Steven Harper's Blog, page 50
November 23, 2019
New Piragis
My dad's side of the family is from Latvia (totally confirmed by Ancestry DNA), and our holiday gatherings always involved piragis. These are TRUE piragis, rolls stuffed with bacon, ham, and onions, not the wimpy, bastardized "pro-gees" from other, lesser countries that are more like limp pasta dumplings and are only bearable when they're smothered in some kind of gravy.
Anyway, my grandmother was the piragi queen, but she never wrote down her recipe, so the secret died with her when I was fourteen, and we went without.
When I was in my thirties, I got tired of piragi-less holidays and set out to re-create Grandma's recipe. By then, I had become a decent enough chef with the experience to reverse engineer most dishes I wanted. I uncovered a half-dozen piragi recipes, worked out what made the most sense to me, and created a batch of dough. They came out beautifully, and I became the family piragi baker ever after.
This year, Thanksgiving is at my mother's, and I'm bringing piragis, of course. But this year, something shifted.
While we were out running errands, I mentioned to Darwin McClary that tomorrow would be piragi baking day, and he said, "You know what would be great in piragis? Raspberry preserves."
I thought about this and said, "Why not?"
So we went to the store. I snagged a jar of raspberry preserves, but next to them on the shelf was Nutella. On impulse, I grabbed that, too. And I bought some soft cheese.
Took these home and whipped up a small batch of dough, then stuffed it with these new ingredients. Brushed them with beaten egg and baked.
They came out smelling fragrant and both sweet and savory. Darwin tried all three kinds straight from the oven and swooned over all three. So did I. The raspberry was sweet and a little tart. The Nutella ones were rich and sweet. The cheese ones were mild and creamy.
We're totally keeping these.
comments
Anyway, my grandmother was the piragi queen, but she never wrote down her recipe, so the secret died with her when I was fourteen, and we went without.
When I was in my thirties, I got tired of piragi-less holidays and set out to re-create Grandma's recipe. By then, I had become a decent enough chef with the experience to reverse engineer most dishes I wanted. I uncovered a half-dozen piragi recipes, worked out what made the most sense to me, and created a batch of dough. They came out beautifully, and I became the family piragi baker ever after.
This year, Thanksgiving is at my mother's, and I'm bringing piragis, of course. But this year, something shifted.
While we were out running errands, I mentioned to Darwin McClary that tomorrow would be piragi baking day, and he said, "You know what would be great in piragis? Raspberry preserves."
I thought about this and said, "Why not?"
So we went to the store. I snagged a jar of raspberry preserves, but next to them on the shelf was Nutella. On impulse, I grabbed that, too. And I bought some soft cheese.
Took these home and whipped up a small batch of dough, then stuffed it with these new ingredients. Brushed them with beaten egg and baked.
They came out smelling fragrant and both sweet and savory. Darwin tried all three kinds straight from the oven and swooned over all three. So did I. The raspberry was sweet and a little tart. The Nutella ones were rich and sweet. The cheese ones were mild and creamy.
We're totally keeping these.
comments
November 19, 2019
Sad Moving Days
With the house dickering finished, we had to work out how to move. We had a closing date on a Friday, but we couldn't move in quite yet. The house needed some desperate work. Structurally it was fine (the house inspector we hired turned out to be a former student of mine--just how small is this world?), but the carpets were a dark brown shag and all the walls were painted an equally dark brown. This gave the interior a dark, dingy look, and neither of us was eager to live in such a house. It took a week for the painters we hired to repaint the house, including the basement and the kitchen cabinets, and another day for the carpeters to do their thing.
In the meantime, Darwin was commuting from Wherever every day. He was up at 5:00 AM every morning for a 90-minute drive to work, and he never got home before 7:00 PM. Bedtime had to be 9:30, so he was spending maybe two hours a day at home. It was exhausting him, and I could see it in his face. I rarely saw him--when he actually was home, he was often dozing in a chair.
Everything was nearly completed on a Monday. Only the kitchen cupboards weren't quite done. Darwin and I are well passed the "help us move for beer and pizza" stage of our lives. I found movers in Wherever and hired them, thank you.
Darwin and I had already divided up the household goods (and by "Darwin and I," I mean "I"). Darwin would take the love seat and easy chair from the living room, and I would keep the sofa. We have three TVs (a relic of combining two households), and he took one of the big ones, along with his desk, a night stand, and our bed. I also granted him enough pots and pans to get by (Darwin cooks like bachelor frat boy anyway, and wouldn't notice that he only had one frying pan), the Crock Pot (I have an Instant Pot anyway), and a handful of silverware and utensils. We took a trip to Ikea and the mall and came away with other stuff--shower curtains, area rugs, and kitchen towels and such. Darwin was Mr. Cranky-Pants most of the time. He hates shopping in all its forms, but household shopping he really despises. He especially hates it when I get picky or when I disagree with a decision he wants to make, so it made for kind of a tense outing. It didn't help that it was raining in cold buckets. But we came to detente over chicken at a restaurant.
Darwin and I were also packing. It was a daily project--get home from work, pack until bedtime, repeat. Additionally, we cleared out the basement. Max had a teenager apartment down there, but it had my original bed in it. I told him I needed the bed back, but he could have the twin bed from the guest room.
At this point, Max announced he wanted to move his bedroom back upstairs. I think this arose from a number of factors: the basement is chilly in winter; the house is bigger and emptier with Darwin gone; a general sense of isolation. So in addition to the packing, we moved Max.
We arranged for the movers to come on a Tuesday, mostly because I happened to have that day off from work. They showed up with their truck, bundled everything aboard in a trice (I love watching other people do the heavy lifting), and drove to Albion for unloading. We followed in separate cars because I had to come back to Wherever that night.
This was the first time I'd seen the Albion house since the new paint and carpet. Ohhh, it looked so much better! The yellows and pale blues and accent-wall oranges brightened up the place enormously. The white kitchen was similarly bright and airy, though it did need some color. By coincidence, a bunch of the stuff we'd bought new for the kitchen was red, and we decided to continue the theme. Red towels and dishclothes, red toaster, red coffee maker, red rug, red microwave, even red-handled knives. The contrast looked really cool.
That all came later, though. That Tuesday, I stayed at the house long enough to get basics set up so Darwin could survive. My main rule of moving is always to set up the bedroom first so when you're ready to drop after all the work, you don't realize you still have to create a place to sleep. My second rule is to set up the kitchen so you can get food up and running, but the kitchen cabinets were still drying, so we worked on other parts of the house.
Finally, it was time for me to leave. I didn't want to go. I was leaving my husband, my heart, behind. Darwin was just as upset. I drove back to Wherever, trying not cry.
That weekend, I went back to Albion to work on the house some more. Darwin, at least, was better rested, with his new five-minute commute. We did a hella lot, including the kitchen, but there was always more to do.
The silverware was missing.
Seriously--it was gone. We searched through all the boxes, all the bins, everywhere. No silverware. It was seriously weird. I remembered dividing it up and packing it, but it was nowhere to be found.
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In the meantime, Darwin was commuting from Wherever every day. He was up at 5:00 AM every morning for a 90-minute drive to work, and he never got home before 7:00 PM. Bedtime had to be 9:30, so he was spending maybe two hours a day at home. It was exhausting him, and I could see it in his face. I rarely saw him--when he actually was home, he was often dozing in a chair.
Everything was nearly completed on a Monday. Only the kitchen cupboards weren't quite done. Darwin and I are well passed the "help us move for beer and pizza" stage of our lives. I found movers in Wherever and hired them, thank you.
Darwin and I had already divided up the household goods (and by "Darwin and I," I mean "I"). Darwin would take the love seat and easy chair from the living room, and I would keep the sofa. We have three TVs (a relic of combining two households), and he took one of the big ones, along with his desk, a night stand, and our bed. I also granted him enough pots and pans to get by (Darwin cooks like bachelor frat boy anyway, and wouldn't notice that he only had one frying pan), the Crock Pot (I have an Instant Pot anyway), and a handful of silverware and utensils. We took a trip to Ikea and the mall and came away with other stuff--shower curtains, area rugs, and kitchen towels and such. Darwin was Mr. Cranky-Pants most of the time. He hates shopping in all its forms, but household shopping he really despises. He especially hates it when I get picky or when I disagree with a decision he wants to make, so it made for kind of a tense outing. It didn't help that it was raining in cold buckets. But we came to detente over chicken at a restaurant.
Darwin and I were also packing. It was a daily project--get home from work, pack until bedtime, repeat. Additionally, we cleared out the basement. Max had a teenager apartment down there, but it had my original bed in it. I told him I needed the bed back, but he could have the twin bed from the guest room.
At this point, Max announced he wanted to move his bedroom back upstairs. I think this arose from a number of factors: the basement is chilly in winter; the house is bigger and emptier with Darwin gone; a general sense of isolation. So in addition to the packing, we moved Max.
We arranged for the movers to come on a Tuesday, mostly because I happened to have that day off from work. They showed up with their truck, bundled everything aboard in a trice (I love watching other people do the heavy lifting), and drove to Albion for unloading. We followed in separate cars because I had to come back to Wherever that night.
This was the first time I'd seen the Albion house since the new paint and carpet. Ohhh, it looked so much better! The yellows and pale blues and accent-wall oranges brightened up the place enormously. The white kitchen was similarly bright and airy, though it did need some color. By coincidence, a bunch of the stuff we'd bought new for the kitchen was red, and we decided to continue the theme. Red towels and dishclothes, red toaster, red coffee maker, red rug, red microwave, even red-handled knives. The contrast looked really cool.
That all came later, though. That Tuesday, I stayed at the house long enough to get basics set up so Darwin could survive. My main rule of moving is always to set up the bedroom first so when you're ready to drop after all the work, you don't realize you still have to create a place to sleep. My second rule is to set up the kitchen so you can get food up and running, but the kitchen cabinets were still drying, so we worked on other parts of the house.
Finally, it was time for me to leave. I didn't want to go. I was leaving my husband, my heart, behind. Darwin was just as upset. I drove back to Wherever, trying not cry.
That weekend, I went back to Albion to work on the house some more. Darwin, at least, was better rested, with his new five-minute commute. We did a hella lot, including the kitchen, but there was always more to do.
The silverware was missing.
Seriously--it was gone. We searched through all the boxes, all the bins, everywhere. No silverware. It was seriously weird. I remembered dividing it up and packing it, but it was nowhere to be found.
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The School Year So Far
This school year is zipping right by. I've barely commented on it. I'm on auto-pilot for my teaching, really, because the job search and house hunt have eaten up all my spare energy. Fortunately, auto-pilot for me is Teacher of the Year for most other people. Good thing, too. My third and fourth hour freshmen are loud and difficult. They aren't malicious, just enormously talkative and self-centered in that well-known teenager fashion. My lunch comes in the middle of fourth hour, and as luck would have it, I'm the only teacher in my section of the building with that lunch. I could go eat in another hall, but by the time lunch comes around, I just want QUIET, so I'm content to eat alone. My sixth hour, by contrast, is much quieter and easier to handle.
This year, mythology and media literacy have finally been upgraded to English 12 status. It means these classes now fulfill the state requirements for a senior year of English. However, this does mean adding a few bits to the course, including benchmark assessment essays. Additionally, I still have sophomores and juniors in the course, which makes some assignments tricky. I can't grade tenth graders as if they were seniors. Still, the class is going very well so far.
This year is also Max's last one. He's a senior, and in May, he's done. This year is so far proving to be the easiest, especially after the nightmare junior year, when everything is geared toward the stupid SAT. The school district also has a program in which they hire students to serve as computer techs. The three high schools have a single computer technician to share among them (more of the budget cuts), and she can't be everywhere, so these students--who are paid minimum wage and are cheaper--handle stuff like changing print toner, repairing projectors, and the like. The students are paid for two hours per day, and they also get two elective credits. This reduced the academic pressure on Max quite a lot, and his grades have improved sharply. He's also cut back on his hours at fast food, further allowing him to do better at school.
After graduation, he plans to work for a year ("I don't want to finish school and then start school again right away," he said), then go to community college to earn an associates degree in justice and law enforcement and go through the police academy.
I made an appointment for his senior pictures. Max insisted he just wanted his picture done in a black polo shirt and black jeans. I told him he could have two outfits at the sittings, so he could wear one outfit he picked and one I picked. We went to the mall, Max reluctantly. He doesn't like clothes shopping, and his entire wardrobe consists of black shirts and pants so he doesn't have to think about clothes. Even his socks are black. I had it in mind to have him in a dress shirt and tie, so I sifted through piles of them to find a color that looked good on him.
Max, however, noticed racks of suits and expressed curiosity. He tried on a few and decided he wanted one. I was agreeable--every adult male needs a decent suit. We picked out one in dove gray, with a black shirt. A purple tie added a splash of color. It looks great on him!
At the photography studio, the photographer posed him in a hundred different ways against a dozen-odd backgrounds. She kept him hopping, prodding him to smile ("That was the fakest smile I've seen all day. Try it again!") and moving him all over the place. I don't know how we're going to choose just two or three! Her assistant was a short, slender young man with a lot of arm tattoos. He was totally checking Max out, and Max didn't even notice. :)
comments
This year, mythology and media literacy have finally been upgraded to English 12 status. It means these classes now fulfill the state requirements for a senior year of English. However, this does mean adding a few bits to the course, including benchmark assessment essays. Additionally, I still have sophomores and juniors in the course, which makes some assignments tricky. I can't grade tenth graders as if they were seniors. Still, the class is going very well so far.
This year is also Max's last one. He's a senior, and in May, he's done. This year is so far proving to be the easiest, especially after the nightmare junior year, when everything is geared toward the stupid SAT. The school district also has a program in which they hire students to serve as computer techs. The three high schools have a single computer technician to share among them (more of the budget cuts), and she can't be everywhere, so these students--who are paid minimum wage and are cheaper--handle stuff like changing print toner, repairing projectors, and the like. The students are paid for two hours per day, and they also get two elective credits. This reduced the academic pressure on Max quite a lot, and his grades have improved sharply. He's also cut back on his hours at fast food, further allowing him to do better at school.
After graduation, he plans to work for a year ("I don't want to finish school and then start school again right away," he said), then go to community college to earn an associates degree in justice and law enforcement and go through the police academy.
I made an appointment for his senior pictures. Max insisted he just wanted his picture done in a black polo shirt and black jeans. I told him he could have two outfits at the sittings, so he could wear one outfit he picked and one I picked. We went to the mall, Max reluctantly. He doesn't like clothes shopping, and his entire wardrobe consists of black shirts and pants so he doesn't have to think about clothes. Even his socks are black. I had it in mind to have him in a dress shirt and tie, so I sifted through piles of them to find a color that looked good on him.
Max, however, noticed racks of suits and expressed curiosity. He tried on a few and decided he wanted one. I was agreeable--every adult male needs a decent suit. We picked out one in dove gray, with a black shirt. A purple tie added a splash of color. It looks great on him!
At the photography studio, the photographer posed him in a hundred different ways against a dozen-odd backgrounds. She kept him hopping, prodding him to smile ("That was the fakest smile I've seen all day. Try it again!") and moving him all over the place. I don't know how we're going to choose just two or three! Her assistant was a short, slender young man with a lot of arm tattoos. He was totally checking Max out, and Max didn't even notice. :)
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November 11, 2019
Albion: The City Manager Reception
The following week, the city held a special welcome reception for Darwin, and they wanted me to come, too. It was on a weekday. This meant I had to rush home from work, dive into dress clothes, and zoom out to Albion after work.
The reception took place at the Ismon House. In the 1800s, Mary Ismon built a huge, three-story brick mansion near downtown Albion and meant it to be a civic center as well as her residence. She hosted a number of club meetings, a lending library, and other local events. When Mrs. Ismon died, she deeded the house to the city for 99 years with the provision that local clubs could continue to meet there. In 1999, the lease expired and the city had the option of buying the house from the Ismon estate or selling the place, but an inspection of the place turned up a whole mess of code violations, mostly stuff that weren't issues back when the house was built. No one would buy it, and the city couldn't use it as it was.
Rather than let it go, Albion spent considerable time and money renovating the place. The interior is now a delight--very modern, with a lot of blond wood and stone tile. The reception took up the entire second floor, which is the size of a gymnasium, but divided into spacious rooms.
By the time I arrived, a huge crowd had already shown up. The place was packed! One of the councilors had also set up an enormous buffet of all kinds of foods, from barbecued chicken to pasta salads to an entire table filled with cakes, apple crisps, pies, and more. I learned later that she had made most of it herself! She single-handedly fed at least 150 people. I stand in awe.
The reception was much like the meet-and-greet. The mayor gave a speech, then asked Darwin to say a few words, which caught him off-guard--he hadn't prepared anything. But he acquitted himself very well, thank you! Darwin and I met (and re-met) a ton of people, and long, long line stretched through the rooms to meet him. It was like being in the receiving line of a big wedding. Again, I played the wingman, standing next to Darwin, waiting until the current conversation had gone on long enough and starting conversations with the next person in line to move the current person along. It worked very well, and Darwin was able to meet just about everyone. It was a little overwhelming, to tell the truth, but everyone seemed so happy to have Darwin as the new city manager.
Meanwhile, the offer for the new house was finalized and accepted. We've pretty much figured out how to divide up the furniture and such. We'll have to re-arrange the beds quite a bit. Darwin wants to take our current bed with him. Max is using a king-sized bed in his basement bedroom, so we'll have to move that one upstairs to our bedroom and give him the single bed from the guest room. We have two dining tables--one in the breakfast nook and one in the dining room--so Darwin can take a dining set with him. And we have a ton of dishes.
I'll probably leave a set of clothes and toiletries at the new house so when I want to go over there, all I'll have to do is grab my laptop and go. He'll do the same for our current house.
The interior needs to be repainted. We headed to the hardware store and geared ourselves up for a big fight--the last time we did this, it took forever to agree on colors. To our surprise, we decided quickly and easily. Both of us favor pale yellow walls that make rooms warm and sunny. Darwin likes an accent wall, and we settled on a nice shade of blue for that. The place also needs to be re-floored, and we settled on those choices easily, too. Incredible!
Now we're waiting for final word on the closing date. Once we get the keys, we'll have the place painted and floored and Darwin can move in.
I'm trying to reconcile myself to this new lifestyle. So far, I can't quite comprehend it. The idea that Darwin will be living somewhere else five days a week feels foreign. When we were dating, Darwin would come to my place on weekends if the boys were with me, and I would go to his place on weekends when the boys were with their mother. Many Wednesdays, Darwin spent the evening at my place, then went home. We hated being separated and one of the greatest parts about buying a house together was that we would be together every day. Now, after only five years, we're going back to living apart again.
At the moment, Darwin is commuting to Albion. It takes him about 90 minutes every day. He's up at five in the morning and he gets back home at seven or eight, just enough time to eat supper and get ready for bed. It's exhausting for him!
comments
The reception took place at the Ismon House. In the 1800s, Mary Ismon built a huge, three-story brick mansion near downtown Albion and meant it to be a civic center as well as her residence. She hosted a number of club meetings, a lending library, and other local events. When Mrs. Ismon died, she deeded the house to the city for 99 years with the provision that local clubs could continue to meet there. In 1999, the lease expired and the city had the option of buying the house from the Ismon estate or selling the place, but an inspection of the place turned up a whole mess of code violations, mostly stuff that weren't issues back when the house was built. No one would buy it, and the city couldn't use it as it was.
Rather than let it go, Albion spent considerable time and money renovating the place. The interior is now a delight--very modern, with a lot of blond wood and stone tile. The reception took up the entire second floor, which is the size of a gymnasium, but divided into spacious rooms.
By the time I arrived, a huge crowd had already shown up. The place was packed! One of the councilors had also set up an enormous buffet of all kinds of foods, from barbecued chicken to pasta salads to an entire table filled with cakes, apple crisps, pies, and more. I learned later that she had made most of it herself! She single-handedly fed at least 150 people. I stand in awe.
The reception was much like the meet-and-greet. The mayor gave a speech, then asked Darwin to say a few words, which caught him off-guard--he hadn't prepared anything. But he acquitted himself very well, thank you! Darwin and I met (and re-met) a ton of people, and long, long line stretched through the rooms to meet him. It was like being in the receiving line of a big wedding. Again, I played the wingman, standing next to Darwin, waiting until the current conversation had gone on long enough and starting conversations with the next person in line to move the current person along. It worked very well, and Darwin was able to meet just about everyone. It was a little overwhelming, to tell the truth, but everyone seemed so happy to have Darwin as the new city manager.
Meanwhile, the offer for the new house was finalized and accepted. We've pretty much figured out how to divide up the furniture and such. We'll have to re-arrange the beds quite a bit. Darwin wants to take our current bed with him. Max is using a king-sized bed in his basement bedroom, so we'll have to move that one upstairs to our bedroom and give him the single bed from the guest room. We have two dining tables--one in the breakfast nook and one in the dining room--so Darwin can take a dining set with him. And we have a ton of dishes.
I'll probably leave a set of clothes and toiletries at the new house so when I want to go over there, all I'll have to do is grab my laptop and go. He'll do the same for our current house.
The interior needs to be repainted. We headed to the hardware store and geared ourselves up for a big fight--the last time we did this, it took forever to agree on colors. To our surprise, we decided quickly and easily. Both of us favor pale yellow walls that make rooms warm and sunny. Darwin likes an accent wall, and we settled on a nice shade of blue for that. The place also needs to be re-floored, and we settled on those choices easily, too. Incredible!
Now we're waiting for final word on the closing date. Once we get the keys, we'll have the place painted and floored and Darwin can move in.
I'm trying to reconcile myself to this new lifestyle. So far, I can't quite comprehend it. The idea that Darwin will be living somewhere else five days a week feels foreign. When we were dating, Darwin would come to my place on weekends if the boys were with me, and I would go to his place on weekends when the boys were with their mother. Many Wednesdays, Darwin spent the evening at my place, then went home. We hated being separated and one of the greatest parts about buying a house together was that we would be together every day. Now, after only five years, we're going back to living apart again.
At the moment, Darwin is commuting to Albion. It takes him about 90 minutes every day. He's up at five in the morning and he gets back home at seven or eight, just enough time to eat supper and get ready for bed. It's exhausting for him!
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First Snow
(We pause the Albion blog for a bit.)
Darwin took the snow blower with him to Albion on the grounds that I don't know how to use and that I've refused to learn. See, it's Darwin's job to clear the driveway, and I'm well aware that if I knew how to use the blower, it would end up being my job. So I don't even touch the blower.
The lack, I realized, would make it a challenge to clear the driveway. Darwin briefly advocated buying another blower, but I refused on the grounds that once we recombined households, we'd have =two= blowers for the tiny little driveway in Albion. A waste of money!
I did some digging, so to speak, and found it would be way cheaper to just hire a someone to plow out the driveway. I called a service and left a voice message. When the owner called back, he said, "Yeah, we can add you to the list so you'll be plowed out tomorrow.
Wait--what?
I hadn't checked the weather in ages--so busy with the new house--and hadn't seen the forecast. Huge snowstorm bearing down on us! Many inches! Slippery roads!
And thus it happened.
On Monday, Darwin had a doctor's appointment and I needed to go with him, so I had to take a sick day at work. On the way home, the snow began. Fat, fluffy flakes that built into quick piles. We had other errands to run, and as we ran them, the weather got worse and worse. The roads were awful. Our driveway has a slight incline, and went we got home, it took three tries to make it up to the garage.
I checked my work email and discovered school was closing early. Man!
The big worry now is that Darwin needs to get home . . .
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Darwin took the snow blower with him to Albion on the grounds that I don't know how to use and that I've refused to learn. See, it's Darwin's job to clear the driveway, and I'm well aware that if I knew how to use the blower, it would end up being my job. So I don't even touch the blower.
The lack, I realized, would make it a challenge to clear the driveway. Darwin briefly advocated buying another blower, but I refused on the grounds that once we recombined households, we'd have =two= blowers for the tiny little driveway in Albion. A waste of money!
I did some digging, so to speak, and found it would be way cheaper to just hire a someone to plow out the driveway. I called a service and left a voice message. When the owner called back, he said, "Yeah, we can add you to the list so you'll be plowed out tomorrow.
Wait--what?
I hadn't checked the weather in ages--so busy with the new house--and hadn't seen the forecast. Huge snowstorm bearing down on us! Many inches! Slippery roads!
And thus it happened.
On Monday, Darwin had a doctor's appointment and I needed to go with him, so I had to take a sick day at work. On the way home, the snow began. Fat, fluffy flakes that built into quick piles. We had other errands to run, and as we ran them, the weather got worse and worse. The roads were awful. Our driveway has a slight incline, and went we got home, it took three tries to make it up to the garage.
I checked my work email and discovered school was closing early. Man!
The big worry now is that Darwin needs to get home . . .
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November 7, 2019
Albion: Festival of the Forks
While we were in the middle of all that house-hunting, the Festival of the Forks arrived, and Darwin was specifically asked to attend. He agreed, and we made arrangements to stay in Albion for that weekend. We had to be in Albion anyway because Darwin (and therefore I) had been invited to attend Albion College's annual banquet for distinguished alumni.
At the banquet, we met a whole pile of people, all of whom told Darwin how glad they were that he had accepted the job. This was a little overwhelming for both of us--never had Darwin been greeted with such enthusiasm, nor had he come across a community in which so many people cared so deeply about the position of city manager.
I should mention here, though, that Albion's most recent city manager was left under a cloud of scandal. Also, the managers before that were apparently iffy at best (from what various citizens told us) and did little to pull the city forward. To a one, these managers focused on trying to bring back manufacturing, and they all failed. So the community was desperate for someone with both experience and new ideas. This is Darwin.
Anyway, the banquet was very interesting, way more so than I anticipated. Five Albion alumni had been selected as distinguished, and during the banquet, each stood up and gave a speech. As a speech teacher, I tend to nitpick other people's speaking, and though I don't show it, I get bored easily during bad speeches. The first speech didn't disappoint. The recipient was so quiet, you could barely hear. But then the next lady took the podium and gave a speech reminiscent of a Baptist preacher. She was getting her moment to shine, dammit, and she was taking it! She was great! And then another woman spoke, a former teacher who knew what she was doing with a microphone. And then a combat veteran who was both funny and poignant.
Back at our room, Darwin and I rested for a while--I'd worked all day before the banquet and was tired. But finally we decided to go out and see the festival. We headed out at about ten minutes before nine--and found the festival was shutting down for the night. Totally dead. People were heading for parking lots and houses. We were a little startled and disappointed. We contented ourselves with exploring the darkened side streets and getting a feel for the residential areas.
Saturday we attended the festival proper. This started with a parade down the main street, in which Darwin and I walked. We were there with firefighters and the school marching band and the police and convertibles with local business luminaries in them. No floats, oddly.
I'd never done a parade before, and I don't think anyone much knew who I was or why I was walking with the city councilors, but I waved at everyone anyway. It was kind of fun. The parade passed by a booth with an LGBT rainbow on it. I was surprised and curious, both. They waved enthusiastically at Darwin. I made a mental note to go back.
After we finished the parade, Darwin and I went back through the main street to explore the festival properly. Darwin got hung up talking to police and paramedics at the Public Safety tent, and I suddenly remembered the rainbow booth. I trotted down the street and found them. The booth was staffed by two older women and a young man. I introduced myself as the husband of the new city manager, and they were happy to see me. Well, really they were happy about Darwin. I asked what the gay community is like in Albion.
"There isn't much of one," the young man said. "We're not really organized. This group we've started is new."
I brought Darwin down to meet them, to more enthusiasm.
"We're really glad to see a gay city manager," one of the women said. "It helps so much."
The straight community often thinks that there's this vast network of LGBT people these days, and to an extent that's true, but it's pretty much confined to large cities. Small towns and rural areas are hurting in this regard. Even with the Internet, LGBT people in outlying areas are often isolated, not only because there are fewer such people to network with, but also because homophobia and threats of violence are still ongoing concerns.
Darwin and I explored the rest of the festival. Everyone we talked to had hyped it up, so our expectations were high. It was . . . nice. Some fun exhibits and a bit of shopping. But we ran into a number of oddities. The biggest one was that it shut down very early every day. On Friday, as I said, it was over by 9 PM, and Saturday it ended at 7 PM. There was no festival on Sunday at all. A small fight broke out at one point, and Darwin and I happened to be present when the police were talking about it with the guy in charge of organizing the festival.
"Next year, we should shut down earlier," the cops said.
Darwin and I exchanged glances. Earlier? They were barely open as it was!
The festival was also split up and spread all around Albion. On the main street were a few booths for local organizations and businesses, along with a stage where local acts played every so often. The food sellers were three or four blocks away, down at an area normally reserved for the farmer's market. The beer tent was similarly a few minutes' walk away. A carnival with kiddie rides and games set up in a small park, also distant from the main street.
This mystified Darwin and me. Why split up the festival? Festivals depend on crowds that themselves draw more crowds. A scattered festival has an empty feel. Darwin later learned that the food sellers all wanted to be in the farmer's market, so the festival let them be down there. I pointed out that the stage was usually empty, and there should be an act there every moment the festival is running. The food sellers should be set up on one of the nearby side streets, and the carnival (which should also have rides for teens and adults, not just small children) should be on another side street. The parade, which interrupts the festival on Saturday morning, should be moved to Friday afternoon, to kick everything off. The festival needs more booths, especially artists, crafters, and other merchants, instead of focusing on local organizations. It also needs activities that take advantage of the river--a rubber ducky race, canoe floats, rafting.
Well, next year . . .
The following week, the city held a special welcome reception for Darwin, and they wanted me to come, too.
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At the banquet, we met a whole pile of people, all of whom told Darwin how glad they were that he had accepted the job. This was a little overwhelming for both of us--never had Darwin been greeted with such enthusiasm, nor had he come across a community in which so many people cared so deeply about the position of city manager.
I should mention here, though, that Albion's most recent city manager was left under a cloud of scandal. Also, the managers before that were apparently iffy at best (from what various citizens told us) and did little to pull the city forward. To a one, these managers focused on trying to bring back manufacturing, and they all failed. So the community was desperate for someone with both experience and new ideas. This is Darwin.
Anyway, the banquet was very interesting, way more so than I anticipated. Five Albion alumni had been selected as distinguished, and during the banquet, each stood up and gave a speech. As a speech teacher, I tend to nitpick other people's speaking, and though I don't show it, I get bored easily during bad speeches. The first speech didn't disappoint. The recipient was so quiet, you could barely hear. But then the next lady took the podium and gave a speech reminiscent of a Baptist preacher. She was getting her moment to shine, dammit, and she was taking it! She was great! And then another woman spoke, a former teacher who knew what she was doing with a microphone. And then a combat veteran who was both funny and poignant.
Back at our room, Darwin and I rested for a while--I'd worked all day before the banquet and was tired. But finally we decided to go out and see the festival. We headed out at about ten minutes before nine--and found the festival was shutting down for the night. Totally dead. People were heading for parking lots and houses. We were a little startled and disappointed. We contented ourselves with exploring the darkened side streets and getting a feel for the residential areas.
Saturday we attended the festival proper. This started with a parade down the main street, in which Darwin and I walked. We were there with firefighters and the school marching band and the police and convertibles with local business luminaries in them. No floats, oddly.
I'd never done a parade before, and I don't think anyone much knew who I was or why I was walking with the city councilors, but I waved at everyone anyway. It was kind of fun. The parade passed by a booth with an LGBT rainbow on it. I was surprised and curious, both. They waved enthusiastically at Darwin. I made a mental note to go back.
After we finished the parade, Darwin and I went back through the main street to explore the festival properly. Darwin got hung up talking to police and paramedics at the Public Safety tent, and I suddenly remembered the rainbow booth. I trotted down the street and found them. The booth was staffed by two older women and a young man. I introduced myself as the husband of the new city manager, and they were happy to see me. Well, really they were happy about Darwin. I asked what the gay community is like in Albion.
"There isn't much of one," the young man said. "We're not really organized. This group we've started is new."
I brought Darwin down to meet them, to more enthusiasm.
"We're really glad to see a gay city manager," one of the women said. "It helps so much."
The straight community often thinks that there's this vast network of LGBT people these days, and to an extent that's true, but it's pretty much confined to large cities. Small towns and rural areas are hurting in this regard. Even with the Internet, LGBT people in outlying areas are often isolated, not only because there are fewer such people to network with, but also because homophobia and threats of violence are still ongoing concerns.
Darwin and I explored the rest of the festival. Everyone we talked to had hyped it up, so our expectations were high. It was . . . nice. Some fun exhibits and a bit of shopping. But we ran into a number of oddities. The biggest one was that it shut down very early every day. On Friday, as I said, it was over by 9 PM, and Saturday it ended at 7 PM. There was no festival on Sunday at all. A small fight broke out at one point, and Darwin and I happened to be present when the police were talking about it with the guy in charge of organizing the festival.
"Next year, we should shut down earlier," the cops said.
Darwin and I exchanged glances. Earlier? They were barely open as it was!
The festival was also split up and spread all around Albion. On the main street were a few booths for local organizations and businesses, along with a stage where local acts played every so often. The food sellers were three or four blocks away, down at an area normally reserved for the farmer's market. The beer tent was similarly a few minutes' walk away. A carnival with kiddie rides and games set up in a small park, also distant from the main street.
This mystified Darwin and me. Why split up the festival? Festivals depend on crowds that themselves draw more crowds. A scattered festival has an empty feel. Darwin later learned that the food sellers all wanted to be in the farmer's market, so the festival let them be down there. I pointed out that the stage was usually empty, and there should be an act there every moment the festival is running. The food sellers should be set up on one of the nearby side streets, and the carnival (which should also have rides for teens and adults, not just small children) should be on another side street. The parade, which interrupts the festival on Saturday morning, should be moved to Friday afternoon, to kick everything off. The festival needs more booths, especially artists, crafters, and other merchants, instead of focusing on local organizations. It also needs activities that take advantage of the river--a rubber ducky race, canoe floats, rafting.
Well, next year . . .
The following week, the city held a special welcome reception for Darwin, and they wanted me to come, too.
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November 6, 2019
Albion: It Ain't Easy Finding a House
(The Albion saga continues...)
Contract negotiations took almost a month, but finally they were ironed out and Darwin settled on a start date in mid-October.
This meant we had to find a place for him to live.
We settled on a living strategy. Once he found a place to live in or near Albion, we'd send him there with half our furniture and other household goods. On weekends, he'd come home to Wherever, or I would go out to Albion. On summer break, I'd spend most of my time out there.
The hunt for housing turned difficult. We had initially figured on finding a place to rent, but almost no rental units in Albion exist. You'd think in a college town, there'd be lots. Nope! (This is one of the issues the town wants Darwin to address, and he already has ideas.) Battle Creek, a short drive away, has apartments, but they're scandalously expensive.
We finally decided we'd have to buy a house. This made me nervous. Owning two houses? Ridiculous! But we ran the numbers and they were absolutely clear--a house payment in Albion was hundreds of dollars a month less than renting, and in the end, we'd have a house instead of a handful of rent receipts.
But houses are also relatively scarce in Albion. Or rather, houses that meet our standards. A whole mess of tumble-down houses are for sale to people who want a renovation project. We didn't. Darwin did find a huge Victorian three-story house that he absolutely loved and which had been gutted inside down to the studs. It was incredibly cheap and ready for remodeling! I was wary. Neither of us are good at this kind of project, and Darwin would have to continue commuting from Wherever while we shoveled cash into something that was probably a money pit. Fortunately, from my perspective, Darwin inquired about the house and learned someone had already bought it. Whew!
We engaged the services of a local realtor named Jewell. She's a tiny, older woman with a big personality who said she's sold and re-sold nearly every house in Albion since she started selling real estate forty years ago. (!) Both she and her husband were diagnosed with cancer at the same time, but sadly only she lived to tell about it. She's still dealing with the odd bout of chemo. Once, she said, the grief, pressure, and pain got unbearable, so she drove out to the cornfields, climbed onto the roof of her car, and screamed and screamed and screamed. Seconds later, a startled farmer popped out of the cornfield and asked what on earth was happening. Embarrassed, she climbed down and explained. He thought a moment, then gave her a hug and said, "If you need to scream, you come out here any time."
She showed Darwin and me one house after another, but all of them were too expensive, too run-down, or just too. We even looked at some houses in Homer, a teensy town just down the road and where Jewell happens to live. Darwin and I had lunch in a nice café there, and afterward I took his hand on the sidewalk. Darwin felt uneasy about that, but I said, "If we're looking at houses here, we need to gauge the locals." A couple people gave us odd looks, but there was no other reaction. Darwin declared he didn't want to live in Homer, and since the houses we toured there weren't quite right anyway, I didn't press the issue.
Finally, we looked at a very nice house on the bank of an old millrace. The view was amazing, and I loved the idea of being able to wade in or canoe on the river whenever I liked, though I was also a little uneasy about flooding (the homeowner's disclosure said no flooding had ever touched the house, so far) and the house had very little storage space. We weren't sure if we should put in an offer or not.
That day, we stopped in for lunch at the Little Red Lunchbox again. Sue remembered us, waved at the fridge with the pop cans, and showed us to stools. Several people were eating or waiting for food, and Sue was a little frazzled. She flung a, "This is Darwin, everyone. He's the new city manager" over her shoulder and dashed back into the kitchen.
This touched off a bunch of conversation. One man was wearing a MAGA cap, which I didn't like in the slightest. He talked to Darwin a bit, then turned to me with a grin. "And who are you? His bodyguard?"
"I'm his husband," I said with a friendly grin of my own. The man fell dead quiet, went back to eating his hamburger for a moment, then asked Darwin what his politics were.
Darwin carefully replied that as city manager, he's not allowed to have politics; he serves all citizens. The man touched his hat and said, "You can probably guess mine." (This is singular bad reaction to our sexual orientation that I mentioned a while back, and it was pretty small as these things go.)
At that moment, Sue bustled in. "You just ignore him, hon," she told Darwin. "We all do."
"So are you looking for a house?" said someone else in an attempt to change the subject. I allowed that we were indeed in the market for a new domicile.
"My house is for sale," said yet another man, an older one. "You had a look at it yet?" He pulled up the listing on his phone and showed it to me. "This one."
It was a two-story Colonial, and we hadn't seen it.
"It's actually my wife's house," said the man, whose name was Harold. "We're moving out right now, and it'll be empty by tomorrow."
Later, we went out to see it. It was very well maintained, though it needed a few updates, and it was a bit bigger than we'd figured on buying. Three bedrooms, finished basement. Double lot. The price was reasonable (or it would be after some bargaining), the location was great.
Now we had another quandary. Which house?
Darwin and I had endless discussions about it. We made pro- and con- lists. We debated. We argued. When we said we'd settled on one house, we'd change our minds an hour later. I finally realized something.
"We're looking for one of the houses to be bad," I said. "But neither house is. They're both good decisions. We just need to pick one."
In the end, we made an offer on the river house. The owners countered, we counter-countered. But neither side could come to an agreement. So we withdrew the offer and made one on the Colonial. This one was accepted.
I pointed out to Darwin that the Little Red Lunchbox was now two for two. It got him a job, and it found us a house.
Meanwhile, the Festival of the Forks arrived in August
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Contract negotiations took almost a month, but finally they were ironed out and Darwin settled on a start date in mid-October.
This meant we had to find a place for him to live.
We settled on a living strategy. Once he found a place to live in or near Albion, we'd send him there with half our furniture and other household goods. On weekends, he'd come home to Wherever, or I would go out to Albion. On summer break, I'd spend most of my time out there.
The hunt for housing turned difficult. We had initially figured on finding a place to rent, but almost no rental units in Albion exist. You'd think in a college town, there'd be lots. Nope! (This is one of the issues the town wants Darwin to address, and he already has ideas.) Battle Creek, a short drive away, has apartments, but they're scandalously expensive.
We finally decided we'd have to buy a house. This made me nervous. Owning two houses? Ridiculous! But we ran the numbers and they were absolutely clear--a house payment in Albion was hundreds of dollars a month less than renting, and in the end, we'd have a house instead of a handful of rent receipts.
But houses are also relatively scarce in Albion. Or rather, houses that meet our standards. A whole mess of tumble-down houses are for sale to people who want a renovation project. We didn't. Darwin did find a huge Victorian three-story house that he absolutely loved and which had been gutted inside down to the studs. It was incredibly cheap and ready for remodeling! I was wary. Neither of us are good at this kind of project, and Darwin would have to continue commuting from Wherever while we shoveled cash into something that was probably a money pit. Fortunately, from my perspective, Darwin inquired about the house and learned someone had already bought it. Whew!
We engaged the services of a local realtor named Jewell. She's a tiny, older woman with a big personality who said she's sold and re-sold nearly every house in Albion since she started selling real estate forty years ago. (!) Both she and her husband were diagnosed with cancer at the same time, but sadly only she lived to tell about it. She's still dealing with the odd bout of chemo. Once, she said, the grief, pressure, and pain got unbearable, so she drove out to the cornfields, climbed onto the roof of her car, and screamed and screamed and screamed. Seconds later, a startled farmer popped out of the cornfield and asked what on earth was happening. Embarrassed, she climbed down and explained. He thought a moment, then gave her a hug and said, "If you need to scream, you come out here any time."
She showed Darwin and me one house after another, but all of them were too expensive, too run-down, or just too. We even looked at some houses in Homer, a teensy town just down the road and where Jewell happens to live. Darwin and I had lunch in a nice café there, and afterward I took his hand on the sidewalk. Darwin felt uneasy about that, but I said, "If we're looking at houses here, we need to gauge the locals." A couple people gave us odd looks, but there was no other reaction. Darwin declared he didn't want to live in Homer, and since the houses we toured there weren't quite right anyway, I didn't press the issue.
Finally, we looked at a very nice house on the bank of an old millrace. The view was amazing, and I loved the idea of being able to wade in or canoe on the river whenever I liked, though I was also a little uneasy about flooding (the homeowner's disclosure said no flooding had ever touched the house, so far) and the house had very little storage space. We weren't sure if we should put in an offer or not.
That day, we stopped in for lunch at the Little Red Lunchbox again. Sue remembered us, waved at the fridge with the pop cans, and showed us to stools. Several people were eating or waiting for food, and Sue was a little frazzled. She flung a, "This is Darwin, everyone. He's the new city manager" over her shoulder and dashed back into the kitchen.
This touched off a bunch of conversation. One man was wearing a MAGA cap, which I didn't like in the slightest. He talked to Darwin a bit, then turned to me with a grin. "And who are you? His bodyguard?"
"I'm his husband," I said with a friendly grin of my own. The man fell dead quiet, went back to eating his hamburger for a moment, then asked Darwin what his politics were.
Darwin carefully replied that as city manager, he's not allowed to have politics; he serves all citizens. The man touched his hat and said, "You can probably guess mine." (This is singular bad reaction to our sexual orientation that I mentioned a while back, and it was pretty small as these things go.)
At that moment, Sue bustled in. "You just ignore him, hon," she told Darwin. "We all do."
"So are you looking for a house?" said someone else in an attempt to change the subject. I allowed that we were indeed in the market for a new domicile.
"My house is for sale," said yet another man, an older one. "You had a look at it yet?" He pulled up the listing on his phone and showed it to me. "This one."
It was a two-story Colonial, and we hadn't seen it.
"It's actually my wife's house," said the man, whose name was Harold. "We're moving out right now, and it'll be empty by tomorrow."
Later, we went out to see it. It was very well maintained, though it needed a few updates, and it was a bit bigger than we'd figured on buying. Three bedrooms, finished basement. Double lot. The price was reasonable (or it would be after some bargaining), the location was great.
Now we had another quandary. Which house?
Darwin and I had endless discussions about it. We made pro- and con- lists. We debated. We argued. When we said we'd settled on one house, we'd change our minds an hour later. I finally realized something.
"We're looking for one of the houses to be bad," I said. "But neither house is. They're both good decisions. We just need to pick one."
In the end, we made an offer on the river house. The owners countered, we counter-countered. But neither side could come to an agreement. So we withdrew the offer and made one on the Colonial. This one was accepted.
I pointed out to Darwin that the Little Red Lunchbox was now two for two. It got him a job, and it found us a house.
Meanwhile, the Festival of the Forks arrived in August
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November 5, 2019
Albion, After the Interview
(The Albion saga continues . . . )
Darwin put on his interview suit and walked from the hotel to city hall for the interview while I packed up the room and found breakfast for us. He came back and reported that the interview had gone very well. Later, we watched the videos of the interviews on-line and agreed that Darwin would get the job.
That was when the complications arose.
We returned home to wait. The council was going to choose their finalist the following Monday evening. But during that wait, another city called and asked Darwin to come in to interview. And then another one did. Both of them were within easy driving distance of our house.
I was in agony. Either of these jobs would make our lives so much easier. But Darwin was reluctant to schedule an interview until he knew what would happen with Albion.
And we had another problem: my retirement.
We were figuring that if Darwin got a job far away from Wherever, he would take it and I would retire early. However, I'd recently learned that the penalty for early retirement was far stiffer than I had thought back when Darwin first started job hunting. Suddenly it wasn't economically feasible for me to stop teaching.
I could hunt for a job with another Michigan public school system, and in the current teacher shortage, I could probably find one fairly easily. However, moving to another school would cut my salary in more than half and additionally make me into a first-year teacher in the district's eyes, with all the attendant extra evaluations, required workshops, and lack of tenure. Finally, Wherever Schools has in its written policies that it does not discriminate on the basis of sexual orientation. Vanishingly few schools in Michigan have that policy, and at this point in my life, I'm not willing to put my currently-secure career into the hands of someone who might fire me because I'm gay. Another job isn't very feasible.
So I can't retire anytime soon. But if Darwin took the job in Albion, we'd have to live apart for several years. I don't like this prospect, for obvious reasons. Yes, it's true that we'd see each other on weekends and on holiday breaks. Over summer, I could live in Albion with him. And yes, it's true that lots of spouses live separated. Military people and spouses of traveling salespeople spring to mind. None of this makes the idea palatable, and I begged Darwin to give serious consideration to turning Albion down if they offered the job.
We were caught between awful choices. It was 99% sure the Albion job would go to Darwin. It wasn't near as sure that Darwin would find another job, at least not right away, and our savings were dwindling. Should he take the sure job and the security that came with it, or hold out for a better job that might not materialize?
Monday evening, I was in Ann Arbor for an unrelated function, and Darwin called me. Albion was offering him the position. But there was a snag--before Albion would begin contract negotiations, they wanted a confirmation that Darwin did want the position. Darwin told them he needed to talk to me first.
I was distracted by the event and couldn't give my full attention to what we were talking about, but I wasn't happy about Albion's requirement that he give a tentative yes. I've been involved in contract negotiations for decades, and I've never in my life heard of such an outrageous request.
"What do I tell them?" he asked.
I wanted to tell him to refuse it and go for the other jobs. But I didn't want to be the one who wiped out a secure job at a town Darwin liked. So I said, "Do you want to take it?"
He paused a moment. "I do. I like the town, I like the people. Everyone is so nice and friendly and kind, the exact opposite of Ypsilanti. Albion has a lot of potential, and I want to work there."
"Okay," I said. "Tell them you'll take it."
This Darwin did, which touched off an explosion of emails welcoming him to Albion. Most of them said things like, "You were the only candidate we wanted," and "We're so glad you're taking the job," and "Sue!"
Darwin also emailed the other cities to withdraw his applications. Almost immediately, a city councilor emailed back praising his qualifications, begging him to reconsider, and all but offering him the job. Darwin turned him down. I was in agony again, but said nothing. Forward to Albion!
Contract negotiations took almost a month, but finally they were ironed out and Darwin settled on a start date in mid-October.
This meant we had to find a place for him to live.
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Darwin put on his interview suit and walked from the hotel to city hall for the interview while I packed up the room and found breakfast for us. He came back and reported that the interview had gone very well. Later, we watched the videos of the interviews on-line and agreed that Darwin would get the job.
That was when the complications arose.
We returned home to wait. The council was going to choose their finalist the following Monday evening. But during that wait, another city called and asked Darwin to come in to interview. And then another one did. Both of them were within easy driving distance of our house.
I was in agony. Either of these jobs would make our lives so much easier. But Darwin was reluctant to schedule an interview until he knew what would happen with Albion.
And we had another problem: my retirement.
We were figuring that if Darwin got a job far away from Wherever, he would take it and I would retire early. However, I'd recently learned that the penalty for early retirement was far stiffer than I had thought back when Darwin first started job hunting. Suddenly it wasn't economically feasible for me to stop teaching.
I could hunt for a job with another Michigan public school system, and in the current teacher shortage, I could probably find one fairly easily. However, moving to another school would cut my salary in more than half and additionally make me into a first-year teacher in the district's eyes, with all the attendant extra evaluations, required workshops, and lack of tenure. Finally, Wherever Schools has in its written policies that it does not discriminate on the basis of sexual orientation. Vanishingly few schools in Michigan have that policy, and at this point in my life, I'm not willing to put my currently-secure career into the hands of someone who might fire me because I'm gay. Another job isn't very feasible.
So I can't retire anytime soon. But if Darwin took the job in Albion, we'd have to live apart for several years. I don't like this prospect, for obvious reasons. Yes, it's true that we'd see each other on weekends and on holiday breaks. Over summer, I could live in Albion with him. And yes, it's true that lots of spouses live separated. Military people and spouses of traveling salespeople spring to mind. None of this makes the idea palatable, and I begged Darwin to give serious consideration to turning Albion down if they offered the job.
We were caught between awful choices. It was 99% sure the Albion job would go to Darwin. It wasn't near as sure that Darwin would find another job, at least not right away, and our savings were dwindling. Should he take the sure job and the security that came with it, or hold out for a better job that might not materialize?
Monday evening, I was in Ann Arbor for an unrelated function, and Darwin called me. Albion was offering him the position. But there was a snag--before Albion would begin contract negotiations, they wanted a confirmation that Darwin did want the position. Darwin told them he needed to talk to me first.
I was distracted by the event and couldn't give my full attention to what we were talking about, but I wasn't happy about Albion's requirement that he give a tentative yes. I've been involved in contract negotiations for decades, and I've never in my life heard of such an outrageous request.
"What do I tell them?" he asked.
I wanted to tell him to refuse it and go for the other jobs. But I didn't want to be the one who wiped out a secure job at a town Darwin liked. So I said, "Do you want to take it?"
He paused a moment. "I do. I like the town, I like the people. Everyone is so nice and friendly and kind, the exact opposite of Ypsilanti. Albion has a lot of potential, and I want to work there."
"Okay," I said. "Tell them you'll take it."
This Darwin did, which touched off an explosion of emails welcoming him to Albion. Most of them said things like, "You were the only candidate we wanted," and "We're so glad you're taking the job," and "Sue!"
Darwin also emailed the other cities to withdraw his applications. Almost immediately, a city councilor emailed back praising his qualifications, begging him to reconsider, and all but offering him the job. Darwin turned him down. I was in agony again, but said nothing. Forward to Albion!
Contract negotiations took almost a month, but finally they were ironed out and Darwin settled on a start date in mid-October.
This meant we had to find a place for him to live.
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November 4, 2019
Albion Meet and Greet
It turned out that spouses were "free to come" to the meet-and-greet. I've learned this is code for "the queen commands your presence." So that Friday, I dutifully packed a suitcase and headed out with Darwin.
The role of political spouse doesn't come easily for me. I'm always afraid I'll say something wrong or inappropriate. And the people who put on these functions never, ever tell spouses what their role is, so I have to make it up as I go. I've become aware that my biggest function is to build Darwin up in public. (Fortunately, this isn't difficult, since Darwin's many fine qualities become fast evident anyway.) I become his sort-of wing man.
We checked into the hotel--a brand new Marriott smack in the middle of downtown--and trotted over to the meet-and-greet, which was held in a storefront that was recently converted by Albion College into a kind of office space and community center. To my surprise, the place was packed. There must have been over 100 people there at any given time. I was surprised because in most towns, the citizens don't even know they have a city manager, let alone show up to a sort of pre-interview for one.
Here I need to remind everyone that Darwin and I are a same-sex couple. Long ago, I learned to introduce myself with, "Hi! I'm Steven Piziks, Darwin's husband." Before I started doing that, people often thought I was a strange little hanger-on. I still find I'm bracing myself for a bad reaction, but in all the time I've been doing this, I've only had one. Just about everyone simply smiles and nods. Occasionally there's a tiny pause while they rearrange synapses, but nothing major. The sole exception I'll explain in a minute.
At the meet-and-greet, the handshaking began the moment we walked in. We met various city councilors, business people, "ordinary" citizens, representatives from the college, reporters, and more. The other three candidates were there as well. Despite my reticence about attending these events, I've gotten good at them. Decades of teaching and years of shmoozing at SF conventions have taught me how to work a crowd. Later, Darwin observed, "People are drawn to you, Steven. Have you noticed that?" I said I haven't--everyone is there to see Darwin, not me. But he maintains that I'm better at this side of the job than he is anyway. So we make a good team.
A group of people quickly gathered around Darwin. After a while, I ended up stationed next to him, where I kept the line moving. After Darwin had talked to a particular person for a minute or two, I turned to the person next in line, shook hands, and started a conversation. This would signal Darwin and the other person that someone was waiting, and they would draw their talk to a close so Darwin could start in with the next person.
At one point, one of the other candidates introduced himself to me, talked for a bit, then started asking some rather probing questions about Darwin and his background. I spotted that for what it was, gave a couple non-committal answers, and switched things around by asking him questions about himself. This worked. He launched into an explanation of himself and his family and forgot all about his "spy" mission. Meanwhile, I later relayed everything he said back to Darwin. Of course.
The mayor gave a little speech and announced each of the candidates would now stand up and tell a little about themselves, followed by questions from the citizens. The citizens had the chance to fill out comment cards about each candidate for the council.
I have to say that out of the four candidates, Darwin clearly stood out. He was calm and poised and articulate. He gave specific examples and ideas about how he could help Albion and made it clear he'd done extensive research into the town. When we visited Albion the first time, several people we talked to complained about Albion's woes--little downtown activity, small town blight, and so on. Darwin pointed out that previous Albion administrations wanted to restore the city by bringing back the factories, but Darwin firmly stated that this would not work. The factories aren't coming back, he said, and Albion needs to look to the future and capitalize on its other resources--the college, the rivers, the recreational opportunities, the knowledge economy, and more. This brought nods and murmurs of approval all around the room.
And then Darwin dropped the bomb. He said, "I was eating at the Little Red Lunchbox and I talked to Sue."
The citizens applauded and roared. I shot a glance at the other candidates who were waiting to speak, and I could see the "oh, damn" moment cross their faces. I later told Darwin that I was taking full credit for that one because he ate at the Lunchbox only after I made him. I'm dying to know how many of them mentioned the incident on their comment cards.
In the morning, Darwin put on his interview suit and walked from the hotel to city hall for the interview while I packed up the room and found breakfast for us. He came back and reported that the interview had gone very well. Later, we watched the videos of the interviews on-line and agreed that Darwin would get the job.
That was when the complications arose.
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The role of political spouse doesn't come easily for me. I'm always afraid I'll say something wrong or inappropriate. And the people who put on these functions never, ever tell spouses what their role is, so I have to make it up as I go. I've become aware that my biggest function is to build Darwin up in public. (Fortunately, this isn't difficult, since Darwin's many fine qualities become fast evident anyway.) I become his sort-of wing man.
We checked into the hotel--a brand new Marriott smack in the middle of downtown--and trotted over to the meet-and-greet, which was held in a storefront that was recently converted by Albion College into a kind of office space and community center. To my surprise, the place was packed. There must have been over 100 people there at any given time. I was surprised because in most towns, the citizens don't even know they have a city manager, let alone show up to a sort of pre-interview for one.
Here I need to remind everyone that Darwin and I are a same-sex couple. Long ago, I learned to introduce myself with, "Hi! I'm Steven Piziks, Darwin's husband." Before I started doing that, people often thought I was a strange little hanger-on. I still find I'm bracing myself for a bad reaction, but in all the time I've been doing this, I've only had one. Just about everyone simply smiles and nods. Occasionally there's a tiny pause while they rearrange synapses, but nothing major. The sole exception I'll explain in a minute.
At the meet-and-greet, the handshaking began the moment we walked in. We met various city councilors, business people, "ordinary" citizens, representatives from the college, reporters, and more. The other three candidates were there as well. Despite my reticence about attending these events, I've gotten good at them. Decades of teaching and years of shmoozing at SF conventions have taught me how to work a crowd. Later, Darwin observed, "People are drawn to you, Steven. Have you noticed that?" I said I haven't--everyone is there to see Darwin, not me. But he maintains that I'm better at this side of the job than he is anyway. So we make a good team.
A group of people quickly gathered around Darwin. After a while, I ended up stationed next to him, where I kept the line moving. After Darwin had talked to a particular person for a minute or two, I turned to the person next in line, shook hands, and started a conversation. This would signal Darwin and the other person that someone was waiting, and they would draw their talk to a close so Darwin could start in with the next person.
At one point, one of the other candidates introduced himself to me, talked for a bit, then started asking some rather probing questions about Darwin and his background. I spotted that for what it was, gave a couple non-committal answers, and switched things around by asking him questions about himself. This worked. He launched into an explanation of himself and his family and forgot all about his "spy" mission. Meanwhile, I later relayed everything he said back to Darwin. Of course.
The mayor gave a little speech and announced each of the candidates would now stand up and tell a little about themselves, followed by questions from the citizens. The citizens had the chance to fill out comment cards about each candidate for the council.
I have to say that out of the four candidates, Darwin clearly stood out. He was calm and poised and articulate. He gave specific examples and ideas about how he could help Albion and made it clear he'd done extensive research into the town. When we visited Albion the first time, several people we talked to complained about Albion's woes--little downtown activity, small town blight, and so on. Darwin pointed out that previous Albion administrations wanted to restore the city by bringing back the factories, but Darwin firmly stated that this would not work. The factories aren't coming back, he said, and Albion needs to look to the future and capitalize on its other resources--the college, the rivers, the recreational opportunities, the knowledge economy, and more. This brought nods and murmurs of approval all around the room.
And then Darwin dropped the bomb. He said, "I was eating at the Little Red Lunchbox and I talked to Sue."
The citizens applauded and roared. I shot a glance at the other candidates who were waiting to speak, and I could see the "oh, damn" moment cross their faces. I later told Darwin that I was taking full credit for that one because he ate at the Lunchbox only after I made him. I'm dying to know how many of them mentioned the incident on their comment cards.
In the morning, Darwin put on his interview suit and walked from the hotel to city hall for the interview while I packed up the room and found breakfast for us. He came back and reported that the interview had gone very well. Later, we watched the videos of the interviews on-line and agreed that Darwin would get the job.
That was when the complications arose.
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Albion and Sue
Darwin and I also visited the town. Albion is about 80 minutes from Wherever, which meant if he got the job, we'd have to activate the retirement plan, so I was looking around with an to what it might be like to live there. I grew up near the small village of Breckenridge, Michigan, and Albion reminded me a little of that place, if Breckenridge had also had a small college attached to it. The town is surrounded by fields of corn and soy, and the closest city of any size is Battle Creek, a 20 minute drive away.
We arrived in town, dropped our bags at our room, and set out to explore. The very wide main street, lined by many empty storefronts, is paved with bricks--an Albion tradition. It was a blazing hot summer day, and the main street runs east-west, meaning it was unshaded, and we worked up a sweat checking out the buildings, the businesses, and the river.
The Kalamazoo River creates three forks in Albion, which as I said, made the city attractive to mills and factories. Now, the rivers have decreased in importance, though the biggest event of the year is the Festival of the Forks, a street fair that several people we met mentioned to us. "You have to come to the Festival of the Forks," everyone said. We explored multiple parks along the river and found several sites where mills once sat, but now have nothing but foundation stones and a dam. The combination of river and parks are actually very pretty and pleasant, especially on a summer day in July.
We visited the downtown library, poked our heads into a few businesses, and explored the residential areas. Housing in Albion makes a strange patchwork. There's no "poor" and "rich" section of town. Instead, everything is all mixed up. Lovely, well-maintained Victorian mansions sit next to decaying homes. Several areas have vacant lots which are generally well-mowed, but which clearly used to have houses on them. A common practice is for a city to tear down a condemned house and offer the plot to a neighbor for a dollar so the city doesn't have to maintain the spot. This drives Darwin crazy because it makes for bad fiscal policy--the vacant plot doesn't add to tax revenue, and no new houses go up to replace the condemned ones. He said he'd definitely put a stop to that if he got hired.
Lunchtime arrived, and we hunted for food. We passed a garage-sized place called The Little Red Lunchbox. Darwin was leery, even though he generally likes little diners, but I said I didn't want to drive forever to find somewhere else, so we went in.
The Lunchbox is a tiny place with no tables or booths. Instead, there's a U-shaped counter with stools. Deliberately silly decor signs and bric-a-brac dot the walls, along with family photos. A 1950s fridge sits in the corner. The top of the U points toward the kitchen, which is ruled by the owner Sue. When you come in, Sue is usually at the grill in back, and she shouts at you to grab a drink from the fridge and take your damn seat. The fridge is filled with cans of pop. Eventually she bustles out and demands to know what you want. If you aren't sure, she'll tell you what you want and make it for you. When Darwin ordered an omelette (his favorite lunch) but refused the accompanying potatoes, Sue bullied him mercilessly. "You don't like what I make?" she griped. "I only use the best ingredients. Those eggs came from a farm up the road, and that ham is from his neighbor who raises pigs. No better ham in the country!"
Sue never writes down an order. She listens to your choices or makes them for you, trots back to the tiny kitchen, and brings it out when it's done. When it's time to pay, she just tells you your total. I got the impression that if she doesn't like you, she adds a surcharge.
The counter precludes a quiet or private meal. You end up facing other people, which pulls you into talking. It's more like eating in someone's home dining room than a restaurant. If conversation falters, Sue pops out of the kitchen, leans a hip on the counter, and moves things along. She hands out puzzles and little games and challenges people to finish them before their meal comes out. She introduces people. "That's Herbert. He runs the garage downtown. His dog died last week, so be nice to him. That's Tony. Don't bring up politics with him because he'll never shut up if you do. Eat those eggs before they're cold, hon."
The place was fairly busy when we were there. At one point, a teenage boy came in and gave Sue a hug. "Can I have a hamburger, Grandma?" he said. Sue said that of course he could, and she plopped one on the grill.
Darwin instantly fell in love with the place. This became important later.
One morning at the downtown bakery, I noticed a burly man wearing an Albion Malleable T-shirt. I pointed it out to Darwin, and the man noticed. He was a gregarious person, and he introduced himself as "Junior." Turned out he had recently opened a restaurant/brewery and named it Albion Malleable after the old foundry. He gave Darwin a crash course in local businesses and we promised to come check the place out. I think he figured we were just being polite, but a couple hours later, we went down there to eat. It's the kind of place =I= like, with a stark wood interior and funky sandwich choices. Junior is a force of nature, rushing around and putting his hand into a dozen civic projects. He's third-generation Albionite, and you can tell he loves the town.
We drove home. The interviews were the following weekend. It was a two-day affair, with a public meet-and-greet Friday evening, when any citizen who cared to could show up to shake hands with the various city manager candidates. The formal interviews were set for Saturday morning.
More . . .
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We arrived in town, dropped our bags at our room, and set out to explore. The very wide main street, lined by many empty storefronts, is paved with bricks--an Albion tradition. It was a blazing hot summer day, and the main street runs east-west, meaning it was unshaded, and we worked up a sweat checking out the buildings, the businesses, and the river.
The Kalamazoo River creates three forks in Albion, which as I said, made the city attractive to mills and factories. Now, the rivers have decreased in importance, though the biggest event of the year is the Festival of the Forks, a street fair that several people we met mentioned to us. "You have to come to the Festival of the Forks," everyone said. We explored multiple parks along the river and found several sites where mills once sat, but now have nothing but foundation stones and a dam. The combination of river and parks are actually very pretty and pleasant, especially on a summer day in July.
We visited the downtown library, poked our heads into a few businesses, and explored the residential areas. Housing in Albion makes a strange patchwork. There's no "poor" and "rich" section of town. Instead, everything is all mixed up. Lovely, well-maintained Victorian mansions sit next to decaying homes. Several areas have vacant lots which are generally well-mowed, but which clearly used to have houses on them. A common practice is for a city to tear down a condemned house and offer the plot to a neighbor for a dollar so the city doesn't have to maintain the spot. This drives Darwin crazy because it makes for bad fiscal policy--the vacant plot doesn't add to tax revenue, and no new houses go up to replace the condemned ones. He said he'd definitely put a stop to that if he got hired.
Lunchtime arrived, and we hunted for food. We passed a garage-sized place called The Little Red Lunchbox. Darwin was leery, even though he generally likes little diners, but I said I didn't want to drive forever to find somewhere else, so we went in.
The Lunchbox is a tiny place with no tables or booths. Instead, there's a U-shaped counter with stools. Deliberately silly decor signs and bric-a-brac dot the walls, along with family photos. A 1950s fridge sits in the corner. The top of the U points toward the kitchen, which is ruled by the owner Sue. When you come in, Sue is usually at the grill in back, and she shouts at you to grab a drink from the fridge and take your damn seat. The fridge is filled with cans of pop. Eventually she bustles out and demands to know what you want. If you aren't sure, she'll tell you what you want and make it for you. When Darwin ordered an omelette (his favorite lunch) but refused the accompanying potatoes, Sue bullied him mercilessly. "You don't like what I make?" she griped. "I only use the best ingredients. Those eggs came from a farm up the road, and that ham is from his neighbor who raises pigs. No better ham in the country!"
Sue never writes down an order. She listens to your choices or makes them for you, trots back to the tiny kitchen, and brings it out when it's done. When it's time to pay, she just tells you your total. I got the impression that if she doesn't like you, she adds a surcharge.
The counter precludes a quiet or private meal. You end up facing other people, which pulls you into talking. It's more like eating in someone's home dining room than a restaurant. If conversation falters, Sue pops out of the kitchen, leans a hip on the counter, and moves things along. She hands out puzzles and little games and challenges people to finish them before their meal comes out. She introduces people. "That's Herbert. He runs the garage downtown. His dog died last week, so be nice to him. That's Tony. Don't bring up politics with him because he'll never shut up if you do. Eat those eggs before they're cold, hon."
The place was fairly busy when we were there. At one point, a teenage boy came in and gave Sue a hug. "Can I have a hamburger, Grandma?" he said. Sue said that of course he could, and she plopped one on the grill.
Darwin instantly fell in love with the place. This became important later.
One morning at the downtown bakery, I noticed a burly man wearing an Albion Malleable T-shirt. I pointed it out to Darwin, and the man noticed. He was a gregarious person, and he introduced himself as "Junior." Turned out he had recently opened a restaurant/brewery and named it Albion Malleable after the old foundry. He gave Darwin a crash course in local businesses and we promised to come check the place out. I think he figured we were just being polite, but a couple hours later, we went down there to eat. It's the kind of place =I= like, with a stark wood interior and funky sandwich choices. Junior is a force of nature, rushing around and putting his hand into a dozen civic projects. He's third-generation Albionite, and you can tell he loves the town.
We drove home. The interviews were the following weekend. It was a two-day affair, with a public meet-and-greet Friday evening, when any citizen who cared to could show up to shake hands with the various city manager candidates. The formal interviews were set for Saturday morning.
More . . .
comments
