reluctantly crouched at the starting line

Dear friends G and J,

OK.

FINE.

I will write haiku(s). Or maybe it's haiku(z). Awwww yeah. Badass Japanese poetry! Anyway. Where was I? Oh yes. I make no guarantees of quality, or of ever getting past day 3 before I have to start over again. But I will try.

Your pal,
-B

Haiku #1:

I do not think that
word/means what you think it means
My secret: Google

(post title: "Going the Distance", Cake)

good feeling, won't you stay with me...

To make up for the last looooooong blog post, here's a list post. Law of Averages, right? Somehow this means that all my posts are witty and concise, right? Right? uh...nevah mind.

So. Good and/or amusing things about today:

1. Completing W4D2 of Couch to 5K without wanting to die.
2. Completing strength training while wanting to die, but not actually dying.
3. Staying in touch w/friends even when they are not close geographically.
4. Driving past the Piggly Wiggly in Manitowoc and seeing....court jesters? (NB: Oh! Even cooler. Italian flag throwers!)
5. Buying strawberries! Scads of strawberries! I'm locavoracious!
6. Finding recipe for white cake with strawberry buttercream for Benjamin's birthday.
7. Finding out that Steve Stricker AND Tom Watson are doing well at the British Open.
8. Making fool out of self at gym by doing a cheer on the treadmill upon finding out #7 (nobody can tell what you are watching in the bank of TVs...)
9. Not minding one whit about #8.
10. Having two healthy, amusing, and usually well-behaved kids.
11. Handling the situation well when one said kid is NOT well behaved.
12. Pasta with basil/arugula/walnut pesto.
13. Pinot Grigio.
14. Steve's day off tomorrow.
15. Finding a pithy and summative way to end this list.....oh, darn.

Post title: "Good Feeling", Violent Femmes

saturday in the park, must've been the 4th of july

Just read a great post over at Ton-Fifty-ONE in which Gregg asks, "So where's the best place you've ever ooh-ed and aah-ed [over fireworks]?" What a great blog prompt, eh?

I used to be afraid of fireworks--at least, the big ones. The crazy, low to the ground, spinning and spraying fireworks that people would light off at home after the big, city-sponsored displays? No problem. Which, now that I know more about that whole "safety" thing, strikes me as a bit ironic. To my child-self, however, those big fireworks were scary--they came down so far in the sky. No matter how much my parents consoled and reassured me, I could not shake the fear that they would not come down to the ground and start us on fire.

Years later, when I in my early 20s and was no longer afraid of fireworks, that actually happened. Although there was no major damage, my friend's jeans had a hole burned in them, and our blanket was not so...salvageable. So, my inner child would like to say, "SEE? TOLD YOU SO!"

ahem. Oh, was there a question here? Right, best place for fireworks. You know, the most memorable fireworks-watching experiences don't have much at all to do with the actual displays...I'll write about the two that immediately came to mind.

2003, Blacksburg, Virginia. Steve had moved to Wisconsin that past April, while I remained in Virginia to finish my doctorate. While it was a pretty lonely time, I was fortunate in that I remained where our life had been for the past 5 years. My friends T, D, and C (if I write about them more, they shall be nicknamed, but for now, initials suffice) and I made plans to meet up for the fireworks. We sat on a hill near Blacksburg High school, and waited for dusk. Poor C, who is a musician as well as a scientist, was in agony listening to the not-so-melodic strains of a community orchestra as we waited. It was a perfect night in the Appalachian mountains--the hot July day faded into the embrace of a warm summer evening, the sky was clear, and we chatted about nothing and everything as we awaited the fireworks. Our conversation was peppered with silly asides and inside jokes that had been built over the past year or two, through the shared experiences of navigating our way to adulthood and simply trying to survive graduate school. As the fireworks burst across the sky, I remember feeling content. I was in a beautiful place that had become home, surrounded bycouples finding love for the first--or perhaps fifth-- time, happy families, and groups of friends much like mine. My friends...the ones who cared for me, who made sure I wasn't alone, who just understood me.

That was my last summer in Blacksburg, and I'd be lying if I didn't say I miss it every time I think about it. I can't tell you much about the fireworks, but there was something magical in that evening.

2009: Neenah, WI. When I'm not living 950 miles away from my hometown, my 4th of July is always spent in Neenah. The 4th is my grandfather's birthday (89th this year!), so the family tradition is that he hosts a cookout in celebration. His house is just one block from the park where they light off the city fireworks, so when I was very young, we would watch the fireworks from his driveway. Then, as I got old enough to walk with the crowds of people we went down to the park (SCARY) and watched them there (WHERE I WAS SCARED). The park itself (except for the tennis courts near the streets) is now closed to the public for safety concerns (SEE? Told you so...AGAIN!), so it's back to the driveway. When I was a teen, I often resented this intrusion on my other, oh-so-cool, holiday plans with friends, but of course now I cherish the tradition.

We arrived at Grandpa's mid-afternoon, where we--me, my parents,grandfather, aunts, and uncle--relaxed for a bit in. Well, some of us relaxed, and my dad got his exercise walking with Matthew as he rode his bicycle around the block....multiple times. Dinner was inside, where my grandfather had the television tuned to PBS and the Lawrence Welk show. I was transported back to Blacksburg, where one of those aforementioned inside jokes with C invoved the Lawrence Welk show, and I impressed my family by dropping a little LW science on them--Norma Zimmer IS the champagne lady, y'all. I know, it doesn't take much. After dinner, we returned outside to chat and wait for dusk...and my dad returned to his round-the-block circuit with Matthew.

There's not much to write here that will make for exciting reading. What did we do? Well, my mom and I sat on the front porch and caught up on local and neighborhood gossip while people-watching (My grandfather's house is prime people-watching on the 4th, as people park on his street and walk down near the park to get a seat as close to the action as allowed). My grandfather was regaled with a rousing rendition of "Happy Birthday", sung by neighbors as they wandered out of their cul-de-sac toward the park. Around 8:30, we arranged our seats onto the driveway and wondered if the fireworks would actually start on time this year. Some neighbors lit off small Roman candles as they waited. Matthew was pretty impressed with those, so the anticipation was building--what would he think of the real fireworks? Would he like them? Would the noise bother my sensitive 4-year-old? Or would he, as in years past, fall asleep before they even started?

When we heard the national anthem being sung from the park across the river, we knew it was time. First, there was a ground display, which we could not see. Then the first arcing light flew into the sky. A hush fell over the neighborhood....pause....hold your breath....and boom! Green and purple blossomed in all directions, and I heard a whisper-shout from Matthew's chair..."WOW!" The show seemed to go on and on this year, and the fireworks seemed somehow bigger, and closer, than they had been before.

After the finale....the rushed goodbyes:

"Happybirthdaythankyouforhavingus!"/"thankYOUforcoming!"/"loveyouhugkissbyebyenow!!!"

as we all rush to our cars, hoping to beat the mad traffic. This is followed by a bit of strategic planning on the part of Steve and myself, as the route home takes us *right* *past* the ONLY exit from Menasha's fireworks. We have been caught in that traffic and detour before, and it makes a longish trip home after a longish day...well, even longer. We decided that we would bypass Menasha entirely, and take a more northerly route home if necessary. As we headed out, we noticed a bit of luck--Menasha's fireworks were, for once, behind Neenah's. They were still going! Maybe we could make it! Regroup-and-restrategize:

"Ok, if they're still going once we hit Midway and 441, we'll take 10 back. If not, we'll have to take 441 north and go through Darboy."

"Ok, but hurry, I think the finale is starting....GREEN LIGHT! GO GO GO!"

(Yes, Steve and I get great amusement by injecting drama into mundane situations. We're a lot of fun. Really!)

Victory! We made it to the critical intersection just at the end of the finale (which was not what I had called the finale initially...all the fireworks seemed somewhat more this year), and laughed over our triumph.

The rest of the ride home was more relaxed...a sleeping baby, a guessing game of "Who's fireworks are those? ("Appleton? Darboy?" Nah, too far east. "Hilbert?" Maybe!). A small voice from the backseat "Mom, I'm tired of looking at fireworks...." and not 5 minutes later, a sleeping 4-year-old. At home, a comfortable bed, and a deep, grateful sleep. I'm grateful now, for the opportunity to write about these memories, because it brings to mind when I am at my happiest--surrounded by family. By family I was born into, by family I married into, or by family that I've lucked into through other circumstances--those friends that I can be my most ME around. That last family is dynamic, changing, and always, thankfully, growing. For that, I'm pretty darn lucky. "Wow...!!!" indeed.

(post title: "Saturday In the Park", Chicago. old skool yeah!)

we want the world, and we want it now

The Paradise Lounge is everything you could want in a dive bar. Dark wood paneling, wood bar with dark red vinyl seats, a "kitchen" which consists of a fryer and grill behind the bar, tattooed bartenders, diverse clientele, good music on the jukebox, and, as a bonus--good beer selection. Oh, and as a super awesome double-bonus--it's in the City of Madison, which means that yes, this dive bar is smoke-free. Oh yes, the dive bar experience without the smoke hangover.

How to get there? Simple. Walk past the yuppie-r bars/restaurants to Main, then past the old school steakhouse that still has red leather banquettes, past the local/cool gay bar, past the brothel (um, really), and duck into the door under the neon sign. That's what Steve, Stash, and I did after leaving the Great Dane that Thursday night. (Oh, Stash is my new nickname for R, because I do not really like using initials. Stash comes from 'stache, which obviously comes from moustache, which--well, now y'all probably get it if you're reading this).

The room is long and narrow, with the U-shaped bar taking up the center of the room. At front, near the door, some regulars were playing darts. The jukebox is also near the front of the bar area. In the back, others were playing pool and sitting at some rather rickety tables near the bathroom. A few others were scattered around the bar. We took our seats in the middle of the longest stretch of bar--strategically located near the taps. Now, I said the beer selection was good--what does that mean, for a dive bar? At some, it means you get a choice of Bud or Miller. At others, you might get that, and perhaps something like Sam Adams. And at others, you might even get one tap reserved for a local brew like Spotted Cow. At the 'Dise, you have those choices, sure. If you wish to drink your pint of Pabst, they've got you covered. Or, if the hipsters have ruined Pabst for you, you could do as our neighbor at the end of the bar, and alternate shots with a can of Hamm's. That's no problem. While I'm not at all above drinking a can of beer in the right place at the right time, our palates had already been attuned to "good" beer at the Great Dane. So I had a Guinness, which Steve and Stash (uh, are they starting to sound like a superhero or comedy duo yet?) each had Hopalicious, from the Madison-based Ale Asylum.

Almost perfect...but, no music? We used to come here, to the Paradise Lounge, when we lived in Madison, and there were a few songs that were must-plays. Steve went to put some music in, and soon enough the Ramones filled the bar. But...what's this? "KKK took my baby away?" The WRONG song! And what is this other, slow-ish song? Oh no. Steve told me that there were a few songs left to pick..and so off to the jukebox I went. I found a few gems...and then. Oh, he should know better than to leave me alone with music selections. You know I did it. Yes, I played Journey. I was a little worried about losing whatever cred I might have had with the somewhat younger, sorta punk/alternative crowd, but whatever. Journey was a must.

And that brings me to the best thing ever. Or at least, the best thing in an already awesome night. As "Don't Stop Believin'" started to play, Steve groaned, "oh, NO," while I dissolved into a fit of giggles and Stash smirked and drank his beer. Then Stash and I noticed something.

"Steve, look! They're....singing along! See...everyone loves Journey except you!"

"Yeah yeah, it's just those two girls over there."

"Nuh-uh, the dudes playing darts are singing too!"

And then...oh, and then. The super nice, kind of intimidatingly cool, tattooed bartender slid over to the taps to refill a pint, and....yes. Oh, yes. HE was singing along, too. He looked over at me and said, "Pretty soon we're going to have a full on bar sing-along, and we'll have to rename the bar American Idol or something!" And sure enough, most of the bar was singing, or nodding their heads in time to the song, or something. Except of course, Steve, who wasn't sure whether he should laugh or cry. All he knew is that any reaction he had at this point would include ordering another beer.

Seriously, it could not have been better had it been scripted. Even poor Steve had to admit that it was pretty awesome. We stayed a while longer, relaxing and chatting with each other, and then headed out into the warm, humid summer night to head back to the hotel. A summer rain began to fall just as we got back to the hotel--a summer rain which had turned into a full-on thunderstorm by the time we made it from the lobby to our room. Perfect timing, and a perfect evening.

It was good to feel completely at home and comfortable in one's skin. I don't know why the Paradise Lounge, of all places, has that effect on me. It's not a typical type of hang out for me (in fact, my former roommate that we saw at the Dane said, upon hearing of our plans, "The 'Dise? How do YOU know about THAT place?" I was kind of taken aback, but I get her surprise). I wouldn't go there regularly, even if I lived in Madison. And so, it's not a matter of fitting in--we were outsiders, in our polo shirts and khakis (the guys) and/or white shorts and turquoise top (me. but wouldn't it be awesome if it were the other way around?). But nobody cared. I guess...all I needed that night was good food, good drink, and most of all, good company who were able to "get" it, and get me. There it was...and it was so right.

(post subject lyric : "We want the airwaves", Ramones)

hey, hey, too cool to be forgotten

Last Thursday, I went to Madison with my lovely husband and my colleague, R, for a conference (well, R and I were at the conference. My husband was there to keep me company and do some sales calls in the area). The conference itself was a bit underwhelming, but Madison...ah, lovely Madison. I lived there for only a year, and that was kind of a disappointing year. We lived in a pretty sketchy neighborhood in a suburb, and I was adjusting to homesickness after having just left Virginia. I always kind of wish we had lived there when we had the work/financial stability we have now, so we could really take advantage of the city. Of course, we also now have two kids, so....

...but I digress. The point here is, while we were there, we did have time to cultivate some favorite places. Every time we visit, I am always at my happiest when I am downtown--whether it is in some favorite restaurant or just walking the streets surrounding the Capitol. This most recent visit, however, may have been the perfect visit. Some of it seems scripted. I am not sure I can put all of my memories into a true narrative, so I may just sketch out a few scenes here. Today's post will be Thursday, Part 1

--First of all, you know you have a great colleague when he turns to you after an interminable conference session full of administrative-ese, and says, "are we really going to the reception?", thus allowing you to form your escape plan...

...which of course is, "oh darn, we were going to go, but we have family here, and are having dinner with them. Not a complete lie, after all, Steve IS my family, and we had dinner with him (he is now R's "brotha from another motha", as well).

--Since it was a really warm evening, summer-cold beer sounded good to all of us. We decided rather quickly that we would eat dinner at the downtown location of the Great Dane, where we could enjoy one of my favorite beers, Crop Circle Wheat. Steve remembered that they have an outdoor seating area, so we requested that. The hostess said it would be about 25 minutes, which seemed like just enough time to have a drink in the bar.

Two minutes (!) later, we were in the outdoor garden, which is a walled area below street level, filled with greenery and decorative lighting. It reminded R of some places he had been out east, and it reminded me of a cafe I had spent time at in Hungary. Our waitress greeted us and immediately informed us that we could save $2 if we bought our beer in pitchers. Win! Our appetizers, dinners, and beer were great, but it's worth stating that we had some of the best service in a LONG time as well. One of the appetizers took a little longer than usual to arrive (the cook got slammed), and our server apologized AND bought our pitcher of beer--we did not expect that at all, especially since we had been enjoying the relaxed vibe of the evening.

The strangest thing that happened at the Dane was this: I glanced up at one point after we finished eating. Two women were walking toward a table in the back corner. "Is that...?" I though. "It couldn't be....well, one way to find out. NICOOOOOLE!"

The woman turned. Sure enough, it was our college roommate, who now lives outside Madison. The odds of seeing her in Madison, and especially seeing her at the Dane (I would not have pegged her as a brewpub person, and I am guessing she is not.), were, well, tiny.

--And so we sat, in the 80 degree weather, as the sun went down. Decompressing from a long afternoon and more so, a long year. It felt good--to sit with people that I can be 100% myself with, who are true friends to each other as well as important to me. It felt good--to be in a city I love, around people who are at the same time laid back and vibrant, full of life. It felt good--to be sitting in that garden, sated with good food and drink, talking about nothing in particular, and in no real hurry. I can't remember the last time I've done that...and damn, it felt good.

(coming up! Thursday, part 2--The 'DISE! OH YEAH. I WILL STOP SHOUTING NOW. or, uh, now.)

(post subject: 2 cool 2B 4gotten, Lucinda Williams)

the trick is to keep breathing

Hey, new blog layout! Like it? I don't...not yet. I am not so much a fan of the colors. But I needed something that didn't clash with my keen new header photo. That is the eponymous midwestern magnolia, in our front yard, still hanging on to a bloom or two despite the lateness of the year. That will probably end tomorrow, in the rain and wind, come to think of it.

So....I promised a post about finding life balance, right? Well. I have no secret...no epiphany here. I think that, if I achieve this at all, it will be through a series of fits and starts. All I've got are some moments that I know are right. The St. Paul trip was one of those. And this morning was another. This was scribbled on a notepad earlier today...

I awoke to two insistent children, and equally insistent work emails...and oh yes, the clamor of dishes needing to be done, carpets to be vacuumed, and so on. I could have put in a DVD and had two hours of work time....but I also awoke, as many of us did, to sunshine and 70 degree weather. So I spent my morning and early afternoon sitting on a blanket in my back yard, watching Matthew and Benjamin play, and being fully there as their mom. What moments felt right? Well...

--Matthew's excitement (ok, and to be honest, mine) at watching the first of the small planes fly overhead en route to the air show. This is my favorite weekend of the summer--the very first Manitowoc event we attended was the airshow in 2006. Ever since then, this signals summer to me. And also--very fast, loud planes are, well, cool. I suppose I am betraying some ecologist principals by saying that--oh, the pollution! The fossil fuel consumption!--but I can't help it. Later this evening, as one of the prop planes practices flips and loops, Matthew exclaimed, "I didn't know planes could do that!!" So cool.

--Benjamin finally overcoming his trepidation toward all things lawn/grass and taking off across the yard, giggling all the way.

--Matthew bringing me "something you want", in his words--dandelions and other assorted wildflowers.

--Matthew bringing me a pretend bowl of ice cream, from the ice cream store (a precursor to our actual trip to the ice cream store).

--Having a moment to read and laugh--and cry--along with Michael Perry's Coop.

Now, lest I appear to be attempting the blog version of a Rockwell painting, let me illustrate why things are always...interesting...around here. While Matthew was pretending to bring me ice cream, he informed me that "you must eat your food before you can have ice cream." Since we were in the realm of the imaginary, I barely even thought before murmuring "Of course I will, sweetheart," while engrossed in a particularly compelling chapter involving the perils of purchasing ones first feeder pigs. I was jolted back to the present by my son presenting me with a 1 lb bag of frozen, shredded, mozzerella.

"Matthew, what are you doing?"

"You said you'd eat your food before having ice cream!"

I am relieved to say, the mozzerella found its way back to the freezer...all 1 lb of it.

Later, the kids will nap, and I will tackle work and clean in anticipation of visiting friends old and new(er). For now, I will sit back, and enjoy being in the moment, remembering that Shirley Manson and co. were onto something...the trick, sometimes, is to keep breathing.

everybody wants to be special here

I have a blogging problem. As in, I keep wanting to update this blog, but I have issues finding the words to connect to my thoughts. It's a strange dichotomy--I read beautifully written blogs by friends, and I am inspired to write my own entry. But then, I think of those beautifully written blogs, and think that my blather certainly must bore my readers (all TWO of them, I swear) to tears. So! What to do?

I suppose the only way to get better at this is to do it, so...

note: I just dropped the cap of my thermos into my coffee mug. This is not an auspicious beginning.

...the title of this entry comes from "Here Comes a Regular", by the Replacements. (that's Replacements, y'all. You know who you are. Hee.). This line struck me particularly as I reflect on the end of the academic year, and all the angst--and joy--that came along with it. Of course, the line has a certain "duh" quality about it--everybody wants to be special everywhere, but I think that academia creates a certain special pressure cooker effect. It's not enough to be yourself, you must be a star! The misconception of the easy life of a professor is especially galling to those of us who are on the ground. Although we may only spend 12-15 hours or so in the classroom each week, we certainly find plenty of ways in which we spend our days. There's preparing for class--doing readings, updating lectures, finding new and innovative ways to present class material. There's the grading...oh, the never ending grading and feedback (and most of us give many assignments, and steer away from cookbook/multiple choice work, in the name of effective pedagogy). There are the meetings with students--an enjoyable part of the job, but time-consuming nonetheless. And then there are the parts of our job that have little to nothing to do with teaching: research, grant writing, programmatic development, outreach, recruiting, presenting at conferences, writing papers, and--oh yes, the committee work and meetings. How could I forget those? My point is that the nature of the job is such that no matter how many hours a week you work, there is always more to be done. It's very easy to get into the mindset that you are not, and never will be, doing enough. You must always do more, be better, be more special. While this has its good effects--most of us are deeply committed to our jobs, and many of us achieve things we didn't know were possible, it also takes a toll on mental, emotional, and yes, physical, health.

note: boy, I like the double-dash--don't I? Anyway--

The culture of academia feeds this pressure. While the tenure system gives security to those who have it, those of us who are not there yet, or who are not tenure track, have very little security. We are reviewed every year by multiple people. We are asked every week to do more--to support this new initiative, to serve on this ad hoc committee. And most of all, because we are all in the same situation, it is easy for this mindset--that there is never enough--to seem normal. It's easy to tell yourself that you're doing the right thing, and your colleague who actually seems to have a life is a slacker. Sometimes that is true, but it's easy to go overboard. It's easy to say "you shouldn't go to the gym today, you have grading to do." Or "you can't go home at 4:00, what would people think?" And so wellness falls by the wayside. (Forget the Freshman Fifteen, my fear is the Tenure Track Twenty!). Soon the internal tensions spill out into the world, and working relationships/friendships/family relations can become strained. This, I have learned, is no way to live.

So, by the end of the year, it's easy to become burned out, cynical. To ask oneself "why am I doing this?" And then a series of things happen....

...you get together for coffee or drinks with colleagues and realize that this job has allowed you to work with some of the best people you've ever known.

...you get an email from a student thanking you for everything you've done for him/her

...your student evaluations are fair, and even contain some gems ("you made me love science!" "we love you!")

...you travel with two students, two of your research mentees, who would not have had the opportunity to pursue research at a larger school. You see the joy and pure interest they have in their project. You see how the project allows you, and your students, to build community--not just with each other, but with colleagues from other schools, and with other cultures and communities.

...you see others working hard to provide access and opportunity to others, especially those who may be ignored by traditional educational systems

And when those things happen, you realize--that is why you do it. At least, that's how it works for me. I know that the next years are going to be fraught with worry, with tension, with uncertainty. I will strive to remain certain that there is a reason for me to do this, and that is what matters more than any line on my tenure dossier.

(next: how i learned to stop worrying and...ok that doesn't work. how i learned to achieve work/life balance. ok, that's not even true. how i AM LEARNING to achieve work/life balance. there. close enough).