Summer fun!

The 77 Square miles blog began when we first moved to Madison, and I was trying to keep family and friends from MI, NC, even all the way to Seattle, updated on life in our new city. Now it's been four years.

Four years--that's right! Tom just passed the four year mark at his "new" job this month. That's hard to believe, actually, but the calendar says it's so.

Some days, because I don't post often, I think I've wasted the 77 Square title for someone who could really be using this blog for awesome Madison things... DAILY rather than a few times a year. Because... Madison is awesome... daily! Alas. I beat you speedy bloggers to it, and now I've bogged it down with non-Madison info as well.

I used to think that there would never come a time when the sight of the Capitol would no longer make me feel giddy. But sometimes when I drive in on ridiculously early mornings for various downtown engagements, I forget how cool it is.

But then there are other times, like last night as I was driving through the country on the way to drop off my "little sister" when we saw the Capitol glowing brightly in the distance, I remember how cool Madison is all over again. Or when I get called into the hospital (as a chaplain) in the middle of the night, and get to drive right through Capitol Square at 3 AM and gain a whole new perspective. Or when the nephews come to stay, like they did last week, and we have so many things to enjoy we start making next year's list of things to do half way through this year's week because we already know we won't get to do everything fun.

Yesterday, I got to hang in the Dells with the Diefs, my uncle and aunt and two of my cousins, with my "little." We wave-pooled ourselves out and enjoyed some roller coasters and water slides along the way. The Dells are so tacky and so fun all at the same time. And even though part of me cringes as I drive by one obnoxious billboard after another, I'm thankful they are in our backyard.


And tonight with the Diefs, the crème de la crème of cheese curds and beer: The Old Fashioned. For those of you that read this blog because you are searching for good Madison spots, do not miss out on their amazing selection of WI microbrews and cheesecurds with tigerblue sauce--yum! 


So four years out, and we're still having a blast. We joke that because every WI town--large and small--seems to have a cute little downtown and its own calendar of fun, WI has two seasons: winter and festival.


Let the festivities roll on!

2011 Highlights

So I’m back to unemployed again, which got me to thinking about blogging again since I have some more free time. And that’s when I saw this abysmally sparse blog for 2011—one picture of snow. Ridiculous. (Though 2012 me is seriously jealous!)

It has been a pretty busy year, admittedly. So here are some highlights to catch up on 2011.

·        Europe—Tom and I took another vacation of a life-time in September touring northern Europe on a heritage tour with his dad and about 50 other elderly folk from the Bentheimers International Society (BIS). BIS is group of people from the county of Bentheim, Germany—either currently residing there or connected by heritage. We visited Prague, Salzburg, Geneva, Strasbourg, Bentheim/Nordhorn, and Amsterdam along the way. While we have vowed to never again take a bus tour, it was a pretty amazing way to see so many beautiful places. Our Christmas card below gives an overview. We worshipped in the church where Tom’s great great great grandparents had worshipped as well as visited the Scholten farm, saw Bach’s baptismal font, visited the Reformation museum, worshipped at the World Council of Churches on the International Day of Prayers for Peace, biked through the Dutch countryside, and enjoyed Prague perhaps most of all. 

·        I completed my first interim ministry gig. This included preaching every week, which—turns out—I love more than I thought I would. It also included moving a church from a historical downtown building to a new facility. I concluded this position the end of December, and I confess, it was such a whirlwind of an end, I am still remembering things I didn’t get done. I am absolved: as I continually reminded myself and the congregation when we weren’t completing things as hoped—we moved from one building to another. No pastor should have to do this more than once ever, but it certainly was an adventure!

Well, this is sounding like one of those cheesy Christmas letters, so I think that’s enough for now. Hopefully, I’ll have something more profound or at the very least somewhat humorous to write about in the near future. For now, back to catching up on the long list of to-dos early unemployment brings and a new book on the Nook.

All the best in 2012,

Jess

Blizzard of 2011

Honestly, it's not quite as spectacular as I was hoping. I don't even really have that amazing of pictures. I stole the one above from Sasha. However, other parts of the country were hit pretty hard. Chicago, for instance. Here's my favorite media quote for the storm so far (MSNBC.com): “Even Chicago — with its legions of snowplows and its usual confidence in the face of winter storms that would surely crush other cities — bent under the storm's weight.”

We're cozied up at home. I'm writing blog entries to procrastinate on sermon writing. Tom is actually working. We've also got his scanner running from work. Number one complaint of the day: “My neighbor's snowblowing snow onto my property.” No joke. Every other call is this. Seriously. There was a blizzard last night, and you are calling the cops to complain that your neighbor is snowblowing onto your driveway? Ridiculous.

These calls are now and then peppered with altercations between city snow plow drivers and PEOPLE THAT SHOULDN'T BE DRIVING ANYHOW. No wonder snow plow drivers care not whether they dump large amounts of heavy plowed snow at the end of your driveway—they keep the city running when there's snow and people go out and fight with them. Sad.

I love snow. I love that it's a snow day. I am thankful for snow plow drivers. And I'm thankful for my neighbors (even if they play loud, repetitive video games at 2 in the morning or hold WWE matches upstairs). Luckily, I also see a lot of fb postings of people whose neighbors have helped clear driveways and shared meals. And while people are busy being irritated by snow and their neighbors, at least they aren't shooting each other.

Happy snow day!

My house is covered in sadness

My house is covered in sadness. We are wearing it like a cloak, and it is clogging the veins of our hearts worse than cholesterol. I get a hassle from a friend of mine that I never post blog entries about, or pictures of, our cats. Truth be told, I’m still shaking generations of disgusted-by-cats relatives, so I’m a little under-cover about being a fan. I have tried to stay in the canine-club, sheepishly confessing to dog-lovers with a shrug, “Well, I married into cats.” Which is true. But it’s probably time I fess up that, actually, I really do like cats. I’m a convert. They are easier to take care of, and their affection is not cheap like any old Bailey or Buddy. Well, except my Taz cat who is more like a dog than a cat. I’m a convert because I happen to have a really amazing cat—he comes when you whistle for him and he does high fives. He likes to wrestle and when I pick him up by the arm-pits and swing his dangling body back and forth while calling out, “Tick Tock Taz” and then set him down, he comes back immediately for more rough-housing. Yeah, Taz is a dog-cat.

But I’m also converted because of my husband and his precious, precious Dan. He loves this cat. He got Dan before me, and sometimes I wonder if he loves Dan just a little a bit more. That’s tongue-in-cheek, of course. But I can say there are very few two-legged creatures Tom likes as well as he likes as Dan. They have bonded. Dan’s warmed up to strangers a bit over the years, but originally, only a handful of folks ever even got to see Dan and only Tom or I could get him to purr. Well, I say, “get.” I have to work at it—bribing with turkey or holding him only one particular way (Dan is very much a cat-cat) or petting his chin just so (again cat-cat). But Tom gets Dan to purr by simply walking in the room. Or saying his name. One time, when Tom was away for a work conference, the only single time Dan got his motor revving (cat-lovers know this engine sound) was over speaker-phone.

In fact, when Tom was away, Dan pretty much went into mourning. I came home one time to hear him running down the stairs and speed around the corner only to take one look at me and sigh (yes, literally sigh) before turning around and slowly climb the stairs to resume sleeping on the corner of the bed until the more worthwhile human came home.

Seeing Tom and Dan interact makes me realize just how great some cats—hey, I’m not a fan of ALL cats—can be as pets. Which makes it all the more miserable that we are now at the point of palliative care for Dan and have spent the morning researching euthanasia theories and pet cremations.

sigh.

This all started a few months ago with some breathing problems and a congestive-heart-failure diagnosis. Yes, for a cat. He’s even on Lasix—you with geriatric family members know this as part of a regimen of old-people drugs for unhealthy fluid-retention. If he were Aunt Bessie, he’d be wheeling around with an oxygen tank and wheezing. We’ve watched Dan go from an 18 pound purr-machine to a now 10 pound old-man cat. And now even the Lasix is doing nothing and who wants to give a pill to a cat that won’t even eat turkey or purr for Tom anyway? And so this coming week will be a long one, likely now the loss of Dan, Danny Boy, Dan the Man cat, el gato from Mancato, most affectionately known as Chingy. My house is covered in sadness.

Jumping in

totally. over. whelming. This is what I’m thinking as I stare into the drawer.

There is a lot of stuff in my new office. Not my stuff, though there’s some of that. Mine are mostly boxes of books packed away in the previous homes of Grey Goose and Smirnoff. While they are the perfect size, I did question the logic of raiding the ABC store to pack up my office in NC as I carried vodka box after vodka box loaded with theology books into the new church.

So there are those.

But then there’s a drawer of paper clips and capless pens. An old button—was it the previous minister’s? Was it from someone’s dress in 1982? There’s a bolt—should I keep it? Pack it in a box marked “might be important”? In another drawer, there are chocolate coins in a pretty little pouch. Are they from 1982? The shelves house old issues of “These days” devotionals and every copy of the Sunday school curriculum for the last 8 years. There is a bag that says, “Bells for Christmas Eve or throw away.” What does that mean? THOSE are your options?!

I went in early to get something done—to find a recent copy of the Book of Order and my Robert’s Rules, to sign in to my new email, to maybe do some sermon prep.

But instead, I am staring around wondering about all this stuff. And questioning the logic of my first act as the new associ… interim minister (will I ever stop calling myself the associate minister?)—to moderate a Session meeting.

That, and preach on Sunday. Preach on Sunday after working the busiest week of tax season as a secretary for four days with precisely one day in the church office—my first day in the office. Do I really think I’ll get sermon prep done?

I keep “joking” that this is like jumping into the deep end. Now I think maybe it’s like jumping into the deep end of one of those wave pools at a water park. Or standing on the shore of Lake Michigan in 5 foot waves and an undertow. Sometimes it’s a rush; sometimes you have to walk back toward the shallow shore to catch your breath.

I’m over-philosophizing but I still like the analogy. In this moment, I thought I’d be thrilled to jump in the waves. I’m a little surprised to be clinging to the shore. I’m not too worried but I’m curious about it.

Turns out my first official duty wasn’t moderating the Session meeting, btw. A few minutes before the meeting, as I was stepping into the ladies room, the head of property caught me by the elbow and said in a quiet tone, “Ah, well, we just had to put in a new commode—can you give me a report?” perfect.

Only in Wisconsin...

Only in Wisconsin are green AND gold liturgical colors:

I know I'm ridiculously behind on posting--coming soon: NC adventures, UW FOOTBALL, and Fall colors.

Peace, love, and God bless the Packers (and this season, their fans!),

Jess

Sailing on JoJee

Some of you have been following my sailing sagas. I joined the UW Hoofer sailing club in the spring, and it has been an adventurous summer. When I was a kid, my parents helped out with the upkeep of Electra, a rather spectacular 40' teak sailboat, in exchange for summer sailing. So admittedly, when I thought about sailing, I flashbacked to gorgeous sunny days spent sitting on the bow with the wind in my hair. Right. About the only accurate part of that picture was the wind part. Turns out sailing, especially little boats by yourself, is an enormous amount of work. And tricky. And it takes awhile to figure it out. But the various times throughout the summer I have thought, forget it, I caught the wind just right or something clicked between the boat and my brain or I had a magical perfect landing or some other glorious moment *queue angelic choir--aaaahhhh* happened and this fabulous rush of some biological chemical is released and I forget that I've gotten knocked in the head with the boom or have unknown bruises all over me and turn in on that high so I'm ready to go out again soon.

But I still hold on to thinking that sailing is sitting on the bow while someone else deals with tell-tales and jibs and halyards. So when the opportunity came up to sail on a "real" sailboat--think 2 sails with a keel (that bottom fin that keeps the boat from going sideways across the water), I jumped. And yesterday, we got to sail on JoJee, with some friends. Joe, the captain, has been my instructor a few times. He comes complete with stories and religious jokes that only an octogenarian Jewish man can get away with. He didn't exactly let me sit on the bow for the trip. In fact, I spent most of the afternoon at the helm trying desperately to remember all my sailing definitions from the manuals while he yelped out commands I had no idea how to respond to. When you're in a boat by yourself, you don't remind yourself what's port or starboard or make sure when you grab the rope you need that you remember the name of that particular piece of line. After a few more commands from Joe at the front, I finally fessed up I'd never sailed a boat with two sails. "Well, you've been in one before, right?!" as if that took care of how to know what to do with a jib. But it was still lots of fun--good wind, sunshine, and lots-o-laughs. Plus, now I've successfully tacked with a 26' boat--WHOO HOO!

And Joe did give me a break from steering to take some pictures, which was super! I wouldn't dare bring my camera on my little techs or even a Badger Sloop, so it was nice to document the shoreline from the boat. Enjoy!

The JoJee


Terrace Time


The Maple Bluffs


Thanks, Liz, for this picture of the Scholten sailors