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!
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I'm going to need sweaters. Lots of sweaters.
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me: "Your shampoo did something weird to my hair."
Tom: "I don't know what you used, but I don't have shampoo in that bathroom."
Tom: "I don't know what 'gluten' is, but it sounds DELICIOUS! Can you just add it to stuff?" -
It was still night, and it was still snowing. One change of clothes in a backpack, a layer of tights under my jeans, I made my way through a foot and a half of snow (sandwiched between two layers of ice) down the hills to the train station at 5 in the morning. I'll be damned if I'm not going to make it to Los Angeles for Christmas! And I'll be damned if I'm going to miss this train just pulling up because I don't have time to buy a ticket!
The flight to LA boarded on time. Those of us fortunate enough to have purchased last-minute, cheap-o tickets hung our heads, not in shame but to hide our glee, as we walked through the gate crowded with hundreds of holiday travelers who'd been stranded at the airport in some cases, for days. As we were being de-iced (that poor bastard, I hope someone filled his stocking), the white stuff began to fall again in ernest, one hundred squeezed-in strangers held their collective breath. As the plane took off, only 30 minutes behind schedule, it was the first time I heard an entire flight of passengers clap at departure!
Of course, I may have over-anticipated the joy of actually being in LA for Christmas –I spent most of Christmas Eve day cleaning my brothers house. -
I think God is sending me a preview. -
It started last Sunday (my birthday!) and was a welcome winter break—even the rumor of snow and ice here is enough to bring Portland to a stand still. I had the day off, and enjoyed watching the pretty white flakes fall, as I finished making my own snowflake ornaments for the holiday.
By Tuesday, I was house-bound, ice-bound and bored. My apartment is up a steep hill, then around a bend, and up another steeper hill (think San Francisco covered in three inches of ice). It's a hill that never sees a plow truck. Or salt. SALT, people, SALT! Yes it ruins your car, yes it kills the salmon—but it melts the ice!
I had an adventure I'm not ready to share yet, due to embarrassment, on Monday when I tried to get out by car. Let's just say that was the nicest cop I've ever met.
On Wednesday, after a friend helped me get to my car to get to work, the white stuff started flying again. My treacherous hill was even more treacherous. So, I had to get….chains. Yes, chains. It's medieval, but here in the hilly Northwest, it's what they do. This story is less embarrassing. In fact, I come off quite capable, almost butch.
I left the empty store early and headed to the tire store. After waiting in the Russian-style queue, I got my bag of tire chains. I joined the others huddled around the television in the corner, not to catch the lastest news, but to watch a tire-chain installation instructional video.
Crouched down in the cold, wet and dirty curb, I managed to wrestle the tire chains on. Greasy, muddy and with frozen fingers, I pulled out slowly and headed home. Well, I headed to the grocery store for reinforcements of wine, firewood, and chocolate first. Then home. As I made it up the first and easiest hill, I had to pull aside to let the wrecker through—towing a UPS truck! As I had made my slow way through the slippery streets, I noticed that some cars had chains on the front, some on the back tires. At the last minute, just before I was going to attempt to mount the hill that had terrifyingly defeated me on Monday, I asked the UPS guy if I had the chains on the correct tires.
"Do you have front wheel drive?"
"Um, I have no idea" -quick check of owners manual, yes, it's front wheel drive. Who knows these things?
"Then they should be on the front tires"
Out in the muck again, embracing my tires as I removed the chains from the rear wheels and put them on the front. It's a messy, dirty job. But once you put them on the first time, you'll always remember. I'm a pro now. And I'll be damned, those ancient traction devices did the job–I made it up the slippery slope and safely home!
I've made it in to work the last four days, despite the continuing storm, which is worsening tonight. No more excuses, no more snow days–I am a lady with chains! -
Ruby's favorite things to do in the new fallen snow. -
My dear old friend and amazing painter Amy Park is a featured artist on 20×200. 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) -
Today's work place quote:
" I could rock a suede skirt." -me
-look of doubt from co-worker
"I could too! I could totally ROCK a suede skirt" -me, incredulous and insistent
-24 year old co-worker walks away with look of mixed amusement and pity, not at the prospect of my about-to-be-thirty-six year old bottomside straining under an unfortunate hide, but at my lame and inexperienced use of the word "rock". -
Tom and friends in a pumpkin patch, at The Little Farmer.
My brother Tom has had to share his birthday festivities with Thanksgiving preparations all his life, and every so often, it actually falls directly on Thanksgiving Day. This is one of those years–so, as I eat my prepackaged turkey breast-for-one, I'll be thinking of putting a birthday candle in it just for him!
