Valentine Brownie Points

Brian has just been RACKING UP the brownie points this weekend. First, he called my dad a few weeks ago and asked my parents to go on a double date for Valentine's Day. Not only did this secure his place as number-one-son-in-law-for-life in my parents' eyes, it just made my heart burst with all the feels you get when the guy you love cares what your parents think about him. It was precious. We all went out to Trattoria Stefano, a fancy schmancy Italian place in Sheboygan. FABULOUS. After eating all we could possibly eat, we made the obligatory stop at my dad's favorite mini mart (he is a serious mini mart aficionado) for the best gas station coffees and hot chocolate you can find for miles around. Believe me, my dad knows. He's done his research.

So after he got the points with my parents, B racked them up with me, making me the sweetest and best Valentine's Day mix this year, along with a note that I can't share for fear of taking away from the stoic, manly facade he's built up for the sake of public image (PSA: he's actually made of marshmallows and gumdrops on the inside). Enough of the mush, though. Let me share with you some of the great songs that graced my ears on the drives up to and back down from Wisconsin. These are screen shots from my phone as I Shazam-ed the titles so that I could share a few of them with you all.

First? Thunder Clatter by Wild Cub. This is one of "our songs" if you could consider us to have "songs" specific to us. It played at our wedding when we walked in the reception, and it was the subject of many jam sessions while we drove back and forth to each other's apartments in the engaged-but-not-yet-married stage. It's a great song that still gets me.

Next, we have Jim Croce. The title is self-evident. 

Thirdly, no trademark Brian mix is complete without one of his musical idols, Neil Young. I have to admit, I used to think the whiny voice was a little overwhelming, but now I appreciate his nuanced genius. 

Van Morrison is next. Neil and Van are Brian's staples. At this point you might notice that all of Brian's selections are of songs released before we were both born. This is cheesy, but when we first started dating, I remember a slow dance in his apartment to a Van Morrison vinyl. (Actually, I just said that it's cheesy so you guys wouldn't judge me. It wasn't cheesy at all; it was an adorably charming move on his part.)

Ah, he does modern music, too! I like this song for its electro-coolness, as well as the band name, Anna of the North. Hey, Anna of the North? That's me! 

Back to the oldies with James. 

And finally. Last but not least, we have this hilarious tribute to one of the worst musical decisions ever: a song named Wifey. Go listen to Next and laugh. Brian has a hip hop streak :) 

All in all, I've concluded that you shouldn't believe what they tell you about guys giving up the chase once you're married. They just tend to know you better, so their gestures are less corny and more personal, like hanging out with your parents and curating an awesome Valentine CD. B's brownie points, as always, keep on climbing. 

Warm Fuzzies

Going home to Wisconsin is so sweet. I appreciate it more and more as time goes on. Isn't that funny? Seven years ago, all I wanted was to get out of dodge and live within 30 minutes of a quality mall. Now I miss the stars and gravel driveway and fresh air and would happily chat around a fire every night of my life.

Why does it end up that way? That such an adventurous mind always wanders back to a town of just around 2,000 inhabitants, most of whom are from the same few Dutch families who also happen to know mine and everything about it. That used to be suffocating to me (I imagine in some ways it still would be), yet now I also see the good side of it: people care. In the Western Suburbs of Chicago, there are surely caring people, but you sort of need to make a concerted effort to build those communities where everyone is in everyone else's business. In some ways I think we were meant to live in that way, up in one another's business, whether we be a city mouse or a country mouse (sorry for that metaphor, I tend to think in Children's Literature most of my day). I was talking to a friend yesterday who said that it's important to build those communities around you even as adults, even if it's a little clumsy and fumbling, a little artificial feeling when trying to figure out how to live in and through this life with others. Sure, I have Brian and he has me, but we are more than just there for the other. We all need one another. And I suppose that's the thing that I love about my small town community. Everyone needs each other there: the construction guy buys his groceries from the grocery guy, and the grocery guy hires the construction guy to add an addition on his house. It's a cool thing.

One of these small town sort of connections allowed my dad to find a great deal on a used International Harvester Tractor, his current Pride and Joy. He loves that thing. It's got a great retro look, and I think it will be credited with some cool changes to the property around my house. Brian and I went to The Grove for the weekend a few weeks ago to check it out for ourselves. That, grouped with a bonfire Saturday night and a walk around our land with my mom on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, called for some serious warm fuzzes.

 

The Great Debates

Sometimes I look around and see the things people argue about. The things that matter most to people. The important things. I was moved to think about these things when I happened upon a status of someone that I know from back home. It was a debate, of course, as they stage in small towns often.

Except this debate WAS ABOUT CHICKENS. And I'm not kidding.

The small town adjacent to the minuscule town from which I come is considering a proposal to allow homes in the town to have a coop of 6 or fewer chickens if they so choose. Some people take the "it's organic and healthy and whyshouldntpeoplebeallowedtodowhattheywantaslongasitdoesntbotherotherpeople" side, while others take the "it's smelly and weird and iliveintownsowhydontyougobacktothecountrywhereyoucamefrom" side.

So that's happening. And the debates are still raging.

And then I scrolled a little further down my news feed, where I saw a status from someone who lives in Chicago, who couldn't get down her block thanks to a police barricade because it was the first day of the year with moderately warm weather, which is wonderful and a long time coming for most of us. But of course around here warm weather means that it's extremely dangerous, because the warmer the weather, the more violent the streets become. And there's debates there, too. Big ones. About who is at fault for all of this and how to make it better or at least how to help. And there are more than just two sides to that great debate.

But the violence is still happening and the debates are still raging.

Oh this life of ours. And this world of ours.

I kind of maybe believe that everything is important, or at least I definitely believe that most things, big and small, are important, and if they don't seem important to you well damn it that doesn't mean it's not important to somebody. Every perspective matters, from main street to wall street to the street-you-avoid-if-you're-being-honest-with-yourself. People care about their lives and they should care! I hope those in the great Chicken Debate of 2014 understand that I actually believe it is a valid thing to discuss chicken coops. Let the debates rage, I suppose. But. But. (I have that dastardly conjunction after every complete thought I've ever had. It's a curse.)

How do we go about these great debates? Whether they be about chicken coops or crime rates?  Do we put the needs of others above our own? Do we look to the interest of others? Do we, in humility, value others above ourselves? Do we love one another?

I'm, of course, asking these questions to myself. Just when I'm tempted to type a comment on a heated status or respond to a misjudgment spewed hatefully in the labyrinths of crime watch blogs, I try to ask myself this stuff. Usually it results in me refraining from the comment I intended to write. Sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes the process of these questions prompts me to go write a silly little blog post like the one you happen to be reading. Because when people come to a consensus or at least agree to disagree concerning the chicken coops or the crime rates, at the end of the day, we're still neighbors down the hall, down the street, and down the block; we are still members of this crazy world and live and work and love together in the middle of it.

I guess the important things, underneath all that chicken wire, in the end, are the people after all.

Your Best Shot

Last weekend in Wisconsin we introduced Brian to all that Sheboygan County has to offer. This, of course, means a trip to the shooting range. He did really well, considering his girlfriend's dad was eyeing up his every move. We met the "gun-range-crowd" there as well, of which I'll let you envision your own stereotype. After a successful round of target practice, what else was there to do but stop by the local meat market for some steak and beer? Ahhhh, home.

 

I'm Not Joking

This is a real message I took while answering the phone at my parents' house in rural Wisconsin last Saturday.

"Oh, hey Anna! Didn't know you were home visiting. Let your parents know that one of the girls who was on the second grade class Sunday School outing forgot her gun in your dad's car. If you could just have him bring the gun to church tomorrow so we can return it that'd be great. Thanks." 

Again: I'm not joking.

To and Fro

The past ten days have been a whirlwind of goodness, busy-ness (someone please cue me in on the proper spelling of the word that means the essence of being busy), and familyness. I finished up my last week of teaching in December (PRAISE!) and have officially enjoyed 4 days of my Christmas break...which by the way...the thing about Christmas break...

...is that it is awesome. Tomorrow I jet off to California to visit my dear friend Lauren (!!!!!!) for 6 days and am spending today catching up with some old friends, packing, and soaking up the last bit of Wisconsin on this break. On Friday the 21st, I drove straight up to Wisconsin from my school, only to drive back down to Chicago on Saturday the 22nd for family activities, only to drive back up to Wisconsin on the 24th for MORE family activities. Dang. Here is a chronology of pictures to tell you what I've been up to these past few days free from school and obligation.

The Morning Message (a daily tradition) last Thursday. So close to break! 

These came on Tuesday to my classroom on my lunch break. Gawgeous.

Home sweet home. Alex thought I looked J Crew worthy in my glasses.

Was going through papers to grade and found this gem.

Every year we go to the Ritsmans' house on Christmas Eve to play
an epic game of Risk. I stockpiled armies up in Siberia but I think
they got too chilly and didn't serve me well. 

A gift of a bundt pan and ingredients. I think
my mother is trying to send me a message. 

From my parents. 

You know you're in Wisconsin when Brandy and Milk combine for
a Christmas cocktail. Nutmeg on top made it delish.

SO. GOOD. I cried. 

This was in the foreward to the new book I'm reading, The Promise by
Chaim Potok. It is great so far. This is why books are so important.

My new favorite shirt. 

This poster was found while at a truck stop for breakfast.
There are no words. 

The Rents

So I like my parents.

The amazing sunset over my backyard on Saturday.

I'm getting to be at that stage. I've always loved my parents. Do not get me wrong. I consider myself one of the luckiest people alive with parents like mine. There are a lot of humans in this world who have sub-par parents and mine are definitely better than par. Like way better. They are so intelligent, creative, funny, friendly, and wise. While I've always loved them, I didn't always like them. I had those stupid times where I felt like they were too strict, too uptight, and too controlling, especially in high school. But somehow in the past few years I got to the point where I not only love them, but I like them. I really do. I'll be writing more about them in the future I'm sure. Lately I just have been feeling like I have cool parents.

Dad texting me from his tree stand while he was
deer hunting. Notice how he signs his name at the
end of every text message he sends me. 

I was home for about 36 hours this weekend. I had the opportunity to get my oil changed at home with our trusted go-to mechanics, which is good, because I found out that my car had virtually no oil in it. That clicking sound that was going on in my car for the last two weeks? Yeah, that was the engine telling me that some bad stuff could seriously go down at any moment. Thankfully I made it home safely and got Remy all fixed up and ready for this winter. Other than that, I spent my time at home, making food, shopping with my mom, and going out to eat with my parents on Saturday night. Back in the day three years ago I'd burst through the door, drop my stuff on the ground, and head out with my friends. It's true that I just don't have as many friends at home anymore, but I think it's also that I really miss my mom and dad these days. I miss home and the safety, feeling of belonging, and simple Wisconsin goodness that they symbolize to me.

My mom officially has more of a social
life than I do. Good work Kathy. 

I often write in this nostalgic blurriness every time I return after a quick trip home, but that's just the great feeling I get from sleeping in and having a simple day back in Cedar Grove. Beautiful trees, open land, no neighbors, the smell of farm, fresh air, and perfect starry nights. I really love Chicago, but getting home for a bit is so so sweet. It's sweet because of all that good stuff about rural Wisconsin in the fall, but it's mainly because of the two people who live there.

Rooted

Sometimes being back in Cedar Grove, Wisconsin, surrounded by family, is all I need to remember who I am again. (Cue sentimental song about growing up) My relatives own acres of swampland with the Onion River running through it and we just spent the afternoon there for a Memorial Day picnic. Yes, the Onion River is its real name. Yes, I also catch myself saying "crick" when the rest of society calls it a "creek." The midwest has plenty of things to poke fun about, and by my association with it, that includes me too. My area has people with a strong Wisconsin accent, lots of hunting and fishing types, and you may or may not get stuck behind a large piece of farming equipment on your daily drive. We aren't the most fashionable or fast-paced area, but that's okay too.

I remember when I read The Help, Kathryn Stockett, the author, wrote that she felt defensive of Jackson, Missisippi. She felt that she could criticize and comment on Jackson because it was her hometown, but when others did so she grew pretty protective.  I have plenty to say about how much I hate my own accent sometimes and the fact that the nearest mall is 40 minutes away, but I guess according to this Kathryn Stockett lady I'm allowed. Either way, accents and all, I love where I'm from, both the place and the family.

Sunset over my backyard 

Xander and Sawyer (nephew and niece) playing in the sprinkler

Soyjoy. 

Xan man. 

Family gatherings DOWN BY THE RIVER! (Yes, old school Chris Farley reference)

Love these times.