Now that it's set in that we are leaving the friendly confines of Madison for the perhaps-friendlier confines of Dubuque many questions have come up.
Will we like Dubuque? Will it seem too small? Will it offer the opportunities we want for our family? Will Dubuque seem extremely conservative in comparison? If so, will that be good or bad? What will I miss most about Madison? Least? Will we have trouble finding like-minded people? Will we feel like we fit in better in Dubuque than Madison? Can we imagine staying in Dubuque forever? Will we ever figure out why Dubuquers back into parking spaces so much?
My predictions... we will both enjoy being in a much smaller town. We will find that people in Dubuque are, in general, friendlier. It will be weird at times because of past history in Dubuque. We will be driven crazy at times by the car-centered way of life in Dubuque. We will at times feel out of place because of some of our beliefs and thinking, but in some ways we will find that we fit in better. We will miss having so many great restaurant options (not that we took advantage of many of them in Madison). We will enjoy having a much better paper to read over breakfast. We will realize that "normal" in Madison is definitely not "normal" in many places outside of Madison. I will miss being so closely connected to state politics. I will be shocked at how few people get out and run or bike or ski everyday. We will actually take advantage of the opportunities that Dubuque offers in a way that we did not in Madison. We will enjoy being able to get across town so quickly. We will miss having so much selection in our grocery store. We will enjoy feeling a part of a small college community again. We will end up finding a small group of relatively like-minded people with kids and become close friends. We will stay a long time in Dubuque.
I think we are both very excited about moving to Dubuque. I think if you'd asked each of us 10 years ago if we could ever imagine ourselves saying that, I bet we both would have said "no." But we're older and more mature (wiser even, maybe?) and the pull of family connections and the scarcity of college teaching opportunities both were major factors in our thinking.
The time has come for us to move on. Now if we could just find somebody willing to buy our house.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Friday, February 8, 2008
Whisky's for drinking and water's for fighting over
Somebody (Twain perhaps?) once said that water was for fighting over and I'm pretty sure that over the coming years and decades that will be the case. If you pay attention to the news you probably all heard about Atlanta's issues in late 2007. Thanks to the power of Governor Sonny Perdue's prayers, Lake Lanier's water levels have risen 5 inches and Atlantans everywhere can get back to their normal lives again. (What's that you say? There's still more than 20 FEET to go to get Lake Lanier back to normal? Those pesky details just get in the way.)
Well, now it seems that rather than actually taking any rigorous steps toward addressing the root of the water supply problems in Atlanta, some in the Georgian legislature feels the appropriate step is to simply change the state's boundary with Tennessee so that the state has access to a Tennessee reservoir.
Can somebody stop the madness? Please.
Well, now it seems that rather than actually taking any rigorous steps toward addressing the root of the water supply problems in Atlanta, some in the Georgian legislature feels the appropriate step is to simply change the state's boundary with Tennessee so that the state has access to a Tennessee reservoir.
Can somebody stop the madness? Please.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
This is worse
Apologies for starting this blog in such a morbid fashion but I had to show this. Until you're a parent I don't think it's really possible to understand just how painful a picture this is.
Here's the story.
Could you imagine being the parent forced to choose between dropping your daughter 4 stories or keeping her with you in a building that's going up in flames? Could you imagine the pressure of being the person entrusted with catching her? Could you imagine the rest of your life if you were the designated catcher... and dropped her? I can't.
Thankfully she was caught. She survived. And the parents survived, too. Not everyone in the building was so lucky.
The worst thing
I am reminded of what I believe to be the worst thing about our house once or twice a year. When it snows and there are strong winds (like today) the orientations of our house, garage, driveway and neighbor's house somehow combine to create huge drifts right in the middle of our driveway. Parts of our driveway can be totally clear while other parts will have 3 feet of snow. This is annoying. While I like to shovel (as evidenced by having shoveled all 70+ inches of snow that have fallen here this winter, thus saving my wife from doing any... you're welcome, by the way) the thought of shoveling drifts that are 3 feet tall and growing as I type this is really not all that appealing. Winter, you can end anytime now.
Since it's been so snowy I picked up a book on avalanches at the neighborhood branch of the library the other day. Reading about them brings me back to January 2000 when I was in the Cascade Mountains of Washington state at a little place called Holden Village. To get to Holden you take a several hour boat ride up Lake Chelan, which reminds me somewhat of the pictures I've seen of Norwegian fjords. Upon exiting the boat you're picked up by an old school bus and driven up a series of switchbacks and then about 10 miles deep into the mountains. Upon exiting you may think you're in a little off-the-grid Lutheran retreat center, but you're really in the middle of nowhere. Civilization is far, far away.
After arriving in Holden that January the very first thing we were shown was a video on the danger of avalanches. To a bunch of college kids from the midwest it was an eye-opening experience. I think the intended purpose was to sufficiently scare the sh!t out of us so that we'd think twice about doing anything stupid in the mountains. The proximate reason for being at Holden that January was to take an environmental ethics class. The ultimate reason, for me at least, was to get outside and play in the mountains and snow that seemed to fall daily. If I was to do that, though, I'd have to get educated pretty quickly.
Fortunately, there were several people who were very experienced with snow and avalanches and I learned a great deal about how to test snowpack for stability, what to look for, how to be safe etc. I saw and heard avalanches on a regular basis that month. I saw the SUV-sized blocks of snow and ice that tumble thousands of feet out of the mountains down avalanche chutes, creating 100+ mph winds and leveling anything in their path. I spent just about every afternoon that month snowshoeing or skiing in the mountains and had a blast. I wish I could go back.
Reading this book (entitled Snowstruck) about the experiences of two Alaskan avalanche forecasters and rescuers brings me back to one night in particular. One of the guys I spent a great deal of time with that month, Dustin, a writer and journalist, and avid backcountry skier, and another woman whose name escapes me, were missing. They had gone out skiing that afternoon after lunch. As of about 8 pm they weren't back. It was dark. It was, of course, snowing. It was cold. The few of us who knew that they weren't back yet had been nervously talking since dinner about what to do and when to start a search mission into the adjacent Glacier Peak wilderness area. There were so many concerns, so many unknowns and so many possibilities, few of them good. It was the first time in my life I'd ever had that sickening knot in my stomach, wondering whether my friends were still alive or not and knowing that there was very little I could do at that point to help out. That was the worst thing.
The best thing? They showed up later that night, cold and hungry. No avalanches got them.
Since it's been so snowy I picked up a book on avalanches at the neighborhood branch of the library the other day. Reading about them brings me back to January 2000 when I was in the Cascade Mountains of Washington state at a little place called Holden Village. To get to Holden you take a several hour boat ride up Lake Chelan, which reminds me somewhat of the pictures I've seen of Norwegian fjords. Upon exiting the boat you're picked up by an old school bus and driven up a series of switchbacks and then about 10 miles deep into the mountains. Upon exiting you may think you're in a little off-the-grid Lutheran retreat center, but you're really in the middle of nowhere. Civilization is far, far away.
After arriving in Holden that January the very first thing we were shown was a video on the danger of avalanches. To a bunch of college kids from the midwest it was an eye-opening experience. I think the intended purpose was to sufficiently scare the sh!t out of us so that we'd think twice about doing anything stupid in the mountains. The proximate reason for being at Holden that January was to take an environmental ethics class. The ultimate reason, for me at least, was to get outside and play in the mountains and snow that seemed to fall daily. If I was to do that, though, I'd have to get educated pretty quickly.
Fortunately, there were several people who were very experienced with snow and avalanches and I learned a great deal about how to test snowpack for stability, what to look for, how to be safe etc. I saw and heard avalanches on a regular basis that month. I saw the SUV-sized blocks of snow and ice that tumble thousands of feet out of the mountains down avalanche chutes, creating 100+ mph winds and leveling anything in their path. I spent just about every afternoon that month snowshoeing or skiing in the mountains and had a blast. I wish I could go back.
Reading this book (entitled Snowstruck) about the experiences of two Alaskan avalanche forecasters and rescuers brings me back to one night in particular. One of the guys I spent a great deal of time with that month, Dustin, a writer and journalist, and avid backcountry skier, and another woman whose name escapes me, were missing. They had gone out skiing that afternoon after lunch. As of about 8 pm they weren't back. It was dark. It was, of course, snowing. It was cold. The few of us who knew that they weren't back yet had been nervously talking since dinner about what to do and when to start a search mission into the adjacent Glacier Peak wilderness area. There were so many concerns, so many unknowns and so many possibilities, few of them good. It was the first time in my life I'd ever had that sickening knot in my stomach, wondering whether my friends were still alive or not and knowing that there was very little I could do at that point to help out. That was the worst thing.
The best thing? They showed up later that night, cold and hungry. No avalanches got them.
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