Brainless Day

 

I recently found out that I can get a free subscription to the New York Times through my job, and so I have been enjoying Wordle every day. People told me I'd be good at it, and Prairie Man said the best word to start with is "canoe" because it has so many vowels, and that has served me well. Maybe too well, because yesterday Wordle asked if I wanted to put it into "difficult mode." No, I do not want to put it into "difficult mode" - I enjoy the illusion of thinking I'm a super-genius because I can usually solve it in three guesses. Life is hard - why should Wordle be unnecessarily hard too?

Last night as one of my Lenten practices, I actually got to bed something like on time, and it's just not working for me. I didn't wake up until my alarm yanked me out of a dream, and my brain never really woke up. For example, I was meeting with a person who is one of those incredibly good people, so decent that they almost don't seem real, like he would never do anything the least bit morally problematic, which has nothing to do with the story but I'm just painting a picture for you. We were paying a bill, and I had to multiply the per capita cost by the number of people, but then I forgot it was for four months and had to redo the form to multiply by four. I wrote out the check... and then put it back in my secure file cabinet and locked it. He said, "Um... don't I need the check?" Why yes, yes you do! I was just keeping it safe for you, see. My chair gave me a strong cup of coffee, and it turns out the two of them know each other, so I didn't even have to introduce them. I'm still a little unclear on how they know each other, but the university is like a big small town - everyone knows each other somehow. I am not sure who the Village Idiot is, so hopefully that doesn't mean it's me...

I walked with Hardingfele at lunch; we don't walk together that often because she usually turns me down. Today she said, "Maybe," and then when I asked her closer to lunch, she said, "Sure." It was a bit cold out, but no wind and very sunny, but she wanted to go into the Horticulture greenhouses. She thought it was wonderful in there, but I was dying in what my coworker calls my "sleeping bag coat" because it goes all the way down to my feet. I also have Spyder gloves that I paid a fortune for a quarter of a century ago, and they are just now getting holes in them so I should probably replace them. Those are some high-quality gloves! Hopefully they still make them - I'd like another pair exactly the same.

I'll try to get to bed on time again today, but after that strong coffee, it may be a waste of time. We shall see.

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Sleepy Sunday Spaghetti Sauce

 

I forgot to blog about this yesterday, but Friday I took the morning off of work to get our taxes done, and then Travalon and I went to the Tenney Locks to see if any birds were there. We did see some goldeneye ducks. I love their crazy mating dance, when the male throws his head back.

This guy seems to be kicking his feet up too!

Here is the female goldeneye, looking all come hither:

And here is the photo of the Best Westerns (or most of them, since I seem to have cut off the slide guitarist at the far right of the photo) from when we saw them Friday night at the Red Rooster.

Last night when we came home from swimming, I saw that Venus and Jupiter are still close, but not like photos people posted on social media from Wednesday, when they were right next to each other. I forgot to look early Wednesday evening, and by the time I ran out to look, it was clouded over.

Today after Mass, Travalon and I drove with Cecil Markovitch out to Ridgeway, to a spaghetti dinner at St. Bridget. Here is a photo of the inside of the church.

We didn't eat there, of course - we were in the basement. The Single B-Boy and his mother met us there, and later the Dairyman's Daughter joined us. The Knights of Columbus put on the spaghetti dinner, and one was wearing an apron that said, "You know it tastes right if it was cooked by a Knight." The portions were huge, so we were a bit sleepy afterwards, and Cecil missed a turn and got onto Highway H, a very beautiful, windy backroad. That took us to Highway 14, so we stopped in Cross Plains for some coffee and a walk on the boardwalks, since it was such a gorgeous day. Cecil was very happy about the coffee; he said, "What did they put in that spaghetti sauce? I can't stay awake!" Travalon was still sleepy when we got home, so he took a nap while I was supposed to be in Irish class...

...only, I'd forgotten my Irish peeps were all in Milwaukee for an Irish weekend, so I went for a long walk. It had cooled off a lot by then, and clouded over, and gotten windy, so it wasn't as pleasant as the walk in Cross Plains. I did see a pair of ducks off the dock where the female was a mallard and the male was one of those "tuxedo" ducks that is black with a white chest. Then I came in and did the crossword puzzle about our former chancellor that was in the program for her funeral, since she was apparently also a crossword puzzle fiend.

When Travalon got up, we went to Zippy Lube to get some chicken. They said it would be forty minutes, so we went for a walk. When we got back, they said it was still going to be a while, but they gave us our sides, so I snacked on some macaroni and cheese and some coleslaw. Then they gave us two chicken sandwiches for free: a spicy one that I ate and a regular one that Travalon ate. They said since it was the end of the day, they were giving us a bunch of free stuff, so even though we had ordered a four-piece of fried chicken, they gave us sixteen pieces!! By then I was too full to eat the fried chicken... and then they brought us a donut, so we split that. I am beyond feeling guilty about yesterday, because I remembered today that it was Vivaldi's birthday yesterday, and I hadn't celebrated... and then I thought nope, I did - I had cake and ice cream and punch! Tomorrow I'll be back to my Lenten penance.

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Five Eagle Birthday

Welcome to 2019! I hope my readers had a good New Year. Travalon and I ventured out to the restaurant 400 feet away on New Year’s Eve, and they said they had some cancellations and could fit us in at 8:45. It was still quite packed there, and I’m sure not everyone walked there. New Year’s Day we went to Mass, then my OTHER choir director (who is no longer a choir director because he is retired) had a party at his new place. Since it is at the old Holy Name seminary, and there is an organ in the chapel, he led us in a hymn sing. The party continued after that, but we had to leave for my usual Tuesday evening adoration hour.

Yesterday I took my birthday off of work, and in the morning while Travalon had to work, I had a relaxing time listening to music and doing word game puzzles. We drove to Spring Green so I could have my free lunch at the general store, and I also got free coffee at a coffee shop in town and a discounted book at the local bookstore. Then we drove to Sauk and saw five eagles (one was flying over the road on the way to Spring Green). We took a walk along the riverside path, since it was such a gorgeous day for early January, and then we stopped into the Blue Spoon Diner, where I got a free scoop of gelato. We ended the day at Mariner’s, where I got a free dessert, but I let Travalon have most of it. It was chocolate decadence cake. Travalon actually gave me my present the night before: two blooming bromeliads. One is large with a golden bloom, and the other one is much smaller with a scarlet bloom. I will post photos soon.

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Losing My Addictions

There is a book by Malcolm Gladwell called Outliers that contends that one must put 10,000 hours of practice into a skill in order to become really proficient at it. I have not read the book myself but am familiar with the theory, and the other day I was thinking that the one thing I have put that many hours into was writing fiction. I started very young and sometimes dedicated entire days to it, whenever I got a chance. However, a few years ago I lost all interest in writing fiction. Why didn’t I put that much time into practicing music? I am still a semiprofessional musician, making tens of dollars by playing in public, so just think what that practice could have done for me. Maybe I could have been less semi and more professional and made as much as hundreds of dollars playing in public. What do I do with all that writing practice? I write this blog, and I write in my prayer journal and my regular diary Mariah, but it’s not fiction. Now I don’t even find writing fiction pleasurable. What happened to me? Why did I put so much time into something I would grow to detest? I don’t even really read fiction anymore, when I used to devour novels. Is this just part of maturing? Or did something really weird happen to me? Did aliens switch my brain with someone else’s? I’m not even a word game puzzle addict anymore, though I will do Sudoku or a crossword puzzle when I come across them. It’s so odd, in other ways I have not changed at all, but I’ve lost some of my addictions to such an extent that I don’t even pursue these activities in moderation. Anyone have any thoughts about this? Will I learn to love fiction again someday? Feel free to leave comments, and I will read them even if they are fictional.

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Going to Gesu

Saturday I drove to the Five O’s to visit Travalon and his mother. I was torn between bringing her yellow roses for Valentine’s Day or a couple of long-stemmed roses, but there was a beautiful lavender rose I just loved, so I brought her that, with a couple of pink ones – and it was her favorite color! Then we played Scrabble, and she almost beat me. Maybe if she’d gotten better letters, she would have totally beaten me, but I am a halfway decent Scrabble player myself. She said, “You have to watch out for us Capricorns!”

Then Travalon and I went to Mass at Gesu, the church on the Marquette University campus. It is very beautiful, like an old European church. Travalon says there is a chapel somewhere on campus that did actually come from France, so I’d love to see that someday. I took a picture of the inside of Gesu for my ongoing series: “The Interiors of Churches Where I’ve Attended Mass.” I have been to some gorgeous ones, but plenty of ugly, modern ones too. I don’t take photos of those. You can let your imagination serve you, if you have not been unfortunate enough to enter an ugly, modern church.

Travalon and I went to the Three Lions Pub for our delayed Valentine’s Day dinner, since we had Rich’s birthday party on Valentine’s Day. (We gave each other presents last Wednesday: he gave me delicious chocolates and a blanket that says “I love you” in English, French, Spanish, and German; I gave him a CD he already owns, so he just exchanged it for one he didn’t have.) After we returned to Oconomowoc, we went to the local martini bar, called Splash, but the bartenders completely ignored us, even after Travalon said something to them. We must not have been cool enough for them, since they cater to the twenty-something crowd. Guess we missed the sign that said: “No service to people over forty.”

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My Addiction

I am suffering from an addiction that wastes tens of dollars and dozens of minutes. This affliction can be blamed directly on my native language, which is of course English: a horribly unphonetic language which is a real pain to learn but is perfect for word game puzzles. Yes, I am a word game puzzle addict. Of course, I also am addicted to the logic puzzles and Sudoku, which are not dependent upon linguistic quirks, but English is a perfect language for cryptoquotes because of its bizarre spelling. When I spent a summer in Spain, the only puzzle in the newspaper was a crossword puzzle so simple even I could solve it. Spanish would not make good cryptoquotes: how many words could this be? XWBWPW - but English has lovely words like QRRTTLLXZB which can only be "bookkeeping."

This is a replacement addiction for reading, which I used to do until all hours of the night, especially murder mysteries. It's odd... my brother was the one they said had a "reading problem," dyslexia, yet if reading were alcohol, I'd be the one with the problem. A readaholic, if you will. I can't say "bookaholic" because magazines, pamphlets, religious tracts, cereal boxes, or anything with words can capture my attention. It's like I can't not read! So I gave up reading fiction on work nights... and started buying Penny Press Variety Game magazines at the store. It's gotten so bad that every time I go to a store, I come back with a new magazine. That's $2-5 dollars a pop, not to mention all the space it takes up in my house! And the lack of sleep... I should create a support group. Anyone else out there with an addiction to word game puzzles? (Penny Press, if you are reading this, I would be happy to work out a deal with you where I create puzzles in exchange for free magazines - I have a totally great idea for the British-style cryptic crosswords!)

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