Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Who ARE these people?
Well, guess what? In my usual 'computer illiterate' way, I published a couple of pictures from Kelly's 15th birthday at The Rushes in Door County. That's Mark, my son-in-law, relaxing, Kelly herself, and of course the birthday cake that Kelly made, using Uncle Andy's Decadent Chocolate Cake recipe. It was decadent! We dearly love spending time in Door County, the little 'thumb' of Wisconsin. We're there 5 times a year, and have been for 25 years this year. I'll write more about those idyllic days sometime.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Drip, Drop, Pitter Patter, Gush, Rush, Roar!
Drip,drop,pitter patter, gush, rush,roar!
We've heard it all this week. Wisconsin is water soaked! Who could imagine that an entire lake would suddenly sweep over and under a highway and rush out into the Wisconsin river, just as if the plug had been pulled in a big bathtub! Can you believe your eyes? The rush of water carries an entire three story house with it! People walk out into the lake and pick up floundering fish!
And the rain keeps coming.
The wind continues, trees bend and break, and we sit in our big cozy house, lucky not to have any of the trials and tribulations of the neighbors just one block north of Laurie's house. There so many trees were sheared off that the Middle School was closed due to trees blocking the entrance. We drove past, checking on the huge elm tree ithat looms in Mark and Laurie's back yard. Whew! It's still standing!
And the rain keeps coming.
The whole North Shore is pockmarked with piles of discards. Tweed rugs, TVs in wooden cases, enameled white water heaters, overstuffed chairs that once welcomed their owners into now flooded rec rooms. Where will they go with all this detritus? I wonder what archaeologists will think a thousand years from now when they find all this stuff in the land fill.
And the rain keeps coming.
The television set becomes a modern art gallery! Irregular spots of red, gold, yellow, purple and green move sporadically across the screen. If you turn the sound off, it looks like something you might post on U-tube as art in motion. Kind of a blotchy Jackson Pollack.
And the rain keeps coming.
The Milwaukee river strains at its banks. You can hardly see where the waterfall is, because of the height of the brown swirling water. People park and walk over to the green edge of the river, now cordoned off by the police for fear someone will slip and fall into the treacherous current that races by. No fishing today!
And the rain keeps coming.
The back porch sounds like a tin pan. The rain pelts down deafeningly...and then relents for a while, only to start again, slowly as a drip, drip and then suddenly a roar of water pounding down on the roof. Jagged flashes of lightning illuminate the family room window. Wait for it! Ah... there's the rumble and blast of thunder!
And the rain keeps coming.
The bearded purple iris are proudly trying to stand up, blooming in the face of pounding rain. The begonias that I planted in pots on the patio are holding up well. And the thirty little terra cotta pots that were planted and put carefully around the perimeter of the sun porch are thriving! The tiny green tree in Katrina circle dances and sways, but keeps her balance as the winds sweep down Fairfield Court. She bows encouragement to the flowers planted below.
And the rain keeps coming.
We've heard it all this week. Wisconsin is water soaked! Who could imagine that an entire lake would suddenly sweep over and under a highway and rush out into the Wisconsin river, just as if the plug had been pulled in a big bathtub! Can you believe your eyes? The rush of water carries an entire three story house with it! People walk out into the lake and pick up floundering fish!
And the rain keeps coming.
The wind continues, trees bend and break, and we sit in our big cozy house, lucky not to have any of the trials and tribulations of the neighbors just one block north of Laurie's house. There so many trees were sheared off that the Middle School was closed due to trees blocking the entrance. We drove past, checking on the huge elm tree ithat looms in Mark and Laurie's back yard. Whew! It's still standing!
And the rain keeps coming.
The whole North Shore is pockmarked with piles of discards. Tweed rugs, TVs in wooden cases, enameled white water heaters, overstuffed chairs that once welcomed their owners into now flooded rec rooms. Where will they go with all this detritus? I wonder what archaeologists will think a thousand years from now when they find all this stuff in the land fill.
And the rain keeps coming.
The television set becomes a modern art gallery! Irregular spots of red, gold, yellow, purple and green move sporadically across the screen. If you turn the sound off, it looks like something you might post on U-tube as art in motion. Kind of a blotchy Jackson Pollack.
And the rain keeps coming.
The Milwaukee river strains at its banks. You can hardly see where the waterfall is, because of the height of the brown swirling water. People park and walk over to the green edge of the river, now cordoned off by the police for fear someone will slip and fall into the treacherous current that races by. No fishing today!
And the rain keeps coming.
The back porch sounds like a tin pan. The rain pelts down deafeningly...and then relents for a while, only to start again, slowly as a drip, drip and then suddenly a roar of water pounding down on the roof. Jagged flashes of lightning illuminate the family room window. Wait for it! Ah... there's the rumble and blast of thunder!
And the rain keeps coming.
The bearded purple iris are proudly trying to stand up, blooming in the face of pounding rain. The begonias that I planted in pots on the patio are holding up well. And the thirty little terra cotta pots that were planted and put carefully around the perimeter of the sun porch are thriving! The tiny green tree in Katrina circle dances and sways, but keeps her balance as the winds sweep down Fairfield Court. She bows encouragement to the flowers planted below.
And the rain keeps coming.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Wending our way to Ann Arbor
It's our choice. We can either load up the car, borrow an I-Pass from Barb and Dan and try to time our departure around rush hour dealing with those 'Illinois Drivers'; or we can lovingly pack books and a fancy lunch,drive down to the Amtrak station,climb aboard the Hiawatha bound for Chicago and then the Wolverine, aimed for Ann Arbor. Even the train names sound adventurous to me.
We stand next to a 15 foot stainless steel engine straining to be gone along the smooth tracks it knows so well. And we're off!Train whistles moan and groan, telling every intersection of their precedence over mundane motor cars. Trains roar and hiss as if to dare anyone to even think about conquering them. Trains chatter companionably as they sway along...and trains sway back and forth, lulling you into a sweet state of meditation, clickey-clacking the seconds and minutes away.
We'll cross through the muddled backyard of downtown Milwaukee, looking at 200 year old cream city brick factory buildings,seeing the Milwaukee River join Lake Michigan, and passing the 'Polish Moon' as it shines over the south side, keeping time for the new and old immigrants who have settled there over the years. The names of the stations are familiar to us now. Racine and Kenosha...wonderful Indian names unique to Wisconsin. "Sturtevant!...Sturtevant in five minutes, folks."
The trip into Illinois always brings back memories for Jerry. His years at Fort Sheridan were a highlight of his childhood and he can always come up with a story to match a sign or a city. We marvel that Glenview has become so big and so yuppy-fied. Not that that's a bad thing. The red brick prevalent in Chicago has transplanted out here and the new condominiums and apartments are really attractive.
Chicago becomes a looming romantic skyscape rather than a dreaded drive through. We de-train at the Union station downtown, walking along next to behemoths of steel waiting patiently their turn to leave the dark car barn. Where are they going? Will their passengers sleep on the train? We've done that. All the way home from Portland Oregon. It was a wonderful experience, even though we arrived eight hours late! Trains are not the same as those in Europe. Ours are more laissez-faire.
A red cap loads our luggage onto a cart and we climb aboard. He weaves his way through the dark and noisy corridor that forms Track 17. On we go to the train named for the mascot of Michigan, the Wolverine. Of course we have to watch our way out of Chicago, exclaiming on the size of the city and the growth of industry here. Once past the central city, we unpack our lunch with great anticipation. Years ago we purchased a 'picnic' set and now can enjoy plates, napkins, silverware, a cheese board, tablecloth and wine glasses. Sandwiches, fruit, some chips,a little dessert and a glass of wine. What a feast! The conductor comes along looking as if he has stepped out of the pages of 'Polar Express' with his square cap and navy uniform. "What?" he asks. "You didn't invite me?" Jerry offers him a glass of wine and he regretfully declines! Off he goes, punching tickets and placing a colored slip above our heads to denote our destination.
Jerry can read through the whole trip. I am more easily distracted. I have my book out, but the temptation of the passing scenery becomes too much. We travel through the black and grey steel factory area of Indiana, with orange-yellow fire belching out of smokestacks, to the Indiana Dunes, with summer cottages and bait shops. Up the 'other' coast of Lake Michigan, we see blue and white yachts bobbing at their piers. And now the romance of old trains stations begins. Beautiful red rock buildings, some Richardsonian Romanesque, punctuate the journey. Kalamazoo - We break into song..."A,B,C, D, I've got a gal in Kalamazoo!"...and nobody even looks up at our off key rendering! Battle Creek greets us with Tony the Tiger at its enormous cereal factories and a wonderful waterpark right next to the train station. We remember that Tom always wanted to tour the cereal factories. Albion's stately college can be seen from our window;then on to Jackson, where we call ahead to say we are going to be a bit late. This train is NEVER on time. We finally draw into Ann Arbor after crossing and following a river that defines the edge of the city. A final bustle of luggage gathering and looking out the window for dear and familiar faces and we are at the termination of an always memorable trip. And just think! The return journey is always different!
We stand next to a 15 foot stainless steel engine straining to be gone along the smooth tracks it knows so well. And we're off!Train whistles moan and groan, telling every intersection of their precedence over mundane motor cars. Trains roar and hiss as if to dare anyone to even think about conquering them. Trains chatter companionably as they sway along...and trains sway back and forth, lulling you into a sweet state of meditation, clickey-clacking the seconds and minutes away.
We'll cross through the muddled backyard of downtown Milwaukee, looking at 200 year old cream city brick factory buildings,seeing the Milwaukee River join Lake Michigan, and passing the 'Polish Moon' as it shines over the south side, keeping time for the new and old immigrants who have settled there over the years. The names of the stations are familiar to us now. Racine and Kenosha...wonderful Indian names unique to Wisconsin. "Sturtevant!...Sturtevant in five minutes, folks."
The trip into Illinois always brings back memories for Jerry. His years at Fort Sheridan were a highlight of his childhood and he can always come up with a story to match a sign or a city. We marvel that Glenview has become so big and so yuppy-fied. Not that that's a bad thing. The red brick prevalent in Chicago has transplanted out here and the new condominiums and apartments are really attractive.
Chicago becomes a looming romantic skyscape rather than a dreaded drive through. We de-train at the Union station downtown, walking along next to behemoths of steel waiting patiently their turn to leave the dark car barn. Where are they going? Will their passengers sleep on the train? We've done that. All the way home from Portland Oregon. It was a wonderful experience, even though we arrived eight hours late! Trains are not the same as those in Europe. Ours are more laissez-faire.
A red cap loads our luggage onto a cart and we climb aboard. He weaves his way through the dark and noisy corridor that forms Track 17. On we go to the train named for the mascot of Michigan, the Wolverine. Of course we have to watch our way out of Chicago, exclaiming on the size of the city and the growth of industry here. Once past the central city, we unpack our lunch with great anticipation. Years ago we purchased a 'picnic' set and now can enjoy plates, napkins, silverware, a cheese board, tablecloth and wine glasses. Sandwiches, fruit, some chips,a little dessert and a glass of wine. What a feast! The conductor comes along looking as if he has stepped out of the pages of 'Polar Express' with his square cap and navy uniform. "What?" he asks. "You didn't invite me?" Jerry offers him a glass of wine and he regretfully declines! Off he goes, punching tickets and placing a colored slip above our heads to denote our destination.
Jerry can read through the whole trip. I am more easily distracted. I have my book out, but the temptation of the passing scenery becomes too much. We travel through the black and grey steel factory area of Indiana, with orange-yellow fire belching out of smokestacks, to the Indiana Dunes, with summer cottages and bait shops. Up the 'other' coast of Lake Michigan, we see blue and white yachts bobbing at their piers. And now the romance of old trains stations begins. Beautiful red rock buildings, some Richardsonian Romanesque, punctuate the journey. Kalamazoo - We break into song..."A,B,C, D, I've got a gal in Kalamazoo!"...and nobody even looks up at our off key rendering! Battle Creek greets us with Tony the Tiger at its enormous cereal factories and a wonderful waterpark right next to the train station. We remember that Tom always wanted to tour the cereal factories. Albion's stately college can be seen from our window;then on to Jackson, where we call ahead to say we are going to be a bit late. This train is NEVER on time. We finally draw into Ann Arbor after crossing and following a river that defines the edge of the city. A final bustle of luggage gathering and looking out the window for dear and familiar faces and we are at the termination of an always memorable trip. And just think! The return journey is always different!
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