Yesterday I tried to get everyone excited about the imminent first snow fall. "The weatherman on MPR said it's going to be 6-12 inches! We'll be snowed in - isn't that great?" Whether from true disbelief or denial, no one seemed as worked up about it as me.
Looking through the blinds in my basement bedroom window this morning, it appeared they were right. I couldn't make out a single flake. Shimmying out from under the covers, I stepped into the living room to get a better look. I peered through our half-buried egress windows. Snow. Everywhere. Falling in big, wet clumps and clinging to the trees and signs like a fat hoarfrost. The middle schooler I used to be smiled wide and rushed back into the bedroom to tackle a still-sleepy Nathan. "I TOLD you so! Hah! It's snowing for real, and I think it's going to pile up pretty big. You better get out here so you can get a good look!"
There are many types of snow days, but one of my favorites is the college snowday. Your dorm sidewalk is impassable, no way to go to the library or the study lounge in the science building. Might as well snuggle up in your sweats, heat up some Mac 'n Cheese and start watching an "I love the 80s" marathon on VH1.
Today is my own sort of college snow day. We hopped the bus to the University of Minnesota's East Bank, passing traffic accidents and stuck vehicles along the way. Watching the flurries pass by my window, I marveled at how excited this first snow fall had me. Visions of bread making, movie watching and winter hand crafts danced in my head, and the guilt of staying indoors melted away despite the temperature. Just days ago, I'd been taking my morning walk in 50 degree warmth and mourning the coming cold, but once it arrived I remembered many of the reasons to love this season. The decadence of winter blankets on the couch, cups of cocoa and steaming bowls of stew, knitting and sewing, baking and decorating. In many ways, winter is a season of creation as much as spring.
Arriving on campus, we descended from the bus and wound through the hallways of the electrical engineering building, taking the back way to a mechanical engineering computer lab. Now with just the soft clicking on keys for company, I pour cup after cup of tea from a thermos while I watch the snow swirling outside and relish the feeling of the running pants I'm wearing. Maybe I'll crack open my new library book, or finish my embroidery project. More likely I'll just watch the world go by for a bit, soaking up these last weeks in a city I never knew I could love until I gave it a try.
In December, we'll be packing all our stuff and moving to Jackson, Minn., where Nathan got an engineering job with a farm machinery manufacturer. It's going to be new and exciting, and probably fun since the two of us are involved. Like Johnny Cash said, "Yeah, I'm goin' to Jackson,
Look out Jackson town."
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Jackson
Last Thursday: I'm Sitting on a bench near a bend in the Des Moines River as a stranger strolls past on his morning route and says "Hello! How are you today?" Surprised by him breaking my bubble, I give my usual "Good!" But instead of the way I often gloss over whatever's nagging at me, I realized that I really meant "good."
I had a coffee in my hand and the river laid out before me, a silvery pipe cleaner twisted in curves. I've always loved water. It's such a mystery, its simple beauty belying a science project of atoms and elements. And I love the way it can stop my momentum, pulling me in to gaze at its fluid acrobatics. The way the Des Moines rolled, like a liquid slinky falling over itself into each crest and trough, hypnotized me.
Funny how this seated reverie seemed to be more than enough when I usually spend my days chasing after some proof of my own usefulness, whether that's money or praise or a stack of clean dishes. When I lie down in bed at night, my motionless state is at odds with the spinning in my head, plans of how I can finish all of my "to do" list, live up to everyone's expectations, make life make sense. But I won't, and I can't and it doesn't (all things you're never supposed to admit). And as I stared at the water and tried to think of nothing at all, I found myself okay with existing for a little bit outside of what I might do to be productive and perfect.
Though the water was fairly green, its movement scattered shots of sunlight, glittering like precious metal. I was delighted at how it could be so full of sediment and be at the same time so brilliant. Deciding to sit just one more minute before putting my feet back on the path, I decided I could live in Jackson this way, taking morning walks by the river with an occasional latte. At least in summer.
For now I'll continue to strive and fail and work and hold my breath for those moments when I can let myself sit still. Just the same, I enjoyed this stop on my journey, a chance to reflect on the abundant beauty in a morning spent so richly on nothing at all.
I had a coffee in my hand and the river laid out before me, a silvery pipe cleaner twisted in curves. I've always loved water. It's such a mystery, its simple beauty belying a science project of atoms and elements. And I love the way it can stop my momentum, pulling me in to gaze at its fluid acrobatics. The way the Des Moines rolled, like a liquid slinky falling over itself into each crest and trough, hypnotized me.
Funny how this seated reverie seemed to be more than enough when I usually spend my days chasing after some proof of my own usefulness, whether that's money or praise or a stack of clean dishes. When I lie down in bed at night, my motionless state is at odds with the spinning in my head, plans of how I can finish all of my "to do" list, live up to everyone's expectations, make life make sense. But I won't, and I can't and it doesn't (all things you're never supposed to admit). And as I stared at the water and tried to think of nothing at all, I found myself okay with existing for a little bit outside of what I might do to be productive and perfect.
Though the water was fairly green, its movement scattered shots of sunlight, glittering like precious metal. I was delighted at how it could be so full of sediment and be at the same time so brilliant. Deciding to sit just one more minute before putting my feet back on the path, I decided I could live in Jackson this way, taking morning walks by the river with an occasional latte. At least in summer.
For now I'll continue to strive and fail and work and hold my breath for those moments when I can let myself sit still. Just the same, I enjoyed this stop on my journey, a chance to reflect on the abundant beauty in a morning spent so richly on nothing at all.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Betty Would Not Appreciate These Place Settings
I collect Betty Crocker coookbooks. Not anything past 1969, but the old ones with recipes for things I probably wouldn't even eat. I just like to pick them up and read the notes on etiquette and place settings, to peruse the menus she has all made up for you and the substitutions you could use in a pinch. Something about the order and thrift speaks to the very heart of me.
I spend enough time with the recipes that I've taken to talking about Betty in conversation. For me, she's a good friend who is annoyingly adept at something I love but have never managed to master. Even as I look to her for advice I roll my eyes at some of the things she'll do in the name of hostessing.
I thought of Betty today as I cut paper towels in half for napkins and paired mismatched flatware with a rag-tag collection of plates and glasses. She would not look kindly on my using such an assortment of shapes and colors. But it was all neatly placed, with room for Nathan and five other AGCO interns to eat tacos.
I have off work this week, so I jumped in the car with Nathan Monday afternoon and now here I am. I was a little nervous to make lunch for all these people I didn't know, but let's be honest, I didn't have much else going on. Yesterday I went so far as to look up the theme songs from some of my favorite childhood cartoons.
Sleeping in was first on my list this morning, and only sort of by accident. Peeling open my eyelids at 9:30, I realized I should be making Janel's ice cream bar desert right about now if I wanted it to firm up like it should. After jumping out of bed, everything came naturally. I was cleaning up breakfast dishes, then dicing tomatoes, then realizing that Betty would have died of mortification if her bathroom looked like mine when a guest walked in.
Sinking in to the rhythm of every childhood Saturday morning, I wiped the sink clean, replacing each item as I passed my rag over its place on the counter. I scrubbed the faucet until it shone silver again and finished up by giving the toilet a good dusting. It felt so good to take something dirty and make it clean, so straightforward and simple.
I proceeded to finish setting up my taco buffet, placing all the napkins and silverware on the table and unwrapping the hamburger. Noticing that I had neglected myself, I jumped in the shower with half an hour to spare. I even straightened the sections of my hair and brushed on a dusting of makeup. Wouldn't want to make my husband's coworkers think he married someone who sleeps all day and never showers!
The hamburger was slow in browning, and I got a little nervous that it wouldn't be perfectly done when they arrived. I babysat it, constantly turning over the browned parts to keep it heating evenly as I added taco seasoning. And as a truck pulled in the drive carrying the much-awaited lunch party, I looked down to see that I was still wearing my work shirt. Hustling to put on a nice black tank top, I slid in to the kitchen just as they walked in the door. I hope I made you proud, Betty. Despite the place settings.
I spend enough time with the recipes that I've taken to talking about Betty in conversation. For me, she's a good friend who is annoyingly adept at something I love but have never managed to master. Even as I look to her for advice I roll my eyes at some of the things she'll do in the name of hostessing.
I thought of Betty today as I cut paper towels in half for napkins and paired mismatched flatware with a rag-tag collection of plates and glasses. She would not look kindly on my using such an assortment of shapes and colors. But it was all neatly placed, with room for Nathan and five other AGCO interns to eat tacos.
I have off work this week, so I jumped in the car with Nathan Monday afternoon and now here I am. I was a little nervous to make lunch for all these people I didn't know, but let's be honest, I didn't have much else going on. Yesterday I went so far as to look up the theme songs from some of my favorite childhood cartoons.
Sleeping in was first on my list this morning, and only sort of by accident. Peeling open my eyelids at 9:30, I realized I should be making Janel's ice cream bar desert right about now if I wanted it to firm up like it should. After jumping out of bed, everything came naturally. I was cleaning up breakfast dishes, then dicing tomatoes, then realizing that Betty would have died of mortification if her bathroom looked like mine when a guest walked in.
Sinking in to the rhythm of every childhood Saturday morning, I wiped the sink clean, replacing each item as I passed my rag over its place on the counter. I scrubbed the faucet until it shone silver again and finished up by giving the toilet a good dusting. It felt so good to take something dirty and make it clean, so straightforward and simple.
I proceeded to finish setting up my taco buffet, placing all the napkins and silverware on the table and unwrapping the hamburger. Noticing that I had neglected myself, I jumped in the shower with half an hour to spare. I even straightened the sections of my hair and brushed on a dusting of makeup. Wouldn't want to make my husband's coworkers think he married someone who sleeps all day and never showers!
The hamburger was slow in browning, and I got a little nervous that it wouldn't be perfectly done when they arrived. I babysat it, constantly turning over the browned parts to keep it heating evenly as I added taco seasoning. And as a truck pulled in the drive carrying the much-awaited lunch party, I looked down to see that I was still wearing my work shirt. Hustling to put on a nice black tank top, I slid in to the kitchen just as they walked in the door. I hope I made you proud, Betty. Despite the place settings.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Good to the last drop
How is it that I can wait one entire month to post the details from our last day on honeymoon, but I can't hold out long enough to avoid burning myself on my coffee/pizza/cheesy potatoes?
Truth be told, I had two Spotted Cows our last evening in Ephraim, and thus was not in any shape to write a blog. But I came back to finish because it was entirely my favorite day.
It was our last full day of vacation, and I woke up a little pessimistic. It's the same feeling I frequently have on Sunday evenings, where it's hard to make any effort because I know tomorrow will just be life as usual again.
Anyhow, I made a deal with myself that I wouldn't think about anything past supper and thus wouldn't think about the long drive home or the many chores waiting on our arrival.
It was our day to finally rent bikes and cruise around Peninsula State Park. After having failed to rent them the previous day on Washington Island - and getting picked up by the cops - there was no way we were going to walk today.
We checked in at Edge of Park and picked up what appeared to be bicycles made for Miss Daisy. They were suprisingly comfortable, and fast. Nathan proceeded to break all the rules by not riding single file, coasting down steep inclines with no breaks, taking shortcuts and buzzing my tires. This, I told him, is why we can't have kids yet.
The trail rambles through the huge park, coming close to the shore of Green Bay sometimes and then veering off again into the woods. It felt good to pedal hard up the hills and ride back down on momentum, to take in the lake views and do figure-eights in the empty boat parking. It felt like we were just two kids off on a big adventure.
Truth be told, I had two Spotted Cows our last evening in Ephraim, and thus was not in any shape to write a blog. But I came back to finish because it was entirely my favorite day.
It was our last full day of vacation, and I woke up a little pessimistic. It's the same feeling I frequently have on Sunday evenings, where it's hard to make any effort because I know tomorrow will just be life as usual again.
Anyhow, I made a deal with myself that I wouldn't think about anything past supper and thus wouldn't think about the long drive home or the many chores waiting on our arrival.
It was our day to finally rent bikes and cruise around Peninsula State Park. After having failed to rent them the previous day on Washington Island - and getting picked up by the cops - there was no way we were going to walk today.
We checked in at Edge of Park and picked up what appeared to be bicycles made for Miss Daisy. They were suprisingly comfortable, and fast. Nathan proceeded to break all the rules by not riding single file, coasting down steep inclines with no breaks, taking shortcuts and buzzing my tires. This, I told him, is why we can't have kids yet.
The trail rambles through the huge park, coming close to the shore of Green Bay sometimes and then veering off again into the woods. It felt good to pedal hard up the hills and ride back down on momentum, to take in the lake views and do figure-eights in the empty boat parking. It felt like we were just two kids off on a big adventure.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Which Pickup Lines Work Best?
Today, Nathan and I took a ferry to Washington Island, off the north end of the DC peninsula. As the woman was selling us ferry tickets, she gave us an appraising look and made sure to mention that the nearest town was three miles from the ferry dock. "You can take your car, or rent a bike or a moped," she said, looking at us a bit dubiously. "Yep! Sounds great," we replied.
Riding over Lake Michigan in the breezy early afternoon, I felt full of ambition and vigor. After all, I had just eaten the best breakfast in the nation. So, Nathan and I decided to hoof it to Schoolhouse Beach, a little over five miles from the ferry dock. I squeezed out globs of sunscreen from a travel-size tube and slathered on what I hoped was enough to ward off sunburn. Then we blissfully wandered our way along Main Road (past Town - that's really its name) and through spots of shade. But the spots of shade became more sparse, as did our water supply. Wilting a little, we trudged on, determined to make it to the end. That's when Tyler P. McGrane, Officer-In-Charge on the two-man Washington Island police force, took pity on us. Essentially, we were picked up by the police. But it was on friendly terms. He gave us a few history facts as he made quick work of the remaining distance and dropped us off at Schoolhouse Beach. I rushed to the water and waded in as far as my sundress would allow, sticking my arms in up to the elbows for the delicious feel of the cold water on my tired, sticky skin.
We couldn't stay long because we had to make it back by last ferry at 5 p.m. We filled up my water bottle and hit the road. A long stretch of shade at the beginning of our march gave us false hope. When that ran out, the sun beat down fiercely and quickly began to melt my resolve. I put my Holister "snuggy" (Nate's nickname) over my head to try to ward off the sunburn I knew was forming on my cheeks, despite my SPF makeup. A Jeep breezed past us, stopped, and turned. Two women pulled up and said we looked like we needed a lift. Picked up for the second time in two hours - how pitiful did we look, anyway? Breezing down the road in the roof-less Jeep was heaven, and our hostesses did double-time so we could make the next ferry at 3 o'clock. Arriving exhausted but grateful, we waved goodbye and promised to work hard at our budding marriage (we've managed to tell quite a few people we meet that we're honeymooning) as we trotted for the ferry.
We may have had the best breakfast in the nation, but that was hours ago and we just survived a grueling midday march in the sun. Time for "lupper." Al Johnson's Swedish Restaurant in Sister Bay was the last must-see on my eating list, and it was on the way back to Bay Breeze. As promised, spotted goats munched grass on the roof of the building, chewing nonchalantly as I pointed and exclaimed. The Swedish meatballs were good, but Nate's ravioli was better. Either way, our waitress wore traditional Swedish dress and spoke with a thick, but delightful, accent.
We lazed around the resort for a couple hours, trying to recharge our batteries after such a crazy day. Watching the sun set on the bay, the day felt pretty perfect. But the cherry on top - we sped over to Not Licked Yet just in time for a Brownie Sundae before they closed. Delish.
Riding over Lake Michigan in the breezy early afternoon, I felt full of ambition and vigor. After all, I had just eaten the best breakfast in the nation. So, Nathan and I decided to hoof it to Schoolhouse Beach, a little over five miles from the ferry dock. I squeezed out globs of sunscreen from a travel-size tube and slathered on what I hoped was enough to ward off sunburn. Then we blissfully wandered our way along Main Road (past Town - that's really its name) and through spots of shade. But the spots of shade became more sparse, as did our water supply. Wilting a little, we trudged on, determined to make it to the end. That's when Tyler P. McGrane, Officer-In-Charge on the two-man Washington Island police force, took pity on us. Essentially, we were picked up by the police. But it was on friendly terms. He gave us a few history facts as he made quick work of the remaining distance and dropped us off at Schoolhouse Beach. I rushed to the water and waded in as far as my sundress would allow, sticking my arms in up to the elbows for the delicious feel of the cold water on my tired, sticky skin.
We couldn't stay long because we had to make it back by last ferry at 5 p.m. We filled up my water bottle and hit the road. A long stretch of shade at the beginning of our march gave us false hope. When that ran out, the sun beat down fiercely and quickly began to melt my resolve. I put my Holister "snuggy" (Nate's nickname) over my head to try to ward off the sunburn I knew was forming on my cheeks, despite my SPF makeup. A Jeep breezed past us, stopped, and turned. Two women pulled up and said we looked like we needed a lift. Picked up for the second time in two hours - how pitiful did we look, anyway? Breezing down the road in the roof-less Jeep was heaven, and our hostesses did double-time so we could make the next ferry at 3 o'clock. Arriving exhausted but grateful, we waved goodbye and promised to work hard at our budding marriage (we've managed to tell quite a few people we meet that we're honeymooning) as we trotted for the ferry.
We may have had the best breakfast in the nation, but that was hours ago and we just survived a grueling midday march in the sun. Time for "lupper." Al Johnson's Swedish Restaurant in Sister Bay was the last must-see on my eating list, and it was on the way back to Bay Breeze. As promised, spotted goats munched grass on the roof of the building, chewing nonchalantly as I pointed and exclaimed. The Swedish meatballs were good, but Nate's ravioli was better. Either way, our waitress wore traditional Swedish dress and spoke with a thick, but delightful, accent.
We lazed around the resort for a couple hours, trying to recharge our batteries after such a crazy day. Watching the sun set on the bay, the day felt pretty perfect. But the cherry on top - we sped over to Not Licked Yet just in time for a Brownie Sundae before they closed. Delish.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Cherry, Cherry Baby
Today began with a rousing walk around the still sleepy village of Ephraim. After convincing the USPS representative that I wanted an entire sheet of postcard stamps, we wondered back to the Bay Breeze.
Being here before the tourist season is in full swing has been good and bad. The historical sights are mostly closed, and we have had a heck of a time trying to get a sailing charter around the county. There has been plenty of peace and quiet. Our organized activity for the day was taking the Door County Trolley around Peninsula State Park. That's how we learned that this cozy tourist destination has shortened its name from the original "Deaths' Door."
We also carried away a few bottles of cherry wine and some chocolate covered cherries. Wrapping up with cocktails and dinner overlooking the lake, Day 2 shaped up just fine.
Being here before the tourist season is in full swing has been good and bad. The historical sights are mostly closed, and we have had a heck of a time trying to get a sailing charter around the county. There has been plenty of peace and quiet. Our organized activity for the day was taking the Door County Trolley around Peninsula State Park. That's how we learned that this cozy tourist destination has shortened its name from the original "Deaths' Door."
We also carried away a few bottles of cherry wine and some chocolate covered cherries. Wrapping up with cocktails and dinner overlooking the lake, Day 2 shaped up just fine.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Navigating New (Life) Scenery
It's true what they say about your wedding day: It will go fast. And afterward you'll most likely want to get back in line behind the kid sticky with cotton candy and ride the roller coaster just once more. But of course, you can't. And that's good, because how would you ever convince yourself to get back in that corset and heels? Suffice it to say, the day was sublime. And my calves still ache from four hours of dancing. Bliss!
Today, we rolled into Door County, Wis., with the sun beating down and raising a steamy heat. Our home base this week is in Ephraim (ee-frum), which happens to be the last dry city in the county, so we broke up the ride by stopping at Grandma Tommy's for a case of beer. They had Spotted Cow - made in New Galerus - what luck! Finishing up some leftover pizza with our sticky legs hanging out the open car doors to catch the breeze, I marveled at my ability to always pack for the wrong sort of weather. I have just two pair of shorts.
With one more stop for tea and coffe, we arrived in Ephraim in early afternoon and hid out in the shade of our resort room for a few hours. When we emerged around five o'clock to walk to supper, the sun was waning and our stroll was pleasant. Our Door County Fish Boil at the Old Post Office was a spectacle. Earl the "boilmaster" asked for any special occasions, and we admitted to being newly married. At this point, we received a packet with several goodies including a 1950s guide to housewifery. After explaining the history of the boil, Earl threw a small coffee can of kerosene on the fire to boil over the water and finish off our Lake Michigan Whitefish. It flamed wildly before simmering down. The food was mild and sweet, and much too much. Our waiter was concerned about our cherry pie, chiefly because we claimed to not want it, and he wasn't satisfied until we agreed to walk home carrying it in little boxes. What adventures will tomorrow bring? Sailing, perhaps?
Today, we rolled into Door County, Wis., with the sun beating down and raising a steamy heat. Our home base this week is in Ephraim (ee-frum), which happens to be the last dry city in the county, so we broke up the ride by stopping at Grandma Tommy's for a case of beer. They had Spotted Cow - made in New Galerus - what luck! Finishing up some leftover pizza with our sticky legs hanging out the open car doors to catch the breeze, I marveled at my ability to always pack for the wrong sort of weather. I have just two pair of shorts.
With one more stop for tea and coffe, we arrived in Ephraim in early afternoon and hid out in the shade of our resort room for a few hours. When we emerged around five o'clock to walk to supper, the sun was waning and our stroll was pleasant. Our Door County Fish Boil at the Old Post Office was a spectacle. Earl the "boilmaster" asked for any special occasions, and we admitted to being newly married. At this point, we received a packet with several goodies including a 1950s guide to housewifery. After explaining the history of the boil, Earl threw a small coffee can of kerosene on the fire to boil over the water and finish off our Lake Michigan Whitefish. It flamed wildly before simmering down. The food was mild and sweet, and much too much. Our waiter was concerned about our cherry pie, chiefly because we claimed to not want it, and he wasn't satisfied until we agreed to walk home carrying it in little boxes. What adventures will tomorrow bring? Sailing, perhaps?
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