Dane County Farmers Market on the Square 2010!

I dedicate this post to most of my friends at soccer tournaments today freezing their asses off in Iowa, Reddan and the like in blustery we-wish-it-was-50 degrees weather.  Just to let you know, I was freezing my ass off at the Farmer's Market.

It's too early in the season to get excited about a variety of local produce so this was foremost a reconnaisance mission once around the Capitol to get a line on the various vendors for the season.  I'm liking the organic hippies on the east side of the Capitol so far.

No matter what the growing season in Dane County, there are always those stalwart products that stock the market through all the seasons indoor and out... the maple syrup, the honeys, the jams and the liberal causes.

And the flowers, still a little too early to plant but very nice to consider for the coming weeks. To avoid the pitfall of bloggers at this time of year, I only post one picture of flowers.

Wish I had got my mouth watering for what I might cook starring these early starters: spinach, oyster mushrooms and green onions, potatoes.  But I just wasn't feeling it and as it was our stroll quickly became just a pleasant feast for the eyes and a search for baked goods to be eaten en route with our coffee.  No harm, no foul on family unity with Saturday's morning markets as we're usually well home before O or A are even out of bed.  Chip and I have grown to enjoy the benefits of early morning dating.

We settled on a bag of arugula, some hot-house tomatoes, a pussy willow and daffodil bouquet and fingerling potatoes.  We'll sort something out for dinner with that I think.  Maybe homemade pizza with some fresh arugula.

This little sweetie waited patiently for her adults as she contemplated the tulips.  

Everybody was in a good mood and making the best of the blustery morning, strangers occasionally reaching out to grab the tent legs as they precariously lifted with the wind gusts.  A very cooperative spirit in everyone.  Welcome back, outdoor Farmer's Market.  I'm awfully glad to see you.

Time to start buying produce locally again. Goodbye to my winter standbys....Chilean grapes, California lettuces, Central American blueberries.  Hello, local asparagus and morels, soon I hope.  For those, my mouth is already watering.

Times a wastin'!

I would love to blame all my procrastination of late, the non-bill paying, crap committee contributing, PTO ducking, friend avoiding lot of it, on my kids. Managing a family is a slippery slope of an excuse that one can trot out timelessly without pushback as an explanation for all manner of dropping the ball in other area's of life.  But in my case, my kids are rarely at the root of any problems I have with productivity.  I am like an anti-Tony Robbins, a professional time waster of the grandest magnitude who could write a book on how to live your BEST life doing the LEAST each precious day.

I'm also faced a little bit with the retiree’s conundrum of not having enough to do and loads of time to do it, inevitably just putting everything off until a string of tomorrows that never come.  My retired aunt told me she orders her stamps by mail now because she kept putting off her trips to the post office each week and kept running out of stamps.  If you want something done, ask a busy person.  Um, that isn’t me lately so probably don’t ask.  And it’s not to say that I couldn’t occupy my time more usefully.  But an epiphany in my closet over the weekend has me mulling.

A walk-in closet is almost too much for a girl from Narberth, PA.  Chip’s bourgeois upbringing prepared him for such luxury, but my half of the closet has been much like Fibber McGee’s for seven years and in my weekend revelation I realized it has been so without dire consequences to my sassy style or humanity as a whole.

There I stood surveying much like a detective might at a crime scene:

--a blonde wig in a bag from when I was Christine Cagney at a Halloween party four or five years ago (hey, where is my service revolver?)

--a teacup and saucer in a bag that even an otherwise oblivious Chip had to ask, “Why is there a teacup in the closet?”   I don’t know the answer to that question.

---a Christmas dog collar
-- an American Girl doll

--tiny green clogs

 

I debated making a run at it and an idea or more a philosophy kind of washed over me...nothing bad has or will ever come of my messy closet.  And with my mind blown and set free, life has seemed simpler.   I have since managed to find the notes for my meetings, pull together promised materials to a committee, make contact with friends, pay the bills and sign up for a shift at the PTO rummage sale.  Well, I'm totally lying about the last thing.  But I intend to call tomorrow.  

Let's not even talk about my jewelry box

Chicago without the kids

I asked a couple walking by to take our picture to prove that I was there-sometimes it's not obvious

When all else fails for a topic to flesh out a blog post, I can always go to the vault of near disastrous wipeouts.  Perhaps one could refer to the post last year where I almost wrapped myself around a pole while biking and carrying a coffee table.

I love the yin and yang of life that provides the extremes of experiences to keep one's ego in check.  A life full of travel and cultural experiences and advanced education tempered by experiences such as the not uncommon one today where I nearly flew backwards off the treadmill at five miles per hour completely to my surprise and the guy next to me's surprise seeing how close he came to being sideswiped and taken down as well...oh God, and the people behind me...thankfully I couldn't see their faces because I really don't want to know what it looked like from behind as I drifted left before crashing into the side of the treadmill.

And it's all Ellen Degeneres' fault as you can imagine.  Closed captioning is not a difficult task for me under most circumstances.  I do read as quickly as the next person, but it's a little tricky I came to find out today trying to read Ellen's rambling monologue at the start of her show.  In my struggle to stay with the shaggy dog story she was telling about rearranging her furniture, I had drifted slowly left and lost my place on the mat and faltered.  With a clank and a clunk and a yelp, I just barely managed to stay upright.   Eyes forward henceforth, that was the end of the Ellen show for me today.

Good Friday across a church pew

Architecture cruise

Just a few days ago, Chip and I took a quick trip to Chicago sin las bambinas (bad Spanish is my new thing I'm doing since I'm the only one in the family that doesn't know it and it really irritates the kids).   It is the first time we've left them alone to face all of my chores in addition to staying overnight alone.  A few friends made queries as to the time that the Hunter kegger might start.

Chip and I did live in that world a little bit when we were kids, but between strict athletic codes and the prying eyes of an overly social, inquiring and chatty neighborhood full of adults all up in your business, it truly wasn't and isn't a worry...this time anyway.  At least I think the vodka bottle is still full of vodka.  Maybe I should check that...

I'm moving here when I get my personal injury settlement money from Hupy and Abraham

So many happy families at the Art Institute during spring break and it just reminded me of the love and strength I draw from my own merry little band.  And the beauty of this trip was that whenever anyone started to cry or whine I could just walk away, so that was awesome.

Such commonly known and embraced images in American culture being enjoyed on so many different levels for so many different people.

Little girl whose mom had just told her she looked like the girl in the painting...which she did!

Two brothers sit patiently while their parents are nowhere to be found

A mom and her daughter share the audio

A grandmom and her granddaughter discuss Vincent's depressingly short life 

Sisters in agony while dad tries to take their picture.  

A painting in every mother's top ten I would imagine.  Certainly in mine.

A Chicago hot dog or as Chip calls it, a hotdog with salad

So, just some pictures to remind you and myself and my doll of a husband that Chicago is one of the best cities for adult entertainment.  Oh yeah baby...a museum, an architecture river cruise, a hip and trendy vegetarian restaurant, a bike ride along the lakeshore and a trip to Crate and Barrel.  My girls could not have been more delighted to stay home.

Green Zebra restaurant in Westtown.  When in Chicago you should go.

The Allerton, old school and central and recently renovated

Night before the iPad launch...the store was abuzz

Aqua, Lakeshore East, designed by female architect Jeanne Gang, her first skyscraper 

For the last time, Oprah does not live here.

Spring break

I wish there were blossoms in Madison but not yet

My friends and neighbors have all fled for warm climates, the traitorous lot.  Chip and Olivia will visit a few colleges in the next few days but Ally and I are hanging out at home without a plan, although the reality is she has a swinging social life and gets offers to do stuff last minute all the time so I think it just might be me hanging out without the plan.

Steve and Minnie 

I have had a few years to process and grieve the dissolution of the family spring break.  Unimaginable back in the Disney Princess Easter dresses era of our lives, my beloved book club made up of women a half step ahead of me in the parenting biz gave me all sorts of heads up about how life changes with teenagers.  They would report, not even complain, that their kids would barely get out of bed over spring break let alone get into a car or on a plane to do anything.  It seemed so distant in my future, but something said “pay attention to these crazy b*tches for in their wine fueled musings there lies great wisdom.”  From “accidentally” getting onto porn web sites to “forgetting” to call one's parents until well after 1am for a ride on a Saturday night to spending spring break like vampires, the book club lady predictions about life with good and normal teenagers have been resignedly accurate. And here we are. It’s been incredibly helpful foreseeing the future and I do my best to gently pay it forward to my friends a half step behind me.  They probably think I’m a crazy b*tch too…and that’s ok because I actually am.

Da Bruce

I predict Ally will be content this week to sleep in and sleep often, finish watching the last season of The O.C. on DVD and go to softball practice.  Liv and Chip will only be gone a few days and then she’ll be back and firmly entrenched in Farmville before finally cracking a textbook on Easter Sunday with her basket of chocolate in the bed with her.  And it’s all good because it’s all been foretold.  So good in fact that Chip and I are considering our options for late next week.  Teen slackerdom is a boring spectator sport after awhile and we kind of think a museum in Chicago might be more interesting.  I’m trying to rediscover free time for myself and how to make a plan.   I have lots of actual free time but I squander it mostly wandering and wondering where everyone is…. in parking lots, at the mall, the orthodontist’s office, etc.  Although honestly I’m going to require some deprogramming or a rebirthing or whatever that thing is that NASA does to the astronauts when they come back from space. 

Minnie the moocher

All I can post are pictures of very lazy pets that sort of exemplify our vibe over spring break.  Very chill. 

Standing at a crossroads

As Chip is my witness, there are a few things in life that I’m not naturally cut out to be, however desperately I wish them to be so.  An early riser is one and a runner is the other.  Never was a person more ill prepared structurally or emotionally for running.  My legs are short and my mind is weak.  Still, every few years I give it a try.  A call to action.  Being unemployed is no excuse for making the slow slide into stretch-waisted pants.

The row of treadmills at the YMCA overlooks a multitude of crossroads at the Beltline and Whitney Way and from my perch I watched hundreds of people moving about their day while I ran in place.  And no, that irony was not lost on me.  Above my head on a muted CNN, Obama stood at the ideological crossroads of history making health care legislation.

I have worked with many families over the years dealing with the lightning strike of an unexpected illness and the inevitable financial strain and drain that comes from mystery out-of-pocket expenses and repeated denials of hospitalization days, necessary equipment and treatments; all sorts of obscure and surprise exclusionary tactics used by insurance companies to reclaim profits on the backs of those too unwitting to question or fight back.  I’m so grateful for health care reform and hope next on the President’s agenda is creating a job for this mama.

As for the people who yell “faggot” at Barney Frank and make traitorous rallying cries against our country and our President while wrapping themselves in the flag, their poorly cloaked racist rhetoric will hopefully continue to alienate most people and remain irrelevant to a younger, browner and gayer voting bloc growing bigger every day.

a recycled picture that never gets old for me

Obama methodically signed the bill one stroke at a time, each letter made with a new pen held in his lefty-hooked grip and a little boy patiently waited for his pen, watching history being made too late to help his mom.  My iPod flipped over to Bruce Springsteen’s Radio Nowhere and I took one last look at the Beltline for signs of revolution or apocalypse.  Everything looked normal and I finished my run and walked outside into a new America.  Still chilly.

Everybody's Irish this week

Rarely in Madison is there a dilution in the sea of crowd Badger Red but I'm going to venture that one of those exceptions is the St. Patty's Day parade. I've been revealed as majorly Irish over the years after learning that more than a couple key Irish ancestors kept their Irish roots on the down low like many immigrants in the early 20th century.  "We sailed from England," was the party line of my maternal grandfather and his siblings.  Yeah, after sailing from Dublin to Liverpool first, they did not add.  And on my dad's side, the Irish Catholicness slid into WASPishness sometime mid-century with the second wave of kids in his family who attended Quaker schools and Presbyterian churches.  

After our trip to Ireland last year, Olivia and I are renewed in our Irish pride especially for an excuse to celebrate.  And although this parade is more of a family event and I never did find a street beer, we felt one with our people. Chip and Allison prefer to keep their Irish roots to themselves I guess.    

Here in 'Sconnie Nation, the Germans, Norwegians and Swedes block out the sun at all events from those of us born to smaller tribes.  Olivia and I stood tall among the crowd around the Capitol on this day. 

A beautiful mild day as it often is for this parade and the UW Marching band kicked it off in happy form.

These kids were wild with anticipation of the parade, more so than the kids around them and I wondered if culturally this was an exciting event for them (mom, that's racist) or if it was just the buzz from the green cotton candy they were eating before the parade.

Olivia and I were fondly reminded of her brief stint as an Irish dancer.  I wasn't sure of her commitment long term at the time so I never bought the expensive dress and accompanying wig.  We were left, however, with two valuable lifeskills from our time as an Irish dance family.  Liv can still do a reel and I can roll this bad boy hairstyle from scratch, learned in a mandatory hair rolling class for Liv's one and only feis, pronounced "fesh".  Wigs are for slackers.

I hate to even joke because families who have an Irish dancer do little else.  It's a rigorous and demanding sport for a kid and an unGodly time commitment.  Wasn't for us, the dabblers.  

It's not a parade without Elvis and there were actually two.  And a Patsy Cline.

Lady Forward yells for candy and beads.

The delight on this kid's face was pretty representative of the feeling at the parade.  Mostly just families having fun and very few drunks which I know is different from New Orleans, New York and Philadelphia.  Still, I could have used one green beer.

My Irish daughter proudly displayed her claddagh ring, positioned on the correct finger flipped in the correct direction to indicate she is on the market for a nice Irish guy.

Like I said, everybody's Irish this week.

Stilts a very big thing in Madison parades.    Stiltwalkers, to me, an overly exuberant and cultish group.

I think this guy is a real leprechaun.  Or is he like the guy in Philadelphia who looked so much like Benjamin Franklin that he could make a living all year long?  Can one be a leprechaun year round?  Is there a call for that?

So a weekend initially full of dashed expectations with a long awaited ski trip cancelled due to five days of rain.  Chip's weekend full of softball so I was relegated to making my own fun with daughters one at a time as it turned out.  Saturday in Milwaukee with Allison shopping and dining, Sunday with Olivia at the St. Patty's Day parade.  I'm not a lemonade out of lemons kind of girl....preferring to just suck on the lemons and make everyone around me miserable.  But this weekend I do believe we made it work in the end.