Not so splendid isolation

To the best of my recollection, it wasn't long after the Covid lockdowns started that I read something on the internet about The Black Corridor by Michael Moorcock. The author of the piece made the case for it being relevant to our times with its themes of societal decay and isolation. I decided that I would read the book because its thematic content seemed of the moment but also because it was a Moorcock book and one that had nothing to do with the Eternal Champion.

I kept an eye out for it at local bookshops for years but never found one. A couple weeks ago I broke down and bought a copy from someone on Alibris.

I am not far in but I have gotten a taste of the whole isolation bit and feel that the scenes so far with the couple on Earth are very much of the time for a male author, i.e. - very stilted. I have no doubt that things are going to get weirder soon.

Celebrating Agatha Christie

Last weekend I saw The Mousetrap out at Edgewood College, er University.

It was my first time seeing it and I had a blast. And I even guessed the identity of the killer correctly somehow. The actor who played Christopher Wren, Will Koebke, was perhaps creepier for me than the gentle, if at times uneasy, comic relief the character adds to the story because he resembles Andrew Scott and I cannot look at that guy's face without seeing the maniacally evil James Moriarty from Sherlock.

A couple days ago I noticed that the Meadowridge Library is hosting a series of Agatha Christie events. Upon reading the article I was appalled that a librarian described the Sunday roast as "Usually a big pot roast and some vegetables on the side". Two words: Yorkshire pudding!!

I must admit that I was surprised by the events and the attention given to Christie. Pleasantly so. I honestly thought that, since her book that I've always known as And Then There Were None was originally entitled Ten Little Niggers, that she'd be canceled and verboten.

Has cancel culture died down? Or do such minded folks have bigger fish to fry these days? Regardless, I am glad that celebrating Christie's work hasn't caused a brouhaha. I shall have to put some of the BBC's radio adaptations of her works on my phone for some fine listening.

The bright side of life

Despite Piper's death and a large cat-shaped hole in my heart, life goes on and there really are many wonderful things in mine. Sometimes it is difficult to enjoy them or even recognize they exist when I get bogged down in my sweetpea's absence. For instance, it was very difficult to come home from work that first day after her death. I walked in the door and tearfully stared at the couch waiting for her to walk around the corner and jump on it to patiently wait for me to give her a pill pocket.

It gets better a little every day but I still miss her greatly. 

I baked a loaf of rye bread recently.

I used some insta-sourdough dust. 

It was nice to finally give this stuff a go as I had bought a packet last year when I was still living with my wife but never used it while in the grip of divorce miasma.

It turned out well with a nice rye flavor and a good tangy zip to it.

Look what arrived a couple days ago! 

I simply adore this picture. Winter! A kindly cat! Birds!

This was a gift given to me maybe a week or so before Piper passed. I need to get it framed so that it can sit on my desk.

Another recent gift was some coffee from Puerto Rico. 

Very tasty stuff. Very roasty and a bit nutty.

I hung my print of Grabby.

One of Piper to follow.

Lastly, for now, I'll mention that Shemekia Copeland put on a great show last week. 

Lousy picture, I know. One thing I love about her is how positive she is. In addition to catchy melodies and booty-shakin' grooves, her songs are often about hope and being kind to one another. She certainly recognizes hardships in life but she emphasizes beauty.

She mentioned that she'll be back here in Madison this summer at one of our numerous festivals.

Song of the day, 3 March 2026

This came to mind after seeing how much my wife wants in maintenance. Ha!

Suddenly you were gone

When I left for the pet store where I would drop off leftover food, treats, and the like I looked at the couch and said aloud, "See ya later, Piper. I'll be back in a little bit." Upon my return I diligently washed Piper's carrier, dried it by hand, and put it into a closet. Piper was a house cat so I never traveled with her meaning that the carrier was exclusively for trips to the vet. Which she hated.

The rest of her stuff such as food dishes and toys were already safely stowed away in the basement storage. She had urinated on her cat beds and in her cat house so those were thrown away along with the blankets that I put in her carrier when it was time to go for a ride. All that's still out of hers are her cat trees and I have a couple takers on them.

When, not if, but when I adopt a new feline friend, I shall get them a new tree. And new beds. And a new plush cat house.

Her dishes may be in storage, but I still see them next to the refrigerator with her last supper that she never ate. Her cat house is in the garbage but I still saw her lying in it behind me today as I worked. She slept in it a lot but would come out and meow at me when I was in a virtual meeting or a call. The sound of my voice drew her out of her slumbers and I missed that dearly today.

She would sit next to me on the floor and meow, saying she wanted to be on the desk. While she would jump on my lap and then up to the desk occasionally, I would normally pick her up and place her before me. As I bent down, she would meow in protest but always stand up so that I could grab her easily.

Looking at the clock and seeing that it's a little past 5, my brain reflexively says, "Ooh! Time to feed Piper." Wherever I sit I expect to hear her coming around the corner to me; whenever I am in the kitchen or living room I expect to see her relaxing on the couch looking at me with those lovely yellow eyes. I bought her stairs just a couple days before she died so she could get onto my bed more easily. Yesterday she didn't lie on my bed as I changed the sheets and today she wasn't there to hunker down on my clean laundry as I folded it.

I can recall all the ways she smelled over the years. When she was younger she had a pungent musky scent. As she grew older, it mellowed into something like sweet leather.  

About a month ago I decided that, when my divorce was finalized, I'd come home, if I had to attend court, or just walk into the living room if my marriage officially ended by phone, pick her up, kiss her, and tell her that it was over. That we'd survived my wife. Treats would then be liberally applied and dinner that night would be one of those expensive ones with pumpkin and chicken.

Last week I was searching my inbox for an email exchange my wife and I had and I ran across the email in which she "officially" disowned Piper. "She is all yours" it read. I've always felt that comment to be callous but, thinking of it now, it seems cruel.

Piper was born on 6 April 2013 (looks to be the fifth now) and I had been so looking forward to celebrating her 13th birthday next month.

My wife adopted her at 6 months and she was this little ball of curiosity and energy. She loved lying on our bed and early on she developed the habit of lying next to my head or on my shoulder as I slumbered. As she got older and bigger, she would come onto the bed, stand next to my head, and plop down on my face. After repositioning my nose so that I could breathe again, major cuddling would ensue.

I watched the first 4 episodes of True Detective season 4 with her snuggling up against my thigh as she always did when I sat on the couch. I watched the final 2 alone. Never again will I have her next to me as I read or watch TV or just relax on that couch.

Piper was my companion and a source of great joy for me as my marriage collapsed. When my wife disowned her, Piper was a font of happiness for me in a house that had ceased to be a home. During those dark times when I was sad and anxious and tired - tired right down into my bones - of marital conflict, of seeing scowls on the face of the woman I had loved for so long and the contempt in those eyes that used to be so full of love Piper was there to comfort me. I think that, with my relationship with my wife over for all intents and purposes, I felt a great urge to care for my cat. I no longer had a wife to care for and so I directed my attention at Piper. She felt even more precious to me.

Before bringing her to the new apartment last fall, I setup her beds, her plush house, her litter box, and her food dishes with care so she would have everything she needed ready and waiting when I brought her over. This apartment is merely a way-stop and has never truly felt like a home to me, but Piper made it homey, made it a place I was comfortable in. It is where we both started new lives. And now it feels so empty. Prior to moving here I had never lived alone, well, without another human, and Piper breathed life into this place. She had her favorite spots in every room and she made this apartment feel like something more than a way-stop.

The trouble started a couple weeks or so ago.

I found Piper poop on her cardboard cat scratch bed. It happened a couple days in a row and then it stopped. A couple days or so later it occurred to me that I have not scooped any poop from her litter box and now had to find something to relieve her constipation. I made a trip to the pet store and came home with some laxative. It was not to her liking.

Piper seemed normally despite her constipation and I recall watching her drink a lot of water one day. I loved watching her little pink tongue descend into the water bowl and her slurping up the fine Madison tap water. I took this as a good sign.

When my efforts to give her relief at home failed, I took her to her normal vet the next morning. The doctor took an x-ray and showed me all the poop backed up in her system. She advised an enema to get moisture in her GI tract and I consented. Piper stayed at the vet near a litter box for 10-15 minutes afterwards but she didn't poop. I took her home and within 10 minutes she had let loose a normal Piper poop.

I went out that afternoon and returned to find Piper not well. Although fairly sedate, she'd move from place to place. I set out dinner and her medication but she didn't touch anything. She moved to my bed and I laid there with her for a long while.

Her condition had not improved by the next morning so I took her to the kitty ER. Treatment began with another x-ray. The doctor showed it to me and noted that, while Piper was constipated, she did not have an exceedingly large amount of poop backed up. The lines were full but not bursting at the seams, if you will. Instead she drew my attention to a cavity between her spine and intestines. There was this weird, jagged dark line there that indicated air when there should be no air in there. She made a comment that perhaps something went wrong with the enema, though she couched it in niceties, in that "mistakes were made" kind of way. No medical procedure is without risk, after all.

The doctor didn't know what the issue was and performed an ultrasound which didn't reveal anything new. A blood panel would be next.

This took 45 minutes or so and the doctor came in and immediately said, "I have bad news". My heart sank. These were the exact same words the vet used as she approached me with a carrier in hand that held Grabby's lifeless body. And it was the same pet hospital. The doctor held several sheets of numbers and she patiently explained what the ones in bold meant. In short, her body was fighting a massive infection.

The doctor went into her assessment.

"...widespread sepsis..."

"...$10,000-$20,000 to deal with this..."

I immediately thought that I would max out my credit card for Piper, I would withdraw from a 401K if it meant healing my precious sweetie. 

"...but there likely an underlying ailment that we won't be able to cure..."

These wicked words were like daggers, and each one a tiny stab to my heart. I started to cry. Through my tears I told her that we need to put Piper to sleep. The thought of her in pain made me ache. My whole body ached for her. I don't know if cats' lives flash before their eyes just before death but Piper's life sure did as I asked the doctor to end her life.

I saw her jumping and playing with her toys; I saw her play fighting with Grabby; I saw her rolling onto her side so I could pet her belly; I saw that pointy eared shadow next to me on the bed in the middle of the night.

She was prepped and this included turning her around in the carrier so that she faced me. I put my face to her but her lovely cat smell was gone, replaced by an antiseptic stench. Petting her head, I looked into those lovely eyes that had cheered me so over the years when I needed it as the doctor applied the injections. I thought about how I'd never see them glowing in a dark room from the streetlights again.

When Piper died, her eyes, her beautiful yellow eyes remained open. As I took two finger and closed her eyelids, I felt a great loneliness. It wasn't simply an end of an era, so to speak, but it meant I'd have to change how I went through life and how I would find happiness and resilience as my marriage moves to its end.

Piper's death feels like an extension of my divorce. It was, after all, my wife who adopted her. The 3 of us - 4 if you include Grabby - had many wonderful times together. The cats made our apartment and our house into homes. Piper fell astray from my wife's affections and so did I. Her passing feels like a mini ending within the larger death that is the end of my marriage.

Today the doctor who performed the enema wrote me.

"I just saw the report from VCA about Piper, and was shocked to see what happened yesterday.  I am so very sorry for your loss, and can't believe how quickly this all happened.

I have looked back at the X-rays from her visit here, and gone back through her visit in my mind.  I personally performed her enema, and it was very routine with nothing out of the ordinary." 

She offered to call me if I thought speaking with her would be helpful. I declined. We don't know what happened to cause Piper's illness and, if I were to assign blame, it would be for me. Why I don't really know. I suppose that, in the end, I was her cat dad and the buck stops with me, if that makes any sense. Piper's time had come and I was there to usher her gently into that good night. I am content to let things be as they are.

I replied, in part:

"I had 12.5 wonderful years with Piper, have tons of cute photos of her, and learned a lot about being a cat dad. She's at peace and I am grateful to have been able to be with her when she was put to sleep."  

I have so many wonderful memories of Piper that I want to tell the world, so many ways to say I loved her that I feel like I could burst. But, alas, even a blog post has only so much room. 

When I first moved into this apartment, I kept one of the windows in the room where her litter box was open a crack for fresh air. Despite the onset of winter I kept it open but it was never a problem as I am on the second floor and the room stayed warm.

Tearfully I have finally closed that window.

Song of the day, 2 March 2026

Nothing gold can stay, Piper edition

I had Piper euthanized today and I am devastated.

She would have been 13 in just over a month and I was looking forward to celebrating. I wanted so much to have a home for her with a fireplace or a wood burning stove so that she could spend the winters of her dotage warm & cozy.

Like me, she was rejected and disowned by my wife. Piper and I kept one another company as my marriage declined and divorce began.  We provided mutual companionship as we started a new life in a new home. My intention was that, after my divorce was finalized, I'd pick Pipey up, tell her that it's over, and that we'd both survived my wife. Then we would celebrate with lots of treats. Well, that's how she'd celebrate - hugs, kisses, and treats.

I can still hear her footsteps and the smell of her cat chow is redolent with so many wonderful memories. Going to bed tonight will be very strange and sad for me as I will not hear her climbing up the stairs next to the bed and then getting comfortable after plopping on my face. I will miss her soft fur on my cheeks and her scent. Her smell has been lulling me to sleep for 12+ years.

I feel devastated and miss her so.

See you on the other side, sweetpea.

A night of Slavic trance

DakhaBrakha were just fantastic last night. It was my first visit to the Atwood Music Hall and I have to say they've got a nice little venue there. I was on the main floor and the sound was great as were the sightlines.

I had never heard DakhaBrakha's music before and it was absolutely entrancing. They probably get lumped into the ethnic or world music category because they are Ukrainian and sing in their native tongue instead of English but I'd describe what I heard last night as dark stoner folk. Trance-like beats adorned with wonderful harmony vocals (that brought the Dmitri Pokrovsky Ensemble to mind) and flourishes from electric guitar, accordion, and, in once instance, a Jew's harp.

The animations on screen in back were really neat too. Slavic and psychedelic, the visual style was really beautiful. I'd look at the screen one minute to find something and then the next time I peeked the images had morphed into something different yet with traces of the previous picture. 

A bit of one of my favorite songs of the night, "Becha" (I think), was posted this morning.

Song of the day, 23 February 2026

I have finally gotten around to unpacking my music CDs. While doing so I came across this ditty and cranked it up loud.

Buried in the mix

A couple nights ago I snuggled under the covers and put on "Corners" by IQ.

It's one of my favorites songs of all-time and has proven a durable divorce favorite. Back in college I had endless hours of fun listening to it on repeat as I twirled my cigarette in the air and watched the cherry's trailers with intense fascination. 

I think it has the longest fade out in the history of rock music. If not, it's up there with a duration of two and half minutes or so. And so I decided the other night to increase the volume to fight the fade and hear what normally goes underheard, perhaps unrecognized.

As the song slowly drifts to denouement, the band is jammin'. Keyboards come in and out with an ethereal effect - as if a soul was looking down on its body; an electric sitar alternately does some speedy runs and then recapitulates a melody from "The Last Human Gateway" from the previous album, Tales From the Lush Attic; electric guitar wails and the bass does these lovely, almost aching, bits. And all of this is atop a steady beat adorned with some tasty fills.

At one point some backwards sounds enter. And then there's dialogue. But I could not make out what was being said admidst the rockin'. Then yesterday it occurred to me: didn't the band put the separate tracks for "Corners" on the The Wake box set? Or was that "The Thousand Days" and I was confusing it with the ambient remix they did in 2010?

So I pulled out the box set and voila!

Yes!

I looked over the contents of the DVD and figured "Vocal and End Effects_01.wav" would hold the key to this mystery. And indeed it did.

At 5:32 a woman says, "Oh, get off it. I know you better than you know yourself. You live for bondage and discipline!" A man moans in a mixture of agony and ecstasy before quickly intoning, "Too much bondage. Too much bondage. Not enough discipline!"

The dialogue was unfamiliar to me but the internet came through.

A Fop in Harlem and Abigail's Undinal Adventures

It took me a bit longer than I had anticipated but I have finished reading the last couple Rivers of London entries. Well, a novella and a novel; not sure if there's been a comic or short story lately.

Finishing The Masquerades of Spring was slightly bittersweet as my wife and I were supposed to see Ben Aaronovitch at a promotional event for it back in 2024. But she unceremoniously cancelled our trip to the UK and I was unable to get a refund on my ticket to the event. I hope Mr. Aaronovitch put my $15 or whatever it was to good use.

A novella, it is told from the point of view of one Augustus Berrycloth-Young, a British ex-pat residing in New York City during the 1920s who is more than a bit of a dandy. His libertine lifestyle is interrupted when Nightingale shows up seeking help investigating a saxophone with seemingly supernatural powers.

It's a fun trek through the demimonde of 1920s New York. Since Augustus is gay and his lover is black, the story deals with homophobia and racism, though I don't feel that it ever got preachy.

Stone & Sky is a full-length novel and features Peter Grant on summer holiday in Scotland - the Aberdeen area. He's there with his significant other, Beverley Brook, their twins, and his parents to boot. Also enjoying the sights is Nightingale and his latest novice, Abigail Kamara.

Things are going alright with Peter having to keep the twins out of trouble and helping his dad's jazz band with their gigs. Then he gets dragged into an investigation of a murder by the local constabulary where it is discovered that the victim has gills.

Peter's sleuthing yields that the local fae - think selkie, kelpie - have become entangled with a large energy company looking to milk the North Sea oil taps dry.

Another fun entry in the Rivers of London series. Nightingale has a minor role and, in a twist, the narrative is split between accounts by Peter and Abigail. Peter juggles obligations family and Folly while Abigail strikes out on her own, largely. Of course she has the snarky fox Indigo to accompany her. In pursuit of a panther of unknown origins, Abigail encounters Ione and develops a Sapphic fondness for her and learns that there is more to Ione that meets the eye.

I loved the Scottish dialogue and hearing that accent in my mind. 

At one point I encountered this text: 

After my trip to Birmingham last year, I read this knowing where the Black Country is and what a Brummie is. Travel really does broaden the mind. A little Londoner prejudice on the part of Aaronovitch? Ha!

Two very fun tales. It was really nice to get caught up in the series. I shall have to see if any new Rivers of London comics have been published in the last few years.

Piper, 18 February 2026

My sweetie pie Piper came up on the bed as I was doing my physical therapy today. Look at that cuteness!

Food & Family

Piper likes chow and I like chow. She usually has tuna and salmon with some occasional chicken thrown in whereas my diet is much broader.

A few weeks ago I made a large batch of chili.

I know people who have spent much of their adult lives perfecting a chili recipe. They've made countless batches to get the amounts just right and donned their alchemist hats to experiment with non-traditional ingredients as if they were transmuting diced tomatoes into gold. Just as folks argue whether gumbo without okra is truly gumbo, many people maintain that chili without beans isn't really chili but rather some imperfect simulacrum.

On this day, I decided to forgo the beans. In addition, my broth was generously cut with beer - Back 40 by New Glarus and my spice dish had a heap of cocoa on it.

When I started cooking I thought that I had a couple of jalapenos to throw in but the chilies proved illusory. D'oh! As my chili cooked, the pot took on this rode hard and put away wet look with crusted chili on the sides as it reduced. 

It turned out well though I wish I'd been able to throw some fresh chilies in it. Instead I had to settle for serving it with canned ones.

I have yet to get a hold of this cooking for one thing and so about half the batch ended up in the freezer for another day.

Earlier this week in the antelucan hours I made cole slaw. For some reason I had arisen rather early and, after doing the dishes and sweeping a bit, I realized that the cole slaw mix in the refrigerator wouldn't last forever so I'd better encase it in vinegar suspended in mayo sooner rather than later.

When it came to seasoning I found that my pepper mill was depleted and so the pepper would have to be applied later after a trip to Penzeys. In addition, I made too much dressing but didn't realize it until after I had dumped the slaw mix into the bowl. As per usual, I couldn't remember if one of these bags required 1/2 cup of mayo or 3/4. The answer was the former though I went with the latter. Oh well.

In addition to eating the stuff straight from the container, I also served it with a smoked pork chop. 

The chops were neither free-range nor organic and weren't lovingly smoked by an artisanal butcher who chopped the wood themselves. Instead they were sourced from my local supermarket. Needs must when the devil drives.

Into the pan along with the mass-produced chops was my last Winesap apple from a trek last autumn to Lapacek's Orchard, some kraut, and a generous splash of Aidan, a smoked rye oyster stout from Lakefront Brewery.

A simple meal, to be sure, but it was quick and easy to prepare after returning home from the office.

One meal that was not quick and easy was a batch of gołąbki that I made a couple weeks back. It had been a while since I'd made gołąbki proper instead of the soup version and was inspired by a recent meal at a Georgian restaurant where the dolma were tasty.

It was decided to use savoy cabbage instead of white. Regardless of which variety I used I still needed a stock pot to boil the head of wrapper leaves in. Someone helpfully pointed out a very affordable 8-quart model at Farm & Fleet which was purchased that morning while running errands. 

The filling was prepared first and the process aided by several sips of some Back 40 bock which had been promoted from chili ingredient to chef lubricator. I used a mix of ground pork and beef from Meat People. Many thanks to the gentleman there who ground the pork as I waited.

In addition to a new type of cabbage, I also cooked in a seasoned beef broth instead of a tomato sauce. 

They turned out very tastily. I lieu of tomato sauce, I used some peri peri hot sauce.

Last weekend I made brownies. 

Rye brownies, to be exact. Although I sampled like any sane cook would, I really made them for my youngest stepson and his father. The old man has cancer and I do not know his prognosis. Considering that the cancer came out of remission, I have little confidence of it going back for any great length of time. But never say never, right?

While dropping them off I was pleasantly surprised when the old man came down to the foyer to greet me. It had been a year or so since I'd seen him and much longer since we did much more than exchange pleasantries.

He had lost weight and looked gaunt. Not Iggy Pop-like, just plain old gaunt with his cheeks a bit sunken. He greeted me with a hint of a smile and said, "Ah, the other member of the [my wife's name] ex-husband club." Needless to say, I laughed.

He asked if there was anything special in the brownies and I apologized that there was no hash in them. Though disappointed, he remarked that his doctor wants him to eat more though he lacks an appetite a lot of the time. I quipped that I hoped the brownies might help.

We ended up chatting for several minutes about various things such as his health and cats of which he has 3. It was very nice to talk with him for a few reasons not the least of which is simply that we've always gotten along and we were able to share some laughs. But also I think it's good for my stepson to see some comity between his father and stepfather especially now that there is none between me and his mother. Indeed, the opposite prevails, sadly. Lastly, I got see the man in the flesh and hear first-hand a few details about his health.

My guess is that he doesn't have that long, though we'll see how it goes. I am worried because my stepson is not ready for the aftermath of his father's death. Not just the loss of his father, but dealing with his estate, dealing with his father's family in the wake of the loss of a member, etc. I worry about the kid and wonder about the old man's health and was happy that, while he didn't look great, he also didn't look like the walking dead. He was mobile so I think he has a modicum of time left, at least.

Since my divorce began there are moments when my mind spontaneously steps back to a 10,000' view and I look down and see my friends & family, all the social networks of which I am a part and it is both gratifying and humbling. I had one of those moments as I drove away. A weird feeling emerged - that I get along with my wife's ex-husband but not her. Just a recognition that times have changed, I suppose.

Now I need to think about what to make for the next round of sweets for them.

Song of the day, 18 February 2026

I was going to write "With the rumor about Phish starting their summer tour here in Madison..." but now see that this is not a rumor and is, in fact, true. Phish will be here on 7 & 8 July.

So here's one of my favorite songs of theirs - "Free".

More adventures in bread

Last month I tried my hand at a loaf of chocolate cherry bread and failed miserably.

It did not rise very much and I'm not sure why. 

My guess is that the water I used wasn't warm enough.

The cookbook said to put the dried cherries in after a particular cycle and, while I thought I followed directions, the cherries largely ended up at the bottom of the loaf.

The bread tasted fine, though. A bit on the rib sticking side but it had a nice, mellow chocolate taste without much sweetness. Plus who doesn't like tart cherries?

My next attempt at brot was another loaf of herb bread and it turned out well. You'll have to trust me here as no photos exist. The crust was crispy while the inside was light and fluggy a la Wonder Bread. My previous attempt had rosemary in it but this time I had the prescribed tarragon as well as some dried chives that were liberally applied. I really enjoyed my piece while the rest was given away. The recipients were most pleased.

Today I baked buckwheat bread. I was inspired by a loaf from Ideal Bakery that was found at Woodmans. Perhaps the moistest bread known to man, it was like Tres Leches cake but in bread form. And without the milks. And not sweet. The stuff was essentially toaster-resistant. I'd put a slice in for 2 rounds on the darkest setting and it'd pop up and feel toasty to the touch, though it didn't brown much. Upon taking a bite I found that the interior was still extremely moist - like a sponge. As if it was made of those Damprid crystals. It was a most singular bread.

My loaf was not 100% buckwheat, although I did double the amount of buckwheat flour in the recipe from 1/3 of a cup to 2/3 and adjusted the wheat accordingly. 

I like how it turned out.

It's got that buckwheat tint to it, has a crispy crust, and a wonderful roasty, earthy taste to it. Doubling the buckwheat was definitely a good call.

Sunday in the (Eken) Park

When I moved into Eken Park last fall I fully intended to take a stroll around my new neighborhood to get the lay of the land, see what there was to see, and get some photographs of the fall colors. Eken Park the Park™ was resplendent in its autumnal yellows and oranges. My plans were foiled by weather, travel, time taken to get my apartment together, and laziness/procrastination. They kept getting pushed off for another day and then the next thing I know the day that all the leaves had fallen somehow arrived. 

On Sunday temperatures climbed into very springlike 50s and I had intended to enjoy the nice weather by walking to a friend's house to drop off some pelmeni but we had trouble communicating so I grabbed my camera and headed out to do some wandering. On my travels I managed to get photos of the many Trachte buildings in Eken Park, which I've posted already, but also of the scenery and things that simply caught my eye.

Eken Park is named after brothers Thomas and Ole Eken who were Norwegian immigrants. A large chunk of the neighborhood was formerly the Eken family farm with the rest of it belonging to the Stang and McCormick families who now have streets named after them. It looks like the western part of the neighborhood along North Street, which had a streetcar line, was built up in the 1920s while the area further east was developed in the 1940s with smaller, often prefab, homes for the working class employees of the nearby Oscar Mayer plant as well as returning G.I.s.

Overall it has a similar look and timeline to Eastmorland, the neighborhood that I moved from. 

The Madison Airport was north of Coolidge Street where Highway 30 and the Bridges golf course are today. The airport hosted the Ringling Brothers Circus for many years.

With the isthmus filling up with luxury apartments and home prices that are egregiously expensive, Eken Park has become at least moderately trendy and home to many younger folks who cannot afford something closer to downtown. My guess is that the neighborhood is still home to a fair number of working class people but that population is declining. However, the apartments along Oak and Pawling streets, along with others, will no doubt continue to give the area a working class tint for some time to come.

Eken Park is not a particularly large neighborhood but there is a noticeable contrast between the patrons of Ogden's North Street Diner and those that I see going in and out of the apartments on Oak Street.

Onto my stroll. 

This house managed to winterize some Halloween decorations and combine them with some greenery.

While I am sad that the Oscar Mayer plant no longer processes meat and provides employment for thousands, I am also glad that, since I now live in Eken Park, I do not have to inhale of the aroma of hot dogs being made which was like a pungent delight but the exact opposite.

One of my neighbors is an Alice in Wonderland fan, it seems.

Ogden's looked to be doing brisk business as I walked by with a trio of women outside waiting for a table. A couple houses down I heard the cadence of wood being hit. At first I thought it was someone taking advantage of the weather to do some home maintenance. Then, after really listening, I realized the sound emanated from above and had to be a woodpecker. Indeed it was.  I think it was a downy. 

Despite being in plain sight, I struggled to find it in my camera's viewfinder and so my photography was half-assed, at best, here.

I like this picture on the door of a garage which is Trachte-shaped but sided so as to obscure its origins.

Those are some badass fish and fowl. The second instance of a non-human animal smoking seen on my walk.

I presume this building was an office and/or some kind of switching station for Ma Bell back in the day. No idea what is there today.

While Eken Park the Park™ lacked foliage, it still looked quite pleasant with families at the west end with kids enjoying the playground.

Someone's front yard had been transformed into a metallic sculpture garden. Look there! Formerly encased in a block of ice...Holy sh*t! It's Godzilla!

 

 

When I was ambling right in the bowels of the neighborhood - down Maywood and Stang south of Commerical Avenue and on Fairfield Place, I got this feeling of being somewhere new, as if I was no longer just a few blocks from home. Perhaps not even in Madison. These streets are very beautiful with mature trees, a smattering of pre-war homes along with ones from the 40s that don't look pre-fab/cookie cutter. A very nice area.

 

A lovely stroll through my new neighborhood. I am looking forward to doing it again when the scenery is more verdant and more colorful with flowers in bloom.