Tinfoil + Raccoon

Nellie Wilson: Wisconsin's Own Rosie the Riveter

On May 3, Juniorina finished her second year of National History Day participation, reaching the state level both years. Each year, students work on projects in support of an annual theme. They can present historical research in papers, performances, websites, exhibits and documentaries. This year, La Crosse Public Library hosted over 500 middle school students who came to the library for research visits in support of their projects. We were pleased to see that eight students from our region were state finalists, some of who will advance to the national event. 

Juniorina, an 8th grader, wrote a heck of a paper, and missed nationals by one spot, placing with a 1st Honorable Mention.  I'm going to publish her work here, not (just) because she's my kid, but because she wrote about a woman, largely unknown outside of Milwaukee, who had a signficant impact on her community. Mrs. Wilson also passed away shortly after Juniorina started her research. I'm pleased to shine a light on Mrs. Wilson's life and work. 

Wisconsin's Own Rosie the Riveter: Nellie Wilson and Her Fight for Equality in the Workplace

by Claudia Elvidge, School of Technology and the Arts II, Grade 8

“Nellie Wilson had a dream, too.  Wilson attended the 1963 March on Washington.  She had a dream that she could support her two young girls. When Wilson finally landed a job worth working at, she hoped that joining the union would make a difference. Then she found herself making a difference in the union - and in the lives of countless other workers.”¹  

      That was a quote from the obituary of Nellie Wilson who passed away January 23, 2008, in Milwaukee, Wisconsin at the age of 91, after a lifetime of fighting for the rights of women and people of color in the workplace.  Nellie Wilson was one of the millions of women who went to work in factories during World War II at a time when, in the public eye, women were supposed to stay home or work in less demanding jobs.  Even more remarkable was that she was an African American woman.

Oktoberfest 2007: Maple Leaf Parade

  Tom Sleik 
  Originally uploaded by rochelle, et. al.

Last year was our first Oktoberfest in La Crosse and we didn't do any "festing."  I was still sort of shell-shocked and exhausted from the move and new job, and figured I could drink beer on my own, minus the crowds.   This year, a bit more rested and less dazed,  I decided to check this Oktoberfest thing out.  We haven't made it to the Fest grounds yet and I'm not sure we will, but Juniorette and I did go to the Maple Leaf parade.  The Maple Leaf Parade is the largest of several O-fest parades. I had been led to believe that it was a total mob scene and that it was hard to get a good viewing spot, but decided to give it try.  Mr. Raccoon dropped Juniorette and I off a couple blocks away from the parade route, and we headed down to 2nd street, noting that nearly everyone else heading to the parade was toting chairs, coolers and open, frothy beverages as if heading for a campout. 

We found a perfectly fine viewing spot--Juniorette even found an abandoned chair to sit in.  It was sort of a rowdy crowd, but not the off-the-hook revelry I had expected.  Folks were 2-4 people deep on each side, but everyone had a great perch or seat.    I didn't see any streams of beer flying through the air and no one was falling-down drunk.  (Someone, who shall remain nameless, told me about attending an Oktoberfest parade in the early 70s, when youth unrest had just made its way to the Heartland, during which lots of frothy beverages were tossed at that much-loathed enemy of the people, that tool of the state, Kate Smith.)

I'd been told it was a realllllllly long parade. It was a pretty standard-issue parade, dressed up in lederhosen and dirndls, but fun nonetheless.  After an hour or so, and about the time it started sprinkling, Juniorette started asking if we could go.  I kept urging her to stay for one more marching band, which kept us there for quite awhile, as there are a bunch of marching bands in the parade.  It eventually started to rain in earnest, and it appeared that the parade was over (maybe 90 minutes into the start), so we left to go find some lunch, pleased that we'd made the effort and that we stuck it out for the entirety.

It wasn't until our Tuesday morning team meeting that I learned we'd missed around half of the parade!  I guess we left during a really big lull. I was a little disappointed, but felt like our 90 minutes gave us a positive view of Oktoberfest as a fun, community-building event. 

I also enjoyed just being out in the community during the first few days before and during Oktoberfest--just walking downtown or stopping into Quillin's for groceries.  Last Saturday, while getting groceries, an older woman asked, "Are you festing?" She nodded approval when I said the extent of my festing was that I had a crock pot full of pork and sauerkraut waiting at home. I heard countless other local folks talking with each other about how they were  Festing (or avoiding the whole deal).  Oktoberfest does, unquestionably, pull in tons of tourists, but it truly is a community event.  There's a part of me that could write sort of bratty post focusing on the negative aspects of Oktoberfest, but this year, I decided to go along for the ride and found it quite...festive.   There are plenty more pictures from our parade experience at Flickr--just click on the photo at the top of the story.

Pla-Mor Lanes Bowling Alley

  Pla-Mor Lanes Bowling Alley 
  Originally uploaded by rochelle, et. al..

I celebrated my six-month anniversary at La Crosse Public Library with my colleagues at the annual Maintenance Cup Bowling Tournament.   I also, expectedly, got the low score (did you know that bowling is a sport?!), far before the imbibing took hold.   My new nickname is "Tequila Rose."

Al Knorr--Stop the War

  Al Knorr--Stop the War 
  Originally uploaded by rochelle, et. al..

One the very few things I missed about leaving my previous library were the patrons--the ones I grew to know as acquaintances and friends.  Yesterday I even got one from one of my favorites, Walt, a Shakespeare afficianado, who brought me up to speed on the remodeling project and complained that "his" bust of the bard would no longer be on display.   

My first few months at LPL were a bit isolating since I literally didn't know anyone, save for my new co-workers.   Graudally, I started to learn the names and personalities of folks they started to call me by name and ask how I liked La Crosse.  I can say that today, on my 6 month anniversary (I assume I'm off probation, right, Kelly?), I'm feeling at home here on the second floor. 

Al Knorr was someone I had read about even before I moved to La Crosse.  I found an article about him when I was searching for information about the community.  He's a well-known, long-time community activist whose recent passion, the Iraq War, was highlighted in a Chicago Tribune article early in 2006.  It didn't take me long to get to know Al as one of our treasured regular patrons.  As he was doing when the Tribune article came out, Al can still be seen on sidewalks and street corners all over town, regardless of the weather, holding his "Stop the War" sign.  I give him a honk of support whenever I see him, but earlier this week found him outside of Central High School where I was dropping off Juniorette.  I hopped out, shook his hand, chatted a bit and asked if I could take his photo.  So, here's Al, a community treasure and another reason I'm glad to be here.

VOTE NO to the Ban on Civil Unions

  VOTE NO to the Ban on Civil Unions 
  Originally uploaded by rochelle, et. al..

It's a month until the election.  I was surprised to hear that a Baptist church has come out against the ban. The congregation of the First Baptist Church in Madison has declared their opposition to the ban, an opposition informed by the Gospel.   This is heartwarming and encouraging, even to a heathen like me.

Don't Assume: Home Version

Today was one of those days that went on forever, so I enlisted Juniorina to help me prepare a dish for a neighborhood gathering tonight.  Right after work, Juniorette had a guitar lesson, so I emailed Juniorina a recipe for macaroni & cheese (James Beard recipe...to die for).  I even wrote it in a way that would make more sense than normal recipe-speak.  Juniorina is no slouch in the kitchen, but still, formal recipes assume a lot of prior knowledge.  Here's what I sent her:

1. Get the big rice steamer pan and fill it 2/3 to the top with water. Put in some salt (1 teaspoon or so), put lid on, and start to boil.
2. While the water is boiling, get the heavy orange pan that is shaped like a pumpkin. 
   
   1. Melt 4 Tablespoons of butter (that's half a stick) on MEDIUM heat.
   2. When butter is melted, add 4 TABLESPOONS of flour and stir into butter real good. Lower heat to med/low. Let bubble a bit, but do not let it brown.
   3. When your roux is ready (that's the butter and flour mixture), add two cups of milk and stir off and on until it is thick and bubbly.
   4. Add a dash or two of tabasco sauce and turn down heat to LOW
   5. Chop up or grate the big block of yellow cheese
   6. Is your water boiling?  If so, put in your pasta (most of the box)
   7. Put cheese in white sauce and let it bubble and melt.
   8. Add a little bit of half and half (in a small carton in the fridge---maybe 1/4-1/2 cup)
   9. Drain your pasta and add it to the sauce.

I checked with her before I came home, and she assured me that everything was fine, and agreed to take the dish to the neighbor's since I would be getting home late.   We all headed to the neighbor's garage as soon as Juniorette and I got home.  We met some folks, filled our plates, and I thought that Juniorette's first attempt at a classic mac & cheese dish was not too bad for a 12 year-old.   

Despite the miserable weather, I enjoyed meeting some new-to-me neighbors and getting to know others better. Mr and Mrs Bread (so named because they always have leftover bread from Panera after serving dinner to at-risk people on Tuesday nights at their church) had a Santa Claus-sized bag of bread that everyone got to pick from.  I got to hear Scott and another neighbor talk about the radical teacher nuns at Viterbo University.  And I met the neighbor cattycornered from us, who will be a new father come Thursday (wife at home on bedrest).  I declined the offer to stay out and drink beer with Scott and some others, since I hadn't been home all day, and came back to the house to decompress. 

After I'd sat for awhile, I went to the kitchen to tidy up.  Don't assume #1: I saw that Juniorina had used the wrong cheese. She did find a block of cheddar, just not the right one.  I showed her that we had some sharp cheddar that would have given the dish some more tang, but I didn't specify in the recipe.   Then, I did one of those cartoon head-shakes when I found my rice steamer with a big hole in the bottom.  Wha?!  The bottom wasn't burnt, just...missing.  I didn't see any evidence that it had been scrubbed, and there was no sign of kitchen drama.  I asked Juniorina about it and she was fairly evasive. "Look, I'm not mad. I just want to know what happened.  Did you just leave the pan on the burner and forget to turn it off?"   She said "yeah" without real conviction.  Then I remembered seeing the chair under the smoke alarm on the back porch. Obviously, it had gone off and Juniorina had pulled the battery. 

I talked to her some more, asking all sorts of questions.  "Really, I'm not mad.  I'm just curious how this happened.  If you forgot to turn off the burner, just say so."  She wasn't being evasive--she just couldn't tell me what happened, so I had her go over the process. "I had the top part on it."  "You mean the lid?"  "No. The other part." Ding ding ding!  "Oh!" I said. "You cooked the pasta in the rice steamer basket?"  "Yeah!"   

Don't Assume #2:  I gave her a hard time and asked her if she hadn't watched me cook pasta a million times.  I mean, I have cooked pasta a million times. But, I've never invited her to watch me.  She's made box mac & cheese, but uses a smaller pan.  When I told her in the recipe to use the rice steamer pot, I assumed she knew that I just meant to use the pot part, without the steamer basket.  "Nobody tells me these things!" she said.  "Haven't you watched enough Alton Brown?"  "He doesn't tell you how to boil water!"  She had put the pot on the burner with no water in it, but put the water in the steamer basket and got it to boiling.  No wonder I have a bottomless rice cooker now.  And, it's a wonder that I still have a house. And, it's a wonder that the pasta was not a gummy mess!

Don't assume #3: I think I tend to assume that my girls know how to do things because I either knew how to do things or had different interests at their age.  While I was no major whiz in the kitchen at 12, I suspect I had a few more skills than Juniorina, and possibly, a lot more interest. So, I learned a lesson or two tonight. Let's just hope I remember at least one of them.

Mad Pooper Puts Supper on the Table

Our youngest cat Gidget, now known as the Mad Pooper for her serial soiling of the neighborhood sandbox, has been quite an ambassador for us.  She's proven to be quite the huntress, and led to me being yelled at be a neighbor for the first time ever in my life.  I won't detail the negative interaction, except to say that I think it was entirely warranted, which led me to profuse apologies, the scooping of said sandbox, and a determination to keep Gidget inside. Even while I was scooping, the neighbors and I ended up chatting in a reasonably friendly way and we all chuckled uncomfortably about "what a way to meet your neighbors, huh?"  But, you know, it was fine.

Then, last night, the Mrs. knocks on my door with a bag of beautiful, cleaned fresh veggies from the community garden where she volunteers, and even more apologies for the weekend debacle, saying that they found more poop in the box, but knew that I had been keeping Gidget inside and shouldn't have assumed it was all her doing.  I assured her it was fine, that I was the bad neighbor for having possibly started the, uh, trend and insisted that apologies were not needed.  Somehow, we ended up talking about cherries, and the cherry tree at the end of the block.  I told her about my slick new cherry pitter and my prowess as a pie-baker and she said perhaps she'd bring some cherries down some time.  Swell! 

Sometime this afternoon while I was still at work, the neighbor-Mr. dropped by with his peace offering--a gallon of unprocessed cherries.  I thought that was right nice.  Then I realized that I had a gallon of juicy cherries that needed processing in the next few hours.  These cherries would not wait.  So, I made a lovely stir fry with the previous evening's gift veggies, setting off the fire alarm for the first time, having forgotten that I can't use the wok directly on the coils of electric stove. Then I decided I'd process the cherries and whip up a couple of pies after supper, one of which I'd deliver to the pooped-upon cherry-gifters.

I'd pitted about half the cherries when Juniorina decided she'd like to help out, so I did some kitchen clean-up while she pitted the remainder of the fruit.  At that point, I figured I could freeze the fruit, or make the pie. Of course, I opted for the path of most complication. I mixed the cherries with quick cook tapioca and sugar, and left them to sit for 15 minutes while I ran to the store for pie crust (I make my own crusts 95% of the time, but I figure for all the work that cherries take, it's no big crime to buy a decent lard-filled crust).  As I left for the store, guess who ran out between my legs, making her bid for freedom?  It was raining, getting late, and there was no chance of catching her.  It's all a big game of dodging and zipping and seeking refuge in the neighbor's hedge (the neighbors who like her).  So, I got in the car and hoped that the rain would force Gidge back inside.

I'm still learning my grocery stores here, and chose the wrong one for crust. I went to the closest non-convenience store to my house, but found, pretty much, a deluxe convenience store. They had crust, but not the best quality.  Nonetheless, I settled.   When I got home, Gidget was around in the yard, but I had to get the pies in the oven.  By then, I was getting tired and cranky with myself for having spent the whole night in the kitchen.  So, I filled the pies, and decided to make a crumb crust because I had too much filling for one big pie, and everyone knows that cherry pies have to have some sort of top.  Finally, they were filled and topped and popped into the oven, and I went out to try and lure Gidget back in. Unsuccessful, I went to check on the pies, only to discover a burning smell and smoke roiling from the oven.  Crap! I'd set it to broil.  So, I turned the oven off, got the fan to blow out the smoke and moved the broiled pie to the lower rack and started up again on bake.

The pies came out, not pretty, but pretty tasty and Gidget came in shortly after I started writing this. So, tomorrow morning, I'll head down the alley, a pie in one hand, and a pooper scooper in the other. Hello neighbor!

Six Weeks into Wisconsin

I really had planned on picking up my blogging pace once I got settled, but it just hasn't burned in my belly.  I think I had immersed myself into so many extraneous activities to make up for something....not enough challenge, frustration, unhappiness.  But, it feels so good to be here in the community, in the library, in my new home, that I'm pretty content with what I have on my plate.  In fact, I ran out of Wellbutrin (a prescription for anxiety that I'd been relying on for a couple years) about a month ago and realized that I've not needed it since landing.  How's that for a ringing endorsement of Life Up North?  So, here's my cheesy, bulleted summary of life in La Crosse.

• I've been very hesitant to write about work. I don't feel muzzled or anything, just....protective, I guess is the word. It really is different being in management, all in a good way, but I'm confident that I will find a way to write about my new work life. Basically, I want to share the news that management is nothing to fear.  It's something I'd always swore I'd never do, and, frankly, avoided for a long time.  I had the chance to chat with Stephen Abram at ALA Annual, and talked about my new position. He said that 80% or so of people he talks to are not interested in moving into management, but that most of the library jobs that will be opening up in the future are management jobs.   Stay tuned in the coming weeks for my evangelizing.
• MegaGoodNews:  I got a full price offer on my house in Bloomington a few days ago. I'm confident that everything will be fine and that in less than a month, I'll be down to one house again.  Phew!
• Our youngest cat, Gidget, is grounded until the snow flies.  A couple doors down is a fine, massive sandbox, a gathering spot for the Kool-Aid set.  Gidget couldn't believe her good fortune at having found the biggest litter box in the world. The owner of said sandbox had a polite conversation with me about Gidget's unsanitary practices, so I made her a little sandbox in our back yard.   Not good enough. Gidget kept up her wicked ways, which resulted in a chewing out by same neighbor. All the other neighbors were big Gidget boosters, as she has been vigilant against the destructo-bunnies who gnaw oranmental plants and cabbages down to nubs.  Poor Gidge. She runs around from window to window, yowling and mewling.  We can occassionally occupy her with a laser pen, but it's not quite the same.
  
• I finally got to see the inside of Kroner's "Really Neat Stuff."  It was amazing!  It's an old-school hardware store, probably in the same spot it's been for decades.  I needed a cherry pitter, and figured if anyone had one, Kroner's would. They did. They also had old-fashioned meat grinders, clay rosette pans, gnocchi makers, kraut-making supplies, paint, signs, ladders, hooks, tools..... The store was staffed by a super-friendly young guy who traded stories with me about childhood memories of the smells of relish and kraut, and an older gentleman who I could only assume was Mr. Kroner.  I got the sense that Kroner, Sr. was more sentry than salesman and not down with best practices of sales, customer service, merchandising and display. It was awesome, and I can't wait to go back. 
• I needed a cherry pitter for the tart pie cherries I'd gotten at farmer's market.  Cherry pie from scratch is an exercise in perseverance. The only way to pit cherries is one at a time.  Do you know how many cherries it takes to make a pie? About a million.  Or, maybe more like two quarts.  It was a good two hours of industry--three if you count the time it took for me to go to the store to get the correct thickening agent and flavoring (quick cook tapioca--not cornstarch, not flour; and almond extract).  If you like cherry pie, you should make if from scratch at least once.  I even made one of those fancy, county fair-grade lattice tops.  Jeeze oh Pete (that's Wisconsin talk), it was pretty and tasty, and I even shared some with the neighbors. Since I sprung for a cherry stoner, I plan on using it at least once more this summer. I think the fruit guy will have cherries for at least another week.  "Culinary hacker" Alton Brown would not approve, as cherry stoners are strictly a single-purpose gadget, but my tongue and tummy would say it's a worthy exception.

How Not to Impress the New Neighbors

Do not throw away already-smelly, raw chicken into the garbage can in the alley four days before garbage collection and the night before a neighborhood alley rummage sale when the temperature is significantly above freezing.  Unless you want to see a lot of wrinkled noses and looks of disgust.  And a shovel-full of maggots. It's a good thing I went home for lunch today. Today, I was thankful for the sandy soil in my backyard and the ease with which I could dig a deep hole. I swear it didn't smell that bad when I left for work at 7:45 am.  Sun + rancid chicken + black garbage can = GROOOOSSSSSSS!!!!!

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.