girl at large

Hospital Saga, Part 4. Gratitude Edition

It was a rough week, made rougher by interrupting a holiday. Though, honestly I didn’t mind the timing that much because my customers were also unavailable. That was one less thing I had to worry about. An empty inbox is very healing.

Also very healing are all the wonderful, thoughtful, courageous people in our lives. Thank you ——-

My rock of a sister-in-law who was unfazed by the dramatic change in plans, and cared for my kids for four days, keeping them full of Thanksgiving treats and distractions.

My other rock of a sister-in-law who always says insightful and compassionate things and keeps everyone up to date, even while juggling other family situations.

My dear friend who bought and delivered new flannel pajamas. I won’t call for a ride to the hospital, but I will text request a friend to buy me luxury lounge wear.

Mom. So many things, lots of phone calls and letting my boys sleep in her room. And loving them.

Dad. All the medical advice and empathy. I heard you talking to Paulie, you really delivered the steady presence he needed.

My Portland friend, who called me immediately at the hospital and said “WTF Cheese?” which is EXACTLY what I needed to hear at that moment.

My kind and generous next door neighbors who offered to spend time with the kids every few weeks so that if there’s an emergency they will feel comfortable with them. We hadn’t gotten around to arranging those visits yet, and look what happened! We will fast track that plan now.

My sister, who listened to probably waaaaay too much confusing medical stuff, when I was confused myself and also losing my words (medical brain fog), she is my best listener. A service that cannot be over valued.

The meal service delivery guy who quietly said “I’m praying for you” every time he put my tray down. 

My brother-in-law who just glides in and cares for the kids without ever a complaint or even a sigh. He’s our last minute guy, and always always happy to help. Also, very dapper. 

My deeply kind co-worker who takes on everything I send her when I’m dealing with this stuff, and best of all, she JUST DOES IT WITH NO QUESTIONS. 
 
My “It’s such a small-world” friend and neighbor who delivered yet another treat bag of PERFECTION. Only another harried mom would know to include juice boxes.

The Coven! (Can we let the name be known?). I’m tearing up right now. You made and delivered an entire white trash Thanksgiving meal, WITH FLOWERS AND NAPKINS (fancy white trash). Who knew my some of my closest friends were at school board meetings?

The doctor who didn’t laugh when I REQUESTED a Foley catheter. Don’t judge. Peeing in bed when you’re  hooked up to an IV and have a vaginal birth + menopausal bladder is goddamn heaven. They should make home versions.

And Stevie. Shhh, don’t tell anyone Stevie but I missed you the most.

Inauguration Hot Take

The monochromatic outfits we all loved have to be inspired by The Crown, don’t make fun of the Queen ever again.

Men need better dress up clothes. Get some interesting coats dudes.

Bernie is in front of me at the post office every time. Every event needs a mascot.

I didn’t know it was Gaga because I had on only audio at that moment, I thought it sounded weird. I am clearly not musical.

The whole of my creative life will not add up to one tenth the impact of one line of Amanda Gorman’s poem.

I was on the Ohio turnpike (excellent waysides!) when I heard the American Carnage speech; I’ll always remember the camaraderie with other carloads of women’s marchers headed to DC as we listened.

I was not ready to love Garth, but there it is, I do.

I really really want a hard copy of this week’s Scholastic.

The leadership of one person does make a difference. The integrity and dedication of a team of many competent people makes a difference.

We have a lot of work yet to do. 

Chemo In The Time of Covid

(This is my favorite photo of exhaustion.)

I’m in the infusion room right now and all the nurses are talking about the next phase decisions coming down from their organization leadership. So far I’ve overheard chat about—-surgery and electives are going to be stopping, procedures that might have been overnight admissions are now only proceeding if the patient can tolerate same day outpatient, they started another tier of hazard pay at +$30/hour, “But what difference does that make if you get quarantined and yeah you made all that extra money but you get back to regular when you’re off and you have all that hassle for your family and get sick yourself”

Etc, etc. It is very different chat than three weeks ago when my chemo nurse freaked me out sharing her unsafe Halloween party plans. Wisconsin is currently exploding; for weeks now we have been one of the six worst states for cases, geographical spread and hospitalizations. Tragically, the death rate will follow the same trend.

Even little things are affected by the recent surge and hospital overload; for example the hospital pharmacy is perpetually backed up. I’m on hour two waiting for my meds that were supposed to start at 10am. And of course Paulie couldn’t even be in the building this time. Previously he could at least be in the waiting area, and he could be in the room at the diagnostic appointments, but no more for any new patients now. Can you imagine getting your disease diagnosis and prognosis news alone?

I’m glad they instituted the changes for safety but for total patient care it fucking sucks. I really feel for anyone needing medical care during this time.

Stay vigilant everyone! I know we are fatigued; its exhausting to maintain a constant Threat Level Ten. Hopefully our new leadership will give us the scientific information, competent pandemic team, and compassionate & coherent speeches we all need to persevere and push through to better days, with more lives saved than lost.

In No One We Trust

I had a blind spot.

I wear a mask all day at work, we require our customers to do so too, and we control the entry to the store to keep capacity low. We only see my mom outdoors, and with masks on. We’ve cancelled every trip, even Elkhart Lake because the hotel didn’t have a mask policy for guests. We haven’t set foot in a store or a restaurant since March. Paulie is working from home indefinitely. Viv’s two-week day camp doesn’t allow contact with parents, requires masks when indoors (yes for the kids too), does temperature checks and screening. Viv’s regular summer daycare has the same tight procedures—no parents in the building, masks, no crossover with groups of kids, temperature checks and screening.

Charlie.

Charlies daycare, which we started back five weeks ago, just didn’t ramp up the way I expected. Their occupancy when we started was super low, and I saw masks on about half the parents. When I saw an unmasked parent, I just waited in the car to time my pick up or drop off after they exited. They had hand sanitizing stations, closed early for daily cleaning, and a list of covid protocols that included social distancing, no room crossing, etc.

But the two biggies—controlling entry in the building and masks. On those they seemed to drag their feet. I kept nudging; I asked, I wrote. When I sent a list of my concerns, especially compared to the two other centers we experienced doing it better, they only made the two smallest changes on my list. They buried their response to the mask question in a technical non-answer four paragraphs down. As the numbers continued to rise these last two weeks my gut said something isn’t right.

But my heart.

My heart just didn’t want it to be true. My heart kept saying:

We love Miss V. Charlie loves Miss V.

I want him to have that same experience in her room that Viv had.

We love Miss K and Miss C and Miss A. They know him, they care about him. They know his stubbornness and laugh at his silliness. And Miss S! Miss S who recorded story time EVERY DAY for weeks during shut down! 

He needs the interaction, he needs to see his playmates.

He’s so much better since he’s been back! Behavior, attitude, resiliency!

He’s so much happier and energetic.

He loves his playmates, he talks about them all the time and is so happy to see them every morning.

He needs the routine.

I don’t want to abandon my friends. My co-parents. (Daycare providers are our co-parents.)

 

I kept thinking, maybe just need more time to get it, they will see the writing on the wall with the numbers. Maybe they have good reasons, maybe I just don’t understand, maybe there’s something they know that I don’t? (about daycare regulations). These people take care of my family. They are part of my family structure. They are trusted. But, but...why is the director not wearing a mask? Why is the owner dodging my questions? 

The day that we finally said, nope, they have to adopt masks or we will pull him out, the day that we had finally decided was our deadline, was the literal day that they had a teacher test positive. One of Charlie’s teachers. 

As I communicated more these past two distressing days with other parents and teachers, it became clear that we were not alone in our concerns. And that we had been misled. They had not been truthful when I asked if other parents had concerns. It is clear they had no intention of ever adopting a mandatory mask policy. In fact, in the days just prior to the positive case, they had received an exception to the City of Milwaukee mask mandate that they had ACTIVELY APPLIED FOR. 

When we picked Charlie up, in total crisis mode, I asked the OWNER of the center, “Why no masks!?”

She replied “Well, we encourage masks”, as she handed me the Close Contact Exposure notice from the health department

”Will you make them mandatory now? Now that you HAVE A POSITIVE CASE? They reduce transmission!” I screamed, unable to contain my rage.

”Well, it depends what you read, not everyone believes...” Believes. That word.

This is the insidious danger. This woman, who controls the livelihoods of 20+ people, who had power over the well-being of 40+ families and children, doesn’t BELIEVE in masks.

And that failure to understand science, that failure to trust experts, that failure to see your community and employees and clients as worth taking extra precautions for, that failure to see your organization as part of the larger fabric of society has broken our lives.

And our hearts.

 

--------

(7/21 Update and Clarification: they applied for an exception to the City of Milwaukee mask mandate for children age 3. They complied with the City of Milwaukee ordinance for adults (staff, teachers, parents) to wear masks IN ONLY THEIR LOCATION THAT FELL UNDER THAT ORDINANCE. They did not apply that same protocol to their other locations, because, as they repeated in two emails and a phone call, our location's municipality did not have an ordinance). 

Timing Is Everything

(Delivery truck and crew by Viv, circa 2018)

Pro Tip: when supporting small and mid-sized businesses, keep to the services and products they have OFFERED. Don’t ask for more. Don’t ask for an exception. Don’t ask for shit Karen. 

The phased back to work plan can work, but only if we observe all the safety guidelines. The next phase can’t happen is the first phase fails.

Don’t assume everyone has the capabilities to meet those safety procedures right this minute. Just because they technically CAN do business doesn’t mean they are READY to do business.

Many businesses laid off and furloughed their staff.  Bringing staff back too soon is financially risky, and not the right decision for folks who make $50k or less. Many staff CAN’T come back because they have underlying health conditions or are caring for their own families. Or they don’t want to because they know their job functions are inherently risky or that their employer may not be capable of making their work environment safe. Or they may just not be ready to come back for WHATEVER DAMN REASON THEY HAVE THAT IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS ACTUALLY.

Businesses literally probably cannot physically do more than what they offered you. Be grateful.

The World on Fire

This has been one of the hardest weeks of my life. We say that and then something worse happens. I began this blog because of 9/11. 

This is worse. Worse personally because I have more to lose. Professionally because I have more responsibility. Emotionally because I also lost a friend to fucking murder last week. And for the world, because it involves the entire world. (Though the fallout of the wars after 9/11 would also qualify but who’s keeping track).

In trying to make sense of what we are facing with this virus, I’ve been overwhelmed by the scientific information, underwhelmed by the government response, and feel generally confused.

The post copied below really helped me today.

I was finally successful in quitting smoking years ago because I heard a radio snippet beautifully describing what is actually happening to your lungs during morning cough. The lungs sweepers are waking up and sweeping out the junk like seaweed in the waves and when you take that first delicious morning smoke, that puts them to sleep and they wilt and stop working and that is why the cough subsides.

This firebreak analogy speaks to me in the same powerful way:

——————————-

 

Hi Friends:  It has been a week since my last post.  If you understood it, you realize that the increasing numbers of people with Covid 19 in the US are what we would have expected.  We have had an escalation of interventions as a reaction to the numbers which might give us pause to think we are worse off.  This is not true.  If you shoot an arrow, it takes time to hit the target.  If you intervene in a pandemic, it takes 4 weeks to know if the intervention was successful. On March 9th, the cover of the New Yorker showed our president with a mask over his eyes. Since then, the arrows have been launched..  Let me provide an example of what is happening that I hope helps you understand our current situation.

 

Imagine a huge forest.  Lightening hits a tree, a fire starts and begins to grow.  Smoke is seen but no sky jumpers are sent in because the lookout person is probably exaggerating. (This is the point at which we could have confined the virus).   The fire grows out in all directions getting larger and larger.   It becomes impossible to ignore and the decision is made to create a firebreak.  The firebreak needs to encircle the entire fire. Measures are taken and creation of the firebreak is underway.  (Increased testing, social distancing, and closing public places) The bosses know the fire is increasing, and nothing can be done to save the trees between the firebreak and the flames.  (The current numbers we are seeing).  Will their intervention hold?  As the fire comes closer, the bosses question whether it is big enough to hold back the umrelenting inferno.  They evacuate houses on the non-fire side (Telling people at high risk to stay home and call for extra help.)  The bosses recognize that when the fire hits the firebreak, sparks will fall all over the forest and they will need to be aggressive in trying to put them out.(Without testing, the sparks are landing and we do not know where to start stomping them out.)  If there are too many new fires started, the firebreak only slows things down but still allows time for more help to arrive in the form of more weapons (Testing, drugs(Remdesivir is going into a large study) and vaccines) or rain (Summertime and the realization that the vast majority of trees will withstand the fire, i.e. big Minnesota pines survive and then release pine cones only after heat! )

 

Our fire, Covid 19, is a nasty bug that first emerged in an outdoor open marketplace in Wuhan, China in early December.  The person who contracted the virus unfortunately got on a subway in a metropolis of 11 million people. The virus was officially recognized when 41 people came down with pneumonia 27 of whom had been in this same market and 14 from other parts of the city.  On Jan 1, China informed the World Health Organization (WHO) and closed the market. CV 19 then spread from Wuhan to a cruise ship, to a megachurch in South Korea and to a mosque in Iran. The germ loves crowds and hitching rides on asymptomatic people. Italy went from 3 dead to 3000 in one month. 

 

In three weeks or so, we should be able to see if our current actions, our firebreak (Social distancing and school closings etc.) have helped.   Nothing has happened this week in the U.S. that was unexpected with regard to the number of people infected. All of these infections are the result of our past inaction.

 

So, what to do? Try to ignore the daily heat being generated in the media.  Limit your TV watching of news and social media because it is designed to increase anxiety. There is a lot of nonsense, too.  NPR is calm and does a nice summary.  (Yesterday’s newscast ended with a performance by Yo Yo Mah, the famed cellist.  ‘Songs of Comfort’ provides a way to use the arts as a positive resource in times of crisis). If you are restricted to a home quarantine, stay put along with anyone who lives with you. (My suggestion.)  Interestingly, we are in a phase where the absolute risk of an individual contracting Covid 19 in the next three weeks is low. (The fire is small compared to the forest).  The reason we have built a firewall is to eliminate the possibility of a person with Covid 19 from passing it on to others.  If restricted to home… learn from the cloistered nuns.  Set up a daily schedule of routines. For example,  I no longer have a swimming pool to go to, so I started Yoga. Joan is learning the Ukulele.  Bake bread.  The Washington Post reminds us that Isaac Newton had to leave the university in 1665 because of a plague.  He went to a farm to think.  It was during this time that he began his work in calculus, theories on gravity and light. Thinking and research at home may lead to something.  Have your uninfected neighbors help you by bringing supplies to your doorstep when they go out.  (Work out a neighborhood system).

 

The average incubation period for Covid 19 is about six days, and the main symptoms last on average six days.  Then recovery. The average time to hospitalization from onset of symptoms is about six days and marked with shortness of breath and fever. If you have symptoms of “flu” at this stage in the epidemic, you probably do have the flu, and not Covid 19. It would be nice to have testing available to find out and we will soon.  The recognized cases will rise as we do more testing and stop missing mild cases.  the death rate is the number to watch regarding progress.  Four weeks from now, we will see if we have slowed this thing down. It will be brutal for awhile.   It is hard watching a maelstrom rushing toward you hoping the firebreak will hold. We live with anxiety or faith.  Personally, I do believe I hear planes coming with lots of fire retardants!

 

If you want to imagine killing the nasty virus, imagine doing this experiment.  Fill a sink with water.  Pour some cooking oil over the water’s surface.  Then add one drop of liquid soap.  Instantly, the oil’s film will disappear.  Just like a virus membrane!  That is what soap does to this virus.  Wash your hands frequently and always for 20 seconds to get that soap in all the little crevices.   In the end, there is no doubt, Covid 19, the fire, will end, and we will move on. We will be funding NIH and CDC a lot more! I hope these thoughts provide additional context for whatever you are experiencing and help with your understanding.  (John Bachman Facebook 3/19/20)

Unlearning Society

I honest to god was shocked when I found out intersex “correction” surgeries on newborn babies are still happening. I thought that doctors would use some other more modern scientific method to determine gender. Of course at the time I ignorantly assumed gender was always in some way physical (chromosomes?). I know better now.

I learned that these surgeries were still happening during a casual discussion of all the various ways gender occurs naturally and how far we’ve progressed in understanding. Or so I thought.

As my physician father said, “It’s not a medical problem, it’s a society problem”.

Ok boomer, you’re right on this one. :)

(I’m referencing this article:https://www.cnn.com/2020/01/10/us/intersex-surgeries-gothere/index.html)

 

 

 

Sounds About Right

 (photo cred Vivi)

Me: “You said ‘Aldi’s’ little while ago, now there’s an Aldi ad in my feed. I’ve never had an Aldi ad before.”

Mom: “So what?”

Me: “It’s listening, I swear the devices are listening”

Mom: “What? Ooh, that’s spooky....”

Also Mom: holds up iPad, “SEX!”

On Rage

It's been a tough week. After yet another well-meaning person displayed lack of insight on the subject of Kavanaugh's impending appointment to the Supreme Court, I'm exhausted. Three times I said "or, it could just be enough that he assaulted someone". Three times, and still the return comment was "yeah, but also he's a drunk, and he lied, and...". Yes. I get it, all those things are also true. But why wave your hand and shoo away the sexual assault? Why is that not enough? And why, as I stand here saying to your face, very clearly, that it SHOULD be enough, can you not stop and hear me? Hear me, as a woman, as a person who is affected, who has experienced this, and take it in. Listen.

Every time you say "Aside from the  sexual assault allegations, he's also unqualified because xyz"...What you're saying is that credible sexual assault allegations aren't enough to disqualify someone from a position of power and influence. And I can't hear that shit anymore. CREDIBLE SEXUAL ASSAULT ALLEGATIONS ARE ENOUGH TO DISQUALIFY ANYONE FROM A JOB. When will we be heard? Every single time someone says "Why didn't they say anything?", this is the perfect example. BECAUSE IT DOESN'T MATTER. ALSO WE DID SAY SOMETHING AND YOU DISMISSED IT IN THIS AND A HUNDRED OTHER WAYS. Well-meaning men have been doing this kind of thing all week, and even my favorite well-meaning male allies can just eat it right now on that. Thank you and that is all.

It Takes A Village

I got called out this week for suggesting that the monarch butterflies that survived, survived because of my care. Nope, they did not. I had, in fact, very little to do with it. For the record:

Our neighbor friend gave us a chrysalis earlier this summer, from her butterfly garden. We watched it hatch and released a huge female monarch, very exciting. I thanked the friend, and mentioned that I planned to plant milkweed so we could maybe have some monarchs of our own next year.

Sure enough, a few days later she dropped off a milkweed plant for us to have! It was in a temporary pot, so I plunked it on the shelf and mentally scheduled its planting for “later, after I do all the other things like getting the toddler to stop yelling ERNIEBERT ERNIEBERT ERNIEBERT at the top of his lungs”).

I was working at my sunroom desk one day, when a huge fuzzy caterpillar suddenly appeared on my keyboard and scooted his way across my work. What the?! Turns out the plant had eggs, and now a few warm interior weeks later, we have four caterpillars!

I put the plant outside, complete with it’s four new tenants and called Mom. I had no idea what to do, or frankly if there was anything required to do except put them outside. I’m a naturalist. I naturally think all living things belong outside, you know, with the nature. Don’t they figure it out themselves?

Turns out, there’s more to it. In order to get caterpillars from fuzzy worm to chrysalis to butterfly in large numbers, they need some protection. The next day, when I got home from work, I saw that Mom had brought over a monarch box and put the caterpillars and milkweed stems inside their new safe little habitat. Mom MADE the monarch box, with the monarch group at the senior center because you know, she’s lived here half as long as me but knows everyone and does everything and is the queen of the village. 

All is good. Until the hungry little buggers eat all the leaves, stripping the milkweed to nothing but stalks. Mom knew this would happen and had already rallied the troops. Her darling friend Julie brought over some of her own milkweed leaves, taking the time to deliver them to mom before she went to her own family outing (!). 

Cool, crisis averted. So in the evening, I put the box up on the table on the porch to better view the creatures and see when they attach themselves to the top and start their metamorphosis. And I go to bed, and to work and to bed and to work again and think nothing of it.

Mom scolds me after she moves the box from the exposed table top to the floor, and puts a plastic cover on the top to protect it and its delicate inhabitants from the howling storm and three days of rain. Oops.

Now safely sheltered, they do their acrobatic cocooning thing, and dangle for another ten days in the corner. We count only three chrysalis, the fourth probably lost to the weather. As Viv nonchalantly said “it’s probably dead”. 

Fortunately for us, the monarchs appeared over Labor Day weekend, so we could enjoy the sight as they unfolded their glorious wings. And during the only bit of sunshine we’d had all weekend, even better.

So, there’s the whole story. I take no credit for the successful hatching of these monarch butterflies. As I said, it’s a miracle they survived me. 

What a lucky bunch of bugs we are.

Fuck Whales, Save Context

This topic of this article is really important. I’m only beginning to understand.

https://www.vox.com/2018/8/3/17644704/sarah-jeong-new-york-times-tweets-backlash-racism

Fuck whales, save context. This article and others I’ve read related to the story (with a variety of views) of Sarah Jeong and others makes me hope that I learn fast enough how to educate my kids on context, internet literacy, consent, research, and critical thinking. Also, art critique skills could be useful, it’s the same questions: Who is the audience? What is the intent? How successfully was it executed? How else could it be interpreted? 

The internet is scary. It’s also amazing. It’s all the things, and it’s embedded in my life.

I’ve been blogging since 2002 and posting photos of my babies and life on Facebook since 2009. Two things have given me pause lately. One, I sent a link of an old 2012 blog post to a friend and I noticed that in the post before it I had used the word “ghetto” in the title. That made me cringe. I was tempted even to change or delete it. But I didn’t; a reminder that language and understanding changes, that I learn and grow is a good thing.

Second, I was recently enjoying a fluff story trail of “Where Are They Now?” about memes and I noticed a majority of the images were of young people or children who are now—zip—adults. First, wow that was fast, kids grow up in seconds. And second, crap, what would Viv think at age 13 of some of the photos and captions out there of her at age three? Do I have a right to do that? Does she have a right to privacy before junior high?

Oh god, she’s going to have to go to junior high. Delete delete delete

The Sun Shines On Us All

At the beach this evening, resting my sore feet in the cool sand, I could see this scene to my right and to my left. Families, friends, kids, grandparents, daters and skaters and aunties and babies. On the walk down the bluff, I heard three languages. I spotted interracial couples and families, more than one hijab, differently abled folks, seniors, lgbtq folks, and even a lone hold out cigarette smoker. Clumps of families in every conceivable configuration dotted the beach. Hand holders, shouters and strollers shared the boardwalk. 

When the world seems upside down, when the newsfeed is unbearable, when the political divisions feel like looming civil war, remind me to go to the beach. To the beach where everyone is bonded,  where the array of humanity is beautifully broad, where everyone is there to capture the same thing—good selfie light.

A Seat At The Table

Each article, each radio interview, every profile featuring women running for office, women winning elections, women leading boards, and women leadership in general right now is stoking my rage. Why? Because the popular angle is “women are good for business”, “women do things differently so they are better” and all that lean in crap. Even if the studies aren’t flawed, even if the premise isn’t condescending, why the fuck should it matter?

Why do we need to prove our worth? Our capabilities? Our profitability? Why must we apologize for taking our seat at the table? Why do I need to convince you that my female presence is not only harmless, but beneficial to you? What if it isn’t beneficial? What if women are just as fallible and human as men? What if we get greedy, can be corrupt, can be inept, can be wrong; do we then get expelled?

Women are half the population, women are human beings, women are engines of the economy, makers of humans. WOMEN EXIST. That is reason enough to demand representation at every level in the government that rules us, the institutions that affect us and the corporations that profit from our labor.

Period. Ditto everyone that isn’t a straight white man. 

America's Seedy Underbelly is Your Neighbor Larry

(bumper sticker says ‘I choose the obnoxious prick over the corrupt bitch’)

Really? Who raised you? If you're daring enough to put this out there (there was also a huge Trump banner inside the garage, right next to a Jesus poster), I give you credit for speaking your mind. Also, you're evil. And not Christian.

I enjoy proof of well-to-do Trumpers; the "poor white men" narrative has always irked me because I KNOW there were just as many silent Republicans in those upper tax brackets who put him in office.

I love America. Trumpers don't own patriotism, or family values, or loving America. We spent the week driving its highways and byways, like any good country song. Everywhere we went there were faces and voices of every stripe and persuasion, for the most part all friendly. Traveling with family may bring out the worst in you inside the minivan, but out at the pumps, we are all alright. And trapped in a snowstorm in the quickimart, we are all one.

Be better to each other. Especially you, "Christian" a-hole.

 

Posted with Blogsy

All The Little Things

 

When I wore my favorite dress on my birthday and forgot that the fourth grade teacher did "birthday spankings". He made me crawl through the "spank machine" of my classmates legs as they paddled my bottom, at the end of the tunnel he put me on his lap, lifted my dress and spanked my bottom.

 

When the gym teacher asked if I could "run with those things".

When my freshman (high school) roommate came over to my bed while I was sleeping, woke me up and made me pretend to give her finger a blow job in front of her gaggle of friends to humiliate me.

Every single time someone said "but you have such a pretty face".

When the doctor, during my very first pelvic exam, slapped my thigh and said "What are we going to do about these saddle bags?"

When the school president asked "Which one is the smart one and which one is the pretty one?"

The time the guy started to go anal without asking.

The time the guy creeped his hand over to caress my thigh while his other hand was holding the hand of his girlfriend on my couch.

The time the two male business partners started talking about a female vendor: "How could someone that good looking smell so bad" as we waited for the meeting to begin. When the next party arrived, who was male and not their employee, they stopped talking.

The time a grown man pinned a sixteen year old me against the pole on a crowded train car and rubbed himself against my backside until he was yelled at and ran off at the next stop.

Every single time someone assumed that fat is an insulator from assault and a barrier to love.

 

Posted with Blogsy

Fall Back

Viv was born five years ago, or just yesterday, depending on how much sleep you've gotten. My emotions have been heavy these past weeks, heavier each passing week as the daylight dwindles. Fall does a number on my body clock, disrupting my sleep, which then in turn chips away at my emotional fortitude. In a typical year this is a speed bump, easily countered with walks and a sun lamp. This year, I am crushed.

Viv's birthday party was so important to me; not just because we only do "big celebrations" on the 5's and 0's, but because this has just been such a crap year. A big failure at work kept me away from the kids both physically and emotionally for six months of the past year; the regret is hitting hard now. At the time, I was just heads down to power through it. Now that it's over, I look back and am newly overwhelmed with regret for agreeing to something that in my gut I knew was wrong for me. But the fear of losing my work, losing clients, losing status during such a vulnerable time overpowered me. (Anyone who experienced the financial disaster, got laid off, foreclosed, or has been on maternity leave knows this fear well). We have a long way to go in understanding how to support parents returning to work in our culture, including inside our own heads.

I think maybe, it could be possible, there's a chance...I was trying to make up for a perceived lack of attention with a big to-do for her 5th birthday. I spent a lot of time arranging and fussing and worrying about it being good enough. As luck would have it, she had an amazing time putting on each and every pair of the ten pack of Sesame Street socks that her Aunt Peg gave her. Because she's five. And it's her birthday, and why not?

As I work to build my own family, I am navigating emotions that are really the lingering shadows of emotions I had years ago. When Viv started kindergarten, I was completely blindsided; just being in a school building (and interacting with administrators) brought a wave of unexpected negative feelings. Everyone claims to have had a hard time in school, do we really have to experience it twice?

And that's just my own, small internal world; let's dive into the emotional exhaustion that is the rest of the world and all it's suffering. I am struggling to fully live the lovely moments that are my happy family life, the completely normal, mundane interactions with coworkers and customers and shop keepers and neighbors that keep happening despite the staccato reports of disaster, chaos, injury, violence, terror, and death of innocents.

How can I enjoy the innocence of these soft and curious creatures in my house without the intrusive thoughts of the random misery inflicted on others? Others so like me. And us. And this house of coffee and cartoons on Sunday morning.

Forgive me for crying. Where the fuck is the sun?

 

Posted with Blogsy

The ACLU People Power (their first grassroots organization) launch yesterday covered a lot of ground. First and most importantly, I became a member. Second, the subject that most resonated with me was the framing of the Affordable Care Act (Obamacare) as an anti-discrimination law. It abolished discrimination in healthcare based on GENDER. It abolished discrimination based on HEALTH STATUS (pre-existing conditions including pregnancy). It mandated birth control coverage, ensuring the medical needs of women are treated the same under the law. Dismantling the ACA is an act of discrimination. Dismantling it defunds Planned Parenthood, a service needed by women. It dramatically reduces and CAPS Medicaid funding, which disproportionally and discriminatorily affects Americans with disabilities. Viewing it this way has me fired up to fight the GOPs discriminatory, regressive agenda with refreshed conviction!

New World on Order

I can order any item I want---from baby formula to a winter coat, and it arrives at my door the next day. I can read hundreds of magazines, newspapers and journals (enjoying Science!); all of them are now literally at my finger tips. The world enters my home, my work, my life. I can listen to any radio program, when I want, where I want. On demand, it's all on demand. We are takers.

A week ago today Mom and I were on the Washington Mall, in a sea of pink pussy hats. It felt wonderful to be relaxed, not on guard, not defensive. Everywhere I looked, every eye I caught, every whoop and wave was affirming. "I'm not crazy, I'm not overreacting, this situation truly isn't normal." And most profoundly: "I am not alone."

We are not alone. The world is in our handbags, but we are not in the world. The world is a big, beautiful, messy, human place. I want to be a part of it. America, be a part of it.

 

Posted with Blogsy

This has always hurt. Just not so noticeably.

4th of July 1982, Pioneer Village, Nebraska

I have had my feet in two worlds for large parts of my life. Growing up in a smallish town on the edge of an industrially polluted lake where my classmates were not expected nor encouraged to go to college, I was the (obnoxious) Doctors Kid. My big-city mother struggled in the suffocating small town, my father thrived in what to him was a sprawling village of opportunity. In private boarding school I was disgusted by the classmates who used their parents high-end drugs and their own teenage cruelty to ostracize me. I found friendship among the townies. But not all the townies, just the arties and gays and other misfits would have me. I found people I liked, and who liked me, and I found my own way. Along the way, I took snippets of interesting things from my urban, artistic, democratic family on the one hand, and my rural, veteran, republican family on the other. I am intensely proud of the diversity of thought in my own background and the interesting, varied and often hilarious people who created it. 

I have said often that having that dichotomy kept things balanced and gave me a buffet of characteristics to choose from to form my own identity. Work ethic + art + bookishness + community + creativity + travel + solitude + Patsy Cline= my own perfect mix. 

When I left the Midwest, I promised myself that I would live in the South, Europe and the East and West Coasts. (I didn't make it to NYC, but there's still time). Every four or five years I would pick up and start over in a new place, with new social norms and new people. It enriched me. I fueled me. Each place I've lived gave me a new view of America, and I found something to love in each one. 

The pain in my heart on Wednesday was fueled by the knowledge that people I know and love, people I admire and adore, voted for Trump. I know they are not all racist. They are not all cruel. They are my people too. They deserved so much better. They have been used. They can't possibly think this is ok, can they? Did I every really know them? Does their hate extend to me? And yes, a vote for Trump is a vote for hate. At best it is a vote for an erratic, foul mouthed buffoon you wouldn't invite to the American Legion fish fry, at worst it is a vote for a fear-mongering, race-baiting fascist.(I could go on about my pain as a woman, but it's all been said).

Those people are not all rural either, it's not that simple. They are not all "out there in the sticks". Just last week, on trick-or-treat night, I ran to my corner Walgreens (I live on the corner of White + Liberal) for more candy. In the recently-raided aisle, I was scrounging for the last bags of chocolate when the woman next to me said "Ran out?" I said "Yes, they came in droves!". To which she replied: "Don't get more for those Over-The-Rivers!".

Black children. That's what she meant. N word is what she meant. I scooped up every bag on the shelf and walked away. I was speechless, and in that moment felt stunned. Every kid who came up my step that night got handfuls and handfuls of candy. All night I fumed at that ignorant, mean-hearted woman. But I thought she was a one-off, an outlier. An anomaly.

The problem with Wednesday was just that -- it was day. And all the secret hate, the quiet bigotry, was out in the light.. And it was all around us. It WAS us. 

I can't cover it all here, I hardly know what I'm talking about, there are more knowledgeable voices than mine already saying everything. I have always written. Of the moments in my life both mundane and profound, I have written. My diaries date back to Reagan, I have every letter Grandma ever sent me. I write because I have to, like a habit. I write about this because, because...oh, I don't even know. All I know is that, like America, I am full of contradictions. I am striving to be better, I fail often, and I want a good world for my loved ones.

I know one thing---we are worthy of better.

Regret

 

 

I didn't know he was in Milwaukee. Every year or so for the last ten years, I have googled him but nothing ever came up except the similiarly named professional football player. We had left on tough terms, and I was glad to have the distance both physically and emotionally, but I always wished him well. And I always thought that after some time, and some getting well, we'd be back in touch. We would cross paths, he would pick up the phone, I would reply to the last email. But time went on, and life went on and I was busy and he was not to be found. The last we saw each other was in France, the last communication I was in Portland and he was in Madison. His lack of online presence was not surprising, but it was always a disappointment to find nothing.

Yesterday, in a moment of bored googling, (we've all done it), I put his name in once again. To my shock, it was there. He died two weeks ago. In Milwaukee.

I'm sorry Ryan. I'm sorry I didn't reach out; that I didn't try harder to find you. You were a good friend to me many times when I really needed one. I hope you knew that when I pushed you out it was for your benefit. It was because I loved you and I knew that wasn't enough. I knew I couldn't help you enough and that I was a crutch that harmed you more than helped.

I had always held out hope that the day would come when you were well, and I was independent and we could laugh together again (sarcastically and with lovely obscure cinematic references).

If I had known we had both moved to Milwaukee, I would like to believe I would have called you, that I would have met your wife and bought your art and celebrated your happy life with you. I would have liked to freaked you out with a dirty diaper or two. I would have liked to have seen you well.

I didn't know you were here all the time. I didn't know.

 

Posted with Blogsy

Jun 15, 2013

Fathers Day part 1 going great! I surprised him with a drop off at the cousins for drinks with his boys and friends --without wife and baby. Stay out late Paulie! Live a little! And let me enjoy the whole bed to myself a little longer.

Part 2 tomorrow---sex and pancakes and auto cross. Not necessarily in that order.

Thank you.

Geraldine Ferraro

It never occurred to me that I couldn't do or be anything I wanted because I was a girl. Because I'm unmotivated or incompetent, yes, but never because of my girl-ness. And that was in part because Ms. Ferraro was on the ticket when I was 12 years old.

I distinctly recall thinking "What is the big deal?" In one way, that is wonderfully typical for my generation--many of us don't see the big deal about sex, race, sexual orientation, etc. But let us not forget that it was so different not so long ago, and that for many of our peers around the world, the lack of that freedom is a very big deal.

Walk the Walk

I have my Motto for 2011!

I'm going to learn how to do the things that I have, at some point in my life, claimed to know how to do (or about), but in fact, don't. Like riding a bicycle. This will also include doing a few things that I never made false claims about, but have been too afraid to attempt. Like voice lessons.

Thanks to the Ennis family for getting me started...by giving me a bike for Christmas! Who knew?!

 

Letters from Mythical Characters, $.05 a word

I've been offered a position as a parenting consultant after this creative attempt at discipline seems to actually worked! Taming two little boys into treating toys nicely is a tough one. Even though it worked for now, overall, I give it two weeks.  :)

click on the photo of the letter above to see it in a new, readable window

Anthropologists Should Go To Summer Festivals

The people-watching at Summerfest was fascinating, sometimes it was also center stage. We were off in a shady secluded corner so the baby could nurse (dappled sunlight, wholesome families) when a woman stumbled over and threw up--big, classic liquid vomit arch. How she remained standing on those hight heel sandals, I don't know. Well, actually, the standing didn't last long. She then passed out in her friends lap. It was 2:30 in the afternoon.

The faithful friend dutifully rubbed the "sick" lady's (remember the presence of children) back, supported her floppy head, and was rather stoic in the face of stares and whispered giggles. With a straight back, she took her free arm, reached over the tanned backside of buddy into a tiny purse, pulled out a lip gloss and applied. 'Atta girl!

Middle of Somewhere

Despite the restrictive pinch of the Bible belt, the repetitive nature of rows of corn, and the vast distances traveled to obtain fresh produce; I enjoyed my visit to Nebraska.

Smarties in the kitchen drawer, a stray cat in the sawdust of the wood shop, the card playing buddies with lollies in their front shirt pockets, the rose water aunties and main street one-finger steering wheel waves...Edgar is brimming with childhood memories. Before Starbucks and credit card debt, doc martins and divorce, eating disorders and vitamin D deficiencies. 

I roll my eyes and make the usual jokes about Jesus and overalls and pick up trucks. But I wouldn't tease if I didn't love. That little town is dying. One of my great-great aunts arrived there by covered wagon with her parents. I said "..I understand the coming, it's the staying I don't get...". It got a laugh, as intended. But as the fields turned to strip malls and parking lots on the way to the airport, I understood a little about the staying.  

Family Shit or My Brother Rocks

He's so frickin' funny, he works like a dog and says it like it is. 

The older we get, the more I get to know him, the more I regret not being around more when he was younger. I imagine he had a particularly rough time of it, all alone really when the shit storm hit. 

It's strange and wonderful to see all of us on the other side, hopeful and communicating and enjoying each other when we can, usually in Dad's barn. There's nothing like a manure pile to bring family together.

So Long Portland

A night out with co-workers, a send off to Wisconsin. Someone brought a cheesehead, literally.

A Message From The Universe

Dad sent me four pre-paid B&W photo development envelopes from A&I for Christmas this year, very thoughtful. I have a dozen rolls of film in my kitchen junk drawer--rolls I have transported from home to home and state to state (and even abroad!) for years and years. They languished next to twist ties, duct tape and Ikea allen wrenches, forgotten and undeveloped. Back in December, I sent off four rolls I thought might be from five or six years ago. The very same week that I returned from the World's Longest Interview in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, two of the developed rolls arrived in the mail. Both were all shots of Wisconsin! Pictures of barns, rows of corn, cows, the lake...all taken more than 10 years ago when I went on a 'farewell' tour of my favorite places in Wisconsin, including Door County (where I stayed at the Valmy Hotel).

It Will Be Good To Be Home

It's amazing--I never knew I still had so many friends still back in Wisconsin! What a perfect time to join Facebook---I've been 'friended' by so many familiar faces! I'm searching high and low for an apartment in Milwaukee. Portland is so dog-friendly, I'd forgotten that other towns aren't so keen on your four legged friend sharing the apartment. The right one will come along, but it's frustrating to be turned away when everyone knows that dog owners are far superior people, and very desirable renters. Who else will pick up steaming poo first thing in the morning? Isn't that just the kind of person you want as a tenant? For those who don't know, I'm moving back to Wisconsin. I had to leave my current job, the market being what it is, and I've been wanting to get back to 'home' or at least near family for a few years now. I was originally aiming for Chicago, but the dart landed a little higher, and a little closer to a dairy farm. As it turns out, I'm probably going to love Milwaukee. Because we lived in Fond du Lac, and visited Chicago so often for our 'big city' fix, we rarely went to Milwaukee when I was growing up. As a third grader, I toured a brewery on a field trip, but that was about the extent of my knowledge of the place. The more research I do, the more I see that it has a heck of a lot in common with Portland--they are such similiar cities in fact, you could call it Portland North. The same population (Milwauke is 20k bigger), similiar demographics, similiar industry/business base, similiar neighborhoods (Pearl District=Third Ward, Riverfront=Riverfront, Shorewood=Sellwood, Brady Street = NW 23rd, Downer Street = Hawthorne, and on and on). Swap the mountains for the lake, rain for snow, and you've got the same place! Bonus, it's only an hour and half from Chicago...and all the Quinlans!

It Doesn't Match Your Sofa.

My dear old friend and amazing painter Amy Park is a featured artist on 20x200. Go, now. Buy art. Her images of beloved Chicago architecture, like these shown above, are part of the tugging at my heart that is leading me back to my midwestern home. And they're watercolors! Go now, buy art. Buy art for only 20 bucks! (prints are limited editions, 8.5" x 11" prints for $20, 17" x 22" for $200, and 30" x 40" for $2000)

President Obama!

Woo-hoo! What a night! When they called it, at 8pm Pacific time, I was standing on my balcony overlooking the lights of downtown Portland and could hear my neighbors on either side hooping and hollering--shouts of "I can't believe it!" "Did he really do it?!". I could hear shouts, whistles, car horns and pots being banged. I got through to Anna, at Grandma Mickeys keeping her company as they watched the results come in. She was in tears. Excited messages were left on the cell phones of a number of Quinlans--who had tickets to the speach in Grant Park! I caught Aunt Maria as she was standing in line to get in--I could barely make her out over the sound of the crowd, and got to tell her that they had just called it. My sister Peg was still up, despite the late hour in Brooklyn, and still waiting for it to "sink in". I called Mom in Turkey, (who cares that it was 5 in the morning there!)--she answered the phone with "We did it!" What an amazing night, and watching the coverage of Chicago--well, it made me want to go home to that great city. Congratulations America, you did it!

Why Yes, It Does.

While at the chiropractor's this week, when discussing the current dismal state of affairs and the gloomy pervailing attitude, I mentioned that despite the disaster befalling all of us at the low-end of the scale (now is not the time to make your living on commission), I've somehow entered a state of relaxed resignation. I'm no longer stressed, I know there's nothing I can do and that it's out of my hands now. This acceptance has brought me better sleep and an acid-free stomach. My doctor replied: "The End of Days suits you!"

Still My Fondest Dreams

A co-worker asked me what I had wanted to be when I grew up, when I was little: "A textile designer". "And one of the people who does the tiny little line drawings and doodles in the New Yorker." (pause) "Oh, and a war-zone photojournalist". "A what?" (shocked expression). "Yeah, why not? I have one of the coats even." I wonder if Tom still wants to be a racecar driver.

Party Girls

The gang all together for Miss Meg's birthday.

me talk funny.

I've been the point of amusement, and frequent outright laughter, for my verbal use of language. Distict speech patterns and local colloquisms from the varied places I've lived have randomly taken hold in my daily spoken word bank. I can't help it, I just pick these things up. A few minutes on the phone with a friend from the homestate, and I'm channeling characters from Fargo. An evening of a PBS travel show and my laugh is frenchie-nasal for a day. Never mind the six months I spent with an affected British sing-song tone--Mom and Peg had a riot with that. I can't help it, it just happens! Yesterday, on the radio, I heard a distinguished classical actress say "and I gave him the what-for"! You hear that? Giving someone "what for" is a commonly, if not frequently, used phrase! I'm not a weirdo. Ok, I am a weirdo but not for this. Take note snickering co-workers, because the next time you snicker, you're getting the What For! You want I should post more?

Is there such a thing as a Home Town?

I was asked an interesting, and bothersome, question today: "What is your hometown?". Huh. I'm not sure how to answer that. Born in San Francisco, but only there for one year. Then lived in Columbia, Missouri but gone by the age of 3 or 4. Raised, as it were, in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin. But we spent many weekends in 'the city': Chicago, Illinois. (I'm clinging hard to the fact that Mom and Dad did technically own a co-op there). Then, Chicago proper in my late teens and early twenties. (And don't forget a year in boarding school in Lake Forest, IL, but then I'd also have to count that boarding school year in Beaver Dam, Wi too.) And as an adult, it's back to Wisconsin, Madison this time (but it's an island unto itself, does that count?). Then off to Savannah, Georgia for nearly five years. Two years in Antibes, France and now I find myself in Portland, Oregon. Did I miss anywhere? I considered this hometown question very carefully because the reply is going to be IN PRINT. The pressure. I settled on Chicago, because that's were I feel most at home. I gave my sister a hard time once for listing Chicago (instead of Fond du Lac) on her college graduation program, but now I think I understand---do you really want the world to think of you as hailing from a place where the local paper has a Big Buck Club photo feature??

Berfday

It was my birthday yesterday, and it went well. After recovering from the previous night out (work holiday party at Hubers, Spanish Coffees=very bad things), I managed to get myself together for a great dinner out with friends at Paley's Place, someplace I hadn't been before. It was the perfect pick, fabulous food and fun friends, and we were the third birthday group there last night---seems it's a popular place for elegant celebrations. My tummy is still recovering from all the rich food, but I'll take that over a Spanish Coffee hangover any day!

Despite myself.

Damn it, I'm happy. Portland, more clearly than ever after some time in Smogville, is becoming a very liveable, enjoyable city with lots to offer. My job is good, I like what I do and I seem to not suck at it. I've had the chance to travel to see beloved family recently. Friends have journeyed here to see me. My dog still greets me with enthusiasm. I'm not painting, but I'm ok with that--it will come back, when I have the time and inspiration in the future-and I like that, I like that it's my little thing to pull out when it pleases me and me only. I have friends all over the world, most of whom keep in touch regularly with stories of adventures great and small. My little apartment is looking like a proper home, only a few projects remain and who wants to be short of home improvement projects anyway? My health is good; a good friend just the other day said I look great, that despite what I say about living here, it must work because it looks good on me. Ha ha. I think I finally let the boy go, so I'm ready for the next new boyfriend (that was only five years in the making). With the good job and new wheels, I have new freedoms to enjoy and adventures to plan. I was even recently paid to write about my crocheting hobby (and the resulting bersitus). So, I'm good, I'm ready..bring on the next big thing! Ok, so it's good here. I'm happy. Damn it.

recent chat, topic of nesting; specifically Ikea

Katemikkelsen: oh, when you go to Ikea, do NOT buy a Letten rolly-bathroom-cart-thingy taaterdog: why is that Katemikkelsen: because you might not be able to get it together after a really long day of putting things together Katemikkelsen: and then you might freak out, stomp on it Katemikkelsen: breaking it into tiny plastic pieces Katemikkelsen: flying one into your dog's eye Katemikkelsen: requiring a vet visit and an explanation taaterdog: oh god, who could have predicted a trip to ikea would turn so tragic for poor Ruby

hello world

Dan and Angel's lovely baby girl, Alyssa Marie, born the Friday before last.

Left Behind

This photo broke my heart tonight. So many resources denied to the people who needed them most, and the suffering continues. We should be ashamed. And angry. And we should do something. Please donate to the Red Cross.

Congratulations!

Dan and Angel had their baby girl on Friday, yippee!

storm of the century?

The South will always have a part of my heart---I have found memories of New Orleans, I hope that Hurricane Katrina spares that great old town.

meanings

I dreamt last night that I had a second, previously undiscovered bathroom. Interpretation #1 (inspired by star-gazing, horoscope-reading friend): I have an unknown, previously undiscovered opportunity coming up. Interpretation #2 (inspired by blessing-notebook keeping, fuzzy-light friend): I already have more than I am appreciative of. Interpretation #3 (my own more cynical first thought): I had to pee.

Everything In Its Place

Last week, I got a little surprise in the mail, and boy, did it ever make my day! When I first got the delivery notice, I was puzzled--what had I ordered? Did I order something online and forget about it again? When the box arrived, I was even more puzzled..Pottery Barn Kids? No mistaking it when I opened the package----divided trays! RED divided trays! Only one person knows me that well and would get such a kick ---Miss Dawn!! I think I'm the only person I know who loved 'hot lunch' in grade school. Or built paper napkin 'dams' at dinner time. I remember my divided plate with great fondness (Mom finally gave in and got me one, having grown disgusted with soppy napkin bits on my plate). I love flying, mostly for the nifty dinner service. Nothing like having friends who embrace your neurosis. :)

Congratulations Sony, the graduate!!!

once a Cheesehead, always a Cheesehead

Todays funny e-mail forwarding: "More Wisconsin Humor - these are so true! It is common for the wedding party to go home and do chores between the wedding service and the reception. The town you grew up in had a bar called Ma's Place. Your best shirt has a big letter G on it. You know how to polka, but never tried it sober. FFA was the most popular club in high school. You've seen a Hodag, or, at least you think that's what it was. You know what's knee-high by the Fourth of July. You know it's traditional for the bride and groom to go bar hopping between ceremony and the reception. You know that there is no 'r' in Wausau. You were delighted to get a miniature snow shovel for your 3rd birthday. You can recognize someone from Illinois by their driving. You buy your Christmas presents at Fleet Farm. You are a connoisseur of cheese curds, and find anyone unfamiliar with them to be frighteningly foreign. You get irritated at sports announcers that pronounce it "Wes-con-sin". You own at least one cheese head. You immediately think of fishing when you hear the name "Shakespeare." You spent more on beer than you did on food at your wedding. You know that Kaukauna is NOT a Hawaiian Island. You hear someone use the word "oof-dah" and you don't immediately break into uncontrollable laughter. You think fast food is hitting a deer at 65 mph. You or someone you know was a "Dairy Princess" at a county fair. You know that "combine" is a noun. You know what a FIB is. You know that a pastie is not an article of clothing. You let your older siblings talk you into putting your tongue on a steel post. You think Lutheran and Catholic are THE major religions. You can tell the difference between "real Wisconsin cheese" and that "Illinois stuff." You know that creek rhymes with pick. Your class took a field trip to a brewery. . in second grade. Football schedules are checked before wedding dates are set. You can visit Luxemburg, Holland, Belgium, Denmark, Berlin, and Poland all in one afternoon. A Friday night date is taking your girlfriend shining for deer. There was at least one kid in your class who had to help milk cows in the morning. ...phew! You have driven your car on a lake. You can make sense out of the words "upnort" and "batree." The Packers will always be better than the Vikings, no matter what the standings are. You know that De Pere is not a wooden structure extending into "Da Lake." You can leave your ice cream in the car while you go into Fleet Farm! , and it won't melt. You always believed that vacation meant "going up north." You have more fishing poles than teeth. At every wedding you have been to you have had to dance the hoky poky & the chicken dance. You know what a bubbler is. Your definition of a small town is one that only has one bar. The local gas station sells live bait. At least twice a year, the kitchen doubles as a meat processing plant. You laugh out loud every time you see a news report about a blizzard shutting down the entire east coast. Your mom asks, "Were you born in a barn?" and you know exactly what she means. You include beer as one of the major food groups. You know which leaves make good toilet paper. Your sexy lingerie is tube socks and a flannel nightie. You are a member of the Polar Bear Club and proud of it. You think the start of deer season is a national holiday. You learned to drive a tractor before the training wheels were off your bike. Your bank has the name of your town included in its name. You actually understand these jokes and forward them to all your Wisconsin friends." ...and of course, I did. My favorite part---the original sender was from the UW Ag department! Spending that week with Angel and Dan, (Dan being from Stoughton, Wisconsin) brought back good memories---though next time I'll insist they arrive bearing cheese curds and Kringle.

little worlds

apartment therapy's smallest, coolest apartment contest ....never, ever complain about just 500 sq. ft.--some of these folks have made do with half that!

woo-hoo!

Company's coming! Company's coming!