"I will survive..."

You know that song by Gloria Gaynor, right? Well, it's apparently the motto of my lilac tree.

As you all know, Patrick and I spent hours the day before we planned our Big Move to Detroit getting everything we needed to make a root ball for the lilac tree that I wanted to take. (Patrick went along with my crazy scheme of digging up a tree on the day before our move because he knew that I desperately needed something to take with me from our first home. And I've always loved lilacs since my mom and I used to sneak blossoms from a neighbor's tree that grew near the alley of our Detroit home.)

And as you know, we had to leave the tree behind in Cincinnati because it couldn't fit in the U-Haul. Yes, I agonized over it through the cold months, wondering if I should send the neighbor a key to our house (which is for sale) and ask him to rescue the tree from the garage, where it lay to die.

But during our first visit in months, we found the tree miraculously survived, living somehow on drips off water seeping into the garage and benefiting from an unusually warm season. Naturally, I was in awe, having expected to spend time breaking apart the poor dead tree (and cursing my recklessness). Instead, the tree was in bloom.

Well, she suffered a bit from the trip back home in the Vue. And the lengthier Michigan winter didn't help, particularly because we couldn't plant her immediately. (Temperatures were still freezing regularly here.) So she lived a while longer in her new garage.

She finally made it into the ground this week after we experienced some steady temperatures in the 50s and 60s. (This weekend made it into the 70s.)

But I'm still worried. She may have suffered some trauma and some of her leaves have browned. My parents, who took great pains to replant her, claim they see some new green buds on her branches and a twinkle of purple blossoms shooting from those. I'm not so sure I see what they see, but I am incredibly hopeful.

What a joy it will be if she makes it!

More scenes from Belle Isle...

Apparently ...

People still play cricket.

The life...

Sunshine, the paper, organic bread from Avalon Bakery. What could be better?

Picnic on Belle Isle.

Celebration!

Mmmm!

For the real fans...

Gadzooks, Datsyuk!

Yay! Wings win!

Yahoo!!!

Wings score and we met a famous guy!

Boo!

2 to 1

Boo!

Wings down 2!

Pre-game!

Fwd: Woo hoo!

Go Wings!

The world's most beautiful building...

My oh my! Detroit is full of some fantastic architecture. I figured I'd give you a taste of some of it.

I recently whipped out my camera and took some (admittedly poor!) photos at the incredible Fisher Building. According to an article in the Detroit News: When the Fisher brothers decided to build a building in their name, they hired famed architect Albert Kahn and "gave him a blank check and the instructions to build 'the most beautiful building in the world.'" It was completed in 1928 for $10 million.

The Fisher now houses a number of shops and a theater.

What are you waiting for? Come inside:


Everything is golden. Take a look at the stunning elevator doors below.


This towering hall made me feel like I was in a Parisian museum.



Check out the lamps. The News story also said that 500 to 600 light bulbs are changed at a time in the Fisher arcade. I hope they're fluorescent.)





Wow!


By the numbers:
40: varieties of marble from France, Germany, Italy, Belgium, Greece, Africa, New York, Massachusetts and Missouri.
430: tons of bronze in the building, including 2,000 window frames and 256 cast or etched elevator doors.
600 (feet): length of the L-shaped arcade, measuring 30 feet wide and 44 feet high.
500,000: square feet of office space
99,000: square feet of retail space and the Fisher Theater.
60: nude figures on the ceiling, no two are alike. The rest of the ceiling is covered with hemlock, oranges, eagles and other folk art.
Other tidbits: The exterior is American Vertical architecture. The first three stories are of Minnesota granite; upper floors are Maryland marble...The interior contains a barrel vaulted ceiling, embellished with cherubs and eagles.
Source: Detroit News

Go see an opera!

Patrick and I saw Turandot, an opera by Puccini, in Detroit tonight. What a fantastic performance. The staging was incredible and the music was just extraordinary. And such drama! I think I was actually on the edge of my seat by the end.

But I was mostly in awe of the talent. As I've mentioned in previous posts, I tend to fall in love with talent, often resulting in declarations that our children undoubtedly will study (fill in the blank of the most recently viewed stage performance, sport or musical program here). Recently, our future children were going to learn the fiddle after our visit to the symphony, remember?

Well, I don't hold out any hope that our children will study opera. I have no singing voice. (Neither does Patrick even though he can sing some mean Axl Rose.) Instead, I will declare that we will certainly take them to the opera; I entreat you to go, too, especially if you're in Michigan.

This state is in a funding crisis that led to a moratorium on arts grants. As it is, places like the opera already struggle to survive. And have any of you been to the theater recently here in Cincinnati or wherever? Let's just say that there aren't a lot of people in the gen-X crowd, let alone y or z or aa.

With continued funding crunches, the wonderful live theaters and opera houses we have may one day shutter (as many from the 1920s and '30s already have).

I shutter at the thought. To me, there is nothing like a live stage performance to really experience the thrill of amazing talent.

Happy Earth day!

First, a Polish tune for the Earth:

Sto lat, sto lat,
Niech żyje, żyje nam.
Sto lat, sto lat,
Niech żyje, żyje nam,
Jeszcze raz, jeszcze raz, niech żyje, żyje nam,
Niech żyje nam!

My grandpa used to sing this tune on our birthdays, and it seems fitting today as we increasingly hear how the Earth's climate is changing in incredibly worrisome ways. According to wikipedia, the song is the equivalent of a birthday greeting, including wishes for longevity.

Next, a challenge for my few regular readers. How about changing one thing you do for the betterment of the planet? Maybe switch to fluorescent light bulbs to save energy. (If you do, it's very important to find a way to recycle them. If you don't click on any of my links, consider clicking this one.)

Or what about switching to organic (and perhaps Fair Trade) coffee? There are so many choices, but one I like is Equal Exchange. Look for it at Kroger. They used to sell it at the West Side Cincinnati store, which means they probably sell it everywhere. They even sell organic coffee pods for your snazzy Senseo coffee maker. Thanks, Gina, for finding out about the different types of pods.

Or buy local. Need to find a store? Don't fret. Try this site.

Scenes from Tiger Stadium

Okay, okay. It's really called Comerica Park these days, but I've always known it as Tiger Stadium.

I went to my second game there this week and saw two very different perspectives -- luxury box (too fancy) and bleachers (too rowdy). I have a feeling I'll prefer the regular ol' sun-bleached seats when I finally get to try them.

Some people don't like the new Tiger Stadium, including my dad. ("If I want to go to a carnival, I'll go to a carnival," he says.)

Critics also aren't hot on the ballpark. To read more on the fave parks of critics, click here.

But I'm enchanted with all the details, including the towering tigers that seem to crawl all over the facade. The brickwork is beautiful, as is the decorative tiling.

The inside provides standing-room only areas where people can get a great view of the game. The connected bars and restaurants are another great way watch the game. (Cincinnatians, they even have a Montgomery Inn stand!)

They have a carousel where kids can ride the Tigers and a Ferris wheel in which the cars are shaped like baseballs.

I also like the doors to the Tiger Den that are carved like the face of a tiger. The handles of the various restaurants are made of bats. Everywhere you look, you can find similar details.

But you be the judge. Here are some scenes...





Now, if only they'd win a game when I'm there!

Lovely Detroit!

Tigers lost, but that's okay. We enjoyed the evening just the same.

This is Small Plates, a tapas place, which has opened its sidewalk cafe for spring. What a great place to people-watch after a game.

Smokin'!

Zumaya pitches 102 miles an hour!

Tigers ahead in the 7th.

5 to 4.

Wedding bells!

I think back to Patrick's whirlwind proposal at Buckingham Fountain last year in Chicago, and I just get butterflies. What a day! And what a year to follow with all the planning, readying, dress shopping, vow writing, etc., culminating in the best day of my life.

Well, now it's GINA'S turn because (yay! hooray! hurrah! whoo hoo!) Paul proposed this week. And such a lovely proposal it was as they were comfortably sitting at home in their pajamas -- just being happy together -- surrounded by the cats.

I can't even really explain how overjoyed I felt when she told me. I couldn't be happier, and I can't wait to help plan Gina's Big Day!!!!

:)

Meow!

Go Tigers!

So many bakeries, so many nationalities, so little time.

On those days when work gets to me, (C'mon! We all feel it sometimes) I remind myself how much there is to love about being in and around the D.

And I'm not even referring to the fact that my mom has started cutting strawberries for me to go along with the oranges she peels for my lunch every day.


My latest fascination is with ethnic bakeries. Somehow we managed to visit a Mexican-run bakery, a Greek-operated bakery and a Middle-Eastern-style bakery all in one weekend.



As I mentioned in my earlier post, we stopped by Mexicantown over the weekend and popped into the Mexicantown bakery. We then made a quick 1 a.m. stop in Greektown to take our out-of-town buddies to the Astoria bakery. And then we ended Sunday night with a stop in my very own Dearborn to visit the Shatila bakery, which specializes mostly in Middle-Eastern pastries and foods.



We popped in Shatila bakery because silly Caribou coffee was packed and Borders had no seats. Lucky us. I think Shatila is even open until 11 p.m. on a Sunday.

I was amazed by all of the bakeries but thoroughly excited by the last one. That was, in part, because it's on Warren Avenue in Dearborn -- a street that reminded me how much I have to explore here. Warren is lined by bakeries, grocery stores, restaurants, clothing stores and other shops run by Arabic families.

See, Dearborn has a massive Arabic population. Almost a third of the city's nearly 100,000 people is Arabic, according to my good friend Wikipedia. And visiting Shatila sort of seemed like a stop in a foreign country as I looked over names of pastries like Baklawa, Ballourie and Burrma, or Mamoul (cookies) filled with dates, walnuts and pistachios. I was actually a little timid about ordering so I stuck with something easy -- two shawarma(s) to go.

I'm actually feeling exhilarated by the discomfort. It means learning something new and stepping out of my comfort zone.

(It wasn't nearly as bad as the time my college roommate Ame and I got stuck in Spain and couldn't figure out how to get to our destination. Ame resorted to charades with someone at the train station, pointing dramatically to herself and then out toward the open sky, exclaiming, "Me. Valencia. Me. Valencia.")


Anyway, there's much more to try at Shatila, including the specialty Kashta ice cream. From the Metro Times: "Kashta is the Lebanese name for a heavy cream obtained by simmering whole milk. Shatila’s ice cream of that name is simply the richest-tasting you will find. Think of the fanciest, fattiest French vanilla, and notch it up." There's also mango, lemon, apricot and other flavors.

All this in Dearborn, where I went to high school. Go figure.

Exploring Mexicantown

We had some friends in town from Cincinnati this weekend, and I was trying to come up with some ideas for their visit. After Gina mentioned she would definitely want to see Mexicantown, I decided to corral my mom and Patrick for a quick lunchtime road trip to the Southwest Detroit mainstay to see if it would be a good option. (I'll give a breakdown tomorrow or later in the week of my attempt to -- gasp! -- orchestrate a Detroit tour that really exemplified my hometown, but first I'll give a rundown of our Mexicantown trip.)

Mexicantown, a lively, bustling area lined with small supermercados and taquerias, is one of several distinct ethnic Metro-Detroit neighborhoods. (We also have the likes of Dearborn, with its seemingly endless array of Middle Eastern restaurants and bakeries catering to the large Arabic population; Greektown, that overflows with olives, opas! and baklava; and there's, of course, Hamtramck, which has Polish pierogi, placki and kielbasa galore.)

We popped by Armando's restaurant and ordered a quick round of Mojoitos. I'm not usually a rum fan, but the combination with mint and lime offered a nice refresher before digging into my plate of chicken flautas topped with guacamole, tomatoes and sour cream. A side of beans and Spanish rice rounded out the meal. My mum had beef flautas, so we exchanged. Patrick ordered the Mexican sandwich, which was no sandwich at all, but looked instead like a big plate of cut beef and cheese. The beef was so tender that it fell apart whenever I tried to snag a piece from Patrick's plate with my fork. Armando's was bigger than I expected, and I'll be excited to try some of the tinier restaurants when we have more time to explore.

Our meal was all the better because we got to watch the Tigers whup the Blue Jays 10-7. Ha!



After lunch, we were positively stuffed but decided to pop by the Mexicantown Bakery across the street. It was a feast for the eyes as well as the palate, and we ogled over rows of cookies, tortes, cakes and cornbread. We bought an assortment of cookies, doughnuts and fruit pastries for the downright scandalous price of $3.25. Yes, just $3.25!

The only downside of our Southwest Detroit excursion was that I was way too stuffed to return there later that night. So we constructed a whole new itinerary for the Cincinnati crew. More on later later. For more on Mexicantown, click here.

Mmmm!

(Mojitos in Mexicantown with mom.)

Mojito recipe courtesy of drinksmixer.com

3 fresh mint sprigs
2 tsp sugar
3 tbsp fresh lime juice
1 1/2 oz light rum
club soda

In a tall thin glass, crush part of the mint with a fork to coat the inside. Add the sugar and lime juice and stir thoroughly. Top with ice. Add rum and mix. Top off with *chilled* club soda (or seltzer). Add a lemon slice and the remaining mint, and serve.

Would you stop?

So many times, we see people on the street playing amazing music on the sax or a terrific tune on the fiddle. Sometimes, it's good. Other times, not. Sometimes, we stop. Other times, no.

But how often do we listen to the music, and what are we missing when we don't stop?

Sorry Patrick, I have a new love.

His name is Matthews. Matthews Cellars Claret, that is. And I'm in love with his cabernet and blueberry kisses that leave long, lingering traces of vanilla in my mouth.

I met him this weekend. How ironic because you were there, Patrick, sitting right next to me when I met my new love. In a bitter twist of fate, I think you paid the bill for my meeting with Matthews.

I hope you can understand. You will always be my true love, but you'll have to carve a place for Matthews and his smooth personality.

Oh that? That's just my old high school.

I pointed out my high school as we were driving past the other day. I have to say that I sort of did a double-take. I had forgotten how magnificent the Fordson High building really is.

The school was completed in 1928 for a cool $2.2 million. Wikipedia (for what it's worth) said it was the first school building in the nation that cost more than $1 million.

According to the historical marker, the school was designed in the Neo-Tudor style and is is reminiscent of sixteenth century English universities and manor houses. The tower was inspired by the Yale University Memorial Quadrangle.

Our mascot? The tractors.

Yes, I said tractors. We were named such after the Fordson Tractor produced by Ford Motor Co. and said to be the first agricultural tractor that was mass-produced.

I wondered why the school adopted the mascot, though, after I read on Wikipedia that:

Not only was the Fordson a challenge to start and operate, but it also quickly developed a bad reputation for its propensity to rear up on its hind wheels and tip over, which proved disastrous - and sometimes fatal - for its operator.
Ford Motor Company largely ignored the issue for a number of years as criticism mounted. One farm magazine recommended that Ford paint a message on each Fordson: "Prepare to Meet Thy God."

Oh my.

Locked out.

The fridge at work- apparently overcome by old food- had to go on lockdown.

Us on our deck...

I don't usually care about sports, but....

This was too funny. I wish I could've been there to see Mayor Mallory's pitch. Oh my.

A tree grows in...my garage?

There is much to report on my weekend in Cincinnati, but I'll start with the story of the lilac tree -- only because I mobile blogged that picture from the drive home.

I'll have to rewind to mid-January when we were getting ready to move out of our house. I spent a number of days embroiled in teeny projects to beautify our already beautiful home. Well, it got to a point that I was really just trying to occupy myself before the Big Move. That became obvious when I embarked on the now-infamous lilac tree and bird feeder projects in quick succession.

The bird feeder project entailed digging up a copper-topped feeder attached to a 10-foot-tall wooden post that was apparently cemented into the back yard. (We only learned this after I spent about two hours -- and then made Patrick spend an hour -- pushing the feeder and its post back and forth and back and forth at 15 degree angles and then 30 degree angles and then 45 degree angles until we made a giant muddy hole in the back yard and still had to saw the feeder from its base.) Note to self: Having a two-foot-wide hole in the middle of your back yard before you plan to sell a house is not exactly bright. But I will say that I'm thrilled I'll be transporting that bird feeder to our new house one day.

The second project was the lilac tree project. Our previous realtor told us we'd have to trim the lilac tree at the corner of our porch or turn it because it was hanging over the walkway at a funny angle. Well, I decided, why turn it when I can just take it?

Poor Patrick came home that day to find a big hole in the front garden next to the porch and a tree sitting in the middle of our driveway. It was about a half-day project to travel to the little garden center, buy burlap and twine and dirt so we could learn to make our very own root ball. After a lot of sweat and a fair amount of cursing... success! We made the most beautiful root ball you had ever seen.

But when it came down to the last minute, we couldn't fit the tree in our U-haul. And we were so crunched for time that we couldn't even replant it before we had to head out for the Big Move.

Alas, we carefully put it back in the garage -- where it hopefully would stay warm -- and I said goodbye. (I knew, of course, that it would not survive, and I was broken-hearted by my silliness for digging it up.)

So imagine my surprise when we opened the garage door three months later during our quick Cincinnati visit to find the lilac tree not only alive...but flowering!

Needless to say, I was not going to leave that tree again -- that resilient, spunky tree -- so we pushed aside everything in the Vue, cut a few branches off the top and drove the 259 miles with flowering lilac tree branches curling at our shoulders and poking at our elbows.

But what joy! I can't wait to plant it. And I pray that it makes it.

Sigh! I miss you already, home.

We took a little piece of Herbert Ave home with us - a lilac tree.