Life Lines

I hadn't realized it until today, when even at 9:00 in the morning, you could tell it was going to be a truly warm day, even on the east side of the county. I hadn't realized how unhopeful I had become for true summer.

With one of the long-range outlooks stating that this might be the summer we never get, I was tensed for politely warm parts of the day with always a sweatshirt nearby should the wind shift.  However, today held the life-affirming heat that makes me wonder what on earth God was thinking having me enter this world in February.

The debate will ever rage on, how it's easier to add another layer than it is to stay cool.  My point is that you will have that opportunity at any given month of the year to exercise this ease of temperature and comfort control, just give me my 12 weeks (if we're lucky) of true sunshine that makes a 'set in the shade' a luxurious respite.  Adding layers has its price of confinement and retreat, and it's healthy to want less of that, if only for a while.

If I choose to believe the weatherman that this is going to be our warmest week of the season so far, I'll take the hit for being gullible should it not work out that way.  But I'm happy to say that at least I'm hopeful, which is as true a sign for me as the first day of summer.

With daily reminders of the dwindling time left to view television, surely you've already purchased the necessary television accessories, gone shopping for all of the hors d'oeuvres you'll serve at the launch party, but oh, what to wear....The previous 'false start' meant that the longer-sleeved gown suitable for the February event is now inappropriate for this season.

Apparently, the masses just weren't prepared enough for the upheaval in their lives back in February, and to avoid the embarrassing social mishap of having a party with snow on your television was something the government felt would have caused mass hysteria.  Thank God for the extension.  Hopefully the coupon-clippers who somehow managed not to get the message the first time have NOW  been able to take the time to purchase a converter.

Myself, I'll be left out of the excited fray, as I still own a 'regular' TV but enjoy satellite so the big change with be unnoticeable and anti-climactic.  For folks like me do I purchase something special in honor anyway?  I feel like I should at least buy noise-makers...otherwise the countdown-to-the-second ticker that is visible in the lower right-hand corner of the screen on channel 4 will be all for naught.

With my own daughter's 'graduation' from 8th grade now behind me, I thought I'd throw in a few pieces of wisdom onto the pile of thoughts that have been shared over the past week to all who are starting a new chapter, be you a graduate or just someone starting over...

More so than ever this year has shown us that no one is too big or too small to fail, and that oftentimes it just needs to happen (failure, that is).  The younger you are the less wisdom you might have on failure, but rest assured, it will happen from time to time, and that's a sign that you are living life.  I always took a lesson from the Chinese symbol for crisis. It is actually two symbols put together:  danger and opportunity.  My hope is that any challenge, any set back, and yes any out-an-out failure is seen more as an opportunity rather than a time to fear.

Believe in yourself, but even more important, believe in something larger than yourself. We are not random chance, we have a purpose and we have a guide that has put us on this earth.  Get to know and rely on your Creator because we simply cannot do everything...alone.  Independence is not isolation or indifference, and we often become better individuals when we share ourselves, our talents, our time, with others.

Disagree when your principles are threatened, but as I remember a third grade teacher once saying, don't be disagreeable.  Fighting for what you believe in does not and should not involve character assassination or degradation and often puts your own argument (and character) into serious question.

May God Bless you, and I mean that in its truest form...He already has, and always will. 

While I have tried to make my peace with winter, and dealt with how reluctant our springs can be, I believe TRUE spring has arrived, and can tell by my attitude.

I will ignore and try to forgive the fact that it's come about 6 weeks later than the equinox says, but it's here and that is worthy of a little praise.

While we look inward during the winter, spring insists we turn our senses back on - all of them - and it never ceases to disappoint.  Walking with the dogs is now a more stimulating event, and the colors, smells, sounds, textures and tastes of May are downright delicious. Ralph and Gus dash about like bb's in a boxcar, not knowing what to investigate first.

For myself, I stop more often to take it all in, no longer fearing hypothermia or fearing more about the ice than to pay attention.  While the dogs delight in a deep pond within the woods, I feel I'm in a sacred space, and am reminded of a somewhat-obscure song by Billy Joel that starts with the line, "They say that these are not the best of times, but they're the only times I've ever known, and I believe there is a time for meditation in cathedrals of our own."

So, while the busy-ness of summer now beckons, do enjoy it; in fact venerate it - as we all know too well, our time in the sun and on the water is always too short.

Every year - twice a year - the American Legion and VFW (that's Veterans of Foreign Wars) hold a ceremony to remember the fallen and honor their service.  Memorial Day is one of those services and as a past attendee, I can say they are beautiful and moving ceremonies. 

The only thing to mar this event is the lack of attendance by Muskego citizens, especially youth.  Generally the audience averages 55+ years of age, with the only exception being younger relatives of the members of either organization. It makes me sad to think that kids are not brought to events like this to help them understand in real living color what history is, and WHO history is.  We call many of these people our "Greatest Generation," yet it's just a lame catch phrase if we don't take the opportunity to meet them in person, get their story and honor their sacrifice.

They will say differently, but these men and women are heroes for saying yes to serve on behalf of their country, leaving the comfort of home to be a part of something bigger than themselves.  War is not always the answer, but for millions of Europeans suffering under the threat of Hitler, it was the only answer.  Even today, men and women in the military serve not for conquest, but truly because they want a better, safer world, which is a motivation that exists no matter where you fall in the political spectrum.

Memorial Day was not originally intended for garden store sales, car shows or rummages, but all of those things remain possible and truly American because of generations of those who served our country.  This year's event is again at the Regency, a senior living community kitty-corner from Muskego High School at Woods and Racine Avenue.  Please take the time to do something truly memorable and attend - services begin at 10:00 a.m. on Saturday, May 23rd.  My hope is the only down side this year will be lack of available parking.

I remember looking at the list my mom would give us as kids for the things she would like for mother's day.  My brothers and I would laugh at the simplicity of it...hand cream...a paperback book...a coffee mug.  Nothing special.  Surely there was something bigger and more exciting that she wanted to be presented with.  A little 'wow factor' if you will.

However, as I ponder the things I would enjoy getting from my own daughter, I realize the profound meaning behind those simple items.  It's not so much about what we'd like to get as it is in relishing in what we already have as moms.  While a set of dish rags (yes, I'm guilty of putting that on my list) doesn't quite compare with receiving an unsolicited hug from a near-freshman in high school, what would, really?

My daughter doesn't realize it yet, and probably won't until she's a mom either, but telling me that she couldn't think of a thing she has been denied or remember the last time she felt lacking because she is happy with what she's got, is a gift beyond all measure.  She's also confused by people who say it's important to talk to your parents about your thoughts and feelings, fears and anxieties, because she already does that (whether I'm ready or not).  She has yet to realize some relationships between parents and children aren't as easy, which is a blessing I'm glad to open everyday.

So the little gifts are nice, flowers smell wonderful and the forced relaxation is sweet (if not comical at times), but understand us moms already have priceless and real treasures and we're spending the day enjoying them, every day of our lives.

Not to diminish the gravity of someone dying from any illness, but I think it's time to step away from the hysteria that seems to be surrounding the stories of the 'pandemic' Swine Flu. (I'm sorry pork producers:  H1N1 flu virus...rolls right off the tongue.)

It was pointed out by a doctor from the Medical College of Wisconsin yesterday that Influenza A has a higher morbidity rate, and reports many, many more cases year in and year out world-wide.  So I need to ask: why the panic? 

Now we're talking about closing schools indefinitely, wearing masks and skipping the communion cup at Catholic mass.  Vice President Biden even escaped long enough from his closet in the White House to claim on the Today Show that he wouldn't recommend any type of mass transit for anyone.  Oh, wait.  He didn't mean to say that.  (He's now going on a tour of Bosnia and Herzegovina, Serbia and Kosovo in what I am assuming will be a rubber raft to avoid close contact with sneezers in an enclosed environment.)

I myself am feeling a little suffocated with media that seem to be thrilled about talking about ANYthing than the crappy economy for a change and instead spend the first 15 minutes of the news cast getting such great quotes from people like, "Well, I guess it's better to be safe than sorry."

I'm wondering when we can all start feeling better, going back to school, traveling, and take a good dose of the medicine we've sorely been lacking:  reality and perspective.

I'm embarrassed to say that when I heard of GM's decision to 'retire' the Pontiac brand, I was a bit emotional.  Although I currently 'drive Chevy', my favorite car was and still is the Grand Prix I had the absolute pleasure of driving for 7 years.

The gold 4-door was my reward for enduring many unpleasant years of the Chevy Corsica I drove, a car that I feel just didn't like me. Near its end, I was unconsciously experiencing stomach pains at every stop, in the fear the car would die on me.  Again.  (A disease that never was diagnosed despite several trips to the mechanic.) A final gasp to drop my daughter off at school was the last straw. 

Enter the Grand Prix.  A car that, once I bought it, brought congratulatory praise from friends and co-workers, many of whom said they were on their 3rd or 4th Grand Prix - they just couldn't stray from the brand.  True to its billing, the car brought back trust, and my stomach eventually stopped clenching at every stop sign. It was love.

 Alas, the need for more space to accommodate my daughter's growing 'posse' of friends while being able to cart around golden retrievers meant a tough decision late last spring to buy the Trailblazer.  It loves me, too, but you never forget your first, really.  I do get to see the car from time to time, as a friend bought it (if he wouldn't have, I had 3 others waiting to buy it) and I can help but sigh a wistful sigh....

The Pontiac line of "Excitement" vehicles included the Grand Prix, but also the Bonneville (which was the only other car I thought that looked cooler) and to some extent the Grand Am.  Its forefathers also included the GTO which is still one of the "bossest" vehicles ever built.  It shocked me to think that GM would flush this legacy and instead opt to hang onto Buick, who brought you the Omega and the Skylark.

I know, it's irrational...but Americans LOVE their cars, and this chick is no exception.  Whether worthy or not, they seem to evoke an emotional attachment, and one likely to grow as they're relegated to the history books.

We've recently made our decision on a high school, and I regret to inform Muskego-Norway schools, but we're taking a pass.

Instead, we've been blessed with financial aid a not just a little faith and signed on with Catholic Memorial, my alma mater, and as the days pass, the right place.

Understand I'm not bashing all public schools, as many of my relatives graduated from MHS and are well-adjusted happy and successful individuals.  However, my experience in 'shopping' schools was night and day, and therein lay the difference.

Initially, I was surprised to learn that Muskego does not have placement testing.  While they are not the only high school not to skip that step, I'm baffled as to why they would opt-out of this important tool to determine which classes would benefit and enable your decisions in choosing classes.  My daughter took the test for CMH, mainly because I wanted to know that information, no matter where we ended up.

Still hoping to be a Warrior once again, we proceeded with starting the registration process with both schools.  MHS's night was an open house and registration hand out night all-in-one, and with the sprawling layout of the school, we were left overwhelmed, many times lost, and overall disappointed at the lack of class information we gleaned.  In addition, Allie was disappointed to learn that her interest in art would not include photography if she were to go to MHS.  As we chose classes, I also had to wonder at the philosophy of offering 3 different types of physical ed classes for incoming freshman, while every freshman took the same English class.  Previously students from her school have said 'you'll be bored your first year, as it's a remedial review.'  Registration was paperwork due in less than a week, with little contact with the guidance office.  (They were pretty busy.)

In contrast, we were assigned a student volunteer at CMH who asked what we'd like to see, introduced us to teachers, and we were informed the night of the open house in October.  Registration was held separately and was done in-person with a staff member helping guide your decisions, as they would know their classes best.

Shadowing further cemented my daughter's decision, and again - this is a subjective, comfort-level decision - her reaction was completely different between both schools.  Some kids will thrive among 1,400 others, loving the largeness of the renovated Muskego.  Allie found it a bit impersonal and coming from the insulation of a private school, found the language and dress a bit eye-opening.  Still, I persisted that she would make friends and that we needed to keep an open mind, but her shadow experience at Memorial yielded a more welcoming, family atmosphere, and I knew we risked having our hearts broken if our financial aid request wasn't granted.

Happily it was, and although I know more than 300 kids will happily enter high school at Muskego in September, I do hope that the administration and faculty can do right by each and every one of them, as I know CMH will out in Waukesha.  The choice we made was financially tough, but even where tuition is "free," our kids deserve it.

I'm not seeing those bumperstickers anymore... You know, the ones that were usually next to the "Coexist" and "Love Your Mother" tags that proclaimed "Dissent is Patriotic"

While more popular on the backs of Priuses in the last 8 years, they seem to have been scraped off.  And recent reactions to the TEA (Taxed Enough Already) parties makes me wonder if dissent is no longer patriotic.  By the way, I agree - dissent is a right we have as Americans to display peacefully, and a freedom very few countries enjoy to our extent.

Those in the more than 200,000 that assembled on April 15th were sneered at in the mainstream media, and at one point argued with on camera by a 'reporter'.  I don't recall ever seeing such vitriol leveled at a group of citizens exercising their freedom to assemble (which by the way does include the right to assemble in protest of government).  These citizens, many of whom have NEVER attended a rally and don't hold a particular political party affiliation, were called rednecks, racists and extremists.

Again, these were rallies to express people's outrage over the government's lack of fiscal responsibility over the last 17 years, which includes the Bush administration for those of you keeping score at home.  That the race card was being bandied about is sad and incredibly and dangerously inaccurate.

As a journalist I am embarrassed at the lack of impartial reporting.  As a citizen, I'm terrified.

If we have lost the ability to all be treated equally and have the right to a true marketplace of ideas, then no one is immune, no matter who you have voted for.

I'm going to take a wild guess that this blog won't get reprinted in the community newspaper counterpart of Now.

Not to bite the hand that feeds me (technically, it really isn't as I don't get paid), but has Journal Communications fired the people behind the idea for "The Lake FM" yet?  I recently hit 94.5 on my preset in the car, and was assaulted by "9 to 5" by Dolly Parton.  I've also run across Bob Segar on it...what a pairing.

I know the idea is to offer variety, but just as important is to offer a format.  I can't imagine it's easy to attract listeners if they can't tell what you're about, and if that matches up with their tastes.  I can't imagine advertisers like the unpredictability, either...  I know I'm just one potential listener, but anecdotally, I haven't heard of anyone in my circle that listens to the station where "you'll never guess what we'll play next." (The guy on the TV ad is also icky.)

And if the idea is to perhaps give Doctors' and Dentists' offices musical variety for their waiting patients, again I don't see how such a schizophrenic approach to musical genre selection is going to soothe them prior to seeing their physician.

Milwaukee radio is anemic enough, and I used to KNOW what WKTI offered.  Everybody did.  It was a long-standing player on the dial, and even if I didn't listen to it 24/7, I knew where to go to hear not-quite-so explicit lyrics for my younger daughter.  Now we're left with KISS-FM (103.7), which at times is a little too celebratory for promiscuity and getting drunk.

While it was recently announced that there would be more layoffs on the print side (Journal/Sentinel) and paycuts on the broadcast side, perhaps the best business decision for the company would be to cut their losses, and try to revive their presence on the FM radio dial with a real radio station with recognizable names behind the mic, and - hey, what a concept - a recognizable format.

What if a town were built and nobody cared?

My daughter's research project for eighth grade is on Muskego Beach/DandeLion Park.  While it technically is a historical presentation, it's turning into a bittersweet version of Ripley's Believe it or Not.

I've been down this road, having done a story following the sad trail of the Tailspin Sign, which hung on the side of the rollercoaster in the park, which is now the site of the Bay Breeze condominiums.  Really. While it now rests in the hands of the Muskego Historical Society (where it should have been all along), for more than 20 years, it was the story of the 'runt of the litter,' being sold from person to person at rummage sales and vintage stores, where its presence was considered an eyesore.

The challenge is in finding printed material other than the newspaper chronicles of the change in ownership of the park, and these are only found in a fraying accordion folder in the library, subject to further wear and tear over time.  More than this story, that seems to be the case for ANY history on Muskego.  No books, few pamphlets, a disregard that people may want to know what our city was.

I know Charles Damaske as mayor was not a pleasant experience for the Historical Society, but I understand his frustration.  Damaske has written much about the rail lines that laced the countrysides of Muskego as well as other communities in Southern Wisconsin, which is the true calling of any historian.

By contrast, I've gone to work on stories on Oconomowoc, Pewaukee, Hartland, etc., and they are filled with prolific authors who often wrote several detailed texts of the families, businesses and stories of the their respective communities.  It's sad to think we don't think enough of our own community to do the same.  

It's like burning down rustic and historic buildings,or moving and altering them to the extent that grants for restoration would no longer be available....oh, wait, we do that too.

Our quest isn't over....we will enquire with the historical society to see if we can wade through the material they might have.  My only hope that their condition won't be in as sad of a state as the rest of the history that seems to remain hidden.

Men have it so easy, chapter 23:

While I thought women suffered the indignities of swim suit, jeans and bra shopping, topping the list for me is now shopping for a nice dress for a 14-year-old girl.

With Allie nearing the end of her eighth grade year, we set out to find an appropriate dress for a church, with a little reception afterward.  The dress code was clear: no cleavage, no short hems, and if the strap was narrower than a lasagne noodle, a shawl or cover of some sort needed to be worn, at least for the mass. (The last item had me imagining us walking around with a hunk of pasta in our hands for comparison.)

My own standards of budget wrapped into that, we flipped through countless racks of prom dresses that were designed for 7-foot-tall girls, short dresses that would've fit in along the Moulin Rouge (complete with sparkle and crinoline) and dresses that made me feel like I would have to buy a microphone and a bar stool to complete the lounge act.  I was disheartened to say the least.

Even the helpful salesclerks rolled their eyes when I told them what we were looking for. Striking out after several hours at Southridge, we decided to head uptown and more upscale (yeah, about that budget...) to Mayfair.

Little improvement was found at Macy's, where we thought the designs at times bordered on the absurd.  My daughter even remarked that she thought they were designed for life-size Barbie dolls.  Silver stars, shiny fabrics - all that was missing was the plastic shoes.  (That's one floor up, actually.)

Finally, we passed a store window that was full of dresses...nice dresses.  Dresses that said, "I respect myself."  So we entered White House/Black Market (a favorite of Michelle Obama I hear), with just a little trepidation, as I knew the smaller the store, the larger the price tag.  After trying on just a couple, we all agreed (grandma was along this time) that we found THE dress.  And the shoes.  And the required cardigan, as the straps wouldn't have passed the 'pasta meter' test.  Even the budget remained intact.

I realized watching my growing girl flirt with herself in the mirror while being preened by the very attentive sales clerk, that my fear of NOT finding the right dress were now replaced by a new one: finding the perfect one.

I have recently been invited to join Linked In by several people, and I eventually relented and signed on. It's supposed to be a professional networking tool, however, after filling in some basic info on myself and my job skills, I soon realized it's like getting a free dog.  I still need to manage it, feed it, keep it updated...realizing that I've just tied myself down to another responsibility.

Understand the irony of blogging about this topic is not lost on me...

My friends and acquantances will soon realize I have abandoned the site, neglecting the virtual neighborhood of career support offered to me if only I participate.  Call me old fashioned or stubborn or resistant to change, but I like real people. In the flesh.  Eye contact - voices.   I know others who have FaceBook pages, IM their friends all the time, text, Skype, and MySpace....how do they have time to have a real conversation with a real human being?

It's the same concept behind my obsession with old typewriters...they are real works of art, long since replaced by electronic keyboards.  And although I have a real allegience to my laptop, I keep several different models of Royal, Underwood and Smith-Coronas dotted around the home office to remind me of the tools the real pioneers of journalism sweated over.  (I doubt my Dell Inspiron E1505 will garner the same homage 50 years or more from now in someone else's workspace.)  While I don't long for the days of liquid paper and correction tape and counting spaces of characters to determine how to center copy on a page, each of these machines are the result of hours of careful craftsmanship, a labor to the craft of writing.

So while I bend and accept progress, embrace the internet and what shortcuts it can offer me, I keep in mind why I write and who I write for...real people, worthy of real contact.

I'll be brief, and don't say I didn't warn you:  AIG did exactly what the lawmakers in Washington said they could, and now our lawmakers are climbing over each other declaring "greed!!"

Please google Christopher Dodd (D-CT), as it was his idea and the rest of the yahoos on the hill, Republicans and Democrats alike, who rubber stamped this bill, with a last minute amendment to the bailout for AIG.  The amendment specifically exempted bonuses from being withheld if they were contracted and promised prior to February 11 of 2009, basically allowing the bailout money to be used for this purpose.

That part of this deal is grossly under-reported, strangely enough.  I liken this to handing a drug addict money for rehab but telling him it's OK if he spends it on drugs instead.  Then when he does, people are stunned that he blew the money on cocaine, and declare their outrage at his bad decision.

I'd like my own interrogation on the hill, this time with citizens holding their representatives accountable for their hypocracy - and apparently very short memory - in this latest chapter of "How to Blow a Trillion Dollars."

My daughter had the rare honor of meeting someone recently who had been on the beaches of Normandy during the D-Day invasion in 1944.  I told her what a privilege it was to talk to someone who was not only a witness to history, but who took part in it, and lived to tell the story about it, as so many thousands did not.

That prompted a discussion of the strategy, and in larger part the war.  Having had an interest in historical fiction when she's had the choice of books to read, she was also trying to understand the tie-in this had to the holocaust, as many of the books she's read include Anne Frank: Diary of a Young Girl  and The Book Thief. 

More than her learning about a time period, though, I thought of the greater lesson she learned from the veteran who came to speak to her class at school during social studies class.  History is people, and for us more importantly, it is people with quite a few years on them.  Fourteen-year-olds don't always find 'old people' cool, but in realizing that everyone has a story, she learned to bridge that gap.

Closer to home, I reminded her that her own grandfather, although not a World War II veteran, also had a story, and like the 'greatest generation,' much of it can go untold if you don't ask about it.  He spent two years in Germany in the army as part of the ongoing rebuilding of Europe, and I had recently made the effort to have him walk us through every slide he took from that time, and each photo is now numbered, with a brief description corresponding in a notebook.  I just had to ask.

What is 'old' can teach the young, and open a new insight into their own history, and make sure that history is told accurately, not just according to a textbook.  I hope every kid gets that opportunity (or takes the opportunity) to ask someone 'with a few years on them' about their story and in turn help them to open a new chapter of understanding in their own lives.

On the heels of my 'let's have a 5th season' posting, I am reminded this weekend just how necessary it is to have this made into law.  After a couple of life-affirming, warm spring days (I know, technically still winter...I get that), we enter the ugly side of this 'glass-half-full/glass-half-empty' time of year.

After deciding the dogs would have to skip their walk through the woods on Saturday because of the rain, their increasingly rambunctious behavior indoors made me relent on Sunday.  The woods has undergone its own transformation, from winter glory, to icy treachery (I nearly was knocked unconscious on Wednesday after a nasty spill while trying to negotiate an ice-covered trail) to just plain mud and dead leaf slop, it's metamorphosis is clearly underway.

I wasn't surprised we were the only souls brave or stupid enough to traipse around in this mess, but you just have to know what to wear, and as I bore a striking resemblance to the Gorton's Fisherman clad in gear suitable for a cod trawler, I was also glad to be alone.  So on we trod.

Well, I trod....The dogs bounded, bounced, splashed, slid, rolled and basically delighted in the wonderland the landscape had become.  No doubt smells long ago retreated in dormancy were blooming everywhere, and the result was two near-crazed retrievers racing back and forth through the woods like kids at an amusement park not sure which ride to go to first.  Their golden coats were soon matted with rain and their undersides brown from every puddle they could romp through.

Once again, I realized that you can't judge a book by its cover, and the glee the dogs were obviously experiencing was a bit contagious, I'll admit.  The ground was muddy, sure, but that meant the ground was thawing.  Dead oak leaves were the leavings of fall and provided a perfect camouflage for the dogs, but it also meant that the snow had all but disappeared. 

The signs of a beautiful spring were just beneath this ugly scab, and if I was willing to take a leap of faith, I'd see how beautiful it all was after all.

I'm quickly coming to the determination that we need a fifth season in Wisconsin...something between winter and spring.

Many names come to mind...Limbo...Transition...Hope (the last one is so overused these days, I've rejected it).  But I've seen glimmers of warmth in between the below-normal temps, events that are unmistakably harbingers of sun, water and the outdoors, and the struggle between optimism and pessimism more evident in my head.

Winter is way too long already to possibly give this mini-season the same name, and the thought of two more months of winter is flat-out depressing.  However, to say March 1st (meterologically speaking) or March 21st is Spring is flat-out delusional. 

The season is marked by mental shifts, ranging from delirium at the sight of the first robin or the sight of the lawn, to depression at having to lug out the Ariens in April to clear the driveway yet again, cursing the discepancy between the 'average' high and what the thermometer actually says.

It is also a season of relentless comparison and relativity.  My brother keeps a daily vigil at the altar of Spring Training by posting what the temperature is in Phoenix.  That's either optimistic in it's looking forward, or plain sadistic.  I lament the fact that today is NOT going to be in the mid-80s, yet part of me says "it's coming...ever closer, hang in there."  After all, we really are past the days of below-zero highs.

Yet every week brings more reasons to be optimistic more so than not...the Sports Show is full of summer promise; what snow that does fall melts under a much stronger sun in much less time.  Even the promise of daylight savings time, brackets and March Madness are worthy of unbridled enthusiasm.

So on the tightrope I go, walking in between a dark winter inwardness, and a boundless springtime optimism. It's never a fast walk, but each step gets me closer to the other side.

I had the privilege of meeting Archbishop Timothy Dolan on my way to cover an event at the Hyatt for St. Francis Seminary, where lay and religious study to achieve theological degrees and to become ordained.

It was a brief conversation on the escalator, mainly regarding baseball, but I was struck by the man's presence.  For starters, this guy's huge:  very tall, brawny and hands the size of baseball mitts.  But true to shepherds, he also possessed a large, warm personality - one that gathered you in, and said, "I'm listening, not just making small talk."  He even laughs large.

Later in the evening, he happened to see me talking with someone else and as he passed by, slapped me on the back heartily, as if to say 'thanks for being here to tell this story.' 

Now I learned this morning he will be moving to New York to serve as archbishop, a promotion that will clothe him in Cardinal red.  However, I have every confidence that he will remain the same cordial, how-ya-doin, guy that I met on the escalator, and America and the world will be all the better for it.  New York will not change that, and it will be fun to see them try.

I am saddened, however, that Milwaukee will lose a very necessary figure to lead its Catholic Church, and I can only hope that the lessons we've learned under his guidance will be lasting.  Mainly that problems are not just the responsibility of the few, but of us all...that every person who calls themselves Catholic ARE the church, stiff white collar or not.  I have met some amazing people who have served joyfully in the Church in the last few years in my work for the Catholic Herald - and only a handful were members of the clergy.  I can say many of them mentioned Archbishop Dolan in our conversations, and I hope they continue his legacy of servancy through genuine warmth, humility and love of God.

I have heard it mentioned twice now in the last 48 hours that we could very well have met the first American Pope in our fair city.  A more perfect representative for our country there could not be, if that is indeed so.  I guess if that means we need to give him up, then it's a sacrifice I will be willing to accept.

I was recently in two places along Janesville Road in Muskego, one business that has been in place and doing well for many years, another that is still in its first year, yet run by great people who take pride in the quality of their product.

The latter, Twins Floral, which is located next to the Elementary School, is on the list of businesses that will have to move because of proposed widening of Janesville Road.  I will fully disclose these are friends of mine, Liz and Therese, but I have also known them to be some of the best florists in this corner of the state - they truly have a gift for their craft.

The news makes me sad on many levels - in a building that has seen many businesses in the past 20 years, including a day care, the size and location seem now perfect for a flower shop.  It's so small town, and folks that's what Muskego is, no matter how it tries to redefine itself.  It's also a building that has some history - originally known by many of the older locals as 'the old Big 3' restaurant, I hate to see the landmark go.

What's worse is the 'parting gift' from the city - a whopping $30,000 to move.  That barely covers the cost of a new sign.  My disgust with the city over its lack of foresight in planning - we need only to look upon the Dyer "tree farm" that graces 11 acres on the north side of Janesville across from Pick N Save to remind us - is that economically it seems to be a lose-lose.  Janesville takes out not only Twins Floral, but the Delta Restaurant, possibly Muskego Beer & Liquor (also a 40-year plus business), and other businesses that will need to move.  (Irv's Sport Shack will close as the couple is retiring, but that's still another blow to what people from outside come to the city for.)

The question is Where? To the industrial park? To another city, so they can help pay their taxes?

By gaining extra space to build another lane on Janesville to alleviate traffic congestion (and by the way I have not once thought "gee, it's 5:00 - I'm gonna hit serious backups if I hope to make it to Piggly Wiggly by 5:30), it seems like we lose the very reason people would even want to come "downtown." 

Or perhaps the idea is to get the people traveling from Hales Corners and Big Bend through Muskego as quickly as possible, so they can get to another city where they would prefer to spend their money.  And make no doubt, with few places of business to stop them along the way, they will.