One thing that’s been nice about my busted-up finger is that I’ve been forced to chill out and relax a bit. Which is sad, of course — that it takes me getting hurt for me to slow down and savor the summer, especially in its last gasps. I’m sure that I’ll look back on this summer as one of the strange turning points of my life, though being in the middle (muddle?) of it, I’m not exactly sure where it’s turning towards. Am I spinning out of my axis and into a whole new plain? Spinning my wheels? As I said: I can’t tell. It’s been hard and challenging and anything but idyllic and summery for most of it — but I feel like I’ve grown a lot. I’m making it through the wilderness, to paraphrase that great philosopher Madonna, and I’m actually starting to feel really posi-core about life again, instead of waiting for yet another cosmic-level Major Arcana psychic earthquake to upend my world. I look ahead and there’s love, hearth and home, adventures and yet more love. It feels tested, but it feels true.

Slowing down has let me wring some enjoyment out of summer after all, since I can’t be “productive” and work much. There’s been lots of late summer night dinners, sitting outside on patios over cocktails and candles. And heirloom tomato salads with fresh mozzarella and just-picked basil I’ve lovingly grown on my own front porch since this spring. A nice Thursday night ritual of a lambic beer and a good book. Sitting reading by a pool, though with an eye out for errant bumblebees.

And yes, this weekend, I did manage a nice little roadtrip out to Madison, Wisconsin. Madison was one of the great playgrounds of my adolescence, growing up right in northern Illinois. As a teenager looking to get her kicks, you could go to Chicago, where we’d trawl record stores and buy Doc Martens and go to shows — and feel yourself part of the exciting hustle of the city, so different from my sleepy, staid hometown. Madison was a little different: it was a college town, smaller but friendlier, a tiny bit more rambunctious in its own way. Back then it was a weird blend of super-hippie and Midwestern good times — patchouli and beer. It seems a tiny less granola nowadays, bit Madison is one of the great college towns of the U.S., still — it’s supremely walkable and bike-friendly (there are cyclists everywhere), things are reasonably priced, and it has lots of cultural resources. The main stretch is State Street, which is lined with all kinds of shops: everything from hippie head shops to record stores to book stores to the Soap Opera, where they sell soaps and fragrances galore. (It’s where I pick up any Pacifica stuff I have.)

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