I will later paste this into the body of an e-mail I owe several friends

It has been busy here. I have barely been home, except mostly to sleep, since moving. Thankfully, the "hi-goodbye" phase of the summer is over. I will miss the friends who have just moved, and the ones who have just breezed through town from various distant places (Korea, Boston, Miami, etc), but it will be nice to have a night home to finally get my kitchen organized, too.

A technical writing job has fewer interesting anecdotes than a newspaper job, too, so I've had less motivation to write about work. Readers familiar with -->company<-- are already aware of the crazy art and the free tea and the lush landscaping that await employees, and it's not interesting enough to otherwise detail. The quickest route to my office involves crossing a fake stream via stepping stones. There are fake ducks along the way.

I might have some thoughts about the transition to a large company with the atmosphere of a college campus, but I'm still kind of nauseated by the contrast. Out of sadness for the newspaper industry, I mean. Though at the same time, I was proud of how well we managed with so little. I think we all were, even when it was really, honestly, far too little. At least we could say we worked that hard with no safety nets.

Extracurricular projects in the works. Exciting times.

Cleaning the kitchen tonight

Once, I had a crush on a guy who sat next to me in our "Philosophy of Contemporary Issues" class. We'd talk about the hypothetical deterrent effect of the death penalty and he'd drink this huge can of RedBull and I'd struggle quietly to not vomit from the smell. Now it is a vital chemical for most of my major life events, like moving and big writing projects. Go figure.

Other supplies purchased today (minus the cat):


Not pictured, the remainder of my bottle of Bulleit, which I must either drink now or forever hold my peace with breaking it in the moving process. This has happened before.

First beet crop, tiny but beautiful

My new neighbor yells at and berates his movers, and vacuums at 6:30 a.m. I think I will not be trying very hard to make friends in my remaining weeks in this apartment.

Moving out of places, any place, is exciting because it feels like I'm going on a trip somewhere amazing. Even if it's actually just old Madison. I keep stopping other things I am doing to put my books in boxes and pull nails out of the wall and fret about how much my little car can hold.

Going back to work after a long vacation is odd and sort of awkward. I always want to feel guilty about using my vacation time.

Big news

Oh hey, my blog. I'm changing jobs in a month, moving from Baraboo to Madison, and entering the exciting world of health care software technical writing. My goal, somewhere down the road, is graduate school and a focus on science journalism, but this is a good move for me in the meantime. It does feel strange that I won't be "a reporter," though. It's such a part of my identity. And even though this move is completely voluntary, I will very much miss my small town newspaper.

July is going to be a bit nuts.

There was a conversation I had with an Air Force sergeant who was in town with an F-16 demo team for the annual air show, which I was writing about for the paper. We were sitting around waiting for the show to get going, and conversation strayed into fuel consumption/costs/etc. I had no idea that airplanes burned so much. Especially stunt planes (he estimated 50-70 gallons/hour) and highly maneuverable fighter jets (up to 150 gallons/hour). I mentally stagger at the carbon footprint, he stays firmly in financial territory. “It’s all money spent in the defense of freedom.”

“So is the military looking into alternative fuels at all, given worries about supply?”
“Absolutely. There’s this process involving coal…”

Trying to stay neutral as possible, I wandered tentatively into BP territory: “It’s interesting, don’t you think, the extra attention it’s bringing to energy issues?” And he dismisses. “People forget that nearly everything they own is made from petroleum. Focus on fuel is short-sighted. Unless they find a way to make glass more cheaply, we’ll be using oil for a long time.” True, but it ignores the central question of what we CAN do, and the long-term concerns (opposing, in some ways, the short-term concerns of the military) that would make it worth pursuing.

It was an interesting anthropological moment. One of those where you say, Ah, the values here are very different, but they are held together by a certain kind of logic.

I went to that same air show “for fun” the next day. I have other thoughts, maybe for later, about air shows and America, the land where we go to events that boast about “turning fuel into fun,” the land where the deafening roar of a jet engine passing you at 650 mph is “the sound of freedom.”

back to the garden

I have a little garden on my porch roof. It's not a proper porch and I worry when I walk out there that it will finally give way under my feet. But my landlord said it was fine, and it feels sturdy, and the crumbling paint and lack of railings are just psychological problems.

I am growing beets, and lettuce, and spinach and chard in little pots and big pots and old cat litter tubs that are the perfect size for root vegetables, especially after they've been cleaned thoroughly in case cat litter is full of toxic chemicals. Tomatoes if they survive my indifference to their needs. All the little leaves are getting big, especially the beets. Every morning I peek outside to water everything and see what has grown how much since yesterday. They collect all the sunlight I can't enjoy when I'm working.

Sometimes one of the cats wants to follow me outside. I have a little leash thing now so I can tie them to the house but they can still wander out quite a ways. The moment they're tied up, though, they lose their interest in the outside world. This is fine. It keeps them from jumping off the roof, which is my only worry. Maybe they know there's a book about flying cats, maybe they think that's them.

brr

Crafty Robin made me armwarmers last week. Thank goodness it got cold enough to enjoy them a little bit before summer remembers what it's supposed to be doing. Snow in other parts of Wisconsin. We turned on the heat in the newsroom yesterday, Tim kept his jacket on while he finished his story.

Live / learn

Today was "career day" for Baraboo students. Local careerpeople demonstrated their careers. Most importantly, how did I live 24 years thinking "heartworm" was a metaphorical name for a parasite that actually lived inside guts or skin or somesuch?

No, it turns out, worms actually take up residence inside your dog's heart. This is both horrifying and amazing.

Artificial insemination in cranes

How artificial insemination in cranes works

Male:

“stroker”: holds crane so that it is facing her, with the crane’s head between her legs so he can’t strike or thrash wildly or anything like that. She strokes the crane’s thighs, as the assumption is this is the area that would be stimulated if he were mounting a female. Also it keeps him calm.
“teaser”: “works things,” the official terminology of a biologist I talked to. That is to say, she plays with his cloaca until he feels like producing semen.
“collecter”: runs a shot glass along cloaca to collect the semen that results.

Female:

“stroker”: holds crane so that it is facing her, crane’s head between her legs. Stroker strokes crane’s back/shoulders, with the assumption that this is the area that would be stimulated if she were being mounted.
“teaser”: "works" cloaca to improve receptivity, injects semen with a syringe.
This process can still scare a young female off laying for the rest of the season, so they usually wait until she’s laid some dud eggs for a couple years to start AI.

I am putting this here because I did not get to include it in the story I wrote yesterday and I think the world needs to know.

Everything is changing

* My internet is out at home. My dislike of calling Charter Communications and also staying home from work to wait for technicians is, so far, vastly greater than my dislike of internetlessness. And occasionally there's a roving wireless source that flickers on long enough for me to check my Gmail or post a pre-written blog post.

* I went running last night and had one of those fabulous upheavals on a slick-fine layer of new snow, where your feet literally fly out from under you on little wings and your arms flap flap and an oncoming car that appeared at Just The Moment Of Glory may or may not have doubled back to see if you're okay. I thought I had acquired a concussion but no, not even a bruise, except for my elbow.

* No one had better say anything about Lost until I have Internet again.

My new work desktop background

Like he's never soared before.

The Baraboo River is full of gizzard shad and the eagles come from miles around, to the point where Sauk City is getting jealous.

I take the long way to work, past the Circus Museum and back behind it on Effinger Road and Manchester and lo, eagles, just sitting there in the trees, wondering what you the hell you're looking at, or sometimes diving across the water waiting for an American flag to appear behind them.

Today was my 6 month Baraboo anniversary

This photo was taken in August of 2007, outside the Little Village Cafe, Baraboo, the former headquarters of the Baraboo News Republic. Flannes and I, enthusiastic little J-school seniors, paused to geek out after a hike at Devil's Lake.

Why yes, this would be called a funny coincidence.

one small step

The holidays are not stressful enough, so it looks like this move is happening in the next 2 days, because my landlord is hoping to lease vacant unit (my current unit) before Jan 1., and after Wednesday afternoon I am All Over The Place, between family and work, Madison and Baraboo.

So in the three hours since I got home from work tonight, I've already moved like, half my stuff. And made a batch of cookie dough for the upcoming office "remember the days when our company threw us a party at Kalahari and rented us a karaoke machine and gave us raises? Oh, you're too young to remember raises, Christie" potluck.

At least for the next couple days, this also means I have TWO apartments. I am sending the cats to colonize, and establishing tiny moon bases in the kitchen, bathroom. Little outposts in the closets.

THE EARTH IS POISONED, PIRATE CAT, WE MUST EVACUATE HASTILY. AND THEN SCRUB THE REFRIGERATOR.

Hey, happy solstice. I’m celebrating the gradual return of sunlight by moving across the hall into an apartment that, for just $10 more per month and the stupid $20 for moving my wireless internet, has south-facing windows (instead of north) and a little second-story porch. I guess this is me, burrowing in, fighting the urge to sell all my possessions on eBay.

If you’re in Madison, you should come visit and help me move a desk. It will be super fast and then we can go to Devil’s Lake and gape at the stark majesty of the black trees against the lonely, loveless snow. Or, you know, get a beer.

The work of living

I've been fighting illness by smashing secondhand china and gluing it to a secondhand mirror and painting between the cracks. I am learning that mosaic requires grout, but may skip it for this particular project. I like that jagged, dangerous look.

My check came, too, for the poetry workshops I facilitated at Whitewater in November. This would be my first non-contest-related poetry income. $80. SUCKERS. Also, it turns out I will be the "featured reader" for the aforementioned "p.s. Annie wants you to read in January" I forgot to aforemention! Bookstore owner wanted me to read in January, following definitely aforementioned "that reporter is sometimes a poet!" event, and I'm frantically compiling 25-30 minutes' worth of writing that won't compromise my professional life.

Caught!

A Madison poet who knew my name in high school (he judged some local contests I entered, invited me to a couple readings, was a friend of my poet English teacher) appeared unexpectedly tonight in Baraboo at a reading. I went there to photograph, I wanted to add more art to the Saturday edition. I was too shy to introduce myself before they got started, I assumed I would not be remembered, and then, as I was kneeling in front of the podium to get a dramatic upward angle on him reading, he between poems says, "There is a very good poet taking photographs in front of me. I remember her." My face like a beet and all hot too. All my many hats rolled briefly into one.

This is how much I wanted pancakes tonight. I think the waitress thought I was homeless, even though I downplayed how far I'd walked.