From Monona Terrace

I have always wanted to blog from a terrace overlooking a lake. Okay, maybe that thought only occurred to me after I randomly stumbled upon a terrace that just happens to overlook a lake. But nonetheless, this is a beautiful place to write, no matter how hideously shallow the content. It feels a lot more author-y, somehow, writing on a lovely rooftop garden, soaking in the undeniable freshness of it all. It's the kind of place people would wanna bring their first dates to, as if being surrounded by softly glowing lamps and gushing fountains would convince their dates that they do indeed have a romantic side.

I did stumble upon the Monona Terrace by accident. After an hour of reading during the afternoon by Lake Mendota, I decided that I had to get up and leave, before my primal urges take over and I start pushing noisy kids into the lake. Somebody has to teach them that there are consequences to voicing one's adoration of ducks in an excessively loud manner. We'll see how much they like ducks when they're swimming with them. Besides, the sun was setting and it was getting a tad chilly, so I set off for dinner at Potbelly's. Nowadays I take extra caution not to tell the sandwich maker that I've got Big Meatballs anymore, after being given the strangest stare by the girl behind the counter. Sniggering after saying it does not help matters either. "Big-sized meatball subs" seem to be the safest way to say it.

Not wanting to return to my apartment for yet another night of binge-watching 'Dead Like Me', a most delightfully morbid series, I decide to just set off in one direction, wind in my luscious bottle-blond locks, and go wherever my well-toned calves and thighs take me. I deviate from my usual circle around the capitol building, and set off instead towards a path that seems to lead towards an expanse of water. The capitol building is on a piece of land flanked by Lakes Mendota and Monona, and I was unknowingly headed to the latter. A swarm of fluttering insects greet me, but they all parted like mist as I walked through the cloud of flutterers. I can't say for sure what they are - they're not flies or mosquitoes, nor moths, but look like miniature dragonflies, only more transparent. I take a short stroll by Monona, unimpressed by the lack of ducks but grateful for the lack of duck-loving children, and headed up the stairs of a building with numerous signs promising a rooftop garden.

So here I am, up on the terrace. It really showed me a side of Madison I never knew existed. I was around the campus area for so long that I got the impression that that was it. The rooftop garden offers a uninterrupted view of the illuminated capitol building on one side, and the lake on the other. You can just barely make out the opposite bank, with the lights of little houses dotting the shoreline. There is wifi connection from up here, but the free 56k version doesn't get you very far. For a weird nostalgic moment, it reminded me slightly of Singapore's Vivocity rooftop, only with less people and no ships in sight. 

There's just something about being in a place built solely to please our aesthetic side. It gives us a sense that people still do care about unwinding and relaxing, about enjoying the simple nuances of life, without being consumed by whether something's profitable or commercial. Maybe there's hope for the dreamers after all.