Ann and I don't miss our internet at home; in fact, we love not ever turning on our computers. The desktop computers at the library serve us just fine, and for the most part put a 1-hour limit on our web-surfing. Today I've had my session extended because I haven't checked my email or Facebook all weekend -- once, sophomore year, I missed a job interview because I didn't check my email from Thursday to Monday. This weekend, I didn't miss much of anything pressing. Life is slowing down a bit.
On Friday I had trial shifts at both of the jobs I interviewed for. I had decided not to work at the Indian restaurant after the lunch hours because I wouldn't make enough working the shifts I would get. It's unfortunate, because I am particularly well-suited to serving Indian food in small-town Wisconsin, and I like the family feel of the kitchen. So I was feeling bad about the way it turned out, but my boss said, "You're not working for me, you're working for yourself."
The afternoon at the Winery stretched into an evening and then into the night. The sun doesn't go down until at least 9:15 in these parts, but it was dark by the time I got out. I'd been washing glasses behind the bar for hours, watching all the servers rushing around with their heads spinning, watching how things went down. A highlight of my shift was chatting with a research psychologist from Lafayette, NY -- an Upstater like me. He was downtown to see Zed Leppelin, Led Zeppelin cover band, on the Overlook, and promised to let us know how it compared to the real deal when he saw Led Zeppelin live in 1969. "My girlfriend and I had to be helped to our seats," he said conspiratorially, "if that gives you any clue of what was going on."
I think I'm going to love this.
After work Ann met me downtown and we got 2 beers for $5 at the St. Croix Tavern, where one of the Winery cooks was playing drum set in a band. She'd heard about the concert from a guy at a stuff sale behind the Red Bird Music Store, one of those back-alley record shops that has more going on than records. We're not totally clear on exactly what else is going on there, but when I stopped by last week a guy with a fiddle and a guy with a guitar were jamming and talking about bands in the shadowy interior of the shop.
To make a long story short, we survived our first downtown-SCF bar experience. The band was great, though for the life of me I can't remember what they were called.
Saturday was Ann's birthday, and her family came up to check out the scene and take us out to lunch. We spent the evening garage saling and grocery shopping. One of the main activities that happens in our library quarters is clothes-cutting. This weekend several T-shirts, dresses, and sweatshirts underwent drastic makeovers on our hardwood floor. For dinner: 5/$10 frozen pizza and cheap beer. Post-college, baby.
On Sunday we slept late and ate French toast brunch on the back patio in the sun. Ann mowed the gigantic lawn while I cleaned house a little, getting more moved in. She parked the riding mower in the garage and we hiked into the jungly garden to harvest some rhubarb and asparagus. We spent the afternoon baking rhubarb cake for our neighbors -- something people don't really do anymore. After our social walk around the neighborhood we threw together a delectable tuna casserole with French-cut green beans and cooked the rest of the rhubarb into a sauce for cobbler. So domestic. So much fun!
The other day a fellow graduate expressed frustration that our "productive" afternoons these days are spent not writing papers or reading lots of dry intellectual books, but finishing a load or two of laundry, writing thank-you notes and cooking dinner. That's some Cartesian dualism if I ever saw it, some residual Enlightenment guilt. Ann and I spend our evenings reading (for fun!) and wondering aloud whether taking care of ourselves is going to get old after awhile. I get such satisfaction out of balancing our meals and tackying another poster to the wall. Such satisfaction from dropping off a plate of warm, fresh rhubarb cake at our neighbors' front doors. Such satisfaction that I smell like Cajun penne and wine when I disarm the alarm at the end of a long shift. Such satisfaction falling asleep over my pleasure reading, and dreaming about my future jobs and projects. I feel so capable. Not that I can do everything, but at least I can figure it out.
On Friday I had trial shifts at both of the jobs I interviewed for. I had decided not to work at the Indian restaurant after the lunch hours because I wouldn't make enough working the shifts I would get. It's unfortunate, because I am particularly well-suited to serving Indian food in small-town Wisconsin, and I like the family feel of the kitchen. So I was feeling bad about the way it turned out, but my boss said, "You're not working for me, you're working for yourself."
The afternoon at the Winery stretched into an evening and then into the night. The sun doesn't go down until at least 9:15 in these parts, but it was dark by the time I got out. I'd been washing glasses behind the bar for hours, watching all the servers rushing around with their heads spinning, watching how things went down. A highlight of my shift was chatting with a research psychologist from Lafayette, NY -- an Upstater like me. He was downtown to see Zed Leppelin, Led Zeppelin cover band, on the Overlook, and promised to let us know how it compared to the real deal when he saw Led Zeppelin live in 1969. "My girlfriend and I had to be helped to our seats," he said conspiratorially, "if that gives you any clue of what was going on."
I think I'm going to love this.
After work Ann met me downtown and we got 2 beers for $5 at the St. Croix Tavern, where one of the Winery cooks was playing drum set in a band. She'd heard about the concert from a guy at a stuff sale behind the Red Bird Music Store, one of those back-alley record shops that has more going on than records. We're not totally clear on exactly what else is going on there, but when I stopped by last week a guy with a fiddle and a guy with a guitar were jamming and talking about bands in the shadowy interior of the shop.
To make a long story short, we survived our first downtown-SCF bar experience. The band was great, though for the life of me I can't remember what they were called.
Saturday was Ann's birthday, and her family came up to check out the scene and take us out to lunch. We spent the evening garage saling and grocery shopping. One of the main activities that happens in our library quarters is clothes-cutting. This weekend several T-shirts, dresses, and sweatshirts underwent drastic makeovers on our hardwood floor. For dinner: 5/$10 frozen pizza and cheap beer. Post-college, baby.
On Sunday we slept late and ate French toast brunch on the back patio in the sun. Ann mowed the gigantic lawn while I cleaned house a little, getting more moved in. She parked the riding mower in the garage and we hiked into the jungly garden to harvest some rhubarb and asparagus. We spent the afternoon baking rhubarb cake for our neighbors -- something people don't really do anymore. After our social walk around the neighborhood we threw together a delectable tuna casserole with French-cut green beans and cooked the rest of the rhubarb into a sauce for cobbler. So domestic. So much fun!
The other day a fellow graduate expressed frustration that our "productive" afternoons these days are spent not writing papers or reading lots of dry intellectual books, but finishing a load or two of laundry, writing thank-you notes and cooking dinner. That's some Cartesian dualism if I ever saw it, some residual Enlightenment guilt. Ann and I spend our evenings reading (for fun!) and wondering aloud whether taking care of ourselves is going to get old after awhile. I get such satisfaction out of balancing our meals and tackying another poster to the wall. Such satisfaction from dropping off a plate of warm, fresh rhubarb cake at our neighbors' front doors. Such satisfaction that I smell like Cajun penne and wine when I disarm the alarm at the end of a long shift. Such satisfaction falling asleep over my pleasure reading, and dreaming about my future jobs and projects. I feel so capable. Not that I can do everything, but at least I can figure it out.
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