West Side Stories

This is it. The weather that makes or breaks Wisconsinites. It’s not just the temperature. Sure, it’s 4 below zero with negative double digit wind chill. It’s the whole kit and caboodle.

It’s not the beautiful, fluffy snowflakes that start in late November and make us think Christmasy thoughts.

It’s not the dense, backbreaking snowfalls that leave us plowed under but make our kids giggle in anticipation of snowman-building and a trip to the local sledding hill.

It’s the thaw. Followed by the freeze. Followed by the rain. Followed by the sub-zero freeze.

It’s what I call Mother Nature’s big tease.

We know better. It’s January, for goodness sake. But still, 46 degrees and an early viewing of our lawn makes us daydream about spring. You walk outside and you can smell things again. You start to visualize your garden. You make promises to walk more often. You consider taking up running. Silly, silly you.

Wait a minute, it will change.

And honestly, that’s what I like about Wisconsin. A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I spent my freshman year of college in balmy Florida. It was an idea borne of very little information. One of those things you assume is a great idea. And it was, for a while. But the weather never changed. I never appreciated the good, because I always had it. I missed the change in seasons. I missed my family too and eventually decided to make Florida a vacation destination and not a residence.

Even today, I’m still glad. I like the idea of hunkering down and popping up my collar and grinning and bearing the weather. Sort of like hitting yourself on the head – it feels so good when you stop.

And while I’m patting myself on the back for the fortitude, I make a personal promise not to get excited next month when the temperature reaches 50 degrees. Because it will...but it will not last. And that’s OK.

I was one of the 72,000+ who stood outside Sunday night and had their heart broken.

Yes, it was very cold, but no it wasn’t horrible. (The weather, not the game.) Being a mom forces me to hyper-prepare. The extra coats, long underwear, hats, hand-warmers and tights that seemed like overkill pre-game, were blessedly welcome mid-game.

Besides the final score, my primary disappointment was in my battery-powered socks from Gander Mountain.  A colossally bad purchase. Thank goodness for the feet heater/liners installed at halftime.

It was exactly the kind of game I hate. I’m always mystified when people say that they love a close game – a real nail-biter. Not me. I’ll take a blow-out any day.

Fans and booze. What a bad pairing. Stuck in my mind forever will be the sound of two drunk fans screaming at each other post-game. One was angry (an understatement) because the other kept standing throughout the game. Dude, it’s a football stadium. Did you really expect that we’d all stand and sit in unison? Standing Man was taunting and promising to do things that I wished my daughter didn’t have to hear. It was such an ugly end to a cold, bleak evening.

Looking on the positive side, we’ll regain some normalcy in our local media. We’ll get our front page back and no more Mike Jacobs and Carole Meekins giggling like 5-year-olds in the Lambeau Field Atrium. Amen to that. I love the Packers, but even I was so done with that.

To those of you who read this and say: "Karen, it's just a game," I say, I know. In the universal scheme of things, this was just four really bad hours. But fanhood is a fickle mistress. There is nothing so addictive as a universal belief in the same goal. Nothing to match the roar of a giant crowd when things go well. And nothing more stunningly silent than a full stadium that has just been handed defeat.

So on the day after the Packers and Marquette let me down, I need to change perspective and move on. And so I say….

Go Brewers!!!

Saturday night, as I stood there at Lambeau Field and watched a magical, mythical snowstorm swirl while an unlikely Packer team came from behind to destroy their opponent, I had one thought: “Thank you, Andrew. This was so much fun.”

Allow me to share a story with you.

As many of you know, we lost our son Andrew nearly a year ago. Andrew was born severely developmentally disabled more than 21 years ago. He lived to defy odds and teach us a bounty of lessons. Today, we firmly believe he is in a better place, watching over all of us.

At one of the memorial services for Andrew, one of his caregivers at Central Wisconsin Center, Roseann, approached me and said: “You know, Andy is now up there watching over the Packers.” I chuckled, agreed with her and didn’t give it a further thought, knowing that the Packers’ prospects for the 2007 season were dim at best.

But Roseann knew something. She was the one that dressed him in one of his many Packer outfits on game day. She knew that Andrew came from a family of die-hard Packer fans. She was one of the few who understood our obsession.

After the first Packer-Viking game on September 30^th, the one in which Brett Favre set an NFL record and the team rallied to win in the final seconds, a letter arrived at our house. It was from Roseann. It said: “Remember I said that Andy would be helping the Packers win.” I showed the letter to my husband and I think we both got a little misty-eyed.

So on Saturday night, as we stood in that virtual Green Bay snow globe, watching one of the most amazing football games I will ever see, it suddenly seemed entirely possible that Andrew, our angel, gave us another very special and unexpected gift.

Thanks buddy. God bless. We love you.

Like many people throughout Wisconsin, we’ve definitely got Packer playoff fever in our house. It’s been a few years since we’ve even wanted to think about NFL football in January. (On a side note, thankfully, the NFL hasn’t yet ruled that thinking about football requires a license, although, in his defense, Roger Goodell is just getting started at his commissioner job. Give him time to figure that out.)

In any case, Saturday is the big playoff game between the Packers and the Seahawks and in anticipation of that, a friend of ours from Green Bay, Randy Stary, has written a song called “Rock to the Big Game.” (We’re not going to say the “SB” words here!) You can listen to the song here.

This infectious rock/country tune will get stuck in your head for hours and hopefully we’ll all be happily singing this on Saturday night!

The nice part of this story is that Randy decided that download purchases of this song would benefit Catholic Charities. Then, Randy’s co-workers stepped up to the plate and donated $3,000 so that the first 3,000 downloads are free. That’s right a good deal for a good cause that will only last until word gets out.

And this is going to be one very popular song in the next couple of days. Randy will be on WTMJ – 620 am at 7:00 am, Thursday, January 10^th. He’s already been on Fox News up in Green Bay which you can see here. He also put together a fan video using the song as a soundtrack. You can see that here.

You're probably thinking to yourself: "Gee Karen. This is a great story, but what's the local angle?" Well, Randy is a Marquette graduate, so when he’s not cheering on the Green and Gold, he’s cheering on the Blue and Gold. That’s a fine color combination in my book.

Enjoy! Oh and Go Pack Go!

Like many people, it takes me a while to wake up in the morning. I usually sit here in my house, bleary-eyed, at least until I’ve worked my way through a cup and a half of java and several sections of the morning Journal Sentinel. This Monday, something made me wake up much earlier than usual and I had hardly made it past the front page. Suffice it to say, it moved me to tears.

I’m talking about Mike Nichols’ column about Army Major Andy Olmsted, whose parents live in Cedarburg. Apparently, Andy wrote a letter that a friend was supposed to post on a website in the event of his death. Unfortunately, his letter was posted, which means that Andy was killed in Iraq.

The letter is nothing short of amazing. Not only is it incredibly well-written, articulate and sometimes even funny, it touches on so many issues that are casually bantered about in the news and on Op-Ed pages:

I have to tell you that rarely have I been overcome with such emotion as I was when reading Andy’s letter.

I can’t think of any more fitting tribute to our troops. Andy has written his own brilliant and beautiful eulogy and we are all better for having read it.

Bravo, Andy. God bless you and rest in peace.

I have no idea why, but nothing is as metaphorically cleansing to me as taking down the Christmas decorations. I am here today to say that I am cleansed of Christmas.

Contrary to what I may have led you to believe, I do indeed love Christmas. It’s true that I have issues with when it begins and ends, but I like it.

I’m all in favor of everyone celebrating something. In fact, it’s sort of refreshing when you think about it. Once a year, without government intervention, a great majority of us display our affinity for something that is generally positive.

Now, it’s certainly true that Christmas means different things to different people. For many, it’s a deeply religious celebration proclaiming the birth of Jesus. For others, it’s a time to gather with friends and family. For a lot of people, it’s a combination of both.

No matter how you celebrate, or what you believe, the Christmas season is a very big deal. Tough to ignore even if you’d like to and hard to beat if you are a big holiday enthusiast. In either case, it’s the season that keeps on giving, seemingly for weeks and weeks.

If you know anything about me, you know that I have an incredibly short attention span. As much as I love any celebration, I quickly grow tired of it after a few days and certainly after a week or two. And this is why, on December 26^th, I am chomping at the bit to move on from Christmas. So as not to drive my family crazy, I hold off until after New Year’s day.

This year, I lasted until January 3^rd. At approximately 10:00 am, I found myself, unexpectedly, with a free hour. It was, at that very moment, that I decided that the cleansing must begin.

Why is it that the decorations take hours, sometimes days, to unpack and place throughout the house, but in a scant hour, they can be gathered, packed and stored away until next year? Maybe because, unlike when you unpack the ornaments and wreaths and boughs, there’s no movie to watch or tradition to observe that makes it seem less like a chore and more like a ceremony. Less distraction and more “let’s-get-this-over-with” attitude.

In any case, the first time I walked back into my de-Christmas-ed house, I breathed a huge sigh. In a strange way, I, and my house, felt at peace.

Then I went back out into the world and slammed head-first into the next holiday - Valentine’s Day. Grrr…Can’t a girl get a break?!