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Tag Archives: wisconsin


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“post-old-fashioned”. [merely-a-thought monday]

surely it would garner a bidding war. “post-old-fashioned” – a contemporary art piece. a beguiling installation.

how could it be any less engaging, any less valuable, any less a statement piece, any less desirable than the fresh banana duct-taped to the wall? the first banana (with the used duct tape, i’m guessing) sold for $120,000, followed by more bananas and rising prices. and – it expires! one cannot keeeep the banana piece (called “comedian”) around unless one loves fruit flies and smush.

instead, “post-old-fashioned” is meant to be enduring. the orange peel will shrink and dry, but will remain – likely – bug-less. and the cherry stem…..well, it is likely to outlive all of us.

“post-old-fashioned” is a work of active art that is conceptual and timeless and we could certainly provide a certificate of authenticity and directions for proper display. i cannot imagine any true wisconsinite without this piece or, perhaps, any wisconsin bar without it.

any curator who can go on and on about the benefits of purchasing the long strand of jute with the kitchen sponge hanging off of it should surely be able to conjure up the joy of owning “post-old-fashioned” in its three-dimensional option or a limited edition print of the work.

were it not for the teasing of the hike&spike foursome – and, also likely, the up-north gang – renowned experts in the field of old-fashioneds – i would list it, enter it in contests, send it to galleries. each week – post-hike – in the spike section of our hike&spike – i could add to a burgeoning collection of pieces dedicated to the afterglow of the old-fashioned.

watch out. i’m about ready to follow in the clearly-brilliant footsteps of italian artist maurizio cattelan, who explains, “the banana is supposed to be a banana.”.

it’s simple. there’s only one pertinent question about this work, an old-fashioned supposed to be an old-fashioned.

sweet or sour?

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

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and the beach. [k.s. friday]

i lived in florida. merely 14 miles from the gulf of mexico. for eight plus years. yet, i can count the number of times i went to the beach while i lived there. likely on two hands. i spent more time on the gulf before living there and after living there. just not during.

as a teenager and young adult i was at the north shore all the time. biking there, vw-ing there, boating, diving, fishing, walking, climbing the fence to take sunrise pictures – winter, spring, summer, fall. all the time.

in recent years i’ve yearned for the days on those long island beaches. and, though they are remarkably beautiful and warm and sunny and tan-producing (definitely not important anymore), i can’t really say the same for the florida beaches. i don’t find myself pining for them.

maybe it’s just my history with them. or, perhaps, the lack thereof.

the other day we went to the beach. on lake michigan. we walked and walked for a couple of hours, searching for hagstones and paintable flat rocks. then we settled down on a big log of driftwood in soft sand and sat and watched the waves. we wished we had a picnic lunch with us and a good book. it was that kind of day. the only thing that drove us out was hunger.

but we’ll go back, because the beauty of that beach was powerful.

when you live with someone who also likes to walk, you will walk anywhere. strolling in the ‘hood, hiking on the trail, trolling for stones on the beach. it’s the thing we do when all else stops – all work, all tasks. it’s the thing we do when we want all else to stop – all wistfulness, all thought, all worry, all out-and-out angst.

it’s funny to me that there was this big chunk of my life when i wasn’t walking, wasn’t hiking. just like this big chunk of my life when i wasn’t going to the beach – to stare at the waves, to watch gulls swoop and dive in the wind, to find the gifts of the air and the water – tuning into soul and energy, soothing and healing.

i’ve pondered, before, what would have happened had i walked. now i ponder what would have happened had i gone to the beach.

*****

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read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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metra again. [merely-a-thought monday]

three and a half years.

if my photos are correct, the last time we were on metra – heading to chicago – was december 15, 2019.

and then, last week. over and over i said, “i can’t believe we’re on the train.”

we used to go on the train quite often…jaunting down to see our son, to catch dinner with him, to simply walk around downtown, to see holiday lights. we really live in a convenient place…pretty much midway between milwaukee and chicago with a hop-skip-jump to madison. each of these cities are within less than a two hour radius. but it didn’t matter during covid. we stayed away.

on the train with dear friends, we talked about the arc of the last three plus years. how 2020 was a watershed into the next, how impacted we all were by the pandemic, how the recovery phase has been slow. and we marveled at sitting on the train together, chatting with our seats facing each other, laughing, having a picnic lunch, taking the easy route to chicago. it was – truly – marvelous.

we don’t mind driving to chicago. we always take the back roads and enjoy the little towns and ravines along the way. it’s not that we are completely interstate-averse, but if there’s a back way and we can plan some extra time, we are going to opt for it. with a tiny bit more control of our schedule, we also felt a little more control of our airspace.

so we had virtually forgotten about the train. until last week.

our first-time-back on-board was kind of magical. much of the route goes along the back road, so new perspectives as we chugged past the towns we love to drive through. it made us all a little dreamy – so many possibilities of things to do together – simply by taking the train.

saturdays and sundays and holidays offer $7 weekend passes and weekdays – on an app – offer $10 full day passes throughout all the zones metra travels. the new ventra app makes it all easy. “easypeasy” as 20 says. i imagine we’ll be using that eataly giftcard we were given one of these days. it’s been tucked into a cupboard, waiting for some time now.

like us. we’ve been waiting. to move back into the world. it’s not like we haven’t moved about. not as much adventuring up to now as most, but we have roadtripped to see our kids, our family, have shared time with closest friends. but we can feel the difference now. we can feel the tug of concerts, the pull of town hall type talks, the visceral tapping on our shoulder of travel and experiences.

it was weird to sit on the train – after all this time – sans mask. there were a few moments i thought about it, a little wary, because the pandemic has left its mark on me. it’s left its mark on all of us. i don’t suppose there will be a time now that my purse won’t have a KN95 in it. and hand sanitizer. i definitely see the wisdom of sanitizer.

we exited metra at our northbound station, tired from the day but not in an exhausted way. a little bit had changed.

and we felt it. we talked it about it later.

life – and breathing a little bit easier – inviting us. on a tiny and a grand scale, both.

to take the train.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

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IFTTT. [d.r. thursday]

out the window was a snowstorm. it was february and it is wisconsin. it’s an IFTTT. we had plans for the next few days, not something we oft have…fun things booked with others. we pulled up accuweather and, between that and the ice forming on the window, had anticipatory grief, figuring all would be cancelled. we worried. if this-then that. if a snowstorm, then everything halts.

IFTTT – if this then that – i didn’t know this acronym was a thing, but i see no reason for conditional statements not to have their own acronym. “if you build it [then] they will come” made hugely popular with the movie “field of dreams”.

out the window was a snowstorm. it was february and it is wisconsin, so this is not a surprise. it is an IFTTT. but in these strange climate-changing times, the snow didn’t really stick around much. a couple days later we were out and about at the winter festival in cedarburg, traipsing around with the up-north gang. and the next day we hiked our favorite river trail. i might add – sans miracle mittens.

IFTTT should come with a caveat, some sort of warning. because there are times we may make the worst of assumptions about what is to come. we if-this-then-that ourselves into angst. we can – for sure – envision the difficult, the darkness. but, she reminded me, do we envision the blessings?

it didn’t all halt. on the contrary. instead, the snow fell and it was a magical day. by the time another day passed, most of it was gone. the temperatures were in the 40s and our day’s end on the deck around a couple firepits was dreamy.

out the window was a snowstorm. from inside, we watched it fall. we were warm and toasty. we were immersed in the work we must do right now – the IFTTT of job loss. and we were excited – with some trepidation about cancellations – for the next few days to follow.

kevin costner called and reminded us to stay focused on the hope, to stay the course, to dream of the field of possibilities, to go play after the snow falls.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

from the new website…if you build it, they will come.


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moonrise. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

“it’s full tonight. so we go and the moon rises, so beautiful it makes me shudder, makes me think about time and space, makes me take measure of myself: one iota pondering heaven. thus we sit, myself thinking how grateful i am for the moon’s perfect beauty and also, oh! how rich it is to love the world.” (mary oliver – the sweetness of dogs)

we are on the west side of lake michigan. it’s the cold side, the side with many rocks, big boulders. the sun rises over our lake. the moon rises over our lake. and there are days – magical ones – when the moon is in full phase – a giant ball, moonlining to anyone on shore. wishes that landed on stars seem destined to come true. loving to-the-moon-and-back is potent and visual. it would seem – on those nights that the moon takes over the night sky and all else shrinks – that – in the purest sense -peace really could guide our planet and that love really could steer the stars, constellations with invisible reins tethered to reaching hands and hearts on the shoreline.

we drove home from the snowy trail and the moon was just starting to rise over the trees in the distance as we drove east. across a snow-filled farmfield, beyond the stand of woods, there it was, more intense each minute, dynamic through dusty rose and salmon and blush, finally flushed more golden. i kept driving east, directly to our lake.

we weren’t alone. there were other peace-and-love-rising seekers there and we all photographed our individual moon photos – the same beauty-shudder-rich sky as it turned to night over the great lake, its surface slightly rippled by calmer winds.

sometimes we forget how stunning this all is.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY


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our snowdog. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

there is nothing, weather-wise, that dogdog likes better than snow. he is invigorated by it. he’s not particularly fond of rain and he is definitely not a heat-wave dog. but snow is a different story entirely. when asked, “what’s keeping you in wisconsin? why wouldn’t you want to move to florida?” i have to answer, “the dog doesn’t want to live in a hot clime.” period. i mean, really – every summer – he suffers (cue up maria portakalos in my big fat greek wedding – “she suffers” as i cannot write the word without hearing her voice.)

as i write this, dogga is at the end of the bed, curled up on the quilt, sleeping. he’ll be ten this year and that is astounding to us. he is slowing down a bit, sometimes acting like an older dog. but there is nothing that makes him seem younger than a good snowfall. running out, he eats the snow off the deck, licking it – like a sensational ice cream cone – as he goes. we look out the window to let him back in and there he is, curled up in the snow, covered in giant flakes, happy as a clam. snow is his gig. it floats his boat. it’s his cup of tea. it makes him happy, gives him the energy of a puppy, it’s his thing.

i wonder if we are as wise as this. our snowdog is not thinking about his reaction to snow. he’s not analyzing it or weighing its costs v benefits. dogga is not wondering if it will last or when the snow will melt, thereby rendering him snowless and less blissful. he is not asking when it might snow again, banking on the next time, forgoing some of the joy of this time. he is just out there, laying in it – full-out, napping, accumulating snowflakes like seconds of ecstasy. he’s fully immersed in something he loves, paying no mind to the rains of spring or the heat of the summer, unconcerned about the turn of the seasons. he is simply in snow and he is happy.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY


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something so delicious. [d.r. thursday]

it was the perfect “welcome home”.

there is something so delicious about going away. we left town and the cold north for florida. it was just for a few days, but the difference in climate is stunning. when you are not – in general – wearing your 32 degrees base layer or your earmuffs on a walk or your furry boots and you have traded it all for cropped jeans and flipflops and no-sleeves, it is a joy. the sun shined down on us as we visited together – our family – a ridiculous and unbelievable four years since we had seen them. we stuffed conversations into nooks and crannies of time and cheered glasses and cooked and took walks and played thomas-the-tank-engine with the tiny two-year-old-miracle who is now in the fam as well. in the middle of it, we suddenly realized how fast it was all going. and then, it was time to board. masks on – two of like four people in the entire tampa airport – we got on the plane and zipped through the air back home.

there is something so delicious about getting home. behind us we had left dogdog in the ever-capable hands of our 20. behind us we had left the worries and angsts of the moment, of this time. behind us we had left our 32 degrees base layers and hats and gloves. behind us we had left all vestiges of our normal schedule and normal routines.

we exited the plane, stopped at the meditation room at milwaukee airport and got into a cold but completely happy-to-see-us littlebabyscion (i may be projecting here) and drove home, getting more excited each minute. 20 had soup and bread ready for us when we got there. he knows how to tend to those basic comforts – those things that reassure when you have left part of your heart behind somewhere else. and then…that deep tiredness – that happens after you have been away and have arrived back home – sunk in.

sleep came early and then we woke early. looking out the window we watched the snow fall. it’s winter in wisconsin and it looks like winter. i like that. i need the seasons to go by…it’s part of my own process as well.

as the flakes get larger and i write this i know that today is a home-day. i just need to stay home, do the laundry, look at the lists i left, process leaving family-i-love behind. tomorrow i will go out. tomorrow is soon enough.

today i just need to absorb the “welcome home” and listen to the quiet snow fall.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY


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buffalo plaid and stardust. [d.r. thursday]

tucked in my mind’s eye, along with sugar plum fairies and gingerbread houses, twinkling lights and sleigh bells and tiny trees, are matching red buffalo plaid pjs.

old navy made it happen.

for a few days now we have worn our matching red buffalo plaid pj pants. flannel and cozy, we knew better than to purchase long flannel pjs for our kiddos. old navy had already thought this out – they also had flannel red buffalo plaid pj boxers. score! we bought them and wrapped them into stockings. we have no idea if they will wear them or not, but my momma-heart knows we all have them – match-the-family pjs – and just the knowledge makes me happy.

the other day – on christmas evening – they made their first appearance, under a sherpa blanket on the couch watching “love actually”. since then they have appeared under a different sherpa on the couch in the sitting room, dogga curled up on the rug, reading a book together. we are reading aloud the third bestseller by raynor winn, “landlines”, a tale of two long-walkers hiking through scotland, a tale of hope and renewal and restorative juju for them. it’s descriptive and we find ourselves lost in the highlands, step after step in the rain, with them.

our new year’s eve was quiet. we ran a few errands and settled in on the couch to read, had a couple phone calls, prepared a late dinner and settled back on the couch. but our smack-dab cartoon had told a different story. though sometimes-but-not-always a straight-line-to-us-autobiographical middle-age-cartoon, it told the story on new year’s eve of two people who had to get outside and who went walking before midnight so as to be outside – along the lakefront and under the stars – at the turn of the year.

we were having trouble staying awake. it did not seem likely that we would actually see the new year arrive, sleepy eyes and all.

but then – somehow, the two of us, who are now earlier-to-bed-earlier-to-rise, got to the 11 o’clock hour. and we knew – prepare yourself for the double negative – we could not not do it.

hats and gloves and down coats and boots and the night wasn’t as cold as it seemed at 7 or 8 or even 9. the lake is a block away and we walked along it, enjoying the holiday lights still up and lit on our route. we cut in to the path that is right next to the shore and strolled slowly, watching the fireworks in the sky around us.

and, though it was cloudy and we could not see the moon or the stars, we could feel the stardust falling on us, with the promise of a new year.

surely the stuff of sugar plum fairies and twinkling lights, gingerbread and sleigh bells and red buffalo plaid flannel pjs.

*****

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maraschino dreams. [two artists tuesday]

and they dreamed dreams and waited in the woods…winterberries with visions of becoming maraschino cherries in their mind’s eye…actualizing with starring roles in traditional wisconsin brandy old-fashioneds…

no, no. do not put winterberries in your old-fashioned. they are completely toxic. but they are striking and unexpected. and the color in the woods is intoxicating. gorgeous red punctuating a dim brown-grey, save for a few evergreen, they are clustered beautiful.

it had been a while, what with the freezing temperatures and snow. we finally made it out to our favorite trail and it was – truly – a breath of fresh air. there is nothing quite as restorative as hiking, surrounded by stillness and the sound of wind rustling through the tops of trees. we needed to get outside. we slogged through the trails, getting a better workout than usual. the mud splashed up onto the back of our jeans, like when you ride your bike in the rain. we reveled in it.

the deer tracks went across the path. they hadn’t been there the first time we passed through. it was early in the day, early for the deer to be moving around, but we started looking through the brush.

her sweet face was staring right at us, her body blending into the scrub and trees around her. we stood, gazing at each other, none of us moving. i slowly took my phone out to capture what i knew would be hard to discern in a photograph – this deer in the woods, this shared moment of time. she didn’t move, but her tail wagged and her ears pitched forward and back, listening. i was hoping she could hear the words i whispered to her – telepathically, a little dr. doolittle-ish. her continued gaze at us, grace for our presence, her head held high, no obvious fear. unexpected.

she never left the spot while we were standing there. she took a few steps but didn’t flee, as so often happens when you start to move in the forest. we blew her a kiss and continued on, feeling lucky to have seen her and to have spent a few minutes with her.

we passed more winterberry holly as we hiked, laughing about old-fashioneds and marveling at our new deer friend in the woods.

we exited the trail, none too anxious to leave, wanting to just linger.

“sometimes,’ said pooh, ‘the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.” (a.a. milne)

****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY


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section-hike to chicago. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

over here, by one of the great great lakes, it is mostly flat. when you drive a bit south – toward chicago – particularly on the back roads – you will find ravines punctuating the landscape, gorgeous woods with deep cuts, gullies likely carved by streams into glacial moraines with bluffs high above the lake. i can’t imagine choosing the interstate over these roads and, if time allows, we are avid believers in the back ways.

most of the places we hike in our area do not present elevation gain as a challenge. instead, we have to do distance to make up the exercise gap. i’ve been a sea-level-girl pretty much my whole life – from a where-i’ve-lived standpoint – so when we are faced with elevation gain i have to do a bit of acclimatizing to get any kind of mountain legs or lungs. long island, florida, wisconsin – clearly, none of these are known for their mountain peaks.

we hadn’t ever walked the bike trail on the south side of the illinois border. we parked littlebabyscion near the entrance of the bike trail in some neighborhood – much to the chagrin of a woman walking her dog who – clearly – immediately had her suspicions about these two people exiting their vehicle – having parked their good-grief-it’s-a-2006-vehicle-ewww on the end of the road in this upscale ‘hood – for the trail. i started to walk to the trail and went back, wrote a cheery note “hi. we are just walking on the bike path,” finished it with a happy face and placed it in full view in the windshield. for the first hour or so of hiking i worried if we would get back to an empty space where our sweet littlebabyscion had been and a note to call the tow company. (it was with relief we later returned to find our little vehicle and another parked there as well.)

we crossed the wisconsin-illinois border and found the straight and narrow. illinois does a remarkable job of trail upkeep, no matter where we have found one, no matter the terrain. we kept walking. and walking. and walking. it was a beautiful day and easy to lose sight of the time or distance. we had water and halos and lemon lärabars. we were set.

we looked at the bike trail maps. though there are sections that are harder to define – one must find one’s way from one defined trail to another – you can pretty much walk or bike all the way to chicago.

we giggled and decided we would section-hike to chicago. it will be practice for the possibility of section-hiking or thru-hiking the john muir trail or the PCT. uh-huh. because walking on a bike trail – near civilization, without elevation gain, without 30 pounds on our backs, with littlebabyscion patiently waiting for us and our kitchen and comfy bed at the end of the day – is definitely good practice for say 211 miles or 2650. oh ye of little faith. whatever.

we turned around after checking time and the mileage and the forecasted hour of sunset. the way back – like the previous day on the des plaines river trail – i thought about how many miles we would complete that day, in a few hours. i doubled it and tripled the time and pondered doing that day after day for weeks or – in the case of the PCT – months.

it has a magical dreamy lure. there is no straight and narrow out there. there is hard work and perseverance. and we – watchers of more youtube video accounts than most – ponder if we could do it. we are fueled by people like the remarkable (!) wander women and, really, anyone, say, over 60 we watch successfully navigate the challenges. we think aloud – “maybe someday.”

in the meanwhile there is work to do, a plan to piece back together again post-implosion, and section-hikes to chicago.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY