A Tosa resident since 1991, Christine walks the dog, cooks but avoids housework, writes and reads, and enjoys the company of friends and strangers. Her job takes her around the state, learning about people's health. A Quaker (no, they don't wear blue hats or sell oatmeal or motor oil), she has been known to stand on both sides of the political and philosophic fence at the same time, which is very uncomfortable when you think about it. She writes about pretty much whatever stops in to visit her busy mind at the moment. One reader described her as "incredibly opinionated but not judgmental." That sounds like a good thing to strive for!
The line in the business section stopped me: "Manitowoc builds ships, cranes, and ice machines. . ."
You can sort of see the ship-crane connection. Once upon a time, the company was building a really beasty boat, and they couldn't get a crane big enough to top it off with whatever you'd plunk atop such a vessel. So they built the crane themselves, or so I imagine. But the ice machines? So much for the "narrative arc," the storyline with a beginning, middle, and end that makes some kind of sense.
If you're a Wauwatosa high school grad about my age, chances are you'd have felt right at home at my Nicolet class reunion Saturday night.
Or uncomfortably not at home; that seems to be the way these things hit people. Being reunited for an evening with the people who gave you your first kiss, deep friendships and deep enmities, a massive case of insecurity, the joys and perils of youth spent ill or well, is a wonderful lark or a brief descent into hell. Maybe a little of both.
Everyone's decided that the newspaper as we know it--big sheets of thin paper you can use to polish windows or wrap your trash -- is about to be extinguished. But apparently that hasn't been happening fast enough, so the newspapers themselves have decided to speed along the process of self-destruction.
First they convinced the advertisers that they weren't a good place to advertise, and the advertisers obliged by stopping advertising there.
With the trip meter on, it's easy to pretend I haven't just rolled the odometer over 100,000 miles on the dinged but reliable Nissan. But even the lower mileage meter's in the thousands, what with trips to campuses, family visits, and job interviews. Sometimes, you just can't get away with driving less. And even if you do, chances are your life isn't staying in the same place.
Last weekend the kids and I went to Oshkosh to see my sister's family before Liz and Geo head off for school. Geo goes to Madison this weekend, Liz goes to Stevens Point the following one. The dual departures are just days away, and I'm still in denial.
Yesterday was last minute get-ready-for-college shopping day with Liz. After breakfast among Harley riders and fashionable east siders at the Cafe Hollander, we headed to Greenfields to look for posters. In case you haven't been there, it's the kind of store where I'd have bought flowing skirts, incense, and posters for whatever Madison apartment I had in 1970.
Liz is a big Salvador Dali fan. This is very cool, but there is Dali, and there is Dali. This is the sort of Dali that appeals to Liz.