burning

There are two ways to handle a cold -- nurse it or ignore it. I did a little of the first and a lot of the second.

It is a beautiful spring day -- mostly sunny, calm, highs in the fifties.


 


Ed wonders if maybe we should burn the pile of honeysuckle we chopped down last fall. This is no small pile. As he calls the fire department to get a burn permit and I hear him describe it as a 20 by ten by ten pile, I think -- really? Maybe it's that I'm short, but it seems at least twice that, in all directions.

Neither of us is especially enthusiastic about the job. If the burn goes well, then we should be done in some six or seven hours. But things rarely follow a predicted path. Today, for example, the damn fire will not spread! The honeysuckle hasn't dried out -- it's raw and mostly green and at the bottom of the pile, it's still frozen to the ground.

And so getting the fire to take off is a challenge.





And for the duration, the fire remains very centralized. It refuses to spread. We have to bring limbs to it's epicenter.

At least the containment problem is minimal. We'd raked the dry grass at the edges but this fire couldn't care less about the edges. It wants to be fed and it is not about to go searching for its own grub.





So it is a hefty amount of work and typically that is hugely satisfying for me, except that there is  this cold which honestly, does not belong to an April day and especially such a (finally) pretty April day.






My daughter is here for dinner tonight. I haven't seen either girl since coming home from Italy and so it is enormously gratifying to run through all the drama of the last weeks with her tonight. She knows the players. I don't have to explain the context. Both my girls are great listeners.






And now the day is done and my cold is what it is and it's supposed to rain all next week. Well fine. If it's going to be a challenging and sickly week, it may as well rain. Flush out the land, cleanse the spirit.  

Saturday thoughts

There was a time (not so many years ago) when the week was a seamless set of hours composed of work, chores, family, downtime, set according to an improvised pattern, so that if there was work to be done, week-end or not, I'd do it. And if the sun was especially glorious and it was Friday morning (I rarely teach then), I'd go outside and plant a flower or two.

But over the years I have come to love the idea that the weekend, with rare exceptions, belongs to me. (And conversely, that the weekday prioritizes my job). Professional people shouldn't think in those terms. After all, in many ways work follows me home. Emails -- they are such a constant! Papers to read, classes to prepare -- that too. Still, even though I do in fact often work on weekends, I'm in charge! If Ed says -- let's play tennis! -- I can put things down.

This weekend was different: it was one that has to be handed over almost entirely to work (a Law School conference) and I miss terribly being in control of my time. The not rushing in the morning. The setting of an agenda for the day. Someone else set it. I merely go along.

So, after breakfast...





...I'm back downtown -- with a huge pack of tissues for the sniffles that have settled in (and always settle in when I do not watch out for myself).


On the upside, let me give you a farmette report:





Yes! Beautiful and bright -- and this is just the beginning!

We walk the land and note projects that will fill our weekends in the months ahead.





Then, too, the farmette appears to have become the superhighway for deer who move from one wooded area to the next.





I will shake my fist at them when they devour our baby orchard, but for now, they are elegant and stately and watching their passage is always extremely beautiful.





Late in the day, Ed and I play our first of the year tennis game.  There are never any notable photos that come out of this warm season ritual of ours. But there's a lot of movement and laughter and suddenly the day seems my own again.

It's raining a bit now and I have work tomorrow as well, but it doesn't really matter. It's outdoor weather. I get my hands dirty moving some soil from broken pots. It feels good to be thinking about these things again. I'd forgotten how much I love spring.

long day

Well now, there was not much to this day beyond work. Left early, right after breakfast...





...returned late.





On days like this, what should I write about? The cooling down outside? The still frozen waters on our lakes? The fact that Ed and I forgot to plug in the doorbell and therefore missed Isis's plaintive calls and efforts to come into the farmhouse all night long? (Oh, but it was such a good set of sleep hours as a result!)

No, none of that. Not even about the fact that I have more work (a conference) tomorrow and not that it would matter because it's supposed to rain.

I want to write about the trend rather than the reality. The trend is in a good direction. April is never a glum month. Ed tells me on the phone that he can almost see a flower bud pushing through. That's the trend.

The reality is less chipper, but eh, one can take anything is small doses. So stay with me while I go through my days of work overload. Think in terms of direction. I got a good one going, I swear.

turkeys

Breakfast. Sunshine. Lovely sunshine.





I am on rosie this morning. Riding her to work with the utmost care. Keeping good distance, using signal lights appropriately. As I am just coming out of John Nolen Drive (a stretch of road that hugs the lake leading into the city), an SUV passes me to the right. The driver rolls down her window and screams something at me. It may have been something like "turkey, you damn turkey!" It felt hostile. I have no idea what it is that she really said, but it felt accusatory.

This, after a rather wonderful country ride, in cold but not too cold weather, a ride that was both calming and not even excessively chilly, as the morning temperatures hovered around 35.





That kind of a morning low means that we are to have afternoon highs that will put a dent in the remaining snow (turkeys? Yes, I certainly passed turkeys, of the wild sort, on my ride in).





All this morning stuff on the road notwithstanding, I feel that today was a turning point. When bad things happen, you expect a certain progression of events: discovery, grieving, recovery. What you do not anticipate is that things may get complicated. That the world will not stand still while you cope with your issues. That your health may slide, your work may pose challenges, yet another wrench will be thrown at your peaceful existence.

It feels so good to be, at last,  out of the thicket of problems. It's true that I have not yet fully dealt with my father's death. I have not yet traveled to Poland -- a trip that I have to accomplish sometime in the near future. I also have not finished following the trail of possible nightmarish scenarios that may happen as a result of identity theft. But I've gone through a whole day where the only disturbance was the SUV lady screaming at me on the way to work.

I have to say, given my last ten days or so, today felt like a very beautiful set of hours indeed. And it was 55 outside and there was sunshine and a promise of even better, warmer days.

Who could ask for more.

tomatoes

I need the resilient side of me to take hold today. Breakfast, though lovely, sunny, delicious...







spring robins outside







...is late and hurried. We are back on the phones, trying to understand why and how my identity was stolen last month.

And the answer is at once bewildering and straightforward and maddening. I sold my condo two years ago. The Wisconsin Department of Revenue inadvertently posted sales information along with the sellers' social security numbers. I was notified of that breach, but I had brushed it aside. Oh well. So what. Move on.

Well now. Someone made good use of that information.

There remains much to be done and unfortunately, time is so very tight for me this week. The hope is to contain it now, but even more importantly -- to monitor it and contain it in the future. A real challenge, probably for the rest of my life.

I come home from work cold and tired. (I cannot believe the lakes are still frozen at this late date!)


 


I was out on rosie again and I'm just not bundling enough: the wind is coming right at me.

I smile as I look at the scene before me. Ed is outdoors in shorts (it's only 41 degrees F), transplanting the tomato seedlings into bigger pots.


 


The sun is out, the ground is frozen solid, but I take out the rake and start to remove the wet leaves from the flower beds. Just for a few minutes, to remind myself of what's ahead.

The light fades, but very slowly. I watch deer walk by.





Then I retreat inside to make dinner. Tomato soup from last year's batch, so that we can make room in the freezer for this year's batch.

April showers

It did not rain today. It was a beautiful day of blue skies and delightful sunshine.





(Let's ignore for a minute the fact that it was unbelievably cold -- 37 for a high. In April.) I was, however, thinking of 'showers,' in that it's 'raining' in my backyard right now and I just hope all that rain produces a host of lovely flowers down the road.

My rain isn't of the wet kind. It's raining problems. A parental death, complicated travels, work upheavals -- and that was just last week.

Today I take rosie to work. It's below freezing when I set out, but I want to ride her anyway. To experience the calm I feel when I take her out on an empty country road.

But rosie is low on gas. So after work, I pull in to a gas station and boom! Another credit card denial. I have two cards -- one for travel, one for life; the travel one was hacked. And now this one?

Indeed. It turns out that I am a victim of identity theft. That is a far, far greater problem than a "mere" theft of a credit card number. It means someone out there has my vital info -- social security number, d.o.b., mother's maiden name -- all of it. And they're running around pretending to be me. And they have done a lot of damage: changed my address and phone number, made charges of course - I'm only now finding out the extent of damage and it could be months (years?) before the other "me" is stamped out.

Imagine. Why would anyone this week want to be me?

I'll say this -- you wont see me banging my head against a wall asking  -- why me? Fact is, it is me (or, a copy of me) and now having established that, let's get on with addressing the problems that have arisen as a result.

So I spend the evening doing some damage control. We speculate as to how this may have happened given the fact that I never (repeat never) give out my vitals (like ss number) on email or elsewhere. Ed reminds me of ancient times when keeping this info private was nobody's concern. Indeed, there was a time when your student ID, proudly displayed at numerous points -- was your ss number. You never had to burden your memory with multiple numbers, passwords and user names. Your ss number was you. Until somewhere along the way identity theft entered into the picture.

I hadn't the time to cook tonight. Ed picks up take out Thai. Now, my eyes are reminding me that I'm still used to another clock and another set of hours.

But let me end on a different note and a different time of day: this morning, when I stepped out to assess the degree of "cold" in the air, I saw a deer in the frozen fields to the north of us. Not an unusual sight around these parts, but still, a beautiful one.





If I had the enrgy to take a photo now, it would be of my smile. At the recollection of that early morning sunshine and the deer caught in its glow.

leaving Paris

It's Easter Monday in France. Meaning -- a holiday. So it is very quiet when I leave the hotel...





... early in the morning. But here's a sign of the good season (because isn't spring the good season?): the Luxembourg Gardens are open! In winter, when I catch this same early flight to Detroit, it's dark outside and the park is closed. Today I can detour through it on my way to the airport-bound train.

It really is smile inducing. So empty now, fresh, ready for the time when couples, children, etc etc come in. The sun is about to crack the horizon -- there's a touch of orange in the air.





(Here's the smile. It's genuine.)






So I leave Paris. It'll be a sunny day here. Brooding weather has moved on. At home, it's still unseasonably cold, but there too, I am flying into a promise of a change for the better.


The plane is coming in for a landing in Madison. The flights from the east often make a wide turn not too far from the farmhouse. Sure enough, I see it just outside my window (the farmette is in the lower left quarter of the photo).




Ed is at the airport, waiting. Yep, it is so good to be home.

if it's Sunday, it must be the park

Such a quiet day. Foggy somewhat. At least in Milan. Early breakfast, alone this time...





...then a walk across town...










... to catch the city bus to the airport. Diane will be traveling her own route much much later -- heading into Florida sunshine even as I'm heading into the still melting Midwestern snows.

It's as if Milan is holding back. Not ready to hand me that brilliant sunshine. No, Italy never once offered up a sunny day in the whole time I was here. Well okay. Fog will do. It adds mystery to the Duomo. Because if I am in Milan, there must be photos of the Duomo.










May I use this opportunity to wish a Happy Easter to those who celebrate this typically spring-like day? Happy Easter, happy spring. Happy -- that's a key word.


My flights today are convoluted. The cheapest routing takes me from Milan to Amsterdam and then from Amsterdam to Paris. So that the usual hour or so it takes to get from Milan to Paris is taking five times that amount. And here's an odd thing: On the first flight, we have an almost aborted take off (the engines fire up and then the pilot comes on to say that there was an odd noise and he is turning back) and -- I kid you not -- as we are finally en route and approaching Amsterdam,  we have a medical emergency on board. Please -- is there a doctor on board? No doctor. No diversion this time. We land and then wait as the medical team comes to carry away the ailing traveler.

I think there has to be a message in all this -- perhaps it's as simple as this: we're all vulnerable. Stuff happens. Or, another version -- we're not taking care of ourselves well. We're stressed, harried, we move too fast, we don't take the slow road anymore.

I took the slow road in Paris.

We arrive just a little late. And the first thing I note is that it's cold here! 42 degrees -- just like in Wisconsin!

Nonetheless, it is Easter Sunday and the parks are swarming with people who actually do take care of themselves, at least in this way. Families, lovers, friends. Children, grandparents, sisters, cousins -- all here.

I walk the park even before checking into the hotel. I want that stroll so badly and now here it is and the buds are bursting and the flowers are blooming and people around me are chuckling and holding hands and just enjoying the occasional two second flash of sunlight.











At the hotel, the proprietors again are kind and take me out of the wee single corner room that I pay peanuts for and place me in a slightly larger, front room. (The place is pretty empty this weekend.)





And even though it is now evening, it is ever so light in northern Europe (it is their first day of daylight savings time). So I go for a walk. Sort of. The fact is -- I am exhausted. Early mornings, late nights, active days, worrying -- this just proved to be quite the full week. So I do a small walk.

To the park again.





And up and down the streets of my neighborhood (where, despite the cold, outdoor cafes are absolutely packed).












And though I had had the foresight to make a dinner reservation for this last meal in Europe, I decide now to cancel it. I pass a cafe where you can order savory crepes. I have one of those. With goat cheese and walnuts.











And then I go to Paul -- the bakery that produces the most crusty of the crusty loaves in Paris. And I buy a sandwich and a tart for later, in case I'd be hungry.





I'm eating this now and I have a 3 Euro bottle of rose on the windowsill. In France, wine can still be cheaper than water.





I think I'm close to breathing normally again. I think the tension has ebbed. I hope this night I'll sleep more than the two or three hours that has been my norm lately. I hope spring comes quickly to Wisconsin. On my clock, it's after midnight. Happy April, happy spring.

Venice, in the end

And so we leave Venice under cloudy, misty skies. Still,  I can't let those dark, damp tones take over Ocean. In the bleakest frame, there has to be a warm tone somewhere. A painted shutter, polka dots (it is the year of the polka dot), glass work in window displays, Easter candy, anything!













...your eyes are drawn to color. Mine are.

My last Venetian walk. Taken right after breakfast...


 


... and after the painfully long payment process at the hotel (remember? I have a blocked credit card). I walk through the quieter, tamer Dorsoduro/Santa Croce neighborhood of Venice.















And then the book closes on this Venetian interlude and maybe that's a good way of looking at things: whether it's offered to you or not, there is always closure. Onwards and upwards, I used to say to the girls when we were getting ready to leave.





Diane and I take the train to Milan -- we have to overnight there and so long as we're doing that, I thought it would be good to do something important. Like, for example, to see Leonardo Da Vinci's Last Supper. On Easter week-end. (I purchased tickets for this four months ago: for some things in life you just have to commit.)

You have to know that it is really raining in Milan. Not just showering, like in Gargnano, or in Venice, but raining. So that moving from metro to hotel, then from hotel to Santa Maria delle Grazie (where the Last Supper is displayed) is painful. We pause at a cafe to ease the mood. Even though we've spent two and a half comfortable hours on a train,  we both admit to being tired.





But, the coffee is good, the lemon cake is very good and watching others come in, order a shot of espresso, show dismay at an unfortunate soccer play (the TV with a game is on) -- is really good for the spirit.


 


We leave somewhat refreshed.

Viewing the Last Supper is certainly not a taxing activity. You wait (with 19 others) until it is your designated turn, you go inside, you look at it (in awe -- it really is magnificent) for fifteen minutes, you exit.

No photos of course, but here's a replica that will give you an idea in case you're not up on your Leonardo material.






Walking back to the hotel, we pass Pasticceria Marchesi. I had only by chance stumbled upon it last year on Easter weekend and now here I am again, looking at the dove cakes and the chocolate eggs a day before Easter.





We buy a wee handful of chocolates for our sweet guys back home.


Evening. I thought I touched the bottom rungs of the ladder of life just days ago and now here I am again thinking that perhaps staying in bed for the next 72 hours (or more) is not such a bad idea. But, things turn around. In life, they often do. A few good phone calls. A meeting with Diane in the lobby for one final truly Italian Aperol Spritz.





And a wonderful last meal together (at ZeroDue).











The rain has stopped. My playing of Chopin (something I have done incessantly since March 25) surely will soon stop. They say tomorrow, sunshine will stream through Europe and everyone will surely come out in joyous celebration. Easter. Don't forget about Easter.

And spring. And life and all that it entails.