super bowl sunday

I wish I liked football enough to participate in the great American experience of watching the Super Bowl. But I don't and so I wont give the game more than the few minutes and even that will be strained.

It's a tough day for those of us who can't quite understand why a football isn't even round.

For me, it's just a regular old day. With breakfast in the sun room...






...a lingering breakfast, because it's Sunday and you can do that on Sunday.






Then, a super good yoga class and today I am in class with my yoga buddy. Followed by a cup of tea with her at Paul's.






It's another cold day. But like yesterday, the clouds thin out by mid morning. What looks sulky gray early on, turns out to be a ravishing blue by late afternoon.

Ed and I load up the skis and head to our local park. One with a trail that I'd never tried before.





Most of our skiing is in the beautiful sunshine of a true Midwestern winter day. 






Cold? Well yes, that. But when you're skiing in sunshine, temperatures out there, single digit or otherwise, are (nearly) irrelevant.






The day moves forward. Closer and closer to the game.





I should think that one clever way to savor Super Bowl Sunday is to make your way to some typically crowded spot on that day, just so you can revel in the quietness as everyone (but you) huddles around the TV set at home.

But timing is everything and so it does no good to show up, for example, at Woodman's -- the cheap mega supermarket -- a chunk of hours before the game. We are then just one grocery cart among millions, all hurrying to load up on (I'm guessing) chips and salsa in time for the kickoff.


I do remember, at the end of the evening, to check which team won. Hmmm. Not San Francisco. Too bad. I like San Francisco. As if that would be any reason at all to wish a team success. I tell you, I'm just not a good football fan.

groundhog day

My doc said Thursday -- stay off the skis for a couple of weeks. And especially after I take the stitches out. You don't want any concussion on your leg. 

That seemed just too doomsdayish for me. Can I do yoga?  -- I ask. Yes, she tells me. Well now, if I can do yoga, I can cross country ski. A simple deduction on my part. She senses my stubbornness. Maybe we'll keep the stitches in longer, she says, half to herself, half to the nurse. So that she can do her skiing.

I read it as  -- permission granted!

I start my Saturday with the usual attention to breakfast.







I know it's Groundhog Day. I know I should consider the shadows outside. But I don't need that to forecast the coming of spring. All I have to do is go to Trader Joe's and note that they are now selling bunches of daffodils for $1.69. That's spring for me.






(But if you were to ask -- would a groundhog see a shadow upon awakening in Madison, I'd say no indeed. No shadow. Cloud cover.)







After breakfast -- I have a solid 75 minutes of yoga. And if ever I felt defiant in class, it was on this day. In facing the fact that I might have to do less (due to leg issues), I am spurred to do more. Take that! And that! I leave satisfied.


At home, Ed asks if I want to ski.
Yes! Three more inches of snow came down during the night. We would have died for such conditions last year. Cold? Oh come on! Not cold at all! It went up to something like 10F this afternoon!

Still, I'm not oblivious to my leg. I absolutely cannot fall.

The Arboretum! There's not a single hill to navigate there. The easiest cross country skiing this side of the Mississippi.






We spend a grand 90 minutes in the forests of Madison's best nature preserve.







Late, at the farmhouse, I settle in to write a long overdue letter -- to a friend whom I haven't seen (or written to much) for more than 30 years. Can I suggest this for you? Go ahead, write a letter to someone once close to you explaining your life of the past few decades. Be honest in what you say! It's a humbling experience.

In the evening I make bouillabaise. Or, my own version of it. If, like me, you've been cooking all your life from cook books, at some point it becomes important (I think) to free yourself of recipes:  you start to look for ideas and cooking styles rather than ingredient lists. My bouillabaise will have seafoods that I like...


 


...it wont have fennel because neither Ed or I think it assists flavors much. It will make use of our storehouse of tomatoes. It will be easy and fresh and honest (I hope).

Here it is:





We eat, we sit back, we think our thoughts. Mine stray all over the place. What if, shouldn't I... It's not always pleasant to hold yourself accountable for where you are and what's before you, but tonight I feel at peace with all of it. We are fine, so fine, here, on the couch, on a good course, paying attention to the other. I play music from my iTunes folder, picking familiar tunes, ones that prompt me to sing along. Ed grins. He's an utter sweetheart on the rare evenings that I choose to sing.

two sides

It's funny how things align themselves sometimes. You think you're going to slide off the road in a snowstorm and instead you bang yourself falling off a high stool which you scaled clumsily in pursuit of a box elder beetle that was making its way across the bathroom ceiling. (Thank goodness for shower curtains which, though easy to tear down as you reach for them, do break a fall.)

I'm cautious on the roads. Obviously less so when I chase box elder beetles.

But that's not what I am thinking of when I start this post. My mind is on the photos of the day: they have an funny pattern to them. I don't read much into this (signs, astrology -- it's all silly), but still, it's interesting to observe.

For example, sunrise. I wake up to it because Isis now likes to do sun salutations every morning at around that time. And at my age, anything wakes you. Anything.

I look out. The sky looks pretty. Should I? I should. Out comes the camera, on goes the coat.

Oh my goodness. Minus 7 F. It takes your breath away.

Still, it is a beautiful morning. But I do not linger. I give you two photos from that quick venture into the world of Arctic air. Sunrise, from one side of the grand old willow.





And then, curiously, one from the other. On my retreat back to the farmhouse.






Indoors, a smarter than me cat is sitting in his usual morning perch -- on the corner of Ed's night table. Isis takes in his sunshine wisely, without the bite of cold air.






I tell him to look at me and he obliges, moving to another corner. Here he is, posing.






Alright, breakfast. There is no question but that we'll eat it in the sun room. I mean, of course! Outside, the world is white and blue and beautiful to observe.






Inside, we have a variation on the breakfast foods. Step aside oatmeal, it's granola time!






Fine, but my favorite breakfast shot will always have a human dimension to it. Here's the human giving his dimension.






After, I work for a while at home. Ed goes off to a meeting, using the Ford pickup this time because the Geo right now is in such a troubled state that even he wont drive it. It takes Ed a while to decide to trash something that still has some moving parts to it and so I expect we'll be looking at the Geo for a few more weeks before he finally admits that it is beyond repair.

Eventually I leave for campus. I encourage (meaning push) Isis to go outside now. He is not happy about that.






Sorry, Isis. I gotta go.

I have my donkey car to use for work today. The doors on it are sealed shut as well, but at least with some combination of hair dryer and crawling in to bang from the inside, we (okay, Ed) manage to get things swinging again.

I hadn't used the car since before the storm and I now I have to pull over twice to clear off some of the offending snow. Even as I think the donkey car looks far better with snow on top: it covers up two of the car's fatal (visually speaking) flaws: the taped together cardboard front fender and the absence of any back fender. You can't tell, can you?





Inside, the car is so cold that ice crystals remain in place on the windshield for the duration of the ride in. Pretty, in a chilling sort of way.






You may fault this day for being too cold. Fine. I agree. Anything that hovers around 0 F is on the chillier side of alright.

And yet... the sun was out. February came in with a smile.  

in, out

Everything about this day was changeable. Unsteady, unpredictable. And therefore poorly observed and even less well photographed.

Up early. Snow? Again? Is it supposed to snow?

We eat breakfast quickly, at the kitchen table.






And then I'm off. Except wait, that's a pretty patch of blue up there. Might we have a lovely day ahead?







Cold. It's beastly cold. Single digits. The doors on the cars are sticking. Snow clumps to the underside. It takes me a while to clear a car enough to get going and so I do not have time to even pause for a photo of the beautiful interplay between clouds and sun over the fields to the side of the road.

For a while, the sun dominates. Walking up the hill to my office, I snap this photo.






But it doesn't last.

After my first class, I have a necessary doctor's appointment. Leg surgery  -- of the type that you have when you've been around for a while. With assurances that I can teach right after (because I am unwilling to take the day off).

During the procedure, the doc and I chat about Turkey. Okay, that's fun. The hour under the knife flies. After, I rush back to campus for my afternoon class. Except, when I park in the garage, I find that I can't open the car door. I crawl over cross country skis to exit through the passenger side. Right. Will do. Maybe something froze somewhere.


Classes done. Survived being on my feet after leg surgery. Back to the old Geo to drive it home. And again: door wont open. Passenger side as well. Now what? (Key is inside, hidden in it's usual inside spot.)

Ah. Hatch is unlocked. I scramble in through the rusty, dirty hatch over clunky skis to open the passenger door. I then crawl back out, close the hatch, and crawl once more, this time on the passenger side, over to the driver's seat.

Now that was a challenge!

I think of people who drive cars where doors open and close, where you don't have to shut off all peripherals at the beginning (heat, lights, radio) to get the fan belt to stop squealing... I tell Ed that my patience with his Geo is really diminishing. He grins -- but you're having fun!

I consider his point: do adversity (of the kind when you cant get into a car and cant run the heat or lights or radio for the first two minutes of a trip) and challenge create a sense of fun? I've always thought that the last place where I will put good (potentially travel) money is on a car. I enjoyed talking with my doc about Turkey. The recollections of my travels there thrilled me. No account of any car would have made me half as happy.

I pick up Ed at the farmette and we drive to Paul's cafe. I show him how once again, I cannot open the door. He laughs: you're banging it with your elbow! That's silly! Bang it with the palm of your hand -- everyone knows that! Okay. I will remember: keep heat/lights/radio off until fan belt quiets down and to get out, use palm not elbow. In the alternative, climb in and out through the hatch.

My doc told me I absolutely cannot ski for at least 24 hours. So I have a reason to say no to skiing in the Arctic blast. I settle in at Paul's and drink my decaf skim whatever and think again about Turkey and Crete and all the islands in between.

During the short drive home, the muffler on the Geo splits. Rusted through to the core. The noise now, when I accelerate is deafening. The door? Well, if I couldn't open it before, we now find ourselves in the position of not being able to close it. I drive home slowly, keeping the door "shut" with my hand pulling it toward me.

At home, Ed mutters -- I may have to retire that car.

He goes to fetch Isis from the sheep shed...


 


...while I roast all remaining vegetables in the refrigerator for a thrown together supper of everything and nothing.





The last day of January. Thank you January -- we've really had such fine days with you!

a day in four parts

Part One: Snow!

At six in the morning the snow begins. I push back the covers and look outside. Pretty.

Then I pull up the quilt and go back to sleep. Something about snow outside makes it easy to sleep.

Still, snow? Real, blanketing, delightful snow? I need to step outside.






Ah, lovely stuff. The kind that'll cause driving headaches. The kind that's hard to ignore. The kind that makes Isis run for shelter.






I walk the farmette land admiring the sudden transformation.














I can work at home Wednesday mornings and so I do. Let's let them clear the roads some.

We eat breakfast in the front room. You get the better views of the  snow covered trees here, Ed tells me.














But the snow keeps falling and even if you shovel your way out -- nothing remains clear for long.






Part Two: More Snow!

I teach shortly after the noon hour and so eventually I have to make my way to campus. It's slow going. Really slow going. I take Ed's '93 Geo. The thinking is that the car is so rusty that nothing can damage it further. It's all good, so long as you keep the speed down to maybe 20 miles an hour.






Campus is hoppin'. Wisconsin doesn't slow down just because of a snow storm. (And yes, that is a bicyclist pushing his way down State Street.)






On Bascom Hill students pause, look around, take out their cell phones to photograph the prettiness of this day on campus.






Part Three: Can't be Soft


Classes end. Time to head home. The wind has kicked in and so now you have the good bits of road, interspersed with stretches that are hardly navigable.

It's late. Barely any daylight left. But if you have the idea that you should celebrate this beautiful snow, then you don't want to turn your back to it just yet. Perhaps there's enough daylight for a trip up to the park. The one with ski trails running close to lake Waubesa. It's so close! A mere two miles from where we are!

So out we go. Never mind that the winds are gusting and the snow is coming down hard. Can't be soft!






We pull into an empty parking lot. The falling snow feels prickly and unkind if you stand the wrong way. We look out toward the trails. What trails, there are no trails. Of course not. Anything marked now would surely be covered over within minutes The wind is blowing the snow around as if it were one big playing field of confetti.

This is not easy to work with.  A ski run that typically takes an hour drags into twice that and then some. Bits of heavy, wet snow cling to the skis and in places, huge puddles from last night's rains are still visible, waiting to sink your ski if you go the wrong way.

But it's beautiful alright. Winter has given us her best right now. (Predictably, there are fishermen out on Lake Waubesa. Sheltered fishermen. In little huts that add color to an otherwise white landscape.)






The light fades. We push forward, not gliding at all. More like stomping forward, finding that space between the trees.






Take another photo, please! -- I hand the camera to Ed, feeling rather victorious when finally we complete the loop.






Part Four: hungry!

It's dark by the time we reach the car. Isis is past his supper hour. We're past our supper hour.

A blogger in Denmark reminded me earlier today that eggs are terrific to play with, especially if you have some greens in your fridge. And a shallot or two. And a can of good tomatoes. And chunks of cheese to sprinkle on top.





I'm plenty tired right now. A good kind of tired. Sleepy tired. But so glad to have snow on the ground again. Wisconsin winters, I always say, are easy to navigate, if there's snow to play in and the days are sunny. We've got the white stuff now. I'm hoping for a month (at least) of good, strong sunshine.

weather systems

So much goofiness in the weather systems this month! How can you keep up?! Cold, gray, sunny, wet, foggy warm, stormy, rainy and now, tomorrow -- snow, cold and who knows what will be here after that...

It's rare to listen to a thunder storm roll through a January night, but we surely heard one last night. And this morning, I faced a morning drive through dense fog. The type where I can't see the end of the road. As always, I'm happy to be living so close to my workplace. And as always, I wish there was nearby public transportation to get me to campus.






The rains came down again this afternoon and flooding in this region suddenly became a very real possibility: the ground is frozen solid -- streams of rain have nowhere to go. Our own yard looks like it may be contemplating the formation of a pond.





At least the old snow will be washed away and the new snow will bring a sense of a deep Midwestern winter that's been a little missing this year.

In the meantime, work keeps me indoors. Tuesdays are tough days and this day began so early and ran so much without interruption that Ed agreed to take-out for dinner. Thai. Very good. With leftovers, in case the winter storm that's brewing delivers more than we bargained for tomorrow.

a January spring

Not too long ago, someone near and dear to me poked gentle fun at my incessant photos of breakfast. And so I considered this: might it be mildly annoying for a reader to open Ocean to the same old fruits and oatmeal so many days of the week? Month? Year? Perhaps even off-putting?

Let me explain why I do it.

Initially (meaning years ago) I though of it as an insurance aganst a day had had absolutely no other photo opportunities. Start early, get one under the belt, don't worry if there isn't anything else.





Then I noticed something: taking photos of a breakfast table is hard! Even if you eat colorful fruits, it doesn't matter! Arranging a still life out of your morning repast is no easy task.

And so it became a challenge: can I try and try again to frame something that is actually a photo I can find satisfactory? If I try daily, will it open my eyes to new ways of viewing these essentially beautiful breakfast foods, shapes and colors?






So I keep trying. And I have to admit, I love a slightly protracted breakfast and so a moment for photos is not time that takes us away from something more important.


In other news -- we had the beginning of a two day warm spell. I remembered how grand spring is here, because it felt like spring today. Isis, finding the picnic table free of snow at last, stretched and clawed at it and in general, let it be known that this is his kind of day!










We were finally able to get to the stored carrots, too.  (They are wintered over in the space above the water well.) We wondered if they'd be frozen and awful.





No, they are fine, so fine! (Most of them anyway.)

In the evening, the happy married couple came for the postponed meal...


 


... and I made pumpkin shrimp curry (thanks to Tory Miller, our award winning chef, who shared this recipe!) and for a minute it felt like Sunday.






But it wasn't Sunday. They left, I returned to work. Late, late into the night.

Still, spring poked her head in briefly today (back to single digits by Wednesday) and I found her to be enchanting. Can't wait 'til the real thing.