Cafe

Everybody pretty much agrees that feeding birds is a good thing. Feeding raccoons and other wildlife is generally frowned on. Try telling this to the raccoons.

My husband and I run The Tooley Cafe in our backyard. Dress code is feathers or fur. We absolutely do not practice discrimination; everyone is welcome.

The first guests arrive just before daybreak. Thirty-six species of birds enjoy our hospitality. Jays, cardinals, finches, sparrows, grosbeaks, woodpeckers, wild turkeys, the list goes on and on. I must admit to cringing when a cowbird comes to snack. But our seeds are not just for the meek and the beautiful.

Our most unusual visitor is a handsome black, white and rust colored bird. When our trusty "Birds of Wisconsin" book failed to provide an ID, we consulted an ornithologist at the Milwaukee Museum. He informed us the bird is a Varied Thrush whose habitat is the Pacific Northwest, although "a few turn up in Wisconsin". Ours has turned up three years in a row. Guess he likes the menu.

In the mammal dept., the chipmunks scamper back and forth with bulging cheeks. Occasionally, one squeezes into the feeder and gorges. It's hilarious to look at your birdfeeder and see a chipmunk staring back from behind the glass! The red and gray squirrels also cart off carloads of seeds every day, while the old groundhog steadfastly munches away.

Dusk brings the onset of the evening guests. A raccoon will climb a branch to the tray feeder and shake down about $15 worth of oiled sunflower seeds to his cohorts below. Skittish deer and rabbits take quick bites from the birds' corn pile. Opossums soon join in the feast, and the party keeps on until dawn.

We certainly have no need for a television. There's a 24 hour show right outside our windows. And sunflower seeds are definitely cheaper than plasma. Click on the picture to see guests.

Cafe

Everybody pretty much agrees that feeding birds is a good thing. Feeding raccoons and other wildlife is generally frowned on. Try telling this to the raccoons.

My husband and I run The Tooley Cafe in our backyard. Dress code is feathers or fur. We absolutely do not practice discrimination; everyone is welcome.

The first guests arrive just before daybreak. Thirty-six species of birds enjoy our hospitality. Jays, cardinals, finches, sparrows, grosbeaks, woodpeckers, wild turkeys, the list goes on and on. I must admit to cringing when a cowbird comes to snack. But our seeds are not just for the meek and the beautiful.

Our most unusual visitor is a handsome black, white and rust colored bird. When our trusty "Birds of Wisconsin" book failed to provide an ID, we consulted an ornithologist at the Milwaukee Museum. He informed us the bird is a Varied Thrush whose habitat is the Pacific Northwest, although "a few turn up in Wisconsin". Ours has turned up three years in a row. Guess he likes the menu.

In the mammal dept., the chipmunks scamper back and forth with bulging cheeks. Occasionally, one squeezes into the feeder and gorges. It's hilarious to look at your birdfeeder and see a chipmunk staring back from behind the glass! The red and gray squirrels also cart off carloads of seeds every day, while the old groundhog steadfastly munches away.

Dusk brings the onset of the evening guests. A raccoon will climb a branch to the tray feeder and shake down about $15 worth of oiled sunflower seeds to his cohorts below. Skittish deer and rabbits take quick bites from the birds' corn pile. Opossums soon join in the feast, and the party keeps on until dawn.

We certainly have no need for a television. There's a 24 hour show right outside our windows. And sunflower seeds are definitely cheaper than plasma. Click on the picture to see guests.

Art

I like to remind my middle school art students that art doesn't have to be beautiful. In fact, it can be ghastly. Consider Picasso's Guernica where the subject matter is the horror of the Spanish Civil War.

Perhaps some of us had grade school art teachers who never got around to art appreciation because they were too busy telling us to color inside the lines. If so, you might enjoy this simple exercise.

Try dividing art roughly into two huge groups. The first group is created solely for its own beauty. Think classical and timeless. Matisse fits perfectly into this category. He himself said that he dreamed of a pure, tranquil art, free of disturbing subjects, that would soothe the mentally fatigued as a good armchair.

The second group of art is created to send a message beyond the colors, lines and designs. This art is like a mirror held up so we can see who we are. Obviously, the reflection isn't always botoxed. Only those who pretend that Walt Disney created the world negate the importance of message driven art.

I'm an ardent defender of non-beautiful art. It's important to know who we are and where we are headed. We don't, however, have to hang reproductions of Guernica or Munch's The Scream on the living room walls.

I'm firmly in the classical art camp when it comes to choosing art to live with. On most days it seems like the entire world is screaming messages at me. I don't need to come home to walls that are shouting, too. Surroundings with the tranquility of a Zen garden are my ideal. Give me a Matisse any day. Alex Katz and Philip Pearlstein aren't bad, either.

Click on the small picture and find nine icons of art in one picture. This delightful collage is the creation of one of my talented and computer savvy students.

Art

I like to remind my middle school art students that art doesn't have to be beautiful. In fact, it can be ghastly. Consider Picasso's Guernica where the subject matter is the horror of the Spanish Civil War.

Perhaps some of us had grade school art teachers who never got around to art appreciation because they were too busy telling us to color inside the lines. If so, you might enjoy this simple exercise.

Try dividing art roughly into two huge groups. The first group is created solely for its own beauty. Think classical and timeless. Matisse fits perfectly into this category. He himself said that he dreamed of a pure, tranquil art, free of disturbing subjects, that would soothe the mentally fatigued as a good armchair.

The second group of art is created to send a message beyond the colors, lines and designs. This art is like a mirror held up so we can see who we are. Obviously, the reflection isn't always botoxed. Only those who pretend that Walt Disney created the world negate the importance of message driven art.

I'm an ardent defender of non-beautiful art. It's important to know who we are and where we are headed. We don't, however, have to hang reproductions of Guernica or Munch's The Scream on the living room walls.

I'm firmly in the classical art camp when it comes to choosing art to live with. On most days it seems like the entire world is screaming messages at me. I don't need to come home to walls that are shouting, too. Surroundings with the tranquility of a Zen garden are my ideal. Give me a Matisse any day. Alex Katz and Philip Pearlstein aren't bad, either.

Click on the small picture and find nine icons of art in one picture. This delightful collage is the creation of one of my talented and computer savvy students.

Pluto

I just completed a week of programs for kids on the solar system. I had to be fairly brutal when the discussion turned to Pluto.

"Sorry kids," I said, "I think the astronomers did the right thing when they demoted Pluto."

Yes, I know that schoolchildren all over America wrote impassioned, tear-stained letters to the International Astronomical Union asking those bad old scientists to keep Pluto the big number nine. I also know that our politically correct culture would prefer that all planets be equal.

Nevertheless, I forged ahead. "Knowledge marches forward. We know more now than in 1930 when dear Clyde Tombaugh discovered Pluto. He could only have dreamed of today's incredible telescopes. Astronomers have discovered many more Plutos (Kuiper Belt objects) beyond our little Pluto."

The kids still looked bereft, so I had to bring out the best argument in favor of Pluto's tumble to dwarf planet status. "O.K.", I said, "if you want Pluto to remain a planet, then all those scores of other icy snowballs beyond it will have to be named planets, too, and you will have to learn all those names in order!

That did it. Those kids are grateful they only have to memorize, My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Noodles. The nine pizzas are history.

In case anyone is interested, Pluto may have lost major planet status but has gained its own number in the catalog of minor planets. It is number 134340.

To know your place in the cosmos, check out Neil de Grasse Tyson's 100th Essay, The Cosmic Perspective.

Pluto

I just completed a week of programs for kids on the solar system. I had to be fairly brutal when the discussion turned to Pluto.

"Sorry kids," I said, "I think the astronomers did the right thing when they demoted Pluto."

Yes, I know that schoolchildren all over America wrote impassioned, tear-stained letters to the International Astronomical Union asking those bad old scientists to keep Pluto the big number nine. I also know that our politically correct culture would prefer that all planets be equal.

Nevertheless, I forged ahead. "Knowledge marches forward. We know more now than in 1930 when dear Clyde Tombaugh discovered Pluto. He could only have dreamed of today's incredible telescopes. Astronomers have discovered many more Plutos (Kuiper Belt objects) beyond our little Pluto."

The kids still looked bereft, so I had to bring out the best argument in favor of Pluto's tumble to dwarf planet status. "O.K.", I said, "if you want Pluto to remain a planet, then all those scores of other icy snowballs beyond it will have to be named planets, too, and you will have to learn all those names in order!

That did it. Those kids are grateful they only have to memorize, My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Noodles. The nine pizzas are history.

In case anyone is interested, Pluto may have lost major planet status but has gained its own number in the catalog of minor planets. It is number 134340.

To know your place in the cosmos, check out Neil de Grasse Tyson's 100th Essay, The Cosmic Perspective.

Market

A big, bustling Farmers' Market is a wonderful place to be. That's why my husband and I headed to the Eastern Market, a historic 1873 landmark, when visiting Washington D.C. last weekend.

I became a market aficionado at an early age. As a child, I roller skated the short distance from my house to the huge West Allis Farmers' Market. Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, were market days and no sales could begin until the market bell rang promptly at 2:00 PM. Then the whole scene burst into a colorful flurry of activity.

I've traded in my roller skates, but visiting markets remains a dependable pleasure. The Dane County Farmers' Market around our state capitol, the Pike Place Market in Seattle, the Farmers' Market in Los Angeles, the "other" Eastern Market in Detroit, the Lexington Market in Baltimore and the Georgia State Farmers' Market outside Atlanta... I love them all.

So it came as a shock when I picked up the New York Times this week and spotted the headline, "Lamenting the Loss of a Historic Washington Market".

Two days after our D.C. visit, the Eastern Market building was gutted by a three-alarm blaze. The Capitol Hill community had lost their beloved landmark.

Fortunately, a market is far more than the building that houses it. Six days after the fire, the farmers, artists, craftspeople and flea market vendors will set up on the sidewalks and playground lots under the charred walls. And the 44th Annual Market Day Festival will be celebrated on Sunday. You can't keep a good market down.

Market

A big, bustling Farmers' Market is a wonderful place to be. That's why my husband and I headed to the Eastern Market, a historic 1873 landmark, when visiting Washington D.C. last weekend.

I became a market aficionado at an early age. As a child, I roller skated the short distance from my house to the huge West Allis Farmers' Market. Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, were market days and no sales could begin until the market bell rang promptly at 2:00 PM. Then the whole scene burst into a colorful flurry of activity.

I've traded in my roller skates, but visiting markets remains a dependable pleasure. The Dane County Farmers' Market around our state capitol, the Pike Place Market in Seattle, the Farmers' Market in Los Angeles, the "other" Eastern Market in Detroit, the Lexington Market in Baltimore and the Georgia State Farmers' Market outside Atlanta... I love them all.

So it came as a shock when I picked up the New York Times this week and spotted the headline, "Lamenting the Loss of a Historic Washington Market".

Two days after our D.C. visit, the Eastern Market building was gutted by a three-alarm blaze. The Capitol Hill community had lost their beloved landmark.

Fortunately, a market is far more than the building that houses it. Six days after the fire, the farmers, artists, craftspeople and flea market vendors will set up on the sidewalks and playground lots under the charred walls. And the 44th Annual Market Day Festival will be celebrated on Sunday. You can't keep a good market down.

Chicken

Last week I stopped at my favorite local coffee shop, The Culture Cafe. Rich, the owner, is also the barista, coffee roaster, waiter and purveyor of fascinating opinions.

He greeted me with, "I think this town needs a giant chicken. People could climb to an observation tower on the beak, and T-shirts could be sold below."

Of course, I immediately grasped the brilliance of this big-bird, tourist attracting idea. Rich and I both know that our town's number one tourist attraction is a submarine. "But it's half under water", Rich observed.

Our number two attraction is an oversize, fiberglass cow in front of the dairy. It's more of a lawn ornament on steroids than a genuine tourist destination. Big, plastic cows are a dime a dozen in Wisconsin. The town of Neillsville has our cow trumped. Their cow, Chatty Belle, TALKS to her visitors.

Rich is not fixated on giant chickens. He feels that "anything that is obscenely big and makes people laugh" will do. I would add that the giant whatever-it-is also should be interactive.

My three favorite wacko buildings in a similar vein are:

• Randy's Big Donut on Melrose Ave next to the Los Angeles airport
• The Owl Cafe in Albuquerque, New Mexico
• Lucy, The Elephant Building, in Margate, New Jersey

Architectural historians call these buildings roadside vernacular architecture. Rich and I just call them fun.

Chicken

Last week I stopped at my favorite local coffee shop, The Culture Cafe. Rich, the owner, is also the barista, coffee roaster, waiter and purveyor of fascinating opinions.

He greeted me with, "I think this town needs a giant chicken. People could climb to an observation tower on the beak, and T-shirts could be sold below."

Of course, I immediately grasped the brilliance of this big-bird, tourist attracting idea. Rich and I both know that our town's number one tourist attraction is a submarine. "But it's half under water", Rich observed.

Our number two attraction is an oversize, fiberglass cow in front of the dairy. It's more of a lawn ornament on steroids than a genuine tourist destination. Big, plastic cows are a dime a dozen in Wisconsin. The town of Neillsville has our cow trumped. Their cow, Chatty Belle, TALKS to her visitors.

Rich is not fixated on giant chickens. He feels that "anything that is obscenely big and makes people laugh" will do. I would add that the giant whatever-it-is also should be interactive.

My three favorite wacko buildings in a similar vein are:

• Randy's Big Donut on Melrose Ave next to the Los Angeles airport
• The Owl Cafe in Albuquerque, New Mexico
• Lucy, The Elephant Building, in Margate, New Jersey

Architectural historians call these buildings roadside vernacular architecture. Rich and I just call them fun.