Tuesday, December 21, 2010

I Didn't Know They Came From Eggs


Sometimes I have to side with the authorities when it comes to reporting grammar crimes, even though I have a record myself. This one was just asking to be reported!

Monday, August 2, 2010

Ambush

A few weekends ago a stranger rang the doorbell and I answered. It was a thirty-something white woman with a long braid down her back who, when I opened the door, looked me earnestly in the eye while clutching a construction paper-covered tin can with both hands, took a deep breath, and said "I'm an unemployed, funny mom who wrote a 15 second comedy song to the tune of O Holy Night. Would you like to hear it?"

I froze, trying to comprehend what was happening. She had a tin can...for money? She was knocking on doors, asking for money in a creative way? Wow...but now I was supposed to say "sure," politely listen, then pay her what I thought the song was worth? Or what I thought she should have? Or...I couldn't think what to do! I was so intensely uncomfortable that after a few seconds I finally managed to get out a "no thanks" and shut the door.

I've been second-guessing myself ever since, mostly about being a Scrooge.

Then last week there was another encounter with a different person. My adult daughter and I drove up to my house after dark, waiting for a pedestrian to continue walking past the opening of the driveway. Instead she waited as we pulled in, got out, then walked towards us. It was a young black woman in a stylish leather jacket, saying "Hi, I'm Amy, don't worry, I'm not a killer! I'm just wondering if you can loan me bus fare so I can meet my son! I feel really stupid asking, but I'm broke until payday and I could pay you back next week!"

"Um, we could just give you a ride there, I mean my husband and I could," I said, hesitantly...he was pulling up behind us in a second car.

"Well, no, I can take the bus," Amy said heartily. "I just need a few dollars for bus fare."

After a few minutes conversation including an offer of three dollars, Amy walked away with five dollars--"how about just an extra dollar or two for a pop."

I am sorry for anyone who feels they need to ask strangers for money, straight up or disguised in a ruse...but both of those times left me feeling like the loser, and I keep trying to figure out why.

Sunday, June 27, 2010

Parade of Chicken Homes

Terry is yearning to build a chicken coop and keep a few hens. I'm intrigued by the idea, too, but stymied by the problem of finding chicken-sitters when we leave town for a few days. It's a lot to ask of neighbors when it's fifteen degrees below zero or raining nonstop.

That might not be an issue if we lived in the Tenney-Lapham neighborhood, which held the Tour des (Chicken) Coops yesterday--a self-guided walking tour of family chicken-keeping operations in the heart of the city. Dozens of people, including us, took them up on the invitation on a hot, sunny June afternoon.

The gently eccentric mentality of Madison's near east side translated into glimpses past perimeters of deeply shaded sidewalks and shared driveways into hidden, miniature, complicated backyards, with murals painted on sheds, walkways dotted with blooms, creative landscaping with scavenged materials, and--of course--chicken coops tucked away in a corner, or featured as the focal point of the whole space.

We were delighted to find one man's tiny yard contained not only a spacious chicken coop, but an espaliered apple tree (bought from Shopko 15 years ago), and a beehive--with plenty of greenery and space shielding it all from view as well as containing paths of hay leading to other, undiscovered features and an iron bed installed for climbing plants.

Friday, June 11, 2010

Is this what it means to eat locally?

I've had strawberry shortcake for breakfast or dinner every day this week.


I made too much last Sunday because I didn't know who was and wasn't coming over: might be no one, could be six or seven more people. I picked two quarts of strawberries, marinating each in its own experiment of sugar quantity, sent Terry for extra whipping cream which I whipped with confectioner's sugar (because it tastes good and keeps the cream from becoming watery if it has to sit for a few days), and baked two whole wheat shortbreads.

Alas, one batch would have been enough. But I couldn't bear to throw out all that goodness. I love my own strawberry shortcake--I think it may be one of my top ten favorite things to eat--and I really did wait all year for it, especially with garden-grown berries.
So I decided to forget about the usual inescapable realities like calories, fat, sodium, protein, and fiber, and eat exactly what I wanted, not even skimping on the whipped cream. It was the high point of each day, but by last night (Thursday) I was glad to finish it and not have it again for a while.

The really weird thing is, I lost one pound. And I am not overweight, just your average physically active, menopausal baby boomer. I always wish a couple of pounds of squishiness would disappear from my middle, but it's not a high priority.

I think I know what both Barbara Kingsolver and Geneen Roth would say.




Sunday, June 6, 2010

Primal Picking

I once read that women tend to be more sensitive to variations of color than men are. It was theorized it's an evolutionary thing because over the past few thousand years women honed their skill at selecting the ripest, sweetest berries.

Hunter/gatherer theories about men and women resonate with me, and this one sprang to mind because I'm so blissfully happy when picking strawberries from my own patch. It's like searching for little brilliant red jewels hidden among the green leaves.

But I'm pretty sure the bliss factor crept up to consciousness level because of what's missing: I'm not swatting away at mosquitoes--in our yard the hatch is minimal. At least for now.

Monday, May 24, 2010

First Long Ride of the Year

There've been a couple of Thursday night Bombay Bicycle Club rides after work, about 25 miles or so, with the main point of the excursion socializing after touring the rural roads. I was tired at the end of those rides. But the one we took yesterday was what I consider the first long (50 miles) one of the season.

Terry and I had fun deciding on a route leaving directly from the house. We chose a published bike map that was round trip to Columbus, and decided to find a shortcut to keep it around 40 miles. The map showed Bristol Road cutting directly across the middle of the loop, so we turned off early onto it. But...what the map showed was different than what the road actually did, so we had some false starts and concentrated reckoning of where we were in relation to the sun when Bristol Road suddenly ended. (I cheated and used the GPS on my iPhone to double check.)

Meanwhile, we were delighted to come upon the Sassy Cow Creamery surrounded by pasture and fields, and were sorry we were too early to pay it a visit as customers.

By the time we figured out our shortcut and were counting down the last ten miles home on our odometers, the temperature had risen to the high eighties and we were running on fumes, depleted, both hungry and thirsty, and soaked with perspiration. But that didn't stop me from waving wildly from my bike on the River Road overpass as it crosses Interstate 90/04 to all the people trapped in cars below. I thought I was hearing appreciative honks from envious drivers above the roar of the stream of traffic down there, but then realized I was blocking impatient drivers behind me as I veered in and out from the side of the road with my waving.

When we got home, I couldn't get out of my wet clothes and wash off the greasy, bug-crusted sunscreen covering my face, arms and legs fast enough, and rushed into the shower. Terry was starving and shaky, and headed for the kitchen. When I emerged just a few minutes later, he was standing by the counter looking a little dazed. Wrappers from bread and cheese lay scattered, and the container that had held cut up watermelon was lying on its side. He was holding a bag of chips. "I guess I was hungry...that was about as far as I wanted to ride," he said, looking around.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Gig Posters

On the kiosk at Memorial Union:

Jedi Mind Tricks
Black Lips
'Pert Near Sandstone
The Clientele
Need to Breathe
The Catalog Babies
Trampled by Turtles
Field Music
Leslie and the Ly's
Umphreys McGee
Heatbox
The Kissers

Monday, March 15, 2010

CSA Decision

The people of Madison LOVE community supported agriculture (CSA) farms--all the booths at Monona Terrace yesterday were mobbed. True to my talent for getting involved in a trend at its peak, I was there as well, along with my husband and 79 year old dad, who farmed for a good many years.

We stood like rocks in a whitewater stream, trying to decide where to strike out for first. Luckily a volunteer came by with delicious samples of an asian-style coleslaw from the Madison Area Community Supported Agriculture Coalition cookbook. One taste and we shoved off to find the best farm to join so we could start picking up produce each week to make things just like that.

What a different type of farming the people there were doing compared to what my dad had done! The farmers we talked to were mostly people in their thirties or even twenties, thoroughly at ease discussing the nutritional value of the food they were growing, sustainable farming methods, and lifestyle choices. Besides farmers, they were sales people, promoters, educators, merchandisers, employers, distributors, and graphic designers.

Having struggled mightily to grow an array of vegetables in our garden, which is composed of dense clay soil, creeping charlie, and a favorite spot of deer, rabbits, groundhogs and Japanese beetles, I wanted to know about things like tractors and other mechanical help. I thought Dad would, too, especially since he spent a good bit of his retirement restoring John Deere tractors, but no. I followed him to hear the answers to his favorite question "Do you have working shares?"

We didn't make a decision on which CSA to join...I'm still sorting out pick-up locations and times, prices, and just what's in the weekly box. How lucky to have so many great places to choose from.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Deer Pasture

There's a deer herd living in our neighborhood. Last year there were four that ate the prettiest flowers in our yard, chomped on hostas in the middle of the night under our bedroom window, mowed down the raspberry canes, and jumped over the fence into our garden to annihilate the Swiss chard and lettuce.

They bedded down under our pine trees for the night and lounged around there in the dawn. Neighbors who are home during the day reported seeing them lying in front yards, and using the sidewalks and steps to travel from front to back of various houses.

This year we discovered the herd had grown to five, with a new little fawn. Scrooges that we are, we grumbled to see it. Last Saturday we came home and found two deer busily eating the safflower seeds out of a bird feeder, looking exactly like cattle. Grrrr! Terry stepped out the door, yelled, and they trotted a few yards away. Then we stood, stunned, as seven more deer emerged from the pine trees and surrounded them.

No wonder our back yard looks like a cow pasture, with trails and manure everywhere.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Byline Surprise

Last year my husband and I set a goal of skiing the American Birkebeiner race from Cable to Hayward in northern Wisconsin. That was pretty ambitious for a couple of novices: the race is 54 kilometers (that's nearly 32 miles!) for the classic course. But it was a really great way to stay motivated to get outside during the freezing, dark days of the winter months when we just didn't feel like it.

We managed to do it, and the experience was so powerful I wanted to capture in writing. I submitted my story this year to the American Birkebeiner Foundation web site to be included on its page of people's Birkie experiences. The editor said thanks, but we can't use it right now. I was a little disappointed but at least I'd written it.

Our plans were to ski again this year, which would have been this past weekend, but a family medical emergency came up and we couldn't do it. I clicked through the web site a couple of times this week to look up results and news stories, and consoled myself that next year I'd be there.

Yesterday my mother called and said "Did you write a story about the Birkebeiner?" A family friend who lives in the area had sent my parents a clipping from a newspaper which contained my story! Apparently the Birkebeiner people invite the local media to use stories they've received, and the Sawyer County Record took them up on it and published my story.

Not only am I thrilled to have it published, but in a way, I got to participate in the excitement of Birkie weekend even though I couldn't be there.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Valentine Skiing

Today was the best kind of Valentine: cross country skiing on a sunny day on perfectly groomed trails with Terry, my husband. Skiers around here are always talking about Lapham Peak as if it were a given that everyone goes there, but we never had.

No more of that. Its kettles, moraines and eskers have miles of wooded trails, perfect for Birkebeiner training, with climbs like Asthma Hill and Stairway to Heaven that leave you gasping for air and wondering if you're going to live to get to the top, and downhills like Big Slide that go on and on, making your quads beg for mercy--exactly what we were looking for with two weeks to go before heading up to Cable for Birkie weekend.

The morning sun was bright but low when we got there, and the long shadows of the trees weaving patterns across the snow on either side of the trail kept us smiling and congratulating ourselves on being outside in the woods on a beautiful winter day. Five deer leaped across the trail ahead of us, then stopped at the top of the slope to our left, looking down at us. They seemed magical, and maybe they were wondering if we were real, but a lot of people go to Lapham Peak...more likely they wondered if our presence meant there'd be anything to eat.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Human Bingo

We're playing Human Bingo at work this week. Last Tuesday C. and L. decided to try and do something about our feeble social culture--people don't seem to talk to each other much beyond the adjacent cubicle--and sent around an email asking who wanted to play. Out of 40-plus people in the building, 27 said sure.

To play, we each submitted three facts about ourselves to C. or L., who explained they'd pick one out for each person, put them in a bingo card, the players would go around and figure out who belonged to each little tidbit about a life by talking to people they wouldn't normally have reason to, and fill in the bingo squares by having the person sign their personal mini claim to notoriety.

I thought it was a great idea. I'm not an especially outgoing person, yet it's hard for me to be enthused about going to work if I don't have positive and fun relationships with the people there. But what to write about myself? The pressure was on to reveal to the world how I saw myself ! And yet...the fun of it would be to tell things people wouldn't normally know.

I decided on 1) I was born at midnight and the nurses asked my dad to pick the date of my birthday; 2) my high school graduating class had 47 people; and 3) I read about a book a week, sometimes more.

When the bingo cards were distributed yesterday, I saw C. and L. had kept in all three facts for each player. It was a revelation to read the incredibly rich collection of little pieces and insights of 27 lives! People had things like "Dad would be 100 this year if he were still alive;" I had breakfast with Charles Dickens' great great grandson;" "I got to meet Rick Springfield in the early '80s;" "I have perfect pitch, whether it's music, a vacuum, or an alarm clock;" "I have been to two professional bull riding championships in Vegas;" "I like sharks;" and, my favorite set: "I speak English yet no one understand what I am saying, I lived in six different states--seven if you count the state of denial, I was given a ticket once for 'headed in the wrong direction' and my mother agreed."

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Senior Fashion Show

I'm inspired to sew something fantastic because this weekend I saw the senior fashion show at the College of Design at the University of Minnesota. The portfolios of fourteen graduating seniors, including that of my daughter's friend, Amanda, were debuted on a runway at Rapson Hall by models with attitudes of pure couture.

Every imaginable kind of outfit was shown: exquisite tailoring with unexpected twists of color and cut, dresses of fluid yet geometric shapes, fantasy evening gowns with over the top ruffles and full skirts, elegant gowns of hand painted fabric, anime-inspired characters, an androgynous dress (worn by a guy, of course), and the inevitable Lady Gaga colors and shapes.

Amanda's designs used raw fibers carded, spun, dyed and knitted into basic pieces paired with simple sewn items.

I'm someone who can hardly figure out how to use a sleeve from one pattern for another to get exactly the look I want...it was extraordinary to see a collection of over 50 garments designed and sewn from people's inspiration, imaginations, and mastery of the craft.