The Max Wahl apartment building is 75 years old this year. Old Max had a flair for a grand entrance, didn't he?

The cryptic notice "This Entrance" has been amended by some wag to read "This is France," which makes about as much sense as the original, now that I think about it.

After a magnificent dinner at Peppino's starting with crab cakes and ending in orange and pumpkin cake with coffee, I finally noticed the sprig of rosemary growing from a pot in the window. How did I miss that? As I got up from the table I pulled a single leaf and held it to my nose to savor the rich aroma. Wonderful.

Spring slattern of seasons
you have soggy legs
and a muddy petticoat
drowsy
is your hair your
eyes are sticky with
dream and you have a sloppy body from
being brought to bed of crocuses
when you sing in your whiskey voice
the grass rises on the head of the earth
and all the trees are put on edge

- e.e. cummings

On, Wisconsin! Come snow, or sleet, or gloom of winter storm ...

I'm sure by this time the whole 'snow in April' theme has been done to death by dozens of Wisconsin bloggers, but I took the pictures and I've been slogging through the stuff all day, so I'm going to post, dammit!

I'll do this guy next, just to get the statues out of the way.

I can never remember who this guy was, other than he died in the battle of Chickamunga, and he was Norwegian. My memory, scrabbling around for something to call him, comes up with Sven Chickamunga.

He's looked better.

The wind-driven snow flocked all the trees in capital square so they stood out from the background as if they were lit from within. This stand of trees along Pinckney were very nearly incandescent, even in the early morning gloom.

Some courageous soul dared to walk the narrow, snow-covered granite curb running the length of the sidewalk leading up to the capital and an hour of the day that I can hardly walk a straight line on level pavement. Bravo!

Grace Episcopal is a commanding presense on the square even on an overcast day, when it's cloaked in a muting blanket of snow.

Flocked bikes locked up to a rack at the top of State Street.

The top of State Street has always seemed like a cozy place to me, and especially so on this frozen morning when my destination is Michelangelo's coffee shop (the awning marked "coffe" to the right) for a piping hot beverage.

We're all hoping that, by this time tomorrow, the snow will be gone, and we can eat our acorns without having to dig through the white crap to find them.

Sneg.

That's the Russian word for "snow" and I like it a lot right now because it sounds sort of snot-like and messy.

I've of two minds on snow.

On the one hand, I like snow so much that I moved back here, the state where I grew up, because I missed the variations of the seasons, and snow was one of those variations. They have snow in other latitudes, but not like we have it here (except in northern Japan; they have a pretty darned good winter season there).

I love the silent snow fall at night, the thrilling mid-day flurry, the fearsome attack of a stinging gale-driven snow. I love the way wind makes it pillow up. I love heavy, wet snow that throws bare tree branches into sharp relief as it sticks to the wind-swept side.

When the temps stay well below zero, the snow remains a flowing, fluffy blanket, but after just a day of warmer temps, even in the lower thirties, it crusts over so that an adventuresome boy can walk across its frozen surface or, if the mood strikes, and it certainly will, he can stomp holes in it.

Just a foot of snow fall will lead adults to heap it up at the ends of driveways high enough for kids to dig labrynthine fortresses in it.

Snow's real purty, and it's lots of fun.

On the other hand ... this is freaking April! Enough already! I'm ready to stroll down the street in my shirt sleeves on my lunch break. No such luck today. One look at the slush-covered sidewalk and the runnels of melting snow in the streets and I went back to my cubicle to read.

Enough, thank you. Time for spring.

Oh, Ye Gods!

Look at the date. Look at the date! Does that say April? Of course it does! So what's with all this white crap?

The first guy who makes a "global warming" joke to me gets a roundhouse kick right in the nose.

Your car may be a piece of junk if:

- any part of it is held in place with bungee cords, baling wire, twine, duct tape, masking tape or any kind of tape

- any part of it is missing that would be obvious even to people who had never seen a car before

- it has been folded, spindled or mutilated (bonus points if the wheel scrapes against a bent fender)

The Modest Offices of WORT Radio are only four blocks from where I work, but either they transmit from another location or they broadcast at about 50 watts of power, because I've got to constantly fiddle with the tuner of my radio to pull in the station. After two o'clock on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday it's worth the trouble, though, because that's when they play plenty of hot jazz.

[Footnote: According to the station's website, they broadcast a 2,000-watt signal from a tower on the southwest side of town.]

Ranks of Lantern-like Lamps line the Facade of the Lorraine on West Washington Street


The Lorraine used to be one of the grand old hotels in downtown Madison, back when there were grand old hotels in Madison. If it were still a hotel, it would be called The Grande Olde Hotel and be crammed to the rafters with pretentious geegaws and foofery. Either that, or it would be the seediest rat trap in town.

But it's not. It's been refurbished as condos, and pretty nice ones, from what I can tell of the photos I've seen posted by bloggers who've been inside, and even a few who live there. Even from the outside, it looks like quite a beautiful old pile now. The copper patina on these lanterns and around the overhang add a venerably aged look to the front entrance.

If there's anything I don't like about The Lorraine, it's that the face of the building almost always seems to be in shade, but that's a very minor quibble.

Ice Out

Open water is slowly making a return to Monona Bay.

I had a little walk along North Shore Drive and took a detour through the park by the rowing club's boat house. The rip rap has soaked up enough warmth from the sun to force a retreat of the ice sheet.

The waterway under the trestle leading out to Monona Bay is entirely free of ice now. You could've walked under that trestle on a sheet of ice six inches thick a week and a half ago.

... and there's a little more open water on the other side of the trestle, but there's still quite a bit of ice out there.

A coworker said she saw a couple guys row out to the ice in a boat, then climb out onto the ice to fish.

Damn.

My Darling B shows the Timster how it was done in the early days of video games.

It doesn't get much easier to grasp than Pac-Man: One joystick, that's it. No jump button, no fire button, no other buttons at all after you punch "one player" or "two player."

He thrashed his mother. He couldn't beat his old man at Galaga, however.

The video games were part of an exhibit at the museam of the Wisconsin Historical Society on the western corner of capital square. It was a lot more popular than we though it'd be; we had to wait in line quite a while to play Galaga.