
Picture taken where S. Gammon Road dead-ends into Elver Park.
His life, his interests, his sometimes quirky frame of mind in words and pictures. A flyover of my life.
I need to be more disciplined when it comes to meetings and other outside-of-the-home responsibilities on my schedule.
Yesterday is an instructive case in point.
I worked on my course syllabus until nearly 10 a.m. Then I pushed myself away from the computer.
I’m not giving myself very much time to get ready, I thought.
Indeed! The meeting I was attending started at 11:00, and the seven people involved (representatives from the Wisconsin Library Association and Wisconsin Educational Media & Technology Association) were gathering in the Capitol rotunda at 10:45.
As soon as I reached the bathroom, I absently ran a hand across my face.
Shoot, I forgot to shave.
I usually take care of this morning ritual before JoAnna and Eddie leave the house.
I rushed through a shower and then grabbed a shirt and pair of pants from the closet – something to go with a blue blazer. With a temperature in the low 70s and the humidity in the same range, I decided to forego a tie.
The first two shirts I selected both had an embarrassing case of ring around the collar.
Am I losing it here? I wondered. (I’m the Laundry Guy at our house.)
I needed to factor in a 10-minute walk to the high-school parking lot as part of my preparations.
I should have given Eddie a ride to school this morning, I groused.
A block from the house, I realized I didn’t have my wallet. I jogged back, working up a little bit of a sweat in the process.
At least I slathered on the deodorant this morning, I told myself.
The Matrix’s digital clock read 10:29 as I backed out of the parking space.
It’s going to take me longer than ten minutes to get to the Capitol, I moaned.
I decided to gamble and attempt to park as close to my destination as possible – without pressing my luck. I fed the meter three quarters, which gave me all of 36 minutes, knowing it wouldn’t be enough.
I’ll probably return and find a ticket on the window, I thought in resignation.
I walked the two blocks to the Capitol at a quick pace and entered the rotunda, at 10:47, sporting a face glistening with sweat. I quickly caught my breath, although it took a few more minutes for the moisture to dissipate. Fortunately, I wasn’t the last of the group to arrive. (Close, though.) Once we had all gathered, we reviewed who would say what in our review of the library legislative agenda put forward by State Superintendent of Public Instruction Libby Burmaster. I got the nod to set the stage – provide the background and purpose of our visit.
Which went very well.
We met with Maria Bundy, Governor Doyle’s Education Policy Analyst, who was very attentive and showed a sincere interest in our issues.
When I mentioned my connection to the Middleton Public Library, Maria noted that her mother-in-law used to work there.
“What’s her name?” I asked, an answer I should have been able to figure out for myself.
“Susan Bundy,” she replied.
For some reason, I had been unable to make this possible connection before the meeting. Obviously, I missed, or completely forgot about, the news of her son’s marriage.
Susan retired from Middleton in 2006 after 20 years of employment.
Scott’s Bakery in Middleton sells a Spanish peanut cookie that has become a favorite of JoAnna’s and mine. It’s not always available, unfortunately. In fact, it’s the only one of their more than dozen varieties that seems to get this “special occasion” treatment. The thing is, though, we can’t figure out what the special occasions are. The one time I asked, a clerk told me, “We only make that cookie at Christmastime.”
I knew this was a wrong answer – but I didn’t argue with her.
Now that I’ve vowed to avoid store-bought sweets, I needed to locate my own version of the Spanish peanut cookie. Once again, I searched the Internet and found a variety of options. I chose a recipe based on the following criteria:
1. Easy, straightforward instructions
2. Logical combination of ingredients (i.e., nothing requiring 2 sticks of butter, a la the disastrous Ina Garten jalapeno cornbread recipe)
At first I was going to eliminate the frosting but had a change of heart, probably because the batter seemed overly dry and crumbly. At first, I thought I might have back-to-back flops on my hands, but the results proved very satisfying, even though it’s not an exact copy – not even close, actually – of the Scott’s Bakery variety. The cookie has a crunchy/chewy texture, similar to a granola bar, that goes great with a glass of milk or just on its own as a snack to ward off hunger pains.
Here’s the recipe for Spanish Peanut Cookies
Cookie ingredients
1½ cups flour
1½ t. baking powder
1 t. baking soda
1 c. brown sugar, firmly packed
1 c. unsalted butter, softened
1 egg
1 c. rolled oats
1 c. flaked coconut
1 c. salted peanuts
½ c. Corn Flakes, finely crushed
Icing ingredients
2 T. unsalted butter
1 c. confectioner’s sugar
1 T. hot water (2-3 is what you’ll probably need)
1 t. fresh lemon juice
Directions:
1. Combine flour, baking powder, baking soda; set aside.
2. Cream butter and sugar. Add egg and beat well.
3. Add all dry ingredients, blending after each addition.
4. Drop by rounded teaspoons on ungreased cookie sheet.
5. Bake at 350° for 12-15 minutes.
Icing: Melt butter. Mix in confection sugar, hot water, and fresh lemon juice. Beat until smooth and drizzle over cooled cookies. (Add additional hot water if mixture is too dry.)
“You should add chocolate chips the next time,” JoAnna suggested.
And I will!
As much as I wanted to take a bike ride yesterday, it took a considerable amount of time to get myself motivated. I seemed to be looking for excuses to stay home.
It’s too windy.
The local forecast on the Weather Channel noted gusts of up to 25 miles per hour. And when I looked out the window, all the trees were energetically waving at one another.
It’s not a very pleasant day.
In fact, it remained overcast and cool all weekend – always looking as though more rain was imminent.
JoAnna might need a ride before I get back.
I drove her to work on Friday morning, as the group of women going to Bayfield shared the cost of renting a van – one with enough cargo space to accommodate five sets of golf clubs. (Which were never used.)
I finally got underway at 1:20 – not in the most serious and confident of bike-riding moods.
“I’m going to give it a try,” I said to Eddie, who declined an invitation to join me, just before leaving the house. “The way it looks, I might not be gone that long.”
But as soon as I accelerated onto
My destination was
Most of my route followed
Maybe their second game was canceled when the other team decided not to show up, I considered.
I retrieved a
Is he hailing me? I wondered, not recognizing who it was until he continued about five more paces.
“Tony!” I called out.
It was Jack Peterson’s dad, so I figured I must be in the right place. (Jack is one of Andy’s roommates and a member of the lacrosse team.) And that game 2 was still on.
“You look lost,” he teased, having seen me intently focused on the map. “Did you bike all the way here?” he asked in disbelief.
I assumed it was a rhetorical question.
As I had guessed while flipping through various scenarios, Andy and his teammates went to one of the restaurant in the vicinity of nearby East Towne Mall for a late lunch. Or, more likely, a second lunch. He answered his phone the second time I called and reported that he was on his way back to the park. I figure-eighted the parking lot awaiting his arrival.
We talked for all of three minutes. Then I needed to head back to Middleton. The start time of Andy’s second game had been pushed back to 3:30.
“I just talked to Mom 15 minutes ago, and they were just north of
Our previously agreed-upon pick-up location.
I thought the wind -- from the north-northwest, though it did seem to swirl a lot -- would be more of a distraction during the return to Middleton. Curiously, it wasn’t. I didn’t feel anything hold back my progress. All in all, a very satisfying 2½ hours of biking.
Eddie and I have made a mutually beneficial arrangement regarding his use of the Matrix. Even if I need to use the car during the day, he’ll still be able to drive it to school. I’ll just need to be sure to add an extra ten minutes to my schedule – the time it takes me to walk to the high school parking lot.
Yesterday I almost regretted this agreement. A light rain was falling when I left the house, but an umbrella kept me dry. As I approached the car, I noticed that Eddie had parked it in an area reserved for people using the indoor swimming pool
PARKING AREA
IS RESERVED FOR
POOL USE ONLY
VIOLATORS WILL BE TOWED
AT CAR OWNER’S EXPENSE
How could Eddie not see these signs? I wondered.
One was posted every twenty feet.
I waited until after school let out to return the car to the lot. In this way, I was able to park closer to the building.
While getting supper ready, I glanced out the window facing the driveway and saw Eddie walking toward the house. I moved to the hallway to meet him.
“Why did you walk home?” I asked in surprise. “Where’s the car?”
He looked shellshocked – which made me think What the hell happened here?
“I have bad news,” he announced, his voice tight with emotion.
At this point, I did not know how to react. I imagined the car unable to start – or worse.
A flat tire? An accident – the car towed to Jim’s Amoco or Ball Body Shop?
“The car was towed,” he added, meekly awaiting a wrathful response.
“No, it wasn’t,” I returned, trying my best to hold back a smile. “I used it for awhile today and parked it in a different area when I was done. Any why did you park it in a restricted area anyway?”
He practically crumpled in relief.
“Oh, Dad, you don’t know how happy I am to hear that.”
Then he told me his side of the story. He was running a bit late getting ready for school. (Which I already knew, since I had to knock on his bedroom door to rouse him out of bed.) He parked the car in the first open space he found, even though the sign told him to go elsewhere. He returned to the lot during his lunch hour to move the car – an immediately assumed it had been towed. He spent the next five hours in a state of suspended anxiety.
I guess I'll need to be clearer as to when I need my car.
Obama, eloquent as always, gave a relatively low-key speech in light of the concerns over Hurricane Gustav and a possible replay of Katrina. He gave an historical summation of the labor movement and its continued importance to workers today. He talked about the independent spirit of the American people, but also how we come together in times of need. After offering encouragement to contribute to the Red Cross to help those displaced by the storm, he described those who face their own “quiet storms” – the loss of a job or a house – and the need for government to respond at such times.
When Obama finished his 20-minute address, he acknowledged the cheers of the audience for a few minutes and then headed straight in our direction. Surrounded by a squad of Secret Service agents, he worked the crowd building at the front of the stage, shaking every hand, including JoAnna’s and mine, that was offered to him.
“He looks you straight in the eye,” JoAnna observed as we walked back to the car. “That’s what I like about him.”
It’s a piercing, confident gaze, which revealed to me a man very much at ease with himself. I sensed a huge reservoir of inner calm behind his eyes.
Obama is truly a remarkable person.