First perambulations of 2026

New Year's Day was relatively temperate and snowy which meant I got to start 2026 with a morning walk without having to bundle up too much.

The sky poured generally large flakes down on me but, since it was only around 22, most were quickly blown off my coat and hat by the gentle breezes. Highway 30 provided its usual annoying automobilic ambience but it wasn't too busy as many people were still at home sleeping or nursing hangovers. Starkweather Creek was frozen over in some spots. 

Once on the north side of the highway, I again pondered how to photograph a bike trail bridge. Their mixes of curves and Wrightian straight lines seem full of potential but I still haven't discovered a way to take a good photograph of them that somehow captures the way they fit into their environment.

A nearby oak tree had decided not to shed its leaves and the brown & tan hues added a slight hint of color to the otherwise white and grey landscape.

I took the creekside path where I saw one woodpecker plying its trade and heard another. On a tree that had fallen into the creek I spied a blue jay taking a break from bullying the other birds in the area.

By this time the din of the highway was inaudible and it was only the occasional plane that disturbed the serenity of the scene.

Once onto the bike path again I hoofed it for a little while before deciding to veer into the woods and follow the off-road bike path, something I hadn't done in 5 years or so.

Immediately I saw that I was not alone as there were bike tire tracks from those big, knobby winter bike tires in the snow. This meant that A) I was not alone and B) that I could avoid any "To Build a Fire" incidents by simply following them. I eventually made my way east to try to find that Blair Witch area with all the Barbie dolls in the trees that I ran into last time I was in these woods.

As I was walking along the trail at one point I heard a squeal from behind me. Turning to look, I found that the sound was from bicycle brakes and that there was an intrepid rider back at the last curve. It turned out to be a gentleman in his late 20s, methinks, who proved to be quite amiable as we ended up chatting for a few minutes.

He explained that his New Year's resolution was to get out on his bike more often and he figured he'd start on day 1. In addition, he told me that there was another biker out as well and I surmised it was this person's tracks that I had followed into the woods. Before long my interlocutor was off and I continued my trek down the path.

It wasn't long before I ran into ruins from the Truax air base. 

I cannot remember what these fire hydrant-like things are called - they are to open or close valves that are underground.

Bits that were off the path and shrouded in leaves the last time I was in these parts were now revealed.

Some Norwegian had visited since the last time I was here as there were trolls at a couple spots where the trail split.

I eventually found the area that had had dolls, a beer bottle, and so on hanging from branches. Barbie had fled and all that was left was the head of a turtle from a plush thingy that had been whole on my last visit.

With my mission accomplished, I continued along the trail until I reached the paved bike path and headed home. There I heated up some coffee and reclined on the couch where Piper curled up on my lap. 

A splendid way to begin 2026. Quality time amongst the trees as the snow crunched beneath my feet and the chilly breeze licking my cheeks. And I got to chat with someone new. Walks like this are a big reason why I adore winter.

Uff-da, it's cold out!

My survey of winter beers continues. 

I was happy to hear that Uff-da has returned. It's been a favorite of mine ever since New Glarus brewed it for the first time back in - what? - the mid-90s? That malty goodness kept back the chill on a recent evening.

My first Winter Skål of the season

Winter beers are my favorite. They are during winter, anyway. In addition to anticipating Tippy Toboggan, I also greatly look forward to Capital's Winter Skål. I'm not sure how a Vienna lager became the brewery's winter seasonal as this is not an especially hearty brew - their many doppelbocks are more generous with their malt - but it is a bit heavier than the beers in their regular line-up.

Not a liquid bread like their Dark Doppelbock, which is also out now, it has a wonderful roasty caramel taste to it without being syrupy. I personally wouldn't mind a bit more of those spicy hops. Regardless, I've been enjoying Winter Skål on snowy nights for years and will do so until I die or they stop making it, whichever comes first.

Glühbier v2

Earlier this month, I tried my hand at mulling beer. It proved unsuccessful with the beer taking on a prominent and distasteful bitterness. At the time, I wasn't sure if it was the hops becoming pronounced as the beer warmed or if I had added too much mulling spices, i.e. - an overdose of clove and mace. Not ready to admit defeat, I recently tried again.

This time, I tempered my zeal for spice and used only 2 cloves and a lone cinnamon stick. For my mulligan, I went with Hofbräu Winter Spezial, a doppelbock.

Not shown is my jar of buckwheat honey.

I gently simmered, sampling all the while.

 

 

While those spoonfuls from the kettle, er, saucepan were warming, the end result was the same as last time: bitterness reigned.

I think I could make something palatable if I were to add more cherry juice and a lot more honey. But I fear I'd be masking the taste of the beer to too large a degree.

A failed experiment but I shall do a bit more research to see what can be done.

First Tippy Toboggan of the season

I shoveled 6-8 times during and after the last snowstorm. Roughly every 3 hours during the day I bundled up, grabbed my shovel, and proceeded to scrape the sidewalk. Then, when the storm was done, it took a couple rounds to clean up and dig out the driveway after the plows had come through.

All of the shoveling used muscles this desk jockey doesn't normally use. When I need some muscle relaxant after a hard day of shoveling snow, I turn to Tippy Tobbogan from Vintage.

Spring is right around the corner

spring is right around the corner

spring is right around the corner

spring is right around the corner

spring is right around the corner

If I say it enough, it will come true, right?

Warm lap

Piper has been keeping my lap warm during this cold snap. The weather outside may be frightful, but inside is so delightful.

The Corona Diaries Vol. 87: Got Medieval?

(Listen to the handy and informative prelude.)

(late March 2023)

I know it’s going to surprise you, but we had a blizzard recently. It dumped a little over a foot of the white stuff on us. I mean it just kept snowing and snowing and…

Thankfully I was at home that day and so was able to shovel 3 or 4 times over the course of the day instead of coming home from work in the evening and having to shovel it all at once and pull a back muscle or 4.

Here are some house sparrows eyeing up the bird feeder as the snow falls on them.

The reason they were waiting in the bush is because the feeder was occupied by Ms. Cardinal.

The snow did not stop the squirrels. They had no problems finding traction on the power poles and were zipping all around.

Spring may have been a few days old but Old Man Winter wasn't ready to give up quite yet.

The snow put a damper on progress over at our neighbor’s house. You may recall that a tree fell on it last summer and that, after a few months, it was finally demolished except for 2 walls. Well, the construction finally started this month. It didn’t take long to do the framing and get a roof on it. It seemed like major progress had been made every day.

The red is gone and now we have greyish blue.

The exterior looks more or less done so I assume they’re plumbing it now and running electricity. We are very happy to not have a wreck in the neighborhood anymore and for our neighbor to be closer to having a habitable house again.

********

I recently took a trip to Chicago to visit with my mother and we went on a trek to the Art Institute. I hadn’t been there in ages and was keen on seeing their new(ish) exhibit, The Deering Family Galleries of Medieval and Renaissance Art, Arms, and Armor.

Since it was a fairly nice day, we walked down to the Jefferson Park El stop. I hadn’t taken the El in a while and it was neat to once again see that old North Avenue Baths building by the Damen stop. 

Although it was a bit – quelle surprise! – windy downtown, it was lovely.

As we were waiting to cross at Adams and Michigan, we heard a car honk then CRASH! Someone tried to turn left but timed it poorly and their car got t-boned right in front of us. An exciting start to our visit.

We went inside and got into a fairly lengthy line. Although my mother had plenty of cash on her intending to treat me to a day out, we discovered that cash is no longer accepted at the Art Institute. It's an annoying practice that is spreading like the Creeping Charlie in my backyard. Summerfest in Milwaukee has gone cashless as have the music venues here in Madison owned by the corporate behemoth that is Live Nation. So I pulled out my credit card. It was my lucky day as the guy gave me the Chicago resident discount since I was with mom.

Honestly, I had forgotten just how ginormous the Art Institute is. Making a bee line to the Medieval/Renaissance exhibit was not possible. It took us little while and more than a few ganders at the map but we eventually got to the section with all of the Renaissance paintings and strolled through.

While I prefer medieval art over that from the Renaissance, generally speaking, I must admit they did some interesting work in the 17th century such as this painting of Saint Romanus of Antioch holding his own tongue. I presume it was cut out when he was martyred. He is the patron saint of those stricken with logorrhea. 

But the gallery has too many paintings of aristocrats, i.e. – the people who could afford to commission their own portraits. Plus, I think there are a million depictions of magi adoring the baby Christ.

“What’s this one called?”
“Adoration of the Magi.”
“Huh. And this one?”
“Adoration of the Magi.”
“Wait! Wait! Don’t tell me. This one is Adoration of the Magi too.”
“Correct.”

One thing I like about medieval art is that it doesn’t have a realistic sense of perspective like much Renaissance art. Before that Italian guy rediscovered the mathematical elements of perspective, medieval art was more interested in relaying a moral lesson or making sure all of the right symbols were in the frame, realism be damned. Everything looks off-kilter but in a fun and interesting way.

We finally arrived at the Medieval/Renaissance exhibit and I began to feel giddy. I felt genuine excitement and awe upon seeing the gigantic altarpiece on one wall.

Did I set off the alarm by getting too close to inspect what appeared to be gold leaf? You bet I did!

Fewer secular portraits of aristocrats here and more paintings of saints and martyrs. This is someone who had her breasts cut off when she was martyred.

She doesn’t appear the least bit distraught at holding a tray with her boobs on it. I guess that’s what grace does for you.

Now, having recently listened to a medieval podcast which was a guide to the most popular saints, I knew this to be Saint Agatha.

Here’s another:

That same podcast informed me that a female saint with a book was St. Anne and a female saint with a wheel was St. Catherine who, legend has it, was to have been killed on a breaking wheel, a very nasty torture device which involved lots of broken bones and general mutilation. However, she touched it and the wheel fell apart so her tormentors went to Plan B, a simple, direct route, and beheaded her instead.

Not far from this painting was a 13th century antiphonary.

This contained the music to be sung or chanted by monks during the liturgical rites for the canonical hours of the day. I’m not sure if every monk would have had access to one of these or if they shared or perhaps a monk led the chanting with one of these before him. Regardless, it was really neat to think that hundreds of years ago some fellow squinted at these notations in the fading light of dusk to sing at vespers.

After displays of jewelry, plates, glassware, and other household items, you get to the big room with most of the military gear - arms and armor aplenty.

I think that most of the armor was ceremonial with just a handful of suits meant for use and most of those were for jousting instead of battle. Still, they were impressive and my back ached just thinking about wearing one of them. Men seemed to be rather smaller back then than now. Say what you will about our modern diet, but I doubt I nor most of my friends could fit into most of the armor on display. We grow 'em big these days. We're taller, broader chests - just bigger all around.

On the arms front, there were a lot of halberds, glaives, maces, and swords. One display case held a two-handed sword that was about as long as I am tall. I cannot imagine having to wield one of those. I'd probably cut my own head off on accident. Plus, there were lots of bows.

I’m thinking that, if you need a crank to pull the bowstring back, then I’d bet that bow will launch an arrow with many a pound of force. It must have been able to pierce even the best armor.

I could have spent all day in that exhibit but, alas, we had to move on if we were to be able to check out some other art.

One piece I really wanted to see was The Rock by Peter Blume.

I don’t know why but I adore this painting. The colors, the storm clouds portending doom…There’s the ruins of a building on the right and a new one being built on the left with the rock in the middle. I believe it was painted in the mid-1940s so perhaps it’s about World War II and the hope for something better once it is over.

In an area nearby were works by African-Americans. I took a picture of Nightlife by Archibald John Motley, depicting a night club in Bronzeville, but it wasn’t in focus. So I bought a print of it for my Frau.

However, my shot of Eldzier Cortor’s The Room No. VI did turn out in focus.

I like the colors a lot and the very unreal sense of perspective that reminded me of medieval art.

Wandering around the modern gallery, it seemed like my favorite room had had its contents changed. The last time I was there, there was a room that held The Awakening of the Forest by Paul Delvaux, a couple works by Magritte - Time Transfixed and On the Threshold of Liberty, and Girl with Cat by Balthus. Or was it Solitaire? I just loved sitting in that room for a long time taking everything in. The Awakening of the Forest and On the Threshold of Liberty are both rather large works and it was easy to get absorbed by them.

We went to grab a snack before going to see the special Dalí exhibit called "Salvador Dalí: The Image Disappears". To get into the exhibit, I had to scan a QR code with my phone to get into a virtual line and then wait for a text to tell us that we could enter. I wonder if we could have been issued paper tickets or been assigned a time. It's a shame to make ownership of a smartphone a prerequisite to seeing an exhibit.

I find it interesting that we are at a point now where one must bank a certain way in order to gain entrance to the Art Institute and you apparently need a smartphone to get into a certain exhibit. It seems that a credit card and smartphone are becoming the bare minimum to be able to participate in more and more cultural activities.

A brave new world.

I had a blast at the museum and need to set aside a few more days to see the rest of it sometime. We went and had dinner at Miller’s Pub before catching the El back to Jefferson Park.

I’d read that CTA ridership was down significantly but our train was packed to the gills with commuters on their way home and a smattering of people heading out to O’Hare with suitcases in tow.

It was a grand day out in the big city.

********

I go through periods where I try to catch up on things I missed in the 1990s or go in-depth into something from that time that I can recall but don’t know a whole lot about.

For instance, back in c.2006 I read a few books and watched a couple documentaries about the Rwandan genocide that took place in 1994. I remember hearing about it on the news back then but I only recall talking heads on the evening news. Going in-depth and then seeing footage from Rwanda depicting events from the genocide was a whole different ball of wax. A few years back I listened to a podcast about P.J. Harvey’s debut album from 1992 and wondered how it was that it took me nearly 20 years to investigate it because I really enjoyed it.

My latest investigation into that time involved reading this book, Yugoslavia: Death of a Nation by Laura Silber and Allan Little which recounts the history of the Yugoslav Wars from 1991-96. I recall hearing about it in the news, with the siege of Sarajevo, which lasted nearly 4 years, being especially prominent in my memory.

Right off the bat I learned that Yugoslavia consisted of 6 republics and 2 autonomous provinces. I just figured it was a single, united country but no. This made things confusing as each republic/province had its own internal government but also representatives to the federal one. Another thing that made the read complicated was how most people’s surnames ended in -ić. There was Kadijević, Adžić, quite infamously Milošević, et al. All of those diacritical marks meant that I consulted the Cast of Characters at the beginning of the book quite often. That in addition to all of the maps.

The book tells a really sad story that has been repeated throughout human history. A demagogue whips people into an us vs. them frenzy and the killing begins. Here it’s Slobodan Milošević who stirred up Serbian nationalism. He followed this up by getting other republics to send representatives to the Yugoslav federal government who were subservient to him or were at least sympathetic to Serbia.

Slovenia and Croatia see Milošević’s gambit and declare their independence from a puppet Yugoslavia that is having its strings pulled by Serbia. Bosnia eventually declares independence too.

Milošević would claim that Serbian minorities in the other (former) republics were being prosecuted and use this as a pretext for war. The Muslims in Bosnia and Herzegovina became scapegoats and suffered terrible atrocities.

In addition to the Serbians run amok and all of the death and atrocities they caused, the book also tells of the mainly impotent responses of NATO and the UN. After having read about the UN efforts during the Rwandan genocide, I was hardly surprised.

As with every war, the Yugoslav ones had their share of absurdities. One tale that sticks in my mind happened in May 1992 when the president of Bosnia-Herzegovina, Alija Izetbegović, is flying back from failed peace negotiations in Lisbon. He threw caution to the wind and decided that the plane should land in Sarajevo despite the city having descended into chaos and conflict. He was captured by the Yugoslav federal army which by this point was controlled by Serbia.

He asked his captors to be allowed to call his staff to let them know what had happened but was told the phones were down. Shortly after this, a phone in the room he was being held in rang. It was a woman who was calling to find out if her daughter’s plane had left earlier in the day. Izetbegović told her that he was the president and asked her to call his office to tell them that he was a captive at the airport. If she couldn’t get through, she was to call a radio or TV station and tell them instead to get the word out. 

As it happened, she ended up speaking with a Sarajevo TV station. The conversation was broadcast live and captured for posterity on video tape and can be seen in the 6-part documentary based on the book with the same title and which I recommend highly.

While a very sad tale, I was glad to learn more about some history that I lived through, even though I didn’t experience it first-hand.

I’m not sure what my next 90s throwback venture will be. I’ve been meaning to read The Quincunx since around 1995 so perhaps that should get taken care of.

********

Bonus photo time. I recently met a friend for lunch at a nice older tavern. Next door to it was a storefront that had this display in it. It’s a homemade leg lamp as seen in A Christmas Story that’s being accosted by a zombie.(?!)

(Listen to the postlude.)

The Corona Diaries Vol. 86: Those Russians know how to make a hearty soup

(Watch the prelude.)

(mid-March 2023)

Earlier this month I had a hankering for soup. It came out of the blue and this desire remains inexplicable to me. I don't recall watching a movie where a character made soup or any such thing. So this prompted some internet searching. For reasons I cannot remember, I steered things towards Russian cuisine and eventually settled on solyanka, likely because it sounded very hearty with all kinds of meat in it.

I used some kielbasa, ham, and chicken. The recipe called for dill pickles too which sounded interesting. Although I omitted the olives, I went out and bought capers for it and am now trying to figure out what to do with a mostly full jar of them. Onion, garlic, tomato – plus seasoning. It definitely had a very stew-like appearance as it cooked.

While it simmered on my stove, it occurred to me that a slice of Russian black bread would be the perfect accompaniment to this stuff. Sadly, it was too late for me to get to a bakery or store where I could find some and so I settled on a bowl of kasha with butter liberally applied.

It was all very tasty and just as hearty as I imagined it would be.

A few days after it had all been eaten, my Frau and I went down to the winter version of the famous Dane County Farmers' Market which, quite fortuitously for us, is held indoors just a few blocks down the street from our place. While there I ran into some Baltic Black Rye.

While it perhaps was not exactly the same as Russian black bread, Russia is near the Baltics and this looked and weighed like a loaf that would emerge from the oven of a babushka over there. Close enough, I figured.

This was a fine bread. It was dense and rib-sticky with a big, raw rye taste. A thin slice was enough to keep my hunger at bay for a few hours. Just perfect to provide the energy to shovel snow.

********

I seem to have developed the bad habit of having an empty bird feeder when we get a good blanket of snow. Just like the last storm, there wasn’t much in the feeder after the most recent one cleared a few days ago.

Here’s a cardinal in the bush near our backyard feeder pondering whether to go check it for scraps.

It was pretty out on our walk to the farmers' market and I spied my first red-winged blackbird of the year.

That poor guy. He must have been pretty pissed off at all of the snow and thinking that he had arrived too early. If there is such a thing as avian profanity, I am sure this little fellow used it.

Despite the snow and the chill, I could hear several of his kind advertising a presumably warm and snow-free home down by the creek.

The next day I trekked on down to Owen Conservation Park for a guided walk.

We got an explanation of the stormwater management elements of the park which included a lot of ditches that let water drain into retention ponds.

In addition to the knowledge imparted by the Introduction to Infrastructure 101 portion of the walk, we also enjoyed the quiet, the natural scenery, and the crisp, clean scent of the winter air.

While we saw a few tracks, our stroll was largely critter-free. Perhaps this explained the paucity of wildlife.

I think this is a red-tailed hawk, although my ability to distinguish them from cooper’s hawks is not finely honed.

While it may have been a fairly uneventful walk – we didn’t even see any animal poop! – it was still nice to be out trudging through the snow in the fields and amongst the trees.

********

In anticipation of the Academy Awards program this month, theaters here have been showing the nominees for Best Picture and this has given me an excuse to head to the cinema.

The first one I went to see was Baz Luhrmann’s Elvis. I’d wanted to see it last year when it was initially released but somehow never got around to doing so. When I heard that it had been nominated for an award, I regretted not having seen it on the big screen so I was happy to get the chance once again. 

I am not particularly familiar with Luhrmann’s work having only seen Moulin Rouge! but know that he has a very colorful, extravagant visual style. That same aesthetic was put to work here as he, his set designers, and his cinematographer, Mandy Walker, created a movie that was very colorful with layered sets that sometimes looked realistic while at others took on a dream-like quality. Elvis looked fantastic.

It chronicles the life and career of the King of Rock & Roll, mainly through the eyes of his manager, Colonel Tom Parker. The first act shows us Elvis’ childhood and rise to fame. The middle gives us the man at the height of his popularity and the final act his decline and fall.

The first act was the most exciting. It portrays bits of Elvis’ boyhood before starting his own band and meeting up with Parker who helps him achieve super-stardom. One scene cuts between two sequences involving the young Elvis. In one, he and his friends are peeking through the boards of an old shack while inside a black bluesman plays guitar and a couple dance as if they were getting ready to do a little rockin’ of their own. This alternates with shots of Elvis the boy going to a revival tent and becoming entranced by the music and the preaching. He feels the Holy Spirit and falls into an ecstatic state.

This part was wonderful! It tells you about Elvis’ character and gives you some insight into his musical roots. But the best part was how the music and the editing built up the intensity of the scene until I got totally lost in it.

Not too long after this one there’s a scene where Elvis is doing a performance and has been told not to gyrate his hips. So of course he does so. Luhrmann gives Butler’s lower anatomy some close-ups and alternates those shots with some of teenage girls in the audience panting and just about to burst with excitement.

Luhrmann and company do a fantastic job of capturing the visceral thrill of being under the spell of musicians and their music.

From here the movie deals with Elvis, his stardom, and Parker’s manipulation. Despite the change of focus in the plot, the whole thing was just great fun. The acting was first rate and Luhrmann whips up an epic, glittery spectacle. And I just love the look of it. I think the colors were oversaturated giving the movie this dream-like appearance.

I kicked myself for not having gone to see it last year.

On the other hand, I was very happy that I didn’t watch All Quiet On the Western Front on Netflix last year and waited to see it on the big screen.

Francois Truffaut once said, “every film about war ends up being pro-war” and I couldn’t disagree more.

I had never read Erich Maria Remarque’s novel nor seen any of the previous attempts at adapting it as a film but I knew what it was about in a general sense. This new adaptation ended up being that and more.

It is 1917 and a mere teenager named Paul Bäumer signs up with the army under the impression that it his patriotic duty after hearing many speeches with a nationalist bent at school. He joins with some of his school friends and meets new ones at the front.

The movie alternates scenes depicting the horrors of battle with those showing the abysmal conditions in the trenches. Plus, there are various moments away from the battlefield such as one where Bäumer and friends find respite from war by stealing a goose from a local farm and cooking it up. There is also a separate storyline about a German diplomat and his attempts to bring an end to the war.

I found the battle scenes here to be the most intense and disturbing I’ve ever seen in a movie. The opening of Saving Private Ryan perhaps equals them but there are more such scenes to be had in All Quiet On the Western Front. As expected, they were kinetic bursts of action that really got my adrenaline flowing. The camera smoothly followed the German soldiers as they popped out of their trenches and scrambled across No Man’s Land towards the French as bullets whizzed by, explosions threatened to rip off limbs, and comrades fell to the ground lifeless.

In one scene, the Germans have to confront tanks. When they see the metal monstrosities, they get this look on their faces saying, “What the %#$@ are those?!” At one point, the front of a tank dips down into the trench and lands on top of a soldier and we get to hear his blood-curdling scream of death as his viscera squirt out of his body. That really irked me.

The Germans eventually overrun the French position and are taking a breather when the camera cuts to a long shot from above. We see the German soldiers in the trench and the approach of the French armed with flame throwers which turn the trench into a literal hell as they casually rain fire down upon the Germans burning them alive.

At this point, tears welled up in my eyes and I almost started bawling like a baby. I was just so appalled and horrified.

These visceral jolts of terror did absolutely nothing to glorify war, contra Truffaut, and everything to dramatically illustrate its horrors. Perhaps only the smell of burning bodies was missing.

But there is more to All Quiet On the Western Front than the horrific battle scenes. We watch as Bäumer befriends his fellow soldiers, for instance, and they take time away from the business of war, as I noted above. There are lighter moments as these young men develop camaraderie and use very black humor (and cynicism) to deal with their experiences.

These scenes add a modicum of levity but also serve to show the damage done to people even if it is not physical.

This is one intense movie and I highly recommend it.

 

********

Bonus photo. One day my Frau was sitting on the couch with the cats when Piper decided to go for a snack. Well, Grabby decided that Piper's butt just wasn’t clean enough and to do something about it.

 

 

 (Now listen to the postlude.)