on a shade of red. And the cat? At least he doesn’t look like a deer.

Have I neglected anyone? Oh, oops:

…animals and men get so comfortable in their spaces that they have a hard time accepting other spaces. Two examples: one in his perfect corner, the other, comfortably positioned with his butt on a warm laptop.





Me, I just sit and watch and try to get some work done in a small corner of the sheepshed.

fact is…

...that people are as they are and seasons have elements of dreariness and you have to move beyond that or you become like so many who, in their later years, are just plain bitter about it all. Especially the seasons.

Ed and I head to the orchard. These are the last weeks, maybe days, when you can still pick up a huge sack of honeycrisps. I want that sack. I want honeycrisps to stay in my fridge for the tough days of winter. The name is warm and comforting.

Still, it’s wet outside. November wet. Cold wet. Gray, sad wet.





At the orchard shack where picked apples used to be in abundance, the shelves are nearly empty. We get our bagfuls and stroll out toward the rows of trees. And horses. It’s raining and the horses are looking like they need …something. A bath maybe? What do I know about horses. I used to ride them. I don’t anymore.

Ed and horses nuzzle in animal camaraderie.





I take my work to Ed’s sheepshed. I need to scramble now. The semester is near an end. It is an intensely busy period: I start writing exams, I plan next semester’s classes, I work on the remaining lectures for the Fall. The sheepshed offers no distractions. There is a chair for me to sit in. A comfortable chair and that's it. Ed works on a crankshaft. I think about my classes. I play my small stack of CDs – stuff that helps me stay on task.

Are we playing the same CD over and over?
No, I’m just in a mellow female jazz vocalist mode.
Oh.





Outside, the drizzle continues. But really, it’s not that bad. No, it’s not that bad. November, all of it. There’s beauty in gray and mangy horses, and imperfect situations and November months that turn into warm moments in spite of the drizzle.

at the end of the day

At the end of the day, I drive to Ed’s place. A dozen minutes from city center, it has the feel of deep country, just as he likes it. I like it to an extent. For instance, the farmers – I am forever mesmerized by the work of the Hmong family that has been farming next to his land this year. Today, they made the final rounds. Flurries this evening. Frost. Last pickings.





The school bus drops children off. A cluster of girls. The solo boy trails behind. Not city children, not suburban either. Stuck in a strip of countryside that attempts to remain rural. By a hair’s wisp.





Ed’s shed is as he likes it. Cats pace, waiting for a feeding. I pace too. I think how different he and I are. And I don’t mean at the level of lifestyles. Sometimes our differences are adventurously challenging, in a good way. Sometimes.

I want to go for a walk. A quick one. Before the sun disappears.

We head toward the old railway tracks. Abandoned and overgrown. Who do they belong to? The sign says C.&N.W.R.R.

They considered making this a rail corridor, linking Madison with Oregon and beyond. But it was voted down.

The tracks look irreparable. For rail. Maybe a future bike path? (The Badger State trail comes to mind). But, you cannot walk far now. Private property. Whose?





The remains of a farmland sunset. Tinted sky, splashes of light and then dusk.










I drive back to my warm kitchen in the condo, where irises and lilies are blooming and Stacey Kent is singing about the ice hotel.