Wisconsin Week 2

Finally, things are seeming more normal, despite the boxes here and there.  I'm cooking again, got started on a small herb/perennial garden in the corner of my yard (already dug up...as much as I love digging, I'm not starting any major projects until next year), and have met more neighbors.   (Don, next door, is coming over to trim my hedge today because he always did it for the folks before us.)

Our three blue eggs have turned into one young Robin who, we hope, flew the nest this morning.  The other two must have not made it much past hatching, but the young Miss who remained was perched hopefully on the edge of the nest this morning.  Didn't see any telltale feathers around the cats' mouths so we're assuming the best.   We also found another nest right outside the living room window. It's like a party pad, uninhabited and woven through with Christmas icicles. 

I kept awake long enough to put in an appearance at last Saturday's drinks-around-the-fire party across the street.  I was pretty tired and didn't stay long, but it was so awesome to have such a mixed crowd.  Those assembled included the retired couple next to Scott, the young marrieds in matching US Navy hoodies, the couple across the alley, the bridge operator who got a call around 11:30 to do his bridge-moving thing, our host Scott and his sweetie, Chris, and some neighborhood kids.  And Dave, the library's IT guy.  One of the things I was looking forward to in La Crosse was developing a new set of friends outside of work.  I love my BPL/BN friends and can imagine enjoying the company of my new coworkers, but it seemed like a healthy opportunity for me to branch out and find happy hour companions who could care less about CIPA, weeding, problem patrons, or databases.  Who did I sit next to at the party?  Dave.  What did we talk about? Work. At one point Dave said "I don't want to talk about work any more."  Thank you, Dave.  But, I think I need to work on my conversational skills a bit, as I ended up going home shortly after that.  What else is there to talk about besides libraries and technology?!! 

Well, part of the reason I went home was because someone threw copper tubing wrapped in garden hose into the fire.  It was quite a show.  Turquoise! blue! green! orange! fire.  Very trippy and entertaining.  Shortly after that, a neighbor girl showed up with S'more fixin's, but was disuaded from applying toxic fire to her marshmallows.  I wondered how healthy it was for me, Miss Canary in the Coal Mine to be roasting her feet by the fire, and decided it was bedtime......Okay. I'm lame and pitiful and was just ready for bed at 10:30.

Random discoveries: 

• It stays lighter here quite a bit longer than in Bloomington.  Enough so that I'm going to bed and sleeping later.  I may have to resort to an alarm clock.  Several times I've not woken up til after 7...unheard of for me.
• I found out why everyone is so mulch-happy here.  We're situated on an old river bed and the soil is very sandy.  When I first started digging in my new garden spot, I thought perhaps I was in an old sand box, but, er, no....it's what I've got to work with.  If only I wanted to be a root vegetable gardener....  So, now I know why I have several cartloads of redwood mulch dumped in the driveway. 
• In Central Illinois, a fish fry is an event where fish is fried and served. In Wisconsin, it's a menu item.  "You should have the Fish Fry--this is the best Fish Fry in town."  I did have a damn fine Fish Fry last week--flaky, fresh filets of cod, and...I don't remember what the sides were because it was such good fish.
• Ranison Ice Cream and Candy.  I was bummed to leave behind Carl's, but Ranison's is a perfectly suitable substitute. I haven't been there, but Mr. Raccoon when out on a mission of mercy last week and brought back a half-gallon of Brownie ice cream, root beer and cream soda. While Carl's has been all updated and fancified and marketized, Ranison's is unidentifiable as anything more than a hole-in-the-wall storefront with Wal-Mart-grade plastic tables on the sidewalk.  Oh, and they have beer and wine, too. Take that, Carl's! 

This week, I'm shopping for music teachers.  There's the traditional music store downtown--it's the place that sells and rents instruments to school kids, and offers a few types of lessons.  It's in a terrifically ancient, crooked, creaky-floored, non-ADA storefront in downtown.  I liked the character of the building, but didn't find much charm or customer-service orientation in the staff.  But, we found a music studio where we'll be able to get piano, guitar, and viola teachers.  I talked with a co-owner who listened patiently to my questions and who asked me if I had email.  Score!  So, she's able to find out more about my girls, their personalities and their experience and find teachers who are a good match,  and not just plug us in to the first available slot.  Juniorette is going to try guitar this summer, and I think we've found a good fit in a teacher whose specialty is jazz.  His sig. file is "'I never practice my guitar… from time to time I just open the case and throw in a piece of raw meat.'   -  Wes Montgomery"  When I read that to Juniorette, she howled.  A promising start.  Still searching for piano instruction for Juniorina, although we're both still in mourning about leaving behind Sam in Bloomington.  He'll probably be the teacher that she compares all other music teachers against.  Me too.

But, dangit, I have to start thinking about leaving for ALA next Thursday. A few more weeks of chaos, and I can hopefully be home for good.