Letting the cow out of the bag.

I’ve been keeping a little secret, but it’s time to let the cow out of the bag. I was in Madison, Wisconsin again last week. Just me; Tara stayed home. I left on Saturday morning, driving to Sibley, Iowa, where I spent the night. It was a charming little town. Quintessential Midwest. I chose Sibley … Continue reading Letting the cow out of the bag.

A basket full of goodness on the highway to hell.

I brought my lunch to work yesterday and was eating in my office, but I made a beeline for the break room sink once I got to my peach. One bite and I knew my desk would have been a sticky mess had I stayed. There’s something about a ripe peach that is sublime. It’s … Continue reading A basket full of goodness on the highway to hell.

Wisconsin or Bust, Part III: Dairyland to Derecho

Few things are as depressing as waking up at 4:50 a.m., knowing your vacation is over and all you have left is a long day of driving. We planned to hit the road at 6 a.m. for the roughly 11-hour trek home. Factoring in an hour for stops—and given the hour we'd gain crossing back … Continue reading Wisconsin or Bust, Part III: Dairyland to Derecho

Wisconsin or Bust, Part I: Cheese Curds, Raging Grannies, & Make Mine a Sour!

Friday afternoon, we were headed southeast on I-90, midway between La Crosse and Madison, when we passed a tractor trailer parked in a field. "TRUMP" was painted on the side in big, bold letters. But somebody had taken spray paint and covered that up with bigger, bolder letters that spelled "LOSER." That was the moment … Continue reading Wisconsin or Bust, Part I: Cheese Curds, Raging Grannies, & Make Mine a Sour!

Too many balls, not enough hands.

I was in my supervisor's office yesterday, spouting off circus analogies. As one does. "I'm juggling an awful lot these days!" I said. "I've got too many balls and not enough hands." Only later did I realize a comment like that could have earned me a visit with HR. Work is super busy right now. … Continue reading Too many balls, not enough hands.

You know it’s summer when Spidey starts chafing.

How do you define the official start of summer? If you're the literal type, you might look to the calendar and say, June 21st. Others count the first picnic, first barbecue, first camping trip, first time it hits 80º, first time you're attacked by mosquitoes. For us, summer arrives the moment we hit the water … Continue reading You know it’s summer when Spidey starts chafing.

The day a notorious mobster taught me how to make pasta sauce.

I was saddened to hear the news that Ray Liotta passed away today. But I was downright mortified by my friend Ashley's response. You know what? I was salty! I was a freakin' container of Morton's Iodized because Goodfellas is probably my all-time favorite movie, and Ray Liotta's portrayal of notorious mobster-turned-FBI-informant Henry Hill is … Continue reading The day a notorious mobster taught me how to make pasta sauce.

Our tomatoes survived the big chill better than Kevin Costner.

It's been cold here. So cold, we had record lows the past two nights. At one point Saturday, my wipers were beating furiously to keep snow from accumulating on my windshield. Believe it or not, snow in May isn't all that unusual here. Most years, we at least get a dusting. But usually at the … Continue reading Our tomatoes survived the big chill better than Kevin Costner.

Time zones will be the death of me.

Tuesday afternoon. I'm in Hartford, South Dakota, working away on my laptop. Two interviews are in the can; the third is scheduled for 3 p.m., half an hour away, so I've got time. Or so I think. An email pops up, interrupting my work. We hope everything is okay. We waited at the shop for … Continue reading Time zones will be the death of me.

You can ring my dinner bell.

A couple of months ago, Tara got involved in online estate auctions. She'd bid on vintage items like swag lamps and wicker mirrors. The idea is to buy them cheap, clean them up, then turn around and sell them for a profit. She even considered renting space at St. Joe Antiques Mall, but there's a … Continue reading You can ring my dinner bell.