Good god, again. Still. Whatever. I'm done with snow. And snowing. And etc.
I did a lot of walking yesterday, both alone and together with Lala. We went down to the beach but weren't wearing our boots and it was pretty wet and sloppy so we didn't go to the water's edge. We went back to the Art Center because they've got a "glass gallery" (we civilians call that a greenhouse) with three giant monkey shapes made of moss hanging from vines and you can check out an art kit from the desk and then go in there and draw. It's obviously aimed toward children but I really wanted to do it and Lala went along. We had a blast. I did a lot better than I thought I would with the sketching pencil, colored pencils and eraser. Lala's picture is good too. Like I said, we enjoyed it. I asked at the desk in the hotel where we could get a good burger and the guy reminded me that just a few blocks south of here is the Charcoal Inn which is one of those places where your food comes wrapped in waxed paper, not on a plate, and it's all buttery and bad for you and delicious. We walked down there for supper, and were planning to walk back to the lake to watch the moon rise but it clouded up so no moonrise. So we sat in here and talked. It was good. And not windy and cold.
Did you ever eat a frozen orange? I put four oranges into the in-room fridge when I arrived. I ate 2 yesterday, they were damned cold. This morning's orange was frozen solid as a billiard ball. I sawed it in half, then quarters, then eighths--and it still wasn't thawed when I ate it twenty minutes later. Now that's FROZEN.
I didn't write last night, I was tired, so this is all you get today. I'll be packing up in a minute because I want to leave around 10 AM so I'm not racing around like a crazed weasel to get ready for the week. Talk to you tomorrow.
--Barbara
Over here in Room 112 at the Harbor Winds Hotel in Sheboygan. Hotel conjures up the image of a sort of swank place, at least in my mind, but the Harbor Winds isn't swank, it's regular. Nice, but regular. The room has 2 double beds, a desk, easy chair, TV on an armoire, a fridge, microwave, and coffee pot. Of course, a sink, tub, and toilet. I don't remember how we found this place, I'm sure it was Lala searching the 'net, but this is the only place we've stayed on our little end of winter run-aways and I love it. It's not too expensive, it's right on the riverwalk, has free internet and breakfast. It's also within walking distance of lots of places so we can park our cars when we arrive and walk wherever we want to go although yesterday we drove out to Kohler to see the Design Center and then we stopped at the JMKohler Art Center a few blocks from here. There were amazing things to see at both places; toilets galore as well as sinks and showers and bathtubs with a bit of history thrown in at the Design Center, and in the Art Center there was an exhibit of naive paintings, kinda Grandma Moses-ish by Ernest Hupeden whose art has only recently come to light and the piece-de-resistance as far as Lala and I are concerned was the Healing Machine of Emery Blagdon.
The Healing Machine was a revelation. Mr. Blagdon believed that the electricity in the Earth had healing properties so he gathered baling and copper wire, metal cans and lids, paint, cardboard, aluminum foil and minerals and created "pretties" that he gathered in a shed he called the Healing Machine. It's amazing and so intricate... there aren't words. In the description it said that his father tatted so that's the way he used the wires in lots of cases. It's amazing, you should see it. It'll be there until January 2014 so you have plenty of time.
March 23--Paul Gauguin, Two Women. Mother and daughter sit there still, expressionless. You can see that the mother shields her daughter. She's implacable, unmoved by the blandishments of the man. She holds her ground. The daughter is afraid. You see it in her eyes and the way she slides behind her mother. He lost this battle, I know he did.
I have a hard time writing from Paul Gauguin's works because I disapprove so strongly of him. No, I don't know he was naughty but if you look at the eyes of the women in his paintings you can see that they weren't at all enthusiastic about posing for him. Tsk, bad Paul G. Okay, I'm going to get dressed and take a walk before breakfast. Toodles.
--Barbara
I folded the basket of clean wash last night after supper so I'd have underpants to wear today and take along, then I bagged up 3 different flavors of tea and my hot water pot so I won't have to leave my room for tea, and I made sure that I had all my toiletries (plus some "I might need" items) in my dopp kit and packed it, then I put in some socks and shirts and a sweater in the bag. All that's left to pack (I think) are the sweats that I'm sitting in the middle of. I have my winter tennies/boots out so I won't forget them and I piled all my WIPs into a big bag so I'll have plenty of knitting. What else? Oh yeah, this laptop. Can't forget the laptop. I've got a notebook in case I feel like writing but I'm not going to be hard on myself if I don't. (I took some nice sunset pix yesterday from the Michaels parking lot and the $#%&* laptop won't see the SD card when I slot it in. Grrr) I'm planning to get my nails done on my way out of town. Naturally I broke one yesterday, plus they're getting a bit long and scraggly looking so I might as well, plus there's less chance I'll smudge one if I'm just driving for an hour afterwards. I want to grab some oranges to take along too. Ha, I act as though I'm going on safari. There are stores, all kinds of stores, in Sheboygan. There have to be, my brother and his family live there. (Ah, I rebooted the computer and now it sees the SD card. Whew.) They buy groceries, etc. I know they do. But I'll take oranges from home anyway, those I've already paid for and we've got extras. Remember when an orange in winter was a luxury? I do. We'd get one at Christmas sometimes and for years I put one in the kids' stockings. Maybe that's why I love them so much. Plus they taste good, like a little squirt of sunshine. Can't forget to pack my surge protector cord with all the chargers on it--camera, phone, iPod, and Kindle Fire. See? It's a good thing that I'm telling you all this. I'm remembering things.
I'm addicted to audiobooks. Is that bad? I rarely buy them, only from Audible and then only books I know I want to listen to again and again. I can't conscience paying fifteen bucks for a book I don't know if I'll like, that's what the library's for. They let you borrow books for free. Even talking ones, some on CDs and many online so you can just, zoop, download them onto your device (device sounds vaguely nasty, doesn't it?), and listen. I'd have a book stuck in my ears all the time if Durwood didn't expect me to talk to him every once in a while or at least respond when he talks to me. Marriage, it's really an every day thing, isn't it? *sigh* See, our marriage wasn't an every day thing for years and years, until about 6 years ago, really, when Durwood stopped going out of town. Oh, he'd call every night from the road and we'd talk about all sorts of things and then he'd be home on weekends and for about a week and a half per month, not all in a row. It worked for us, for both of us. I dread the day when I don't work anymore. What'll we do???? Probably stop talking altogether, we've both turned into such loners.
March 22--Baldassare Manara, Pyramis and Thisbe. They were creatures of habit. They sat in the same places, ate off the same plates, and wore the same clothes in the same order. "We need a change," Terese said, "we're boring." "We're not boring," said Peter, "we're settled." She shook her head. "We're settled all right. We're so deeply settled, we're in a rut. No, not a rut, a chasm, an abyss." She threw her hands up. "I'm tired of meatloaf on Monday and salmon on Tuesday." Peter looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "I bought plates that don't match at Goodwill." He wondered if he could eat off of different plates. She kept going. "I want to rearrange the furniture and sit in a different place at the table. I'm sick of the status quo." Peter sat stunned watching a bluejay throw peanuts off the feeder.
I had to look up the myth of Pyramis and Thisbe this morning. It's Romeo and Juliet in even olden-er days. Why didn't I remember that? I used to remember all sorts of things. Damned brain drain. (a few years ago when I muttered that I was having a senior moment over the radishes in the grocery an old lady beside me told me that I didn't get to have senior moments because I was too young and when I asked her what I got she put one fist on her hip and said, "bah-rain dah-rain" then she turned and pushed her cart away. guess she told me. sounded like my mother-in-law, God rest her soul) Okay, time to eat, shower, and flee. Adios!
--Barbara
How cold is it? Cold enough that I exchanged my overnighter suitcase for a bigger suitcase because the clothes that I need to take with me tomorrow for my weekend run-away are thicker and fluffier and take up a lot more room than spring-type clothes. We want to walk along the lakeshore so that means fleece pants (they're mostly windproof, more windproof than jeans, anyway) and layers of sweaters and shirts and shawls and scarves and extra hats and mittens and... well, you see what I mean. Can't forget the super thick socks. And boots, which don't get into the suitcase but need to go along too. I was thinking last night that it might be a good thing that I haven't taken my snowshoes out of the back of Beverly yet. Nooooo, Mother Nature wouldn't do that to us, would she? Now that I'm post-menopausal and edging even more fully into crone-hood, I'm thinking the old bat's probably just vindictive enough to do it... and laugh while she's at it. I suddenly had a mental image of myself all huddled in shawls and lap robe sitting in a rocking chair knitting. Eeesh. I'm not quite that old--yet. Although with all the crazy weather that's been screaming through my joints are aching like mad. I don't like it, not one bit.
Friend and yogi MH recommended that we find Johnston's Bakery in Sheboygan. She says they have the best hard rolls. We'll see. I might just have to buy some nice cheese at Field to Fork and get me some of those rolls so I can determine how really "best" they are. Naturally there will be a stop at the Victorian Chocolate Shoppe between the motel and Il Ritrovo/Field to Fork. It's only right. All that walking, along the river and the lakeshore and up the hill to the restaurant(s), a person needs chocolate to revive herself. And to stimulate the local economy. Yeah, that's right. I'm civic-minded like that. (Is it any wonder I have trouble losing weight? All I seem to think about is food. Tsk. Any clue how to change that? And if I figure it out I'll let you know.)
March 21--Leonardo da Vinci, The head of the Virgin in Three-Quarter View Facing Right. She looks so real, Marco thought, like I could reach up and put my fingers in her soft hair. The smile that teased her lips made his lips match hers, and he thought that no one had ever looked at him with that much love. He had never really liked Leonardo. He thought Leonardo was kind of overblown and given too much credit but then he saw an exhibit of models made from the artist's drawings. Leonardo's genius, made three-dimensional in wood, exploded through the room. There were flying machines and war machines. There were machines to move water and machines to measure things. Leonardo must have seldom been still, scribbling in a notebook to record the flood of ideas in his mind, and yet he drew the love on a mother's face with such care and delicacy. Still Marco didn't see why everyone made such a big deal of the Mona Lisa's smirk.
Thereby completes another notebook. One of these days I should count how many I've filled over the years. Maybe not, it'd probably make me cry or faint. Hey, I'm off to work soon so I'd better get out of these sweats. See youse tamarrah. You in particular, Lala. ONE DAY!
--Barbara
It's -6 degrees wind chill out there and blowing like a banshee, and it's been spring for a whole hour. Naturally they have to talk about how last year on March 20 it was 80 degrees--but nobody wants that, least of all the cherry growers up in Door County who lost nearly their whole crop last year because the March heat brought out the buds and then we had a frost which killed most of them. No one, not even the most shivery-est, wants that. We need cherries. Think of all the pies that didn't get made. And now they tout cherries and cherry juice as a whiz-bang arthritis preventer or at least it's supposed to make it hurt less so we need 'em. I hate wind like this. It weasels its way in through cracks you didn't know were there and seems to radiate the cold right through the walls and it makes all the joints that I've abused (and continue to abuse) ache like crazy. Brrr. I'm tired of being a human barometer too.
I got all the grocery shopping done yesterday and only had to call Durwood for clarification and consultation twice (once from each store). I got 3/4 lb. of fresh ginger (not on the official list) that I peeled and chopped and food processor-ed, then steeped in hot water and sugar and a little lime juice, then strained, so I can make my own ginger ale by mixing it 1 part ginger syrup to 2 parts club soda. DS made some with the recipe from the DIY cookbook we gave him for Christmas last year that he used to make Dark & Stormys (ginger ale, rum & lime juice) for the last Family Supper, and he shared the recipe with me. I suppose you could use it for tea too, or even cough syrup. Mom used to scour the liquor stores for ginger brandy which she used as a home cough remedy. She swore by it. I suppose now I can make my own, even if I don't have a cough. Hmmm.
I notice that neither of us has adjusted to the dreaded DST yet. The last couple nights supper has been very late (7:30-8 o'clock--it stays light too long all of a sudden) and I was making my ginger syrup at 9:30. Just leave the time alone. Please. (I know, I know, deaf ears, etc. plus somebody must like it or they wouldn't keep doing it.)
March 20--Auguste Renoir, Madame Georges Charpentier and Her Children. "Don't sit on the dog, Georgie. Mama said don't sit on the dog." Paulette was bossy. She spent most of her days telling George what not to do even though they had a perfectly good nanny. Nanny Maureen was the best nanny they'd ever had and she never let them forget it. Paulette was happy to remind George if he ever forgot. Sometimes George felt like he lived at the bottom of a pile of girls. Mama told him what to do. Nanny Maureen told him what to do. Paulette told him what to do. He was certain if Scamp the dog could talk she would tell him what to do too. He wished Papa was home more so that they could do man things like take walks and shoot. Maybe he'd even get to wear pants.
I'm wearing a wool shawl over my hoodie right now and I'm telling you that I might take it off when I shower but I'm putting it right back on to wear to work, and I'm wearing longies too. It's too damned cold and windy to be wearing just plain clothes. Brrr.
--Barbara
It's fierce out there today--again. We got at least 5" of wet heavy snow yesterday (I had to keep shoveling out the dive shop's front door) and then once it got dark (after 7 o'clock! the sole benefit of DST) the wind kicked in and has been howling ever since. I can guarantee that Durwood's not going out to the Pig to get whatever it is that he wants. Since I have a SCUBA tank that I need to drop off for service I'll volunteer to go. I'll get the laundry started and he can work on it while I'm gone. Teamwork! Hm, maybe I'll stop to get my nails done on the way home...
Three more days to live through (ahem, to survive is more like it) and then I get to drive off to Sheboygan to meet my friend Lala for a weekend escape. We've done this every winter for the last, oh, four or five and now I'm not sure either of us could make it without it. We'll take walks along the river and lakeshore, and this year we're going to see the history of the toilet at the Kohler Museum. Flush! Usually we park our cars and walk everywhere we want to go but since winter's keeping its grip on us so tight we're planning to drive the miles to Kohler where there's art and toilets to look at--for free. That's right, no entrance fee. That's my kind of attraction. I love me some free.
March 19--Johann Christian Schleip, Lyraflugel. The notes fell from the piano like crystal drops falling into a silver pool. Jean was a mediocre player at best but when she played on the instrument in the back of Schleip Music things were different. She felt the transformation as she walked back through the racks of dusty and yellowed sheet music, past the dull brass trumpets and trombones to the small needlepoint bench posed before the ancient instrument as if inviting her to play.
It's time to go sort the laundry and start the wash. I know it's time to do that when the chute's full and there was no way yesterday's socks were going anywhere when I pushed them through the chute flap. Nope, they stayed right there, stinking away, glowering at me. Time to wash clothes. And time for winter to relax its grip--we're 20 degrees below normal and I'm not even counting last year's 80 degree St. Paddy's Day and the 70 degree days around it. We were redoing the rental side and it was warm enough that we could have the air conditioner checked, and it has to be at least 70 to do that. I... I... I don't know what else to say so I'll go off and drag myself downstairs to play with the dirty clothes. Doesn't that sound fun? Not. See ya.
--Barbara
I did a lot of walking yesterday, both alone and together with Lala. We went down to the beach but weren't wearing our boots and it was pretty wet and sloppy so we didn't go to the water's edge. We went back to the Art Center because they've got a "glass gallery" (we civilians call that a greenhouse) with three giant monkey shapes made of moss hanging from vines and you can check out an art kit from the desk and then go in there and draw. It's obviously aimed toward children but I really wanted to do it and Lala went along. We had a blast. I did a lot better than I thought I would with the sketching pencil, colored pencils and eraser. Lala's picture is good too. Like I said, we enjoyed it. I asked at the desk in the hotel where we could get a good burger and the guy reminded me that just a few blocks south of here is the Charcoal Inn which is one of those places where your food comes wrapped in waxed paper, not on a plate, and it's all buttery and bad for you and delicious. We walked down there for supper, and were planning to walk back to the lake to watch the moon rise but it clouded up so no moonrise. So we sat in here and talked. It was good. And not windy and cold.
