Jackie Borchardt

getting ready to blow out the candles

It’s been almost a week since my birthday. It’s finally set in that I’m a year older, so I guess I can blog about it.

Middle-of-the-week birthdays are a challenge. You have to work or go to school that day. Everyone else has to work or go to school. Celebrations can’t get too crazy because everyone has to go to work or school the next day.

That said, it was a pretty good day:

• I stopped to get coffee but realized I forgot my wallet. When I got into work, there was a gift card to the local convenience store on my desk, a gift from the publisher. I don’t think he knew how much I appreciated that.
• It was 55 degrees and sunny. I had time after work for a nice walk around the neighborhood.
• I baked the rainbow cookies my mom always baked for my birthdays. Everyone at work enjoyed them and when I got home there was another box of them in the mail from my mom. So there were rainbow cookies all week!
• Friends from work met me at the wine bar for a few copas. Carol bought a cheesecake and princess candles and they sang to me.
• We moved to the Wonder Bar, where local musician Chad Lore also sang happy birthday to me. He thought I was 21. I didn’t correct him.
• After dancing and chatting with the Caribbean guys we met the weekend before, the bar closed and we went back to a friend’s house to watch the Presidential reunion video.
• We watched videos until 2 a.m.

Low-key, but not. Late night, but worth it.

I certainly felt older when I woke up for work at 7 a.m. 25: The age you become too old to pretend you’re in college for the night and wake up feeling 100 percent.

Cousin Ann Elise and me at the Thoth parade on Sunday.

One week ago I was eating boiled crawfish, sipping Abita and soaking up the 60-degree sunshine.

It was the best day of my week-long vacation in New Orleans. I arrived Thursday morning via Denver, finished some work and crashed while family trickled in. Josh drove down that night and the three cousins in college brought friends. A cousin from Chicago happened to be in town for a sailing regatta. My sister even went down with some friends.

While my sister lived the spring break version of Mardi Gras in the French Quarter, I laid low. I ran in Audubon Park (in shorts!) I got coffee from my favorite neighborhood cafe, oysters from the bar down the street and went to dinner at a restaurant I frequented. We spent an hour in the Quarter, to pick up souvenirs and eat beignets. I didn’t even go to a Mardi Gras parade until Sunday.

But that was more than OK. After two weeks of small battles with the school district about public records, the break was much needed. Like me, most of the people I work with aren’t from Wyoming, so often our “vacations” are trips home. Last week was a trip home: lots of food, lots of familiar faces and lots of laughs. And I wore sweatpants almost the entire time.

I did make it out, and Lombardi Gras was the perfect term for the celebration. Saints colors and symbols decorated several floats. Owner Tom Benson was grand marshal of Endymion, coach Sean Payton rode in Orpheus, Drew Brees was King Bacchus. I heard “Stand up and get crunk” no fewer than 20 times. Who Dat? chants started every time a float stopped. I was a fan by proxy all season, but being there made me part of the Saints mania.

I love New Orleans for so many reasons. It’s alive but laid-back. It is a force to be reckoned with but doesn’t take itself too seriously. No wonder I can slip back into it so easily and have a hard time staying away.

Amid multiple requests for me to stay, to quit my job and move south, to come back for Jazz Fest, I stood my ground: I’m here for a while, and that’s fine with me.

Has it really been three weeks since my last post? Time flies when you’re having fun or working or, most days, both.

Since my last post…

• The snowboarding bruises got uglier and went away. I went out again, falling for the first time on my third run.
• I had a visit from a familiar face: MU professor Joy Mayer was in town to speak at the Wyoming Press Association convention.
• I went to the bridal expo… for free cake and people watching. Both were excellent.
• Culture! I went to the Wyoming Symphony Orchestra chamber concert.
• The ice skating story ran and looked beautiful in print thanks to our very talented designers.
• Pre-marathon training has begun. I’m running every other day, gradually upping my mileage. It seems I’m running faster and stronger than before. No injuries yet, fingers crossed.
• I got sucked into LOST. Thank you, Hulu, for making every season available online.

I’ve written mostly state stories lately, which makes me feel like I’m not pulling my weight on the city desk. The last week was frustrating because several times I could not get the information I wanted and needed. I hate not knowing things. I’m either in the right or wrong line of work then, depending how you look at it.

As good as I am about making plans, I’d like to think I’m just as good as changing with them. Plans for last week all but completely fell apart. This week can’t be worse. The only solid “plan” I have is to get as much done before I take some vacation next week.

New Orleans! It’s painfully close and it’s all I can think about when I don’t have anything else to do: family, food, friends, warm weather, food, music. I’ve been preparing by playing Cajun and Jazz in the evenings when I’m cooking dinner. And looking at pictures like this one:

11 days.

I learned to ski at age four. My family skied a lot considering we lived more than an hour away from the nearest ski hill: up to Wisconsin for day trips, the upper peninsula of Michigan for longer trips and out to Colorado. We were responsible, aware and fast. We could ski any black diamond in the Midwest, even if there were obstacles to making it to the bottom.

My brother and dad started snowboarding and Sam I gave it a try. We weren’t very good and chose skis over boards.

The last time I did either was 10 years ago. High school sports took up weekend and vacation time. I went to college 30 minutes fro a ski area but never made it there. Then I moved to Missouri and Louisiana — not exactly meccas of elevation and fresh powder.

And now I live 10 miles from Hogadon. So I bought snowboard equipment and a season pass. When I got my season pass, the woman asked if I skied or snowboarded. Both.

I ski to spend time with family, boost the ego and confidently breeze down the slopes. I know how to shift my weight, alternating in a rhythm proportionate to the incline.

I snowboard, it seems, to beat myself up. I do it for the challenge of doing something that doesn’t come easy to me, to fall down and get up a little weaker but more determined. I suck, but that’s okay because I’m going to get better. In the mean time, I’ll try not to fall on my knees so much or whack my head.

hello, bruises.

I went out for the first time in 10 years on Saturday. I didn’t do so bad, was only minimally sore on Sunday morning. So I went again. This time I made sure to bruise my knees up good and hit my head at least once. I’ll be back next weekend.

In the last week, I’ve driven to Fort Collins, New Mexico, Denver, Casper, Lander, Dubois, Casper and Denver and tomorrow Kansas City. Five states, seven beds, one suitcase packed and repacked.

We had enough dough for two houses.

My first Christmas away from home was low key and relaxing. I missed family and tradition, but I like stepping out of that box every once in a while. We baked and decorated gingerbread houses, ate good comfort food and went skiing — my first time in 10 years. A few minutes down the first run and I got my ski legs back.

I reported two outdoors stories for features on Monday and Tuesday — ice skating and snowshoeing — that took me to Lander and Dubois. Josh came with and took photos. Ice skating took a little longer to adjust to (it had also been 10 years since the last time I’d gone.) The packed snow wasn’t ideal for snowshoeing, but it was still a blast and made me think about buying a pair.

Snowshoeing in the Shoshone National Forest

Writing about something besides schools was refreshing. I’m lucky to work where outdoors stories are valued, where I can ask to go snowshoeing in northwest Wyoming and they say yes.

Wednesday was an office day. I thought I was going to get the shakes sitting in a chair for more than an hour at a time. After work, we headed south again. This time the destination is Kansas City for New Year’s Eve.

This is my first Christmas away from home. I’ve missed other events, but no matter where I am I always make it back to Illinois for Christmas. At first, we only had Christmas day off work. Although it falls on a Friday this year, flights home for that weekend were at least $550 from Casper and $350 from Denver, which isn’t really an option considering the possibility of winter storms. But I’m not sitting at home alone.

first Christmas dinner

Last weekend, two designers at work (and friends, despite the fact they went to Kansas) cooked a Christmas dinner complete with a turkey, green bean casserole and cheesecake with cranberries for dessert. The six of us are all from the Midwest — Kansas, Illinois, Minnesota, Wisconsin.

The 3-foot tree I've had forever.

Christmas has been arriving on my doorstep every day. So far: books, pounds of almonds and a Calphalon grill pan.

I’m spending Christmas in the mountains in New Mexico, meeting Josh and his dad’s family at a vacation home. I have to go back to Wyoming to work for a few days.

I’ll watch the little ball drop in Kansas City on New Year’s Eve, a long-awaited reunion with my kind and talented friend Cat Szalkowski (who just completed a kick-ass photo project in Poland and is available for freelance work/full time employment.)

In between the drives, I plan to vacation as much as possible — reading, skiing, sleeping and making an awesome gingerbread house on Christmas. Gifts are wrapped. Shortbread cookies are in the oven. Just need to pack, work and leave.

Can you feel the cold? (back of the Star-Trib building)

It’s cold. For those of you who like numbers, it’s been negative numbers the past few days. About an hour ago it was -3 (feels like -19) and since has warmed up to 0, feels like -16. It was a real -14 when I woke up this morning. (All y’all down south complaining about 40s and 50s — stop.)

On my way home, I heard a metallic BANG from behind me. The case of pop in the backseat exploded. Cans froze and split in half. They busted holes in the cardboard box. Plus for subzero temperatures: It never got warm enough for the frozen soda to melt so cleanup was easy.

My poor car. Just six months ago I put it through 100+ degree heat in New Orleans. This morning the little temperature gauge said -5 and never went above 4. The streets are terrible. I see plows but I don’t think they’re actually doing anything except making huge walls of snow in the middle of the street. It’s only a matter of time before the car gets beached on one. Also, the plastic door handle snapped off so I have to roll down the window and open it from the outside. I blame the cold.

We got a few inches of snow over the weekend. It’s beautiful, but I can’t enjoy it when it’s this cold. No snowmen, snow angels, snow forts… Because I live in a basement apartment, I don’t even know how much has fallen until I have to push the door open to leave.

The ski area is set to open this weekend — right when we’re expected to warm up to 30s and 40s.

My first project about excelling school districts wrapped up a week ago. For this project, I traveled to the Idaho border, the Montana border, the Big Horn Mountains and south to Laramie. I ended up writing one introduction-type story and four district profiles and compiling a chart with teacher salary, spending per student, test scores, etc for every district in the state. It ran in the paper last Sunday through Wednesday. The editor and editorial board wrote about it on the opinion page.

It ran huge. On the front page. I was nervous about that kind of visibility, but the designers did a good job and the stories got quite a bit of attention. Every time I ran into a principal, school board member or other source, they commented on the series. I got a few e-mails and phone calls. I knew my stories were read, but it felt good to have a conversation about them and beyond them. There are a lot of people in Casper and around the state who are passionate about education.

I felt a little lost last week without the project or pages of stats on my mind. Once I get through end of year and new year stories, I can start another one.

[The stories, chart and related editorials can be found here.]

I did it. I bought a bottle of Wyoming wine, finished a glass and lived to tell about it.

I found wines by Table Mountain Vineyards in Huntley, Wyo. at the Liquor Shed a few weeks ago. The label: Experience a taste of Wyoming from Table Mountain Vineyards. Wyoming Gold is full of grape and citrus notes. Enjoy this semi-sweet white for any occasion. This wine reflects Wyoming’s growing conditions, climate and is full of “Wyoming Character.”

I was intrigued. I thought the only thing that grew in this state was sagebrush. I had to try it, but I could not drink it alone. So I waited until I could bring it to a party where there would be people willing to drink anything.

My review:

Wyoming Gold, White Table Wine, 2007
Price: $16.80 at the Liquor Barn
My Rating (bottle): 89/100
My Rating (wine): 68/100, or as Wine Spectator would say: “Below average; drinkable but not recommended”

The bottle is cool — it has a pretty label and a bucking horse sticker. However, the bottle lacks any information about how much alcohol, if any, is in the wine.

Before opening the bottle, we noticed medium-sized flakes of stuff floating around. Gold? Bits of dirt shaken off a pair of cowboy boots? We weren’t scared.

note the floating flake

Upon first open, the wine smelled sweet and grapey. The first sip — also sweet and grapey. I’ve done wine tours in western New York, where they grow the concord grape, so I’ve had sweet wines before. But none ever tasted so much like sparkling grape juice — the generic store brand — as this stuff.

It went down as smooth as aforementioned sparkling grape juice. There was a warning for pregnant women, so we assumed there was alcohol in it. None of us could drink enough to prove that true.

After we had our fun, we put the cork back in the bottle and never took it out. The bottle said “best served chilled.” I forgot to put it in the fridge, oops. I guess I can cook with it?

Final word: fruity, but clearly more a wine than Boone’s Farm. I’d purchase again if it dropped in price by about $10 or as a gag gift for someone I really like.

The last round of reporting for my project took me and Kerry north to the Big Horn Mountains. We spent the night in Ten Sleep (pop: 304), a town I was excited to see after learning about it in a few of the Wyoming books I’ve read. The town got its name because it was “ten sleeps” or 10 nights travel between Indian camps in Casper and Bridger, MT.

Ten Sleep is a ranching community west of the Big Horn National Forest, which we drove through at sunset. Ten Sleep has two restaurants and two bars — two more than in Dayton where we had lunch.

The Crazy Woman Cafe looked dark, so we wandered into the Ten Sleep Saloon. We sat at the bar, which surprised us with its excellent beer selection. We looked at the menu for a few minutes before the bartender told us that they only serve pizza on Mondays and Tuesdays. So pizza it was.

While we waited, we made friends with George, an older guy sitting next to Kerry, smoking Marlboro reds. We never found out what George does for a living, but he spends most nights playing pool at the Ten Sleep Saloon. He lost three of four games that night, zipped up his pool cue case and ordered a pizza.

After dinner, George offered to buy us a drink. We said we were thinking about checking out the other bar and he told us we were at the best one in town. He then excused himself and stepped outside. He returned a few minutes later: “There’s no one at the other bar.”

We stayed and I met Rita, the woman sitting next to me. Rita and her husband Pete moved to Ten Sleep four years ago because he liked to hunt. They bought the Ten Sleep Saloon and renovated the place, put in plasma TVs and Dish TV. They revamped the menu and added pizza.

People didn’t like Rita, Pete or their bar. They thought the people from the city would bring crime and trouble to town. Rita said she cried for two years straight. She’s liking it better now. They got out of Chicago before the recession. There’s no Walgreens to wander into and drop $100, so money stays around longer. We both agreed that the Wyoming bar dress code can’t be beat: jeans and a hooded sweatshirt.

Rita bought us another round and stuck around, even though she had talked about leaving after her last glass of wine. She got called out to see a friend’s newly finished home remodeling project down the street. We thanked her and walked back to our home for the night, a 10-room motel with red shag carpeting. We were the only guests, and the owner brewed coffee for us in the morning. We visited the school and watched part of their Veterans Day presentation.

“You can see it’s a really big deal around here,” the superintendent told us.

In addition to the 100 students and 20 veterans, there were maybe 20 parents and community members in the stands.