MindaThink

The Proms...what is it?

2011-08-21T18:20:00.005-05:00

Andrew is a big questioner. He hears EVERYTHING and he isn't afraid to admit when he doesn't know what something is. It occured to me that it might be kind of fun to answer his questions on this blog, since my answers are usually more general than I would like and researching the details is fun for me!

So yesterday while we were listening to MPR he heard an announcement for today's BBC Proms concert and he wanted to know what it was.

Here is what wiki says:
The Proms, more formally known as The BBC Proms, or The Henry Wood Promenade Concerts presented by the BBC, is an eight-week summer season of daily orchestral classical music concerts and other events held annually, predominantly in the Royal Albert Hall in London. Founded in 1895, each season currently consists of over 70 concerts in the Albert Hall, a series of chamber concerts at Cadogan Hall, additional Proms in the Park events across the United Kingdom on the last night, and associated educational and children's events. In 2009 the total number of concerts reached 100 for the first time. In the context of classical music festivals, Jiří Bělohlávek has described the Proms as "the world's largest and most democratic musical festival".[1]

Prom is short for promenade concert, a term which originally referred to outdoor concerts in London's pleasure gardens, where the audience was free to stroll around while the orchestra was playing. Promming now refers to the use of the standing areas inside the hall (the arena and gallery) for which ticket prices are much lower than for the reserved seating. Single-concert Promming tickets can be bought, with few exceptions, only on the day of the concert, which can give rise to long queues for well-known artists or works. Proms concert-goers, particularly those who stand, are sometimes described as "Promenaders", but are most commonly referred to as "Prommers". Prommers can buy full- or half-season tickets instead for guaranteed entry (until 20 minutes before the concert is due to start), although not the assurance of a particular standing position. A number of Prommers are particularly keen in their attendance. In 1997, one programme in the BBC documentary series Modern Times covered this dedicated following of enthusiasts.

Wiki defines classical music as: the art music produced in, or rooted in, the traditions of Western liturgical and secular music, encompassing a broad period from roughly the 11th century to present times.[1] The central norms of this tradition became codified between 1550 and 1900, which is known as the common practice period.

This year they played Gabriel Prokofiev's Concerto for Turntables and Orchestra which certainly doesn't carry a feel of traditions or the liturgical, but is somehow so lovely anyway. And yes, the name does imply what you think: This is Sergei's grandson. Here is an interview with him about the piece.

Give it a listen and let me know what you think.

Oh and speaking of Albert Hall, I need help adding on to my Gardens of Time on facebook, anyone want to be my neighbor?

Holiday Wish List TodaysMama and GameStop

2010-11-23T07:57:00.003-06:00

Mama’s Holiday Wish List Meme

TodaysMama and GameStop are giving away a sleighful of gifts this holiday season and to enter I’m sharing this meme with you.

1. What is your holiday wish for your family?
That we find moments of grace together and that we don't go without food like last year.

2. What is your Christmas morning tradition?
We have changed to fit our family, so "Christmas morning" for us is now in early January. We all get together as a family, play some silly games, eat everyone's own specialty concoction and sometimes do a gag gift exchange. Its mainly about being together and laughter.

3. If you could ask Santa for one, completely decadent wish for yourself, what would it be?
Erasing of all debt, a clean slate to start 2011 out of the hole.

4. How do you make the holidays special without spending any money?
We open little cards on the 25 days before Christmas and each one has a little family activity, like making cookies, a craft or serving someone in need.

5. What games did you play with your family growing up?
Scrabble, Masterpiece, Parcheesi, Clue...games are a huge part of our family gatherings.

6. What holiday tradition have you carried on from your own childhood?
Breakfast is the big meal at our holiday gathering as it was when I was a child. Also, we fill knitted stockings with little gifts that reflect the special loves of the person they are for. A way of saying, "I know you and love you!"

7. Where would you go for a Christmas-away-from-home trip?
My grandmothers. I hardly ever get to see her and she's my last living grandparent.

8. Check out GameStop and tell us, what are the three top items on your GameStop Wish List this year?
XBox360 console
Kinect360 Health bundle
Ninetendo DS game Art Academy

Minda, your Motives are Suspect.

2010-10-23T15:30:00.001-05:00

What motivates you to live life – body, mind and soul - to its fullest each day?
Pick the answer that best fits your motives, and go ahead and be honest, they are all wrong.

Nothing. I just sort of go along the path of least resistance.
My happiness. I seek each day to find what feeds me; body, soul and mind and I pursue that.
My family and friends. I want to give them the best version of me that I can.
I follow the latest trends and scientific findings on living life fully.
I try to figure out how I’m perceived and then act to improve how others perceive me.
To rage against the machine. If everyone else is doing it, I’m headed the other direction.

As I was out running this morning I was thinking about what moves or motivates me. I’ve been accused of running to look good to others. I’ve been accused of running to make others look bad. I’ve been accused of running because I’m crazy. Although I don’t think anyone has said it, it wouldn’t be totally crazy to hear someone say that my running is selfish. As I am an avid Biggest Loser watcher and many of my friends are full of information about living healthy, I could be thought of as a person who is just following trends. Probably it would be hard to make a case that I run as a way of least resistance. There is MUCH resistance nearly every time I go out!

Of course running isn’t the only thing I do. What motivates me to volunteer for Team Ortho? To take photos of others for free? To cook with my husband on Sundays? To post comments on Facebook? To get enough sleep? To read, argue, play cards, drink beer, go to work or to bathe? And what about those higher activities, reading through the Bible, spending time in prayer, working to stay in touch with others who believe in God? What about watching Dancing With he Stars? Whatever could be motivating me to do that?

The Bible talks about taking every thought captive. It talks about seeking God’s way above all else. That is what I want to motivate me. I want there to be an underlying current of connection with the Creator that guides me in each activity, thought or emotion toward my true path, a direction only God could know. A story that is at once completely unique to me and valuable to all I come in contact with.

You could say my motivation is to find that groove and stay in it. But for now I’ll probably wander back and forth between selfishness, resistance, pride and mindlessness.

I Had a Prophetic Dream

2010-09-03T16:12:00.003-05:00

This happens to me a couple of times a year. I had a dream that I knew I was supposed to stay asleep until the end of.

In the dream our house was burning down. Scott, Andrew and I were playing a game in an upstairs bedroom and we saw the house catch on fire from lightning. Although it looked different than our house now, it was still a duplex and our landlord neighbors were in the dream. The thrust of the first part of the dream was that I couldn't get anyone to take the situation seriously. At one point Andrew said, I don't care about my stuff, you can just buy me new clothes and stuff.

My parents were suddenly there in the dream and they were just sort of milling around outside watching curiously. I spent precious time trying to get Scott and Andrew out of the house, to think about if there was anything they wanted to save, to try to get them to believe anything at all needed to be done. Finally I got them out. I was exhausted.

While they dithered around talking with my parents I decided to try to save our memories. The books weighed so much and no one would help. Finally a stranger came along and helped me carry a couple out. I realized after one heavy trip that I was probably only going to be able to get one year of it out. I exhaustedly put those books and one other posession, which unfortunately I have now forgotten, on the floor of my car. I moved my car away from the house, which was now visibly blazing in the basement.

I asked around and no one had called the fire department yet. They looked annoyed when I asked, so I called them myself. The dispatcher said she already knew about the blaze and they were busy, would get there when they could. Alot of families were in trouble. She was annoyed with me too. You could tell she thought I was making too big of a deal out of it.
Soon the house on our side was gone completely. There was a deep hole next to the basement and the basement was filled to the brim with water (apparently the firetrucks did eventually arrive, but with no fanfare) One fireman said, You know, you are gonna lose everything.
By this point in the dream Andrew and Scott were gone.

I ran into a woman outside who asked if I was missing anything after the fire. I said I was missing everything, even my loved ones, and she said she had some of my things. She handed me a red plastic wrist band and told me to come to a certain place in a few days to "redeem" my things and she listed the thing I had put in the car along with my scrapbooks, a quilt I had made, and a few other things. I realized she had taken these things out of my car so that later I would pay her to get them back. I was furious. No one else seemed to think anything of it.

I went around the corner to my parents house, put my few memory books left in their spare room and thought about taking a shower. I realized I had no clothes to change into. My mom came in and said, "I see you have piled a bunch of your crap in the spare room." I told her I was hoping I could sleep there for one night. She seemed annoyed but didn't say I couldn't. I realized that it was late and that I hadn't called the landlord at work to let him know of the disaster. Then it dawned on me that they had their parent's dog there and that he had probably perished in the fire. I was sick about it.

I ran back to the house and knocked on the door, to find him home in the livingroom watching a sports game with some male friends and his wife upstairs taking a shower. In another upstairs room was Josie and Debbie. They were playing a game and laughing and talking. I came in and started to tell them what had happened, first the landlords wife, and then Josie and Debbie. The landlords wife said, "Whatever, that's okay" in a light and airy tone. Josie and Debbie were annoyed when I talked about it, and when I started to cry for the exhaustion and frustration and loss, they got mad. Debbie said something about me making such a big deal about it and Josie rolled her eyes and was downright mad. They left in a huff as if my behavior was too drama ridden and unworthy of their attention. I trudged back downstairs to apologize to the landlord and explain it wasn't out of our carelessness, it was a ligtning strike. He was busy and didn't seem to really care. He said it was okay in a distracted dismissive way.

I wondered if the insurance had been truly switched over by Scott. I wondered where I would stay. I wondered where everyone I cared about was and why no one took me seriously. I finally was allowed to wake up.

New Beginnings

2010-05-25T09:03:00.006-05:00

Sunday, an hour before we moved, our church prayed for this new home to be a marker of new beginnings in our lives. Already, after less than two days there have been so many blessings. Above are some pictures of the outside of the house. Isn't it lovely?

One of the new beginnings is that on the first morning we went out and sat on the patio and had our coffee and woke up together. Andrew joined us a little later and then last night requested that we make it a morning routine. We enjoyed it again this morning, just a half hour between 7:30 and 8am, but a nice way to wake up and have some sweet family time before heading in for our chores and school. I think we are all looking forward to this change!

Probably the nicest new beginning is in Andrew. He has been cheerfully helpful, he's been leaps and bounds more responsible, and it is a thing to behold. Yesterday when we came in from the patio he went to work on his room and got it in tiptop shape, including making both beds to perfection and hanging up his dress clothes.

In the afternoon he had his friend over, and they played in the sprinkler, then hung the towel up on the line, rolled up the hose on to the rocks so it wouldn't kill the grass and put their toys away in the garage, shutting the garage door. What a treat!

We did give him his own key and he loves locking up after us if we leave the house, which is quite helpful, because with three doors I can see myself forgetting to lock one!

Today we start up school again after four days off. I believe we will see even better improvements there!

A little sentimental, I say goodbye

2010-05-23T07:29:00.003-05:00

This move has come together so fast, I haven't had much time to process it. Last night and this morning I find myself thinking about it more, and I'm a little sad.

It is hard to say goodbye to one level living.

It is hard to say goodbye to my running partner being just down the hall.

It is hard to say goodbye to Andrew's friends being just down the hall.

It is hard to say goodbye to a right sized home.

It is hard to say goodbye to a big kitchen.

It is hard to say goodbye to the wood lot behind our sunroom.

But honestly most of all it is hard for me to say goodbye to a laundry room on the same level as the closets. Sigh. I've done 10 loads of laundry this week, washing everything I can think of, to cherish that treat a little longer.

Of course I haven't forgotten what we are saying hello to.

Hello to a backyard.

Hello to cheaper rent.

Hello to nice landlords.

Hello to a quiet street.

Hello to being closer to the Julie's.

Hello to a safer place for my bike.

And honestly most of all, hello to a new start, I'm quite fond of them!

Hey Minda! You're Moving in...

2010-05-22T20:19:00.004-05:00

...5 days, whatcha gonna do? Go to a concert and the library in St. Paul

...4 days, whatcha gonna do? Meet friends at Bush Lake Beach for three hours!

...3 days, whatcha gonna do? Take three kids to Lake Harriet for three hours & do some carpooling!

...2 days, whatcha gonna do? Skip school and go to see the new Shrek movie!

...36 hours, whatcha gonna do? Go for a nine mile run in the soup!

...24 hours, whatcha gonna do? Drive to Farmington and spend the day at the Scottish Fair, then go out for dinner!

Now, do you think my son will remember all that when next week the answer every day is UNPACK? I hope so!

Forgive me Louise Erdrich

2010-05-02T22:05:00.002-05:00

So, to all my avid reader friends, I have a question to ask:
Do you have any authors who you have repeatedly refused to read, flying in the face of their ongoing popularity?

One of those authors for me is Louise Erdrich. I can't tell you why, I have no personal beef with native americans, she's an author based in Minneapolis which is generally a leg up on my booklist, she owns a bookstore. But for some reason I always scan past her books on the library shelves and move on to something else.

Tonight I looked her up to learn more about her, and try to understand what in me is resistant to her. Then I read this statement;

In 1984, Erdrich published the novel Love Medicine. Made up of a disjointed but interconnected series of short narratives, each told from the perspective of a different character, and moving backwards and forward in time through every decade between the 1930’s and the present day, the book told the stories of several families living near each other on a North Dakota Ojibwe reservation.

The innovative techniques of the book, which owed a great deal to the works of William Faulkner but have little precedent in Native-authored fiction, allowed Erdrich to build up a picture of a community in a way entirely suited to the reservation setting.

Ah ha! Mr. Faulkner, a most IRRITATING writer in my experience! Maybe I had tried to read Love Medicine and this style turned me off.

I read further though and discovered her book The Beet Queen. This book focusses on a different demographic of North Dakota, the US homeland of my people. Now I am intrigued and have reserved her book from the library.

So I challenge you to find a decorated writer you have resisted in the past, research their books and find one that you want to give a try. Every writer deserves a second look, right?

April Me Update

2010-05-02T08:47:00.003-05:00

▲

April 2010

Run 69 miles
Bike 20 miles
Indoor bike 25 miles

Current Book(s):
The Virgin Blue
The Lace Reader
One Thousand White Women
The Physick Book of Deliverance Dane

Current Music:
Singer/Songwriter playlist
PodRunner playlist 149 bpm

Current Shame-Inducing Guilty Pleasure:
high hop beers and sweet potatoe fries made at home!

Current Colors:
pink

Current Obsessions:
finding a place to live and moving there with low drama, training for a half marathon

Current Drink:
V8 with a scoop of fiber added

Current Song:

Current TV Shows:
Lie to Me and Biggest Loser

Current Wish-List:
to trade someone our huge beautiful hardwood desk, tv cabinet and tv for a big computer screen and a smaller desk.

Current Needs:
to get off my butt and go running, or I'll be late to church!

Current Triumph:
running 11.5 miles and knowing I could have done 1 more!

Current Bane of my Existence:
How nice I have none!

Current Goal:
more body toning between runs

Current Indulgence:
nothing new

Current Blessings:
my husband
finding a beautiful place to live
healthy body during my running

Current (Fav) Outfit:
Yellow print dress over brown leggins

Current Excitement:
moving!

Current Mood
content

can I scrap again?

2010-04-30T10:06:00.002-05:00

So I'm sure you've all noticed my absence. About six months ago scrapbooking kinda went by the wayside for me, and I've only done the bare minimum since. I had a great talk today with a friend I met at tallyscrapper, who has started her own site. She was one of my favorites back in the day, we really had a heart connection.

Also this week I had two other scrapbook sightings; we saw a house we want to rent and the landlord has a scrapbook room on her side of the duplex!

also,

My current neighbor emailed me for suggestions on great kits. I mentioned tally, but also want to bring up http://timelessdaydreams.com. Dolores always does great work and I see that she has enlisted the help of another friend of mine from Tally, Leachy!

I'm off to check out what they have going, and perhaps join them for some scrapbooking to celebrate National Scrapbooking Day.

Here is a link to Timeless Daydreams blog:

When Work is Just Plain fun....

2010-02-19T17:30:00.004-06:00

"Will you design a poster quick that says coffee and wifi?"

Um...yeah!

(company logos removed of course!)

And after smelling those coffee beans during the photo shoot I HAD to make a pot of course...so I'll be up for quite some time now!

I wish I'd said that...

2010-02-17T15:32:00.000-06:00

http://vimeo.com/1711302

Andrew's Birthdays

2010-01-31T17:43:00.006-06:00

We had three or four birthday celebrations for Andrew this month. On January 1 he and I went over to Mom and Dad's and he got to open a gift and hang out with family. On January 2 we made him a cake and he got to open a gift from us. On January 3 we had cake with the church group and he got a gift from his friend Priya. On January 10 he had a joint birthday party with his friend Ronan. They took three friends to MOA for some climbing fun. Up in the rafters they now have an attraction where you are hooked into harnesses and you climb around, 3, 4 and 5 stories up on gangplanks, tight ropes and rope ladders. Its quite amazing and all of the boys were little monkeys. Then they all headed over to WOA and swam from 4pm until 9:30pm! It was so fun to watch them, all so grown up and independent now and really learning how to work to encourage and enjoy each other. They all five did the surfing/wave rider, and did better than 75% of the riders that night! I've included Andrew's video, doesn't he look like a pro?

Two weeks of craziness!

2010-01-31T17:06:00.008-06:00

Its been a crazy busy two weeks, and I'm happy they have come to an end. Next month looks much calmer, with only one special event planned each week.

In the second half of January we:

Andrew joined the Minneapolis Fencing Club and has fencing lessons Tuesday and Thursday nights. He also has the extra option of going on Saturdays. He is really enjoying it and we are noticing a reduction in agression, so everyone is happy. He'll continue for two more months and then he gets to decide if he wants to keep it up.

We had two family parties, finally putting the whole Christmas season to rest. The brunch on Saturday with Scott's family had to go through a quick change, as we planned a sledding outing and it was raining! Who could have predicted that in Minnesota in January! We had a great time playing games instead and I really enjoyed spending some quality time with my nephew Peter. I love his sense of humor and seeing him grow and mature. The adults and older kids enjoyed a crazy game of White Elephant gifts; the little three were all crying at some point...guess that is an older persons concept! We also celebrated the family birthdays for January, which added up to 100 candles...too rich for my blood (and too smokey for my apartment!) so we settled on a couple dozen! On Sunday we had my family over in the afternoon. It also had some setbacks, as my brother was too sick to come, Jason had work scheduled and Lance was needing his cane, so we skipped the plans to go bowling and just hung out and opened stocking gifts.

We had a GREAT time learning about Norse Mythology with the Connections Academy playgroup, and had a nice outing at Orchestra Hall where they played pieces from Star Wars, UP, Lord of the Rings and Our Town. Did you know the director of UP is from our own Bloomington MN? Yep! Scott now wants a harp instead of a new guitar. Hmmm...

Scott and I started a weekly Date-In. On Tuesday nights we put Andrew to bed a tad earlier and take turns planning an at home date for two hours. Scott went first and blew me away with the fabulous job he did. Its really good to take time to just be with each other as adults, not parents of Andrew.

We closed out the month with a birthday party dinner for our friend Julie and then this afternoon we went to Pond Dakota Park to learn about living in the 1800's in the WINTER in Minnesota. We sat around a fire INSIDE of a Dakota tipi and heard stories, we drank hot cider and had soup in the parlor of the house while we learned about musical instruments on the time and sang along, we played snow snakes, and then we stood in line for an hour to get a fabulous ride behind five antsy sled dogs. Those dogs LOVE to work!

2010 is about Breaking the Spell

2010-01-16T20:01:00.002-06:00

A friend of mine got some heat recently for expressing her spiritual experience at a recent local concert. Today she shared some of the music with me that moved her as we traveled together to a gathering. We were busy catching up after a week of not seeing each other, and so I asked to borrow the CD overnight so I could better listen to it.

Simultaneously this past week I've been thinking about being stuck. About being unable to go any further, finding oneself in a rut, or just being afraid of moving into new areas of growth and healing. I believe that God wants to see us whole and living our best life, and I believe that when two or more gather and ask for that wholeness, He will provide.

I proposed an "experiment" for this year with a group of my friends. What if we were to each identify and confess a stuck place in our life and ask for prayer and help in moving on. We didn't all come to a place of identifying our "thing" but it was still an evening of exploring the idea. I left the gathering still unsure of what I want to work on.

Tonight I was given further encouragement through several songs by this artist, but in particular this song has haunted me as it echoes the condition of being stuck that I have been pondering.

I hope you enjoy it to:
How many roads have I chosen
How many bags cn I really put down
How many oceans must I dive into
Before I drown

Before I can be king of my conscience
Before I wear the crown so I won't forget
How many swords must go through my heart
Before I let sweet love in

There are many ways to be careless
Stories that we tell
And even when they are lies we hold them
Like they're fragile
So afraid to break the spell

I want to break the spell

How many fires must I walk through
How many matches, I burned through them all
Somewhere down the line I can blame somebody
But right now I'm the only one taking the fall

There are many ways to be careless
Stories that we tell
And even when they are lies we hold them
Like they're fragile
So afraid to break the spell

I want to break the spell

New Directions?

2010-01-08T21:35:00.003-06:00

Wednesday I saw the movie Julie & Julia. I don't know if this is the first movie about a blog, but it must be one of the first on the big screen. I have been blogging since late 2003. I have primarily used my blogs as a place to update family and friends on my craft projects, my child and a few other rants here and there.

Having seen J & J and having been on board watching from the sidelines as Pioneer Woman turned from a small enjoyable blog about a city girl turned rancher to an amazing phenom which includes several blogs, a calendar and a book deal in just a few years, got me thinking.

Thinking about what I have to say. What is unique that I have to offer the world?

In November I wrote a 50,000 word book. That put to rest any doubts I had about being able to keep up with deadlines and with being able to put words to paper (or is that pixels?)

I do not want to write a blog about scrapbooking, God, photography, running or books. These are all topics that interest me, and that I suppose I have some insight into, but they are also all blogs that I have seen done very well elsewhere.

There are two things that I do that I think are a little unique and that might prove useful to some people. One has to do with the way that I parent. The other has to do with money. Anybody out there ever frustrated with their kids and want to find ways to connect with them? Anybody out there trying to get by on less without feeling pinched and deprived?

I'm going to continue to think and pray about this for the next few days and then we will see.

Either way, there will still be the same old jumble of personal stuff from time to time so if you are rich and kidless, don't abandon me yet!

2009 Layout summary

2010-01-06T16:29:00.001-06:00

2009 In Review

2010-01-03T22:50:00.004-06:00

I try to do a post every year that is a quick look back at the year before. This time I thought I'd punctuate it with scrapbook pages I made in 2009 that relate to the topics. I'll have that slideshow up tomorrow. For today, the words and a sneak peek.

Overall, it was a quiet year. That may seem odd after you read the list of things that happened this year, but if you compare that to the craziness that usually takes place in a year of my life, trust me, it was quiet!

January brought resurfacing on the Tallyscrapper design team and a new job as a nanny for Ben Heil. I discovered that it isn't just my children I love; its ALLL children!

In February I turned 45 and Jason got his own apartment. I loved seeing this goal he'd had for a couple years come to fruition!

In March we had some sadness. Scott's mom died after a lengthy, difficult illness, and 10 days later my uncle died. Also in this month I left Tallyscrapper and had my 13th wedding anniversary.

In April the kids next door, Konner and Kiley became long term fixtures at our house. We discovered Konner didn't have his own bed or a room to sleep in, and bought a used bed so he could share Andrew's room, having him over often at first. I realized that is wasn't just other babies I loved, but even big, unruly kids!

In May I got my Saturn back and loved the added freedom on the weekends. On Memorial Day weekend Mom and Dad invited us to their cabin, and Andrew and I were able to go. We had a lovely time.

In June we finalized the paperwork and Andrew was accepted to Connections Academy. We had decided to give this new approach to education a try.

In July, after several months of only occasionally scrapbooking, I decided a better use for the sunroom was a library, and the famous Minda Scraproom closed for business. It wasn't until December that the project of dismantling the room would be fully completed. We worked on a new budgeting system and liked it. We tried kayaking for the first time. I embarked wholeheartedly on a total exercise program, making a lifelong commitment to working out every day that I possibly could and harder than I ever thought possible.

In August my bike was stolen. But more happily, we decided to be trendy and have a "staycation" which we thoroughly enjoyed! At the end of the month I finished my time as Ben's nanny and bid a fond farewell.

In September started Connections Academy, went on his first camping trip without us and had a great time, and at the end of the month, he earned a Nintendo DS. For kicks I bought one too. Our friends and family went into shock.

In October I went on a FABULOUS trip to Kansas City, where I reconnected with some highschool friends and just had a wonderful Minda-style vacation. It is not often that one can say that every minute of a vacation was filled with wonder. This is one of those rare moments. At the end of October Andrew requested a costume for Halloween that he designed, called Cabbage Creature. The three of us had a fun time putting that together.

In November I decided THIS was the year, and I wrote, every day, at least 1,670 words a day, thus completing a 50,000 word novel. Since much of it was drivel, it will probably more likely become two short stories pitched to magazines, but it was great to meet this goal I've had for many years. I also ran a 5k with Erin, Scott and Andrew, or more accurately I ran a 5k and then ran back to meet them. It was fun and I'm sure it will become a regular part of our Thanksgiving day activities. We got some upsetting news at the Thanksgiving Dinner table, namely that my parents are planning to move to Arizona in a little over a year.

December this year was one primarily made up of quiet reflection and penny pinching. We were more at peace than usual when money gets tight, and made it through just fine. We also "moved in together". Many know that Scott and I, although very much in love, moved to seperate bedrooms some time ago to promote better sleep patterns. Suddenly toward the end of the year we were both convicted to give togetherness another try. We both are very happy with this "new" arrangement.

Overall, 2009 was an odd year for me. I experienced HUGE spiritual and personal growth, which is sort of a hard thing to document on scrapbook pages. I did work on several spiritual journal pages though, although I'd have to say most of my growth this year happened toward the end, while the pages were all made early in the year. I can look back to where I was at mentally a year ago and see huge changes that have settled in and taken root. These are changes that have made me less susceptible to the winds of change and other people's moods. I would say that this was a year of grounding for me.

The Cuz layouts

2010-01-02T20:42:00.003-06:00

There's a million of them (64 to be exact) but here are a few. I didn't have the heart to post them all at a scrapbook website, too much flooding the gallery!

New Online playland?

2010-01-01T22:33:00.000-06:00

I am pretty much a one scrapblog type of girl, as you all know and my one place has been tallyscrapper.com for years. A friend from Tally recommended this blog to me, and tonight I scrolled through the members blogs and got a warm fuzzy feeling. So I'm gonna give it a try for a bit. I don't do much buying, I'm just looking for challenges and the like, so it just might fit. Feel free to hop over there yourself and see what you think!

There is also a blog hop taking place in association with this site for the next couple of days. It was how I romped through some of the member's blogs, and it was fun! Start here

Then lastly you go to THIS location to see if you want to join their site. Joining was super easy and I like what I've seen so far. Plus there is a rockin' sketch to get you started.

Here is my take on the sketch, which I totally loved!

Happy New Year!

2010-01-01T00:53:00.002-06:00

He's doing it again!

2009-12-30T21:32:00.004-06:00

Today I turned into the livingroom to find Andrew looking at scrapbooks again. Unprompted. By himself. He was on his third one. Keeps a momma going, let me tell ya!

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Free Again.

2009-12-12T08:23:00.004-06:00

Last night I had a fun free evening with Mel. We went to the beautiful store Wonderment, made a needle felted ornament, which was super easy and super addictive, had some wine and cheese and then walked over to the coffee shop and Mel treated me to a cup of tea.

I also downloaded 20 free Holiday songs from Itunes. For free. Yep. Love that Itunes!

This after a very active day moving furniture. We are creating a playroom where my room used to be, Scott and I are moving into the master bedroom and Andrew is moving back into his previous room, sans all the toys. It's about half done and now I'm needing Scott to help with two VERY heavy beds.

It feels great to be able to do something useful and productive. My muscles liked it too!

Danger: Thin Ice

2009-12-11T09:34:00.002-06:00

From our last decently warm run/walk.

More Free and Almost Free on this frigid morn.

2009-12-11T08:05:00.002-06:00

Tuesday Scott and I went to our free movie, which was okay, but mainly nice to sit next to my honey for 100 minutes! Wednesday night I did some babysitting for a friend and took Andrew along, which means he got a free playdate at their house, and she also had dinner ready for me to make, so we got free dinner!

Yesterday, when I was supposed to be going away for scrapbooking with my mom at a friend's house outside of St. Cloud, I instead got to go scrapbook for 10 hours at Archiver's for free. The trip got cancelled due to my mom's cold and the weather, but Scott was awesome about helping me get to and from the mall. We had a great free walk together as a family (did we really ever think three reps of the mall was a long walk?) and saw some new fun things. Because of the weather, the mall was pretty dead, and I had the beautiful craft room at Archivers to myself! I brought a lunch, which I stored in their little fridge in the craft room, and refilled my water bottle from their cooler. In the cheap category I had a $1 sundae from McD's for dessert and took the time to dig through the tons of .34 paper at Archiver's. I got three pieces of paper that I used that day and another two for an idea I want to try with Andrew for Christmas cards. That and a new bronze ink pad and it was a cheap day with 24 pages completed! I took two more walk breaks throughout the day so I got more exercise, and it was balmy inside, let me tell you!

Tonight a friend is bringing me along to a free craft, wine and cheese night at a local toy store, so another free night out with the grown ups and Andrew gets another playdate.

Off to read our morning Christmas stories to Andrew!

More free and nearly free!

2009-12-05T13:34:00.002-06:00

Free hot chocolate and cookies at Borders.
a Free gift for Andrew and a gift to give one of his friends or cousins!
$20 in high quality socks for Andrew, discounted down to $12 and then because I had a $10 off coupon, they cost me only $2
A coupon in the mail for $10 in free merchandise at J.C.Penney's with no minimum purchase amount
A coupon in the mail for $10 off a $16 purchase at ABC Zone.
A package from a scrapbook friend that contained about $10 worth of free paper and stickers from a line I LOVE! Just before I sit down to scrapbook for a week too! Perfect!
Tomorrow its a free classical music concert in the afternoon!

Feeling very blessed indeed today and I think its good for Andrew to see all of the bounty that can come in spite of the lack of funding!

More Free and almost free

2009-12-04T17:26:00.002-06:00

Whew! The cool free and almost free stuff just keeps showing up at our house to help us get through this lean time. Here is the latest free or nearly free we are experiencing:

A free rental at Redbox. Andrew and I will be able to continue our Friday night movie night even though the bank account is at zero! Thanks Redbox!
Free photo printing. Last night before the photography class my mom took us to, I was able to pick up 10 free photo prints from National Camera Exchange. They do NICE work!
Yep, that's right, a free advanced digital photography class, it was great, thanks mom!
Scott got offered two free movie passes for Tuesday night. A date night!
Mom gave us her Advent Christmas mini tree. We sat at breakfast this morning and came up with 30 free activities and we made half of them things that we could do for someone else to brighten their holiday season...and they were all free!
Andrew got to go to his best friends family dinner last night, which ended with Make Your Own Sundaes and letters to Santa as well as watching some fun Christmas classics that they had recorded.
I picked up a handful of Christmas stories and picture books at the library, so that every night we can do a little family reading together (okay, well maybe that will have to be every morning, since we want Scott along for the fun!)
I had enough printer ink and paper to print out all of my pictures for christmas gifts this year, so now I'm ready for...
The FREE (okay, I have to pay for half a tank of gas) two day mini scrapbook retreat my mom and I are doing with our friend Kit at her lake house next Thursday and Friday
Also yesterday we went to the Hansel and Gretel concert at Orchestra Hall and we just paid for parking.
Got groceries for the week at Aldi tonight. $20 goes A LONG way at Aldi! So love that store!
Did a little comp work and a friend is taking me to the Walker for a film next weekend in payment. Nice grown up night out, cost: just a little elbow grease!
Next Sunday my sis-in-law invited Andrew and I over for dinner. She is a killer cook, so there will be a yummy dinner. Then aftewards we are going caroling, which is something Andrew had asked to do this year!

Feeling very blessed tonight indeed!

Love the Raw, Clean, Honesty of this Beat Box movement

2009-12-01T09:18:00.000-06:00

Tree's Up.

2009-12-01T08:56:00.003-06:00

Minda K. M. Shultz is uber-proud to announce...

2009-11-29T19:51:00.001-06:00

I'd like...

2009-11-25T22:52:00.003-06:00

...to be the next Harper Lee. Write one, truly great book, largely autobiographical, deny all publicity and interviews, and be left alone to enjoy my private life.

Deal?

Refreshing his big brain.

2009-11-24T00:19:00.003-06:00

The thing about truthful flashbacks...

2009-11-23T23:24:00.003-06:00

...when you are writing a book about your life, which is not yet over, is that the lives of many of the characters in the book are also not yet over, and it is a sensitive thing indeed to write about the living. That is my excuse for why I haven't posted a book exerpt for so long.

Tonight though, just a dozen thousand words from the end of my goal, I wrote a piece which did not involve anyone I currently know, so I feel safe posting it.

Enjoy the insanity of my past life!

She had to get away from him, had to leave that table NOW!
She mumbled, “I’m going to the restroom-”
not that diction would have helped him hear her, so lost in his precious baseball game was he, and away she dashed, as if a demon was chasing her. The women’s room door yelped closed behind her as if her terror had been transferred to its worn and smoke scented surface.
Inside the musky chamber there were three under dressed blondes gabbling away at the mirror as they put on their faces. They all stopped long enough to eye her, decided she was “safe” and moved back into their conversation. She entered the first empty stall, trying not to take deep breaths. Damn she HATED that smell. The door wouldn’t stay closed, of course, and with the tribe at the mirror she just couldn’t draw more attention for switching. She sat down and propped one foot against the door to keep it shut. Her head in her hands, she waited them out, trying to take shallow breaths, trying to remain calm, trying to think how she was going to get out of this one.
This was going to go down Monday morning at the office as one of the worst blind dates she’d had, and that was saying something. No car-no job guy was a favorite, while many of the girls enjoyed the stubby one that demanded in a loud pissed off voice that the waitress at the trendy downtown bistro bring him the container of oil they used on the French fries so he could assure himself that no meat by products were involved. There was the guy that took her to the Chef Boyardee fake Italian restaurant and then insisted they walk the eight blocks to the game in the rain. There was the guy that admitted he was gay and lived with his mother who did his cooking and laundry. Yes, her listof blind dates were the Monday morning highlight at work, giving all the comfortably married and happily singled something to snark about. She hadn’t minded, in fact enjoyed the adventure of it all herself. It sure beat sitting at home alone every night, watching out her knee level window as couples strolled down the street on their way home from a cozy walk around the city lake.
But this…well this wasn’t just an entertaining story, it was much worse. And why? Because NOTHING is why. It was the date that was no date. He didn’t pick her up, first off. Most of her cautious 30 something friends thought this was a good thing, alarmed as they were when date after blind date she let them pick her up at her apartment. No, he insisted she meet him at the sports bar he named quickly and then hung up. She had to look in the phone books for both cities before she found it in the suburbs of the farthest one from her. No problem, she was an expert at public transportation, deciding years ago after the divorce which left her with no car and no money that she would rather do without their expense.
When she arrived by the two buses she needed to take to get to the suburb she knew nothing about, he was already seated, which made him hard to find since she’d never seen him before. This was the early 90’s and there were no cell phones are emailed photos to bring her up to speed before they met. She just knew him by his own description, “Tall, blond, athletic, good looking, a young 30” No one sitting alone fit that description in her mind. Of course there was a large blond man sitting at the bar with two women, but he was clearly not waiting for a date…which should have been when she turned around and left. After waiting at the door for 20 minutes, the chump at the bar turned around for a moment, saw her, and waved her over. Turned out that WAS her date. The girls with him were friends from work, did she mind if they joined them? He of course didn’t wait for an answer, or for her to introduce herself before he moved to a table closer to the TV he was already engrossed in.
An hour later, she still sat at the table the foursome had moved to, still had no drink or food, as they didn’t bother to order for her or let her order for herself the two times the waitress had come to refill their ample drinks, listened still to them laugh about private jokes from the warehouse where they worked together, still watched them watch a baseball game on the TV over her head (“you don’t mind do you, you don’t seem the baseball type”), as the popcorn they were hurling at the “bad” calls by the ump drifted down on to her head. No more. Unnoticed, she had mumbled her excuses and hid in the bathroom.
And here she sat, cowering, fighting the door that wanted to open and expose her hiding spot, trying to figure out how to get out of this one. The trio at the mirror had finally left and the stank room was finally quiet. She ruminated on his inept description of himself. Athletic, if you counted arm chair quarterbacking, his gut strained over his pants, his arms hung in a doughy heap from his shoulders. He had plenty of that blond hair he had mentioned, it was greasy and messy and flowed two inches below his collar, which was turned inside out. There was a hole near the left hand side of the collar in the front, and he poked at it while he talked in a way that turned her stomach. He’d picked his nose twice, which was half as many times as he’d grabbed the breasts of the shorter of the two coworkers. He’d chosen to just glance at her chest, and only once. She’d guessed he hadn’t seen anything worth returning for, and based on the shape of the coworker, she came to understand that understated was not his preference.
Like a fool she was caught. She had counted on getting a ride to the bus stop from him, and now she was looking at a five mile walk to the transfer point, as the suburban route only ran one direction and only until about half an hour ago. She could call a cab, but only had five dollars in cash, having used the majority of her dollar bills and quarters in getting here. The cabbies didn’t take checks and she didn’t use credit cards, so she was good and stuck at this point. And starving. She exited the stall and drank some lukewarm water out of the palm of her hand to cure a dry throat and then ducked back into the stall to think.
She cursed herself, for her foolishness, for her predicament, for her decision not to own a car. She just COULD NOT go back out there, she was frozen to the seat, her whole being rejecting the idea of another minute spent in the company of those goons. It was at this point that she lifted her head from her hands, wiped her eyes and in trying to get a grip, glanced at the wall to her right. Graffiti reading could be amusing, and it took her away from her current predicament. She read about Nancy + Sam = LOVE 4EVER and the size of Mike’s manhood and that Nikki was making the rounds. She’d always wondered who these people were who had time to sit in a bathroom stall and record their darker thoughts, and now she sort of understood. She felt a kinship with all the young things that had felt so trapped that they wanted to leave behind a message of desperation for those that would come after them.
She thought about it for a moment. No need to be hasty. She had spent her whole life until two years ago being good. Or at least trying to make amends when she wasn’t good. She didn’t curse. She didn’t play the field, although she was sure her parents thought she did. She had lived with a man for six months after her divorce, and they were dating, so she was sure that everyone assumed they were sharing a bed. They weren’t, but she had grown tired over a year ago of explaining herself, so she just let people talk. In the end she was glad they were wrong, because he had been sharing his bed with someone, and when she found out she was crushed. She couldn’t imagine how much worse it would have been if she had given herself to him. It was bad enough standing up to him and making him leave, then finding another roommate to help with the rent. It exhausted her anew just thinking about those early days. Her new roommate, a woman, had been a much better roomie and when she married a year later they had parted friends. She had subsequently decided to give up the whole roommate gig, and found a gold mine of an apartment when bike riding to work one day, closer to the lake, larger, and because it was a smaller company, at nearly half the price. She loved her place, felt she could stay there forever, it fit her and her lifestyle so well.
Her walk down memory lane was rudely interrupted by a large guffaw entangled with a high pitched shriek that snaked under the door from that lovely table from which she had recently escaped. Yes, back to the moral dilemma at hand—to deface or not to deface, that was the question. Yes, she was just about angry enough. Still propping one foot against the door to keep it shut, she grabbed for her purse and rummaged around for a pen. Of course, she only had a pencil. Her favorite .05 mechanical pencil, the one she had switched to after the divorce when she decided she never wanted to write anything permanent again.
“WHO CARES!” she shouted in her head, and pressed the lead hard against the thickly repainted stall wall to break the tiny lead. Then, teeth gritted, for she hated the sound of metal grating on metal, she began to etch her message. First she dug in about shoulder high, the most important word of her message H E L P. The sound of the paint flaking off and the scritch of the metal on metal set her teeth on edge and as she tensed against the sound she lost her footing on the door and it flew open just at the hallway door emitted another patron. As she jumped up to reclose it the contents of her purse dumped out and rolled and skittered across the floor in front of the interloper who stepped on her sunglasses and broke them under her heel.
“Oops, sorry” the interloper apologized and started to help pick things up.
“Never mind--” she rushed out in horror and accepted the remaining whole items, scooping the plastic pieces into the trash.
While the woman went into a stall and closed the door she washed her hands at the sink, pretended to brush her hair, applied chapstick, and fumbled around trying to look like someone hard at work in the mirror. Would the interloper think she had forgotten to flush she worried, debating on whether going to flush now would make the problem better or worse.
When the interloper exited the stall, did her own ablutions and left the bathroom she darted back into her stall, wedged the door shut with a small pad of paper, and continued with her defacement. She applied the ever diminutive word “I” and then moved down below the H to keep her message in a neat quadrilateral space. A M came next and then T R A P P E D. She added a nick of an exclamation point to deliver the emotional side of her message, moved to another line under the A and scratched in S A V E and the final M E.
Later she realized it couldn’t have happened exactly like this, but it seemed to her that the very moment that she finished the center horizontal arm on the letter E that the lights flickered and then went out. In the dark, which lasted a second, two, three, four…she realized she heard no sound from the TVs and stereo in the bar, the sounds of which had been a muffled roar through the door of the bathroom. In fact, she realized she didn’t hear and people talking either. Could she hear them before? Of course she comforted herself, remember the guffaw? It seemed deafeningly quiet now.
All this happened within the span of 45 seconds, and her breathing grew more rapid as her ability to come up with logical explanations started to fail her. She again heard the complaint of the door as to was pushed open and a deep, purposeful voice said, “Do you need help?”
She hadn’t realized it, but when the lights had gone off she had stood up and pressed her back against the wall to cover the carving she had been making. She toyed with the idea of remaining hidden and silent, and then realized that she could hear herself breathing raggedly and that a deep red light emanating from the exit sign in the hallway was lighting the bathroom interior enough to make her pants and black heeled boots visible beneath the stall door.
The voice took another step into the room and called out again, “I know you need help. I don’t want to alarm you, I’m not a stalker or anything, but I’ve been watching the antics of that idiot at your table all night while I worked, and I realize you would have left a long time ago if that was an option. Can I call you a cab or something?”
She found it odd that the voice hadn’t commented on the quiet in the bar or the lack of light. As if he could read her thoughts, he offered, “We closed an hour ago, but I didn’t see you come back out, and as I was heading to my car it hit me, you might be stuck in here and didn’t realize how late it was.”
She was alone with this voice? His words couldn’t be called on to make sense in her reality. How did she end up staying in here this long? She started counting back quickly. It had been a little before seven pm when she had arrived to meet her date, nearly seven thirty when he finally acknowledged her and then maybe another hour before she escaped to the bathroom. Didn’t bars usually close at 1pm? She wished she knew more about that sort of thing, but it wasn’t in her experience to frequent them, being raised by teetotalers as she was. Surely she hadn’t been in here for over four hours? The voice cleared his throat. “I’m probably not helping your situation, so I’ll leave and go turn the lights on and call a cab. I just need to know you aren’t physically hurt. If you are okay, I’ll call back in when the car has arrived and then you won’t have to sit out in the bar with me until it comes. Okay?” and the door punctuated his remarks as it slowly closed behind him.
There was something in the tone of his voice, something in the surreal nature of the whole evening that clicked in, and it was if her words carved into the stall wall were tattooing her back with their message. She was being saved. She felt safe. Making a decision, slowly she pushed off from the wall, zipped her pencil into her purse, pulled a hand through her hair and pulled the pad of paper from the stall door so it fell open.
She stood uncertainly in the stall opening, not knowing if she should make further strides in the dark or not. She hated the pitch blackness that enveloped her when the door shut, no longer getting any light from the exit sign, and as she had since she was a small child, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Somehow if she was shutting her eyes the dark seemed less of an affront. Two minutes that felt like two hours later the door groused open again. The noise partially obscures the voice as he is explaining, “Its on a timer, the lights, if they aren’t turned off manually by 2am they shut off automatically. We only have a few moments before they go off again.” The message complete, the door now propped open again by his arm, the voice finds her whimpering with her purse clutched to her chest and her eyes closed. What he does next is stupid, and he knows it, but he also knows somehow that it is the exact thing she needs.
He takes two giant steps to reach her and before the door groans closed behind him he is enfolding her in his arms. He quietly and firmly speaks into her ear, “The lights are back on now.” She relaxes, and, of course, her purse therefore plunges to the ground again, again spilling its contents everywhere. He takes a step back to help her pick things up at the same moment she does the same and they knock heads so hard she sees bright points of light at the center of her vision for a few seconds.
Suddenly the tension, the anger, the whole ridiculous evening rushes out of her and she laughs so hard she can hardly breathe. The voice is rubbing his forehead where a bright red spot has emerged above his aubergine eyes, and his ample lips emit a low laugh that quickly elevates to match her near hysteria, as he thrusts his square chin skyward. The voice bends again, this time to the side careful to avoid her and continues picking up her things. Her laughter holds her helpless, continues in rolls, until she is leaning helpless against the wall and wiping her eyes.
By the time the purse contents are put right and he hands it back to her, standing to his full six foot four inch height, she has slowly started to settle down. In another moment they are both enveloped in quiet, but with a smile on their lips. She looked him directly in the eyes and thought, with a twinkle in her own, I am being saved. Then she reaches out, takes his left hand in her right and pulls him toward the stall she realized she had begun to think of as her home.
She pulls him through the doorway and past her, then pushes his captured hand against the wall. “I did this tonight” she confesses as she ran her fingers across the letters, next to his inert hand. She then takes his long fingers again and pulls them along the sharp edge of her message as if teaching him a kind of Braille. He has to stoop a little and press his body against the opposite wall to read it, but then he stands again and intertwines his fingers in hers. “You are safe now.” is all he says. It is enough.

Feeling Wealthy

2009-11-22T07:42:00.003-06:00

This is the tough time of year for us. Scott has two jobs really, or two incomes, and the second income stretches pretty well for 10 months, but then the last two months of the year we are down to one income. Unfortunately my job situation also petered out after 10 months also, so we really are down to just the one income. I sure would love to convince the world to move Christmas to mid January. I mean its the absolute worst time of year weatherwise, so why not make that the time for pretty decorations and gatherings? Plus, it takes it out a bit from my favorite holiday, thanksgiving, so the family gatherings aren't all clumped so close together.

But, since I'm unlikely to change the world, Scott and I have asked this year to change the celebrations in our families, and they sweetly agreed. So we'll celebrate Christmas and Andrew's birthday mid January when we actually might have a little money, and now we just need to survive the next 45 days until that money appears. Sounds grim, right?

Well, this week has been a week of little blessings that made it feel much less grim. We had an orchestra concert that was prepaid so we got free quality music. We had beautiful weather so we had lots of time outside, which is totally free. Scott found a way to mix cheap coffee to make it taste as good as the "real" stuff. Mom took me to a photography class in exchange for driving. Andrew had friends over three days and the sound of his happy giggles is worth a million bucks. I also found 9 dessert plates and 3 goblets at the thrift store for under $10 total, and so now we are only five bowls away from being able to serve dinners at our house.

Yes, it was a week of blessings. Six more to go!

Coinkydink? I think nicht.

2009-11-18T23:21:00.003-06:00

This morning, I became "friends" with Laura Solomon on facebook. I "know" Laura from days of yore in scrappy land, "met" her online at Scrapbooks.com or some other similar site, fell hard for her hard core journaled scrapbook pages, had a few little chit chats with her.
Shortly after befriending her on facebook this am she posted this:

If we could share the REAL story, we could let others know they are not alone. YOUR secret- YOUR biggest shame, YOUR best lesson learned could HELP someone ELSE! We are all just as sick as our secrets so KEEP IT REAL and help someone else...

It of course immediately reminded me of a major theme in the book I am writing (yes Virginia I really am at a word count exceeding 31,000) and I told her so. Turns out she just wrote a book too, same deal, and is seeking a publisher.

Later in the day a signal went off in my head that it was time to listen to a cassette tape that I had had for many years. It is a recording off the radio, of my grandfather being interviewed on his local station. I knew this and knew it contained his testimony, but for years I haven't been able to listen to it. Today I knew it was time.

I decided not only to listen to it once all the way through, but I played it back slowly and wrote a transcript of much of what he said, and added it in to my book. It sort of sticks out right now, I have to find the right segway to it, but I'm happy to have it written down for later folding in.

When I was getting ready to take my handwritten notes and translate them into a typed copy I started screwing around on the internet because I was dragging my feet. 2000 words of typing really isn't my idea of fun times. I was looking into just how popular the Pioneer Woman, who comes to the Mall of America this weekend, really is (#18 bestseller on amazon.com) and stumbled across Stephen King's newest book.

Scott and I had a lengthy conversation about Mr. King when we first met, and I think our shared interest in him was one of the things that caught my eye about Scott. Anyway I was whining again about how far down his writing had fallen in later years, and Scott asked if I had read any of this book. So I pulled up an exerpt and actually, as an aside, it sounded pretty good. Gruesome but good.

Anyway, on this site he talks about telling the truth and he quotes "you're only as sick as your secrets" and credits AA with this tenant.

Later in the evening I was researching the radio station that interviewed my Grandfather, and the verse of the day on their website? "Sanctify them by the truth; Your word is truth." John 17:17.

Hmmm...

So bottom line is: I want no sickness, no secrets. We'll see if I can actually pull that off.

You may have noticed that although I am posting updated word counts each day, I'm not posting any content on this blog. Turns out once I finished the rough draft of the KC Trip story and moved on to the flashbacks I felt significantly less comfortable posting the notes online.

I'm sleeping on Grandfather's entry tonight and whether I should post it.

I'll let you know!

I have...

2009-11-16T11:29:00.002-06:00

...continued to write, I just haven't been writing anything that is even remotely worth posting. At this point I am at about 24,500 words, about 500 words behind schedule. Hoping for an improvement in words and writing tonight!

Goes Before KC Trip Day One

2009-11-11T18:03:00.003-06:00

now that I have figured out what this rambling thing is about, I will be creating pieces that fit inside the original 30 page document. So hold on, we are going to jump around quite a bit for the remaining 19 days...

She stood at the closet, doors flung wide, trying intermittently to shake loose the nightmare and to plan her wardrobe for the day. She hadn’t had that particular terror visit her at night for years—knew that it must be linked to the fact that she was headed on this journey into the past, yes, that was why it was now resurfacing.
But wait, she remembers, of course she has set out her clothes for today, all ready to go as soon as she woke. She closes the door on the closet carefully, its contents fairly emaciated anyway as she is all packed for the week. She had carefully considered what she wanted to wear on the long car journey, which warranted comfort, balanced with the desire to look her best as she met her friend for the first time in 27 years.

One pant leg after another, noting as an aside her increased balance—all those workouts and runs were paying off even at this late stage in her life—and her mind thus satisfied moved back to the disturbing dream.

She had had this dream on a routine basis for as long as she could remember. Of course, that was not as long as most people who were her age. She had heard her friends speak of memories from their second and third year—considering it a fault, she did not often tell them that her first memories started ten years later than theirs.

Creamy turtleneck sweater pulled over her wild hair, she plugged in the straightening iron he daughter had taught her to use. She glanced in the mirror to determine how much work was ahead of her—was gratified to see that the color her daughter had applied in the salon last week had tamed her tresses a bit, and she’d probably only have to yank the branding hot iron through her hair for a half hour or so to get things under control.

Control—now there was a word that probably spoke a bit about the dream. She’d been tested and analyzed and advised like so many of her mates in the 90’s, and so she knew the jargon. Chances were, they said, that the lost memories were a protective device called into service by her mind. They slyly implied that something quite shocking had happened to her—but no, she was not going to turn that trip trap over in her mind again, no time, not if she wanted to stay on schedule. Still, while brushing her teeth the dream came back to her. She had noticed that running water always stimulated her mind, she got great ideas in the bath and while doing dishes, and even, if she was not fighting her gag reflex, while brushing her teeth. Another mystery that, why was she so sensitive to anything being in her mouth? Of course, anything other than food and drink that is, she seemed to have no problem keeping that down she observed as she patted her ample belly. Ah, that belly, they had grown to be close friends by this time, as they had been in each other’s company for over 22 years, it arriving and settling in to stay right about the time of her second child’s birth. They went through rough stages, at times she hated it, especially when the answer to, “Oh, when are you due to deliver?” had to be met with the honest, “Eight years ago.” She was practical though and realized she was fortunate to have extra long legs. Fortunate that she carried her weight primarily in one spot. She daydreamed again about finding out she was carrying a benign 15 pound tumor in there. Being told it could be taken out simply in an overnight at the hospital, followed by eight glorious weeks spent recovering in the company of a swarm of books and a carafe of coffee. Ah dreams, what a crazy one that was, she didn’t need a psychologist to tell her that. As if the accumulated troubles we pick up along the years could be cut out in a moment, and all put back to right and leave no damage behind.

She sighed. The nightmare from last night catching her attention again. The setting was an odd one, the sewing room in her grandparents home in rural North Dakota. Everything was beige, which is probably accurate, her grandmother not being the cheerful sort, nor one to be concerned about decorating. She knew from asking her mother, that she often slept in that room when they went back to Grandpa and Grandpa’s house, back to North Dakota where she had been born and her brother, and where she had lived, right next to the grandparents, and then on a farm a few miles away until she was seven. Seven years, and yet she has only one small memory that she thinks might be her own.

Like the dream, it is another setting near bedtime. She thinks it is a summer evening, for the light is fading but has not yet left the sky. It is looking in the window, warming the wooden built in drawers that march down one wall of her room, and she hears her mother making comforting noises of cleaning up dishes in the kitchen, occasionally entering into conversation with her father. The feeling she has when drawing up this memory is a complex one of comfort and discontent. Perhaps she petulant about having to be in bed before dark, but also enjoying the familiar sounds of her parents taking care of the business of their home. It is a mere wisp of a memory for sure, and may still be proved to be not her own, for she can almost hear her mother telling the story and showing her a picture. But no, she will claim this as her own. They moved from that yellow house next to Grandpa and Grandma’s when she was not quite six, so that would be a nice early memory to be able to claim. Still, she is unsure.

That time feels so lost to her. The location of the houses, the things they did during the day, the schools they attended, all these facts are supplied by her mother on the occasions she seeks to reach back to that time. So is this nightmare about the sewing room a fragment of something from her past? She doesn’t know, is never sure. It certainly doesn’t make sense; she is sleeping on a little cot there, it is late afternoon or early morning. The light coming in through the high awning windows enters the room weakly and at a deep slant, that is how she knows the time. Of course in northern North Dakota, in winter, this could be very early in the afternoon indeed. She does find it entertaining and a bit perplexing that the quality of the light is so integral to both the dream and the memory. Was this an early indication that she would have interests in the finer things, painting and photography, literature and music of the enduring sort?

She hears her little boy stirring in his bed, and hurries to pack up her toothbrush and the few other toiletries she left out for the morning. Her last bag is now by the door, the rest already in the car, again to assure a quick exit. Was she allowing enough time? She hadn’t made this trip in a decade, and hadn’t factored in any road construction.

Road construction – that phrase again pulled her back to the dream, for a type of construction is taking place there. First, the young girl on the cot, herself she had always believed, hears the sound of a washing machine chugging and sloshing a load through its paces. This sound is regular and insistent, and she realizes it has the gallop of a heartbeat as well, a heartbeat that is getting louder and faster as the little girl wakes. Right from the start there is a feeling of fear, getting stronger as the various elements unwind. She peeks open an eye and sees her grandmother’s sewing machine first. This helps her know where she is, but doesn’t explain the noise she is hearing.

And then, on the edge of her vision she sees that it is neither a washing machine or a heartbeat she is hearing, for the sound is syncopated perfectly to the bricks. Yes, the room is filling up on the inside with red bricks, mysteriously appearing like a video game just in time to stack one level at a time around and around the room, faster and faster. Although the windows are high in the wall, they will be covered over soon, and the door is already half inaccessible. This scares her, terror engulfs her to the point of making a scream impossible, breathing difficult. Still, the mounting bricks march on.

This is usually the point where she wakes, and it is also now the point where her hair is straightened and the iron, is tucked into an outer pocket of her final bag to finish cooling. A flash of orange and her little boy has flown into her bed, burrowing beneath the pile of pillows and making his usual morning squeaking noises. She grabs him and gives him a morning tickle and then a quick kiss, and turns around to find her husband stretching awake and hoping for his own greeting. The joy of snuggling them both chases the dregs of the dream away, and it doesn’t reenter her mind again.

Ten minutes later she and her husband enter the elevator, he carrying her final bag, always the gentleman. She must look worried, probably the residue of the dream, because for once she doesn’t feel her normal panic setting in upon heading out to try something new. Still something is in the air and he asks, “Are you worried?” She kisses his cheek and returns, “Worried about what?” wondering what he has sensed. “That we are going to kill each other when you are gone?” he quips, bringing to the forefront the volatile place the relationship between her husband and her youngest son has reached at this stage in their lives. “No, I think you will get along famously.” She makes the words a prayer and sends it to her God. Positive thinking does in fact make a difference, and God certainly can work that minor miracle. He chuckles, holds open her door, tucks her case in the backseat and wishes her a safe journey. And then she is off.

KC Trip: The End

2009-11-10T18:02:00.004-06:00

It is almost over. This is the thought that invades her mind before her eyes have opened to greet the day. As always, as soon as the first thought enters her mind, she removes to prayer and this line is delivered plaintively to her Maker. It is before she has had time to remind herself to look for the good in everything. It is while she is still off guard against negativity. I want more she breathes to the Creator, and I love what I have been given, thank you for what I have been given. Yes, now she is more fully awake, now she is striking the proper tone, the tone that she will take with her into the new day.

A smile now reaches her lips, the ghost of the one that guided her to sleep last night, and she snuggles deeper into the warm covers for a last minute of indulgence. It is early, and they went to bed late, much later than her in fact, and so she is surprised when during this last extravagance she realizes that voices are issuing forth from the kitchen below. Why how can they possibly already be awake? She doesn’t like to admit it, but she prides herself on being the one-with-stamina. The one who impresses all with how she can keep going and going. Yet in this she is clearly being shown up by her old school friends. Affronted, the last half of that indulgent minute is dispensed with as she hurls herself purposefully out of bed, hastily pulling the sheets and pillow cases off into a neat pile for the laundry. Another second is afforded to sadness as this action reminds her she will not sleep here again. She comforts herself by reminding , while she dresses, that after a time, she will sleep again in her own home, after snuggling with her lovely little family, and she is back on the positive side of the fence.

She is a snob, there is no two ways about it, but she ameliorates this by poking fun at the very things that make her thus. As she bounces down the stairs to see who has beat her out of bed, she therefore mocks her horror at this aloud, and easy laughter pervades the room, just the tone she had hoped to set. Quietly though she acknowledges only to herself the fact that she is the only one who dressed for the day and packed all her belongings, bringing them to the foot of the stairs, so in a way she can feel calm in the fact that she is still somehow ahead of the game. She is not proud of these thoughts, so makes more fun of herself in another tack, just for good measure and settles in to a nice cuppa with the two mates that are up.

She easily lets her mind glide over the facts, which are that Chris is already hard at work cooking a grand meal for them to eat in an hour or so. Glossing over the facts that might tip the scales away from her again is her especial skill, and they all pick up where they left off, remembering the past, both shared and otherwise. She had walked in on a conversation about childbirth, a landscape they have all crossed, although not while in each other’s lives. She loves hearing the stories and sharing her own, and soon the fourth of their party joins them. They head back out to the deck, another beautiful day is in store and like all true Midwesterners, they recognize their duty to enjoy any agreeable weather, knowing it is likely that tomorrow will bring something entirely different.

The time passes quickly and soon the fifth and final player in their party is motoring down the drive. From the first glance she sees how this last performer will play his role—he is destined to be the successful one. She has heard that he worked hard to be thin and well groomed at each of the previous class reunions. His car is one designed to give the impression of a car one is driven around in, and it takes a second look to realize it is mostly a disguised standard import. It sweeps around the curve, and there is a pause as they all wait at the balcony rail for him to emerge. In those few moments what is he collecting? His thoughts? His courage? A final look in the mirror? Then the door opens and out he comes and all his hard work is not lost. It is not only her breathe she hears sharply drawn in, although the others have met him once or twice in the ensuing quarter century. In school, Doug had been one of only two boys in their class that received any attention whatsoever, although not the type of attention he probably sought. Doug and Chris, friends all through school as far as she knew, were the cream of the crop, and a weak crop it was. She believed it was commonly this way, that most of the boys her age were a bit of the doddering fools. Blushing often, uncomfortable in the company of women, even the unformed women of their class, lost behind the girls who had better grades, better ways of communicating, and better visions of what a boy they would date would look and act like. Amusingly there were several from the class a year behind theirs that fit the bill and it must have further enervated them to see the girls run past them into the arms of those they saw as pipsqueaks from the junior class.

But Doug and Chris were in a different situation. Secretly, many of the girls did want to catch their eyes, but on the face of it they were so enjoying the male companionship that they received from these two that they mostly did not seek them out for a date. His glorious smile emerged as soon as he exited the car, and although this tall, slim, urban stranger surprised her, the smile brought it all home. She tried to remember as everyone exchanged greeting hugs, if she had thought of him in a romantic way…it seemed easy to believe now, but she thought perhaps she had not seen his potential in high school. She remembered he tended to come across as pudgy, although she didn’t remember him being actually fat. When discussing various classmates that turned out to be gay, she got things mixed up and she inadvertently put his name on the list. She was corrected soon after, but she was even now seeing how she could have made that mistake. He cared about how he looked, he paid attention to details that most boys his age not only missed, but couldn’t have cared less for, all the girls adored him in a brotherly way. Signs enough. She was glad this particular set of thought remained unspoken, she realized with horror the unfairness of them and moved back into the group conversation, shivering at her prejudicial inner remarks.

They decided to eat the breakfast that was now ready, and sat ‘round the formal dining room table complementing the chef and getting reacquainted. She found herself less in charge of the conversation as she was used to—upon reflection this was actually very common when the group grew beyond one or two others. It was partially why she so hated parties and other large gatherings—she found herself lost and adrift most of the time at these affairs. In this case she just enjoyed the ebb and flow of the talk, taking in all the extra knowledge this group had of her past—Kim and Doug especially seemed to have an encyclopedic memory of all that had transpired for the years they had schooled together. She found out she used to send many coded messages to members of her group, a fact that completely shocked her, as she did not for a minute remember this. After a time they retired to the media room where Chris shared a slideshow of family pictures and they searched Facebook with the big screen television displaying the results as they looked for more classmates. The group was soon divided into two invisible categories; those who found their dearest memories were firmly imbedded in the halls of their high school; and those who could not imagine that being the pinnacle.

They took a break to take group photos outside, Chris’s husband now home was pressed into service as photographer, this being a large part of his career, they weren’t concerned that the outcome would be undesirable. She knew she needed to hit the road soon, and so snapped some additional family photos and began to detach herself from the group. Others were also reaching the same conclusion, so her goodbyes grew long as it was decided all would leave at once. At first she was a little annoyed by the delay, she may have lived 2/3 of her life in Minnesota, but she was not one for long goodbyes. But when she found her eyes misting up with sadness at the prospect of leaving this lovely week behind she was glad for the bustle and distraction it all brought.

Heading out of the city an hour later, into yet another rainstorm, she tried to sum up and review all this trip had meant to her. Lost friendships rekindled, enjoyable touristing, great entertainment, meeting the new and the old were all wonderful. But mostly what she had been given on this trip was herself. For years now her life had been fractured. The utter horror of her first marriage and all the drama that surrounded it served as a bunker, keeping the territory she had already traversed a country away from the person she had become in the aftermath. She had believed that person dead and gone. She had assumed that she had been foolish, unworthy of remembering, inconsequential. What these four old friends had been able to give her was a sense of a girl she knows she would have liked. She saw through their eyes someone who knew where she wanted to head, and was making progress in that direction. Someone who showed the world she was sure of herself. Someone who mattered to the lives of at least these four. Someone who would have mattered to her. What a gift this trip had been in that fact alone.

She turned on the third section of Capote’s classic and lost her 45 year old self in the landscape and storyline, content not to think more on her life for the space of time it took her to head back to her home.

KC Trip; Day 5 Part II

2009-11-09T22:36:00.005-06:00

That night, as we headed down to the Plaza, four old school chums reacquainting themselves after 27 years, I could sense that this event would be special. That the time on the Plaza would be a moment we would all remember for the rest of our days.
The rain had stopped, the air was not too chilly. We were only a few moments late for our dinner reservations and they had held them for us upon my call. I hadn’t eaten at this restaurant in our own town for a year or so, PF Chang’s is part of a nationwide chain and they have excellent food. We ordered, again I noted how people ordered, for I feel what we eat and how we approach a menu tells so much about a person. We all enjoyed a great meal, I had a hard time choosing and was pleased when the shot in the dark I ordered turned out to be excellent. We paid and walked out onto the mall, the dark settling in, listening for where the greatest concentration of people appeared to be as that was probably where we were headed.

We found the reservoir after only a few minutes, and the bonfires lit upon it were stunning. Chris and I had our cameras out and turned on in no time, and as we took the steps down to the riverfront, the music washed over us in fine waves. A thin young man was performing tricks with a ball of fire on the end of a stick, and I was horrified and fascinated all at once.

The fires helped warm the pleasant air even more, so even though it was now full dark we were not chilly. We wandered up and down the canal, taking in the sites and the sounds and chatting now and then. We did not have a schedule, but we found a stage were in half an hour or so a circus like tumbling act would be shown. Chris chatted with a fellow photographer and we staked out our territory, then realized we were too early and did some more walking around before returning to our spot. It got very crowded right before the show was to start, and there was some of the usual bad behavior you get in a crowd situation, but overall we held our ground and got a front row view of the lovely gymnastics set to music. In keeping with the theme, four darkly clad women entered the stage as the last act, and their special elongated fingernails were set on fire, creating light patterns as they danced across the stage. It was exhilarating. We wandered some more, talked about getting a beer, strolled past the carriages and stopped while Kim and I admired the beasts. While we fed cookies the owner gave us for the horse, Christine snuck over to the manager and hired us a carriage. With a smile she ushered us into the pumpkin shaped carriage, outlined in mini lights, and for the moment, we were princesses. Kim and I both went nuts, I think I even teared up a bit, as this was a treat I had hoped my whole life someone would take me on. We waved to the onlookers as we rode through the streets. This truly was a night to remember.

Later at the bar we selected for dessert and a night cap, the talk grew more serious. Some of the sadder tales of which we had been forced to be participants came out, and we sought to give each other comfort, if belatedly. Suddenly, we all grew tired, and we knew it was time to call the evening a success and head home to sleep.

In the morning a fifth member of our high school would be joining us for brunch, so we needed to get some rest. I’m sure that as I drifted off that night I had a smile of happiness on my face.

(the rest of my words for today's portion aren't publishable. THey again, like yesterday are just the random ramblings of a very tired, possibly ill woman who is just hellbent on meeting her daily word count. Hopefully I'll feel better tomorrow and there will be more worth posting!)

KC Trip: Day 4 and 5 Part 1

2009-11-07T00:52:00.002-06:00

Day 4

Her throat felt like a living room trashed after a frat party. As she slowly regained consciousness she realized this probably meant a cold was coming on. Grateful that she’d held off illness this long, she said a quick prayer hoping for at least a few more days reprieve.

This was the day she would drive north to meet the first of the two girls she had met on the internet that lived in the area. Although they were a little older than her actual daughter, they were part of a small group of gals she had talked to on a scrapbooking website that she thought of as her surrogate daughters. They all had their own unique personalities, or so it seemed online, but they were friends and she loved their fresh perspectives and their zest for living.

Heading downstairs, she and Chris enjoyed a quiet hour of breakfast, coffee and conversation before they both met back in the three season for a half hour workout. Denny had decided to head to their lake home and start to close it up for the season, winterizing the boat before a deep freeze ruined the motor. The stretch and warmth of her muscles felt good and she knew it would come in handy as she had some long drives ahead of her.

The town of St. Joseph and the home of Bre was her first stop. It was again raining, and she had gotten a late start, so she again skipped the photo session of her parent’s old home and headed straight north by a different route than she had been using to enter and exit the city. Packed in the trunk were some gifts for each of the girls from Nancy, a small packet of craft supplies, and some photos. The plan was to meet and scrapbook for a few hours, a nice distraction and the first thing they had in common, then caravan back to the city to meet the ever busy Shan.
This back route was plain and consistent, the road smooth and wide and the countryside open and quiet. She toyed around with the radio, not finding what she desired. This view seemed to call for some plaintive blues in simple tones. Radio off, yes that was best she thought, and she let the quiet fill her and clean her up for this next phase of her trip.

The direction had her a little muddled when she arrived in St. Jo, and after trying unsuccessfully twice, she stopped and called Bre for an insider’s advice. Bre had moved to this town recently from the other side of Kansas, settling in to the new place because her husband had recently taken a promotion to the radio station in town. As she exited the car at their townhouse she realized she had forgotten the dogs—Bre’s two little canines were both a close approximation of her own Dilly that was a mainstay in the middling years of her childhood. Seeing these happy, fluffy mutts brought her back to the day he died laying on her bed in the farmhouse. In that room she had plaintively song “Evergreen” and “Afternoon Delight” so many times her parents must have torn their hair out. The bedroom tucked into the eaves of the little white house that contained a crib for the runt pig in the dining room. The bedroom into which she locked herself in a fit of teen angst and with peanut butter and a loaf of bread threatened to stay forever.

And then she saw the fat little hand of Maxx curled around his momma’s and she was back in the present and couldn’t get to that handsome boy fast enough. One of the great things about having so many younger friends, she realized, was the lovely little babies they tended to have. She was in the throes of a longstanding baby crush, not wanting the hard work of another of her own, but so enjoying the luxury of those that went home to fuss with others.

The introductions were unhurried and relaxed, and she knew almost immediately that Bre was one of those rare people who is exactly herself at all times and in all environments. This of course meant that she knew her already, even though they had never physically met. A relief. As much as she loved meeting new people, the prospect of a day with an old friend was much more appealing.

Bre showed her around and in the livingroom where they talked a bit, Maxx came right over and crawled into her lap, mutely requesting she work the TV remote for him. It became clear this was a gesture of friendship, for he most certainly did not need her help in working the device. He was showing an aptitude for electronics even before his second birthday, and she smiled as he showed off his skills. Maxx was a solid little man, neither fat or thin, but rather built like any one of the defensive backs for his mother’s favorite team, the Patriots.

Both Bre and her husband are part of that crowd of beautiful people that cause the average person to feel a tinge of envy. Dark haired, dark eyed, original and pleasing face shape, she could see broad strokes of both of his parents while she was watching him. She remembered the first time she saw a photo of Bre and Dave she thought how they could most definitely be brother and sister instead of husband and wife, their looks were so compatible. They made a beautiful baby, that was for sure.
Soon they were settling down to scrapbook, falling into their comfort zone while Maxx played nearby. IT was hard to get started at first, but soon they were both working on their individual projects and talking about the people they “knew” online. Maxx went down for a nap and they begin to work with more intensity. They had seen so much of each other’s projects online, and it was fun to watch the creative process behind the scenes for the first time.

Dave came home and plopped down the couch for some DVR TV watching as a break between the two parts of his job. By day he administered the radio show, at night attending a local game. The show he watched was trashy, and both she and Bre called out commentary from the other side of the room. So much for his relaxation time!
Soon it was time to leave, and Dave got the baby up, changed him and got his shoes on while Bre packed the large bag of items necessary for a mom out for the evening. After cleaning up her own mess and packing her finished pages away to be added to her album at home, she snapped a few pictures of the Dave and Maxx, so cute together.
She updated Ashley’s facebook page, the third “daughter” who lives nine hours away in Indiana and was trying to make the trip down for the weekend so we could also meet in person. What a treat that would have been on top of all the fun already planned. Ashley is the kinda girl that doesn’t just find the party in every situation, she IS the party!

In the warming sun of late afternoon, making a brief appearance to light their drive, they headed inland to the city perched on two sides of an imaginary line between states. Navigating The Kansas Cities can be filled with peril once one reaches the inner ring. Like Buda and Pest, there are strong differences between the two sides, and working with two city and two state governments can make for interesting intersections of road. Bre deftly navigated the mix thanks to the advice of Shan and they were soon pulling into the neighborhood that she knew at a glance must contain the inimitable Shan. This was precisely what she had envisioned for Shan’s dwelling place, the neighborhood one that was filled with old trees and older, well maintained brick buildings. Dwellings were small and generally came in apartment blocks, the inhabitants being filled with a sense of culture and style but not necessarily yet filled with an excess of cash. Where Bre’s habitat was more about what was inside, Shan’s was still about what was outside the door. She said “still” to herself because she saw a natural progression in life, from parent’s home to university, to post university neighborhood to marriage and a family setting. Do we move from type to type as we feel the new phases coming on, or do we move to help propel us toward them? She shook these ponderings from her head and settled into this new setting, one that she had always felt comfortable in although she had never earned time in it with her own life.

As Shan poked her head out the window to greet them and encourage them up the three flight of stairs to her pleasant apartment perch, her questioning mind turned to the matters at hand. Would Shan be as much herself in person as Bre had proved to be, or would it turn out her drama training and passion have lead her to create a persona online that varied from her true self? They did another round of meet and greets as they entered the apartment, and she was again showered with gifts, this time a vintage wooden box Shan hoped she would alter. She smiled at the gesture and the challenge of it. Maybe a place to store some keepsakes from this trip, or some small scrapbook pages that held special meaning.

The apartment held to the feeling of the neighborhood—aging gracefully since it was built around the 20’s, furniture serviceable and well laid out. They sat around, letting Maxx be their focus as small lapses in the conversation occurred from time to time. She turned the question over and over in her mind; how to categorize Shan, how she would speak of her going forward. Shan was a little different than expected, but she wasn’t sure it was due to an artifice. She finally settled on believing that it was merely that Shan was complex, hard to pin down into one type or another, emerging still, a transitory version of her final self. Classification aside, she liked Shan, and enjoyed her company as another facet to the refreshing day. They agreed on dinner at a pub on the Plaza, which turned out to be only a scant distance from Shan’s. It was also exactly the kind of place that she would have thought they would dine at so this too felt comfortable and inviting. Which turned out to be good, because the staff at said establishment was anything but inviting.

At the door they were not-greeted by a surly boy who gave them a stare that said, “What the hell do you want?” Their waiter, a bean stalk of a boy was trembly and inept, and had not a smile to share with any of them. In the end, he netted a fifty three cent tip from their meal of beer, appetizers and dinners, which was probably two cents over what he earned. This tip decision bound them further together as they all felt the pinch of poor service together. Luckily the beer and food was excellent, so it mattered not that it was served with ill humor. She made a mental note to come back another time, sit at the bar where the bar tenders were bound to be a notch above, and order one of their many craft brews.

The girls were delicate eaters; Shan had allergies and Bre wanted her burger with “no vegetables touching it of any kind”, reminding her of her little brother asking for peanut butter and jelly, hold the onions. They talked of how their relationship formed and how they had saved each other along the pioneering trail toward adulthood. She loved to watch their affectionate friendship, each girl her own person, but their long history having extended tender vines of familiarity that would bind them together forever. Sure there were moments of frustration from time to time, they were both passionate and felt things deeply, but in the end they always came back together, knowing they wanted a future as linked as their past.

They half-heartedly snapped a few photos in the darkening sky, enjoying each other’s company enough to want to document the event and yet enjoying each other’s company in a way that distracted them from trying hard to get a good shot. She realized that her week had been filled with this same photographic ennui—lots of great scenery shots, but the people not ever fully coming into focus—as when she was around them she would much rather be with them then hiding behind her lens.

They headed back to Shan’s place and sat around on the floor, trying to rebalance to comfort after the overly filling meal and watching Bre try to prevent Maxx from reprogramming Shan’s DVR. Playing with Maxx and hearing Shan talk about her job and her relationship with her man was a great way to end the day, but she was getting sleepy and still had a half hour drive ahead of her. Hugs all around and she was out the door, into her car at the curb and back to Chris’s to catch up on sleep and prepare for the next day which held more reunions.

KC Trip: Day Five

Although the children had had the last two days off school, and the whole week had been a vacation for her, she awoke Saturday morning with a distinctively Saturday feel in her body. She wandered downstairs in her PJs and joined the kids in the family room for some TV, the first time she’d exited her quarters without first dressing. They whiled away the morning watching the Bratz movie, which was actually better than one might think, while Chris dealt with the drama on the phone surrounding her eldest who had spent the night at friend’s house and was having second thoughts about babysitting for her mom that night. Of course tonight was the dénouement, when four friends from high school were finally reunited after twenty seven years. Here was the main purpose of the trip, so of course the daughter would have no choice. Chris did try to find an alternate babysitter, but children these days are quite busy and no one was available. The two other school chums were expected at around one p.m., so her slacker pace didn’t concern her, until around 10am the phone rang again and the reality was that the twins were already on their way over from across town. YIKES! Chris still needed to grocery shop and pick up her daughter and so she flew out the door with her friend promising to keep an eye on the young ones while she straightened up a bit and got dressed. But first she finished up the last few minutes of the movie—crazy, but she was in it now and couldn’t break away, like a bad train wreck. For the next half hour there was much scurrying around, as she showered, dressed, directed the kids to help with clean up and gulped down the last few sips of coffee.

When Chris returned, with a charmingly resigned Kenzie, she headed upstairs to dry her huge mop of hair. They were much later than expected after the phone call, which of course fueled concerns that they might be lost. The twins that would make up the final half of their foursome had moved a lot in early childhood, but from their early teens until the present day that had not moved more than fifty miles from the epicenter formed by their little high school. She had talked to one only once, the other not at all, and was both excited and curious to see what such a stable home front produced in a woman her age, she felt her own adulthood had been so flighty—and yet upon further reflection she realized she too had settled into a place fresh out of high school and hadn’t moved far since, so they only had a few extra years of location stability on her.

While her hair was still being blown toward dryness she heard adult conversation downstairs and knew they had at last found their way. She paused to consider finishing her task first, but couldn’t hold back her excitement another moment and rushed downstairs. They had exchanged photos over the ensuing month before getting together, so none were surprised by how the years had shaped and changed each face. More hugs and excited smiles and they were into the thick of conversation almost immediately. First sharing what the last few days had held and then slowly working back into their shared past.

The sun had decided to make another brief appearance and with a fresh pot of coffee brewing they headed out to the deck to soak it up while it was with them. The conversation wound on for hours, at some point a mini photo shoot happened. Kim distinguished herself as the one who remembered the most, putting names and dates and details to stories that at least she and Chris hardly remembered. Painful memories were also shared—details of the behind the scenes lives of friends that in high school were kept quiet. A deeper appreciation of the quiet life her parents had created for her was reached. As Kim talked of a home life filled with horrors hard to imagine and spoke or her push to escape that part of her world at the expense of her relationship with her twin sister, tinges of guilt surfaced for not realizing, for not giving her a place of refuge more often. Yes, she realized she had been a self-focused girl, caught up in her own petty dramas and her church bred morals, which she apparently felt the need to rain down on all that entered her range.

She remembered being closer to Kim growing up, but when Dianne spoke she felt that things had changed, and although she liked them both as adults, she felt closer to Dianne now. She was honored with the transparency with which they all spoke, not a bit of the artifice she had thought would show up. Dianne spoke of her oldest daughters unwed pregnancy, nearing the end of its term with candor. She felt comfortable sharing her thoughts from her own young pregnancy—sure she wasn’t unwed on the day of the child’s birth, but that was only due to a hastily conceived marriage after the pregnancy was discovered.

What most moved her was the solid feeling she got from all three of these pals from the past. It occurred to her that perhaps she was more herself in those young years than she had thought, that she was more formed and her choices more real than she had come to believe. She did know that she loved these women, that there was a feeling of continuity that one would not anticipate after over a quarter of a century. They moved back inside to ready themselves for the evening on the town that they had planned.

KC Trip Day Three Part Four

2009-11-06T10:05:00.004-06:00

the first video is just a cool one I found while searching for the second one, which is a 15 year old video of Mr. Washington plying his trade. This post might be a little shorter than my norm, busy day on hand, but more coming on the weekend to get my numbers back up! Enjoy!

She was glad she admitted her lack of knowledge regarding jazz music right up front, because the first sound that assailed her ears upon re-entering the Blue Room was Horace Washington on a flute, and if she had professed to be an expert she would have had to pretend that this did not seem foreign to her. Her friend Chris was a flutist back in her day, and she was also taken aback by this, but it only took a few bars before they realized that this was really working. Washington played the tenor and alto sax as well throughout the evening, but it was clear that he preferred the flute, and if the fabulous playing was any indication, the flute preferred him as well.

Yes, a hallmark of the Horace Washington Quartet was Washington himself, an accomplished reed man on saxophone and of all things flute. Later she was to find out he was a mainstay in Kansas City, recording in the early 90’s and playing venues like the Blue Room for decades. The other band members were also quite good, but of course she didn’t catch their names. The guitarist looked like he’d blend in better in the Oak Ridge Boys, but he was awesome. The ease and flow of relaxed, classic jazz filled the room and the audience shouted out praise at the end of each piece. This was a different music experience than they had tasted on Tuesday; the setting and the type of music made it more personal, and their increased comfort in each other’s company changed the dynamic as well.

After the second set, the two girls spoke with a glance and called a powwow at the bar with the staff to discuss late night food offerings in the area. It was still too cloudy for an enjoyable dessert at Skies; there was mention made of Jardine’s, which also had live jazz, and of a couple of wine bars. Their own Apollonia drew them a cocktail napkin map detailing the location of one such place and they were off in pursuit. They never did find that location, but they reconnoitered and decided on a late night Tapas bar in the vicinity of their freeway entrance. They pulled in late, later discovered the place was due to close just a half hour after they arrived, but the staff was more than happy to serve them, and they were lost in conversation almost immediately.

Chris headed to the bathroom leaving her friend checking out the menu. She perused it top to bottom and decided to issue a test to her refound friend. When Chris returned she said, “Look through the tapas list and see if you can guess which one would be my first choice.” It was a silly, frivolous game she knew, but she had a feeling that almost anything could happen. And happen it did, when Chris ordered flawlessly, choosing exactly as she would have done herself. Her eyes sparkled as she marveled aloud over this with the waitress, and Chris laughed and blushed.
When they left an hour later, they left behind only two servers calmly polishing the bar in anticipation of their exit. She returned Chris’s insight when they rounded the corner of the building to find two young men loitering in the parking lot between the girls and their cars, and changed the pitch of the conversation to soothe Chris. They reached their cars unimpeded and headed back home.

Upon their arrival they found that Chris’s husband had come home two days early from his South Dakota hunting trip, and the couple spent some time on introductions and bringing each other up to speed on the week of events. She just watched their interactions and was pleased after some time to realize she liked this guy. He was intelligent and friendly and very much just himself in a way that calmed and reassured her. So nice to feel that way about the spouse of a friend. They all soon said good night and headed to bed exhausted.

What a day it had been for her, with all it’s changes and it’s wonderful surprises. She struggled to achieve the sleep she so needed, thinking ahead to what the new day would bring, realizing that her time on this trip was slowly winding down. Eventually though, some reading and a glass of water slowed her mind enough to release her from consciousness.

KC Trip Day Three Part 3

2009-11-05T17:18:00.003-06:00

kinda got a late start today, but I made it! over 6,700 words under by belt 43,000 more to go!

The Blue Room is a little memorabilia-filled night club in the same building as the Jazz Museum in Kansas City. Although not near the place she got her hair done, it didn’t take long to realize this would be another leg of the journey her spouse would consider sketchy. She parked her trusty, rusty thirteen year old car at the curb around the corner from the front door and hiked in the cooling night air to the entrance.

The sign was a clever and very visible marquee shaped like a baby grand, with the neon blue name flashing pleasantly in the gloom. No doubt, she had found exactly the kind of place she was hoping for that evening. When travelling, she preferred local color to tourist traps. She preferred the intimate to the massive. And she liked her music up close and personal.

She had arrived a half hour later than planned, but an hour before the performance began. Her friend, without a cell phone for more frequent updates, had let her know before she left home that it might yet be awhile. She settled at an interesting round table that was a heavy glass top over a collection of blues and jazz memorabilia. The scrapbooker in her was immediately intrigued. In perusing the items in her particular table she realized that jazz and blues are two parts of music history she had not really studied. She loved the mood the music set, she had a few favorites from more recent years, having thoroughly enjoyed the Buddy Guy and B.B. King concerts she had attended, but the history of both of these American music movements were a mystery to her. She made a mental note to consult her brother upon her return home—his knowledge of all things musical was nearly encyclopedic, although he was quick to deny this, and he would be a great help in getting her started on learning more.

The band members were setting up, some of the staff helping out, and it was clear this was a group of men comfortable with each other and with their music. She settled in with anticipation of the night of good music she knew was to come. Wine or beer did not seem the right accompaniment to the evening, pop a harsh slap in the face, so she opted for an old favorite, gin and tonic. Of course there were options on that; tall or short, Bombay Sapphire, Tanqueray or 10—apparently a smoother offering by the Tanqueray distillers, who have also produced Tanqueray Rangpur—she didn’t expect to receive an education in white liquors along with her free admission to the club. It was a night to reach for new experiences, so she chose 10 and short and filed that information away to bring out when a rough patch in a party called for some clever, distracting discussion.

Half way through her drink, eavesdropping on the two men keeping the barmaid company, she decided not to wait alone any longer and headed for the stool between the man that could be her son and the man that could be her father, except for the pigment of their skin, and settled herself with the lame opening line of, “I’m bored.” They kindly drew her in to their conversation, introduced themselves and soon we were a cozy little foursome talking Prince stories and exchanging business cards. I called the barmaid Apollonia, and she was mine for the taking from there on out. It really was no stretch at all, her beautiful butterscotch skin, her long gorgeous dark hair and the comical image of her as she popped out of the cupboard from the backroom was something that only someone of Apollonia Kotero’s diminutive five foot four height could have so easily accomplished. When conversation switched to “their” lost child after she called the little spitfire this, she realized that in terms of their Prince knowledge they were wannabes, as even she knew he never had a child with Apollonia, and it was Mayte Garcia’s child with him that died shortly after he was born. Nonetheless, “Trey” talked in a gushing manner about his time working backup for Prince in Vegas, and she could tell he was falling into a well-worn groove of a story when he told her about how his beautiful hair had apparently intimidated The Symbol when he was asked point blank to cut it off. He bought her a drink, a thank you for knowing Prince’s work well enough to be impressed by his interactions with him, and for the simple fact of being from Minnesota. She accepted the offering, but then carefully calculated that since she was operating on no lunch, and she didn’t have as much drinking experience as must gals her age, that if she didn’t eat something soon she would be falling off said barstool in a matter of minutes. The other gentleman, the older one named Pye, heartily recommended the catfish at The Redvine, a Cajun saloon just a block down the street. She had her eye on Harper’s, which was directly across from the Blue Room. I asked about it and no one had much to say. Harper’s caught her attention because she had read about it in the Visit KC magazine as a soul food venue that prided itself on using mostly local produce. It just sounded unique and like the kind of place you’d go with a girlfriend and not with your traditional meat eater spouse or pizza and taco nine year old.

Armed with her options, she darted across the street, asking Apollonia to fill Chris in on where to meet her if she arrived suddenly, and rushed in through the front door. There was a buffet style setup in the small, comfortably decorated room and it had the feel of the recently opened. Her entrance did not garner the attention of any employee of the establishment, but several of the patrons, all women, stopped mid-conversation and looked up at her. Curious. The smells were delightful and as she continued to wait by the door to be officially acknowledged, she sensed this was just the perfect find on this day filled with charming discoveries. Her high hopes evaporated when a server came to greet her and explained that a private party was under way, and that another party was expected later in the evening. Harper’s was closed to the general public that night. She held his eyes for a moment and without a word from her he volunteered to check with the chef about accommodating the two, since it was to be such a small party. She toyed with the idea of giving him extra ammunition, she was from out of town, she was really hoping for just this type of experience, she would be willing to eat whatever Ms. Chef had already chosen to prepare. In the end she merely waited and received the final word that there was no room at this particular inn tonight. Back across the street to wait more at the Blue Room, and the Redvine it was to be. When Chris arrived a few minutes later she introduced Chris around and then they said their goodbyes and headed out for some fresh catfish.

It was still early, and the place was nearly empty, so they again sat at the bar, drawing up next to a handsome older man nursing a drink, the tilt of his bus driver’s hat jauntily announcing he was now off duty. She introduced herself and her friend Chris and found out his name was Ed Johnson. He’d been working his routes for over 30 years, has father before him, and today had been a middlin’ sort of day. After ordering the catfish (“You want the whole thing honey?”) she asked him about his worst day on the job, and he admitted it was the day a gun was pulled. He chuckled serenely and said, “Actually, that was more than one day.” He lived upstairs of this fine establishment, which clearly had either recently opened or recently been redone. The televisions were turned to sports of one sort or another. They talked grandchildren and retirement and he admitted he hoped to own this bar in a couple of years with the help of his brother who lived in Dallas. He’d been saving and this was exactly the kind of thing he’d like to be doing upon retirement. He’d continue to live upstairs and keep a close eye on the place—he could tell it had real potential. She vowed to come back for catfish in a couple of years to check on his progress toward the dream.

While this conversation wandered on, Pye stepped through the door, coming to wish us good night as he was heading out to play some cards. Didn’t want us to come back to the Blue and find he’d left without saying farewell. We wished him the best, shook his hand and off he went into the night. Even with the delicious breaded catfish settling into her belly, the gin had gotten its hold first, and she knew she’d have to drink slower the rest of the evening in order to balance things out. It was time to head back for the music at the Blue.

The sky was now dark and although still heavy with clouds, the air had cleared somewhat and there was a feeling of weightlessness. Half way down the block on the other side was the Gem Theatre, its marquee also lit up and causing the whole beautiful storefront to glow. A photographer was settling his camera on its tripod and the girls stopped to admire his choice of subjects, wishing for their own cameras that had been left at home. And then they were back. The room was partially filled now, and the music had already begun. Apollonia was busy, but as soon as she could free herself, she brought over “the drink I was saving for you” and with coats now off, they settled in to enjoy the tunes.

KC Trip: Day Three Part 2

2009-11-04T00:11:00.004-06:00

As she approached the museum through the late afternoon mist the letters carved deeply into the surface of the limestone running along the lintels said, “The Soul has greater need of the ideal than of the real.” Victor Hugo. With that, she eagerly rushed the steps, taking them two at a time, knowing that she had found a place of import, knowing that she had not allowed enough time to take in all the wonder that these linked buildings would contain.

This was not the first time today she marveled at this Midwestern city. When she was researching for her trip she was floored to discover that both major art museums charged no admission. The Arboretum she had sought out yesterday was also free of charge, as was the music on Thursday nights in the Blue Room where she was planning to spend the evening. Even the theatre events were reasonably priced. Maybe she had misjudged this place. She was beginning to see that these venues were not free because they had nothing of value, but instead, it appeared that the residents of Kansas City wanted to be sure that beauty and “the ideal” was available to lift the souls of all, regardless of ability to pay. She caressed the heavy stamped brass doors as she entered the sanctuary.

She shook the last raindrops from her hair and scarf, dripping on the marble entry floor and glanced back outside. Not that all the art was contained within she saw, and from the doorway perched 15 feet above the lawn she saw there were many outsized sculptures scattered about the gardens that she had missed in her dodge of the damp.
A stocky, kind faced guard stood at attention and therefore noticed her hesitation. “Pretty dicey out there today, yes?” she murmured to help tip the arrival’s decision toward staying inside. “Yes, but getting clearer.” Her charge conceded, and moved on squeaking soles toward the first gallery to the left.
A strong bias toward all art pieces painted, drawn or welded caused her to blanch at the door to this room for it was filled with lit cases that were filled with dishes. She always avoided the amber boxes, the gilt utensils and the earthen vases at her own local museum, and with time at issue, wanted to cut to the chase. Too late – for in the moment spent in indecision a single, exquisite teapot had drawn her in for a closer look. She drifted from case to case, and thought about her mother’s fixation with cloth napkins and formal table wear. She had always resisted this mindset; her Scandinavian practicality winning out over her English sense of propriety and her Irish flair for the dramatic. And yet, seeing these beautiful wares and imagining the afternoon teas and the morning coffee served with a scone on the stacked dish seemed suddenly just the right thing to do – well and there was all this talk now days about landfills and conservation—she made a mental note to pick up some charming fabric for some linens and some pleasing cups and saucers from the jumble sale upon her return home. She’d keep it quiet from her mother and the friends who were hell-bent on saving the environment; let their low opinion of her remain a while longer, for some reason she wanted that unchanged.

Finally released from the delicate table wear, her dried boots now tapping out an echoing staccato in the soaring entry, she crossed to the tiny old elevator and made her way to the third floor. At last she reached the first room of paintings. Although she began by chance in the American art gallery, seeing work by many of her favorites from the Hudson River School movement, and a large collection of work by Thomas Hart Benton it did not take long for her to realize that since her recent delving into the mystery and politics of Spanish and Italian art of the 16th and 17th centuries, she wanted to view works from the masters she had been reading about, and after consulting a map, she hurried down the back stairs to the second floor. Now is the point in her day when time stood still. Rather it hurled her back 300 years and then it stood still. The additional reading she had done did indeed have impact on her enjoyment of these canvases she previously had skimmed past. The colors, the light, the choices in texture and paint thickness and in the way the subject was positioned. It pleased her that new illumination could be extracted from her studies.

Before she knew it, the time for the museum to close approached, and she retraced her way through the halls, here and again catching a work she had missed in her haste to take in as much as possible. “I will come back next year and allow more time.” She pledged to herself silently, a promise she intended to keep.
Back outside she walked briskly to her car, the rain clouds now thinning and letting small bursts of the sun’s power peek through. Again, as if a touchstone, the words along the top of the building brought a coda to her visit. Yes, the ideal was an important balm, a necessary stop in the urgent march toward the practical. And march toward the practical she must—she extracted her cell phone and quickly dialed her hostess; their meeting time was fast approaching and one look in the rearview mirror as she entered the car told her that a stop to have the tangle of her hair re-tamed was a necessary step in her enjoying the evening of live music they had planned. They agreed to a new meeting time which accommodated both her need for a stylist and her friend’s need to finish fetching dinner for her kids that were to be kept at home, and she was off in search of the drop-in hair salon she had subconsciously registered on her way to the museums earlier that day.

Although in a neighborhood her suburban husband would label “sketchy”, she got a good feeling when she finally located and entered the salon. The two stylists were busy and the waiting area crowded, but they immediately greeted her and assured her that they could wait on her shortly. The good natured verbal jabs being directed at one of the clients from the “gallery” came from a rowdy bunch that had apparently come in to cheer their friend on as she got “done up” for the evening on the town. In a matter of moments their bright and joyous chatter surged through the door and suddenly the place seemed silent. “They were a fun lot” the other customer commented, and we all chuckled in agreement. As she studied this client from across the room she realized it was not clear if she was in the presence of a fellow woman or a man. The already short cropped hair was being shaved off to stubble everywhere but a thin stripe down the center—there was much discussion on just how long the mohawk could be left for the comfort of the boss at the day job. At night, the client was engaged as a club band, and there of course were no limitations of hairstyles in that realm. Man or woman? Man or woman. Overall the appearance brought to mind K.D. Lang, and the Lang look-alike left after paying with the woman none the wiser as to whether it had been miss or mister.

She settled into the chair by the sink and relished the extra heat as her young stylist massaged shampoo into her hair. The age of the stylist of course immediately brought to mind her own young daughter, a stylist now for three years. Before her daughter had graduated, the woman had used the time during salon visits to sleep, but now that her daughter was “in the business” she found herself more engaged, and it was not long before she knew the name, age and childbearing status of the woman who was washing her hair and putting it back in order. She encouraged the stylist to provide more details, and her mind wandered off as they were provided. Where did it wander, you might ask? Well, to her own children of course. She thought about how young this girl was to be a mother of a two year old at the age of 19, to be working fulltime in a salon. What excited her interest was the focus; this girl knew what she wanted and had set about achieving it. So like the woman’s son-in-law; a homeowner at the early age of 20, a wounded war veteran by 22. She could see reassuring logic to a plan that included early graduation, immediate enrollment in a vocation-based school, and then to pursue further higher education with a marketable fall back trade under ones belt. Yes, she would talk to her husband about these ideas and they could together find ways to encourage their youngest to consider this type of path --a practical plan with accommodation for making a living wage while pursuing higher knowledge. The sense of it made her smile, and that smile reflected back at her in the mirror the stylist held up to her now completed coiffure. Just so. Now she could proceed with her plans without the distraction of frizzled, windswept bangs.

She said a quick prayer as she paid, tipped and exited to her car, entrusting the hands and heart of the young stylist and her child to the protection of the Creator, and then she was off, hurrying back across town to a night of jazz music and friendly chatter.

KC Trip: Back in Time Day Three

2009-11-03T06:15:00.001-06:00

note: as I get further into this writing experiment this month, I will have less and less time to proofread and edit my daily 1666 words. I apologize in advance for the rough cut you will be seeing...

The third generation artist of a family filled with artists, Jamie Wyeth has been quoted as saying his father’s work was like that of Robert Frost. On the surface familiar and comfortable, but beneath something altogether different. Andrew Wyeth’s work is something I am a little familiar with, but I was thrilled to have a chance for a deeper look at it when visiting Kansas City. Not only that, but I got to study works by his son and his father as well. Both amazing artists in their own right. Thursday of my trip was the day I had set aside entirely for myself. I knew Chris would most likely be busy with her kids who had the day off of school. It was too early in the week for Bre, who was still settling in to her new city and home, and Shan had a big party for her residents that night. I had all the perfect excuses to take the time for myself and do just exactly what ever I liked. Of course whenever I find time to myself, what I like almost always involves art. Although mom and dad had lived in Kansas City for almost 15 years, I only visited one of their art museums on one occasion. We usually visited at holiday times, and I imagine that mixed with the desire to find activities that please everyone is what kept me away. I do remember having lunch with mom in the lovely atrium of the Nelson-Atkins, so I know I had been there at least that one time. My original schedule for that day looked something like this:

Coffee shop for breakfast Drive by Mom and Dad’s house for pictures Drive by downtown library for pictures of the parking ramp 10:30am arrive Kemper Museum of Art Lunch (a V8 on the road) The Nelson-Atkins Museum 4pm Drive to Crown Center 6pm Dinner at Skies Hyatt 7:30pm American Heartland Theatre play 10pm sleep somewhere undecided

By the time I arrived in Kansas City I knew I would most likely be staying with Christine if she would have me – my attempts to contact Shan made me realize she was just too busy to have an overnight guest. I woke on Thursday morning to a sky that foretold of a day of soaking rain. Not a light drizzle for a few minutes, but instead the heaviness that tells you will be damp all day. Not to lean to heavily on the metaphor, but this most certainly dampened my spirits and altered my plans. I lingered over the breakfast that Chris had ready for me, not really wanting to go out in the muck and yet so excited to get started on my day of art reflection. I mentally pushed back the photos of dad and mom’s place to Sunday, I decided against the play, which I only felt a mediocre interest in anyway. It was no problem at all for Chris to talk me into meeting her for dinner; I decided the Skies idea would be less fun on such a dreary day and switched to the following plan instead:

10:30am Finally get my sorry butt out of the house

Stop at the local Walmart for a much needed purse and small umbrella

Drive downtown to snap pictures of the library parking lot which really was not that far from the art museums

Head to the Kemper and park; once finished there walk the couple of blocks to the Nelson-Atkins

Call Chris to arrange a final meeting time at the Blues Museum for a quick run through and then eat dinner at or near the Blue Room while listening to great live, free jazz music. Well, that is not exactly how the day went down either, but it got me started and out the door with the correct maps, and before I knew it I was in the Walmart parking lot.

It is hard for me to categorize where I stand in the fashion world. I rarely don makeup, in fact I only own a complete set because my daughter got married last year and I felt it was called for to have it available for that day. My hairstyles run toward the simple, I almost never use any type of styling product. I have never understood the shoe fetish that most of my female cohorts ascribe to. I can’t stand to pay extra for a special name on my clothes, and yet I do understand that a well-made garment wears better. I want to look as if I just “throw on anything as I run out the door” but I am wise enough to know that can only result in a fashion disaster. So I try to blend. On this day I chose a black outfit; when one is among artists and art lovers, and especially when one is still a bit overweight, it is always smart to dress with ample amounts of black. Plus, it easily seconds as a dressier look for the evening when I wasn’t planning on going home to change.

On into Walmart to pick up a simple umbrella, but of course I walk out empty handed. I stood in front of the selection for 10 minutes – did I want a small purse sized one, did I need a purse to put it in, did I want to carry a wet umbrella with me all day, would I rather just dash from location to location…all the choices lay before me and although I did pick up a handy little purse which kept my portable camera and keys dry, I did not take with me a new umbrella. Who has an umbrella hang up other than me? I can commit to men and to children and to a career and to a solo trip 400 miles from home to stay with strangers, but I cannot commit to an umbrella. For this I would spend a damp afternoon, wishing I had been stronger.

The dampness started early, as I arrived downtown carefully following the google map directions to the Central Library. I was to find out at least one other time this week that google maps is not always best at telling left from right in their directions. I parked across the street from where the map indicated the libarary would be, but as soon as I got out on the street I could tell that I was still three blocks away. Three very wet blocks. There was a moment of uncertainty; this library parking ramp was incredibly hard to track down on the internet, and I was basically going there on a whim, hoping this was the correct library. I had seen a photo once on the internet a year ago, and no one who I had asked to research it for me had come up with any additional information. I was thrilled when my wet walk and persistence paid off; there across the street was a city block sized parking ramp, and one side of it was decked out to look like a shelf of books. Of course in the dreary rain the pictures weren’t amazing, but I felt I had vanquished the enemy of poor information and obtained the photos that my mom and I both wanted to have. It was not until later that I wished I had gone on inside the library and looked for any additional information on the whys and wherefores of this monument.

It was getting late and I took my soaked little self back to the car and back out toward the museums. Along the way I realized I would pass right by the Union Station; I had wanted to see the Van Gogh movie and I glanced at the time and saw that if I hurried I could get there in time for the next showing. I again parked out in the rain and rain, now dripping into the cold and echoing Union Station I paid the slow ticket clerk and rushed into the theatre just as the movie was beginning. It was a lovely documentary with a charming set of narrators and a pulse quickening story line to keep the information fresh. I left so glad I had added this in to my already busy day and finally made my way to the Kemper.

Again, yes, you guessed it, in the pouring rain. Since I found street parking nearest the administrative building for the Kemper I started there, and saw several interesting works in their lobby and conference room. I joked with the receptionist about clearly being lost in Seattle when I thought I was vacationing in Kansas City, and then braved the last block to the Kemper. To see the Wyeth family works online only is to not see them at all. I was familiar with the work of N.C. and Andrew, not as much with James or Jamie. Andrew having died earlier this year, the exhibit was a post mortem tribute to him and his family. The works were mostly privately held and loaned expressly for this exhibit. All three were as in touch with the texture of the thing as the image they were creating and I had to use my best restraint to keep from running my finger across each work. I found myself reading about the physical ingredients of each work as much as about its date and title. I wavered back and forth trying to decide which generation of Wyeth struck me the most profoundly. I loved that the rain and the weekday had kept the crowds away. Quietly contemplating a room of beautiful art can take the chill out of the rainiest of days.

There were very few other works I was interested in at the Kemper, and the Nelson-Atkins was closing soon, so I got clarification on the direction to walk from the front desk and headed out. The Kemper and Nelson-Atkins museums are situated on either side of the Art Institute of Kansas City, which is populated with beautiful, peaceful old buildings, brick fences and iron gates. The rain was more of a mist at this point, and my camera came out to play for a bit on the lovely fall landscape.

To be continued tomorrow…

KC Trip: Back in Time Day Two

2009-11-02T06:30:00.004-06:00

True to my promise to myself, I kept my exercise plan going and wake at my usual time Wednesday morning to go for a jog. Chris suggested, since sidewalks aren’t available, that I run at the nearby Shawnee Mission Park, which I had noticed on the neighborhood map. I threw on some shorts and a sweatshirt and headed out in the misty, muggy morning. I struggled to wake up as the sun struggled to peek through the cloud cover. It did not rain on me and it felt good to get the car- trip-weary muscles stretched and warm.

Running in this park was a lot like running in Moir Park back at home. The trails were well maintained, winding, and quiet on a weekday morning. After passing a couple of dog walkers in the parking lot, I didn’t see another soul save the gardener driving a little Japanese cart that was vacuuming the walkways. Of course the trees immediately recovered the path not fifty feet beyond him; it was a task that would need to be done again and again over the next few weeks as the variety of trees took their turn with the decorating. Since I hadn’t gone as far as mapping out a course, I merely ran for 17 minutes in one direction and then turned around and headed back, ending my run back at the car.

When I returned to Chris’s all the kids were off at school and I quickly ate and showered so we could get a start to our day. Chris had taken Wednesday off so that we could spend some time together exploring while the kids were occupied at school. She has been happily married for 13 or 14 years to Denny, who is off hunting in South Dakota for the week. I hear about how they met and their fun engagement under the sea, while I peruse the newspaper article that has been framed for their wall. I tell her my own unusual engagement tale and discover that our husbands also both had a bit of a wild past before they settled down with us. We grab the keys and head out to visit the nearby Overland Park Arboretum.

This is a new property, and my mom the garden lover hasn’t therefore seen it in the years she lived in town. They have a beautiful Monet Garden near the entrance, and many of the front gardens are buzzing with volunteers, burying next year’s bulbs and situating the mums and other flowers for the fall. They are a busy happy lot and their work only adds to my enjoyment of the gardens. As we wind through the property we stop to take photos here and again; even as it turns inward toward winter these pathways are full of the colors of ripe and russet. I’m as pleased with this space as any trip I’ve had to the Chanhassen Arboretum.

We waver on where to eat lunch, consulting with the intelligent and pleasant staff member in the visitor center, and finally decide to head straight to Union Station to give us the maximum amount of time. As we step into the car to head into town for lunch, the raindrops start, and we are glad for the morning outdoors unhampered by precipitation. As we step into the car to head into town, the raindrops start, and we are glad for the morning outdoors unhampered by precipitation.

Lunch is at a charming 50’s style lunch counter where we both munch on salads while watching the caramel roll the size of a platter sit enticingly next to the men sitting to my right. I continue to be amazed as we cover topic after topic from our lives and discover more and more heart issues that we align on. We talk about the hard things such as how our children entered our life, which was not by the book for either of us, if in different ways. We talk about the fun things like the fact that we both long to learn to play the violin and just might challenge each other to start lessons within the year. We both agree to skip the expensive exhibits at the Station; namely a decadent one called Chocolate and one that appeals to neither of us on Andy Warhol. The Van Gogh film I wish to see is not playing until Thursday, so instead we head to the car and move over to Crown Center.

I see the Coterie Theatre where Shan’s boyfriend works, we browse through a store with intriguing crafts and art, and then it hits me—the shrinking vision, the sparkles before my eyes, the vague feeling of discomfort—a migraine is threatening, most likely due to a lack of caffeine that morning as we hurried out the door. We grab coffees and sit in the two story atrium, watching it drizzle outside and continuing our talk. The hot coffee works its magic and soon my vision and senses all return to normal and I know its safe to continue.

We quickly take a turn through the Hallmark Museum, and I enjoy it more than I anticipated. It seems another hazard of aging is that history captures my attention more and more. Perhaps now that so much more of it has happened during my lifetime even this egocentric person can find something to be excited about! It begins to rain in earnest as we turn the car toward home, and we find poor Kenzie soaking wet in the driveway when we arrive.

Although I am thrilled with the fun and conversation I have had with Chris today, I am a little relieved when she heads off with the girls to gymnastics. Cole is easy company, going right upstairs to do his homework, singing a sweet little song for 20 minutes or more while I read downstairs. The truth is that it is all too good. All too wonderful and fun and comfortable, and I need a steadying hour to settle in, to take a breath, to realize that I have wasted 27 years when Chris and I could have been of such value in each other’s lives. Or maybe not. Who is to say which and how many of the intervening experiences we have had this past quarter century has molded us to fit so well together? Who knows what wisdom we have picked up along the way has made us just the right mix of tolerant and understanding? Still, as I pretend to skim my book during that hour, I realize I have been given a great gift, something valuable that I do not wish to waste. I breathe deeply, now certain this trip will be a success, and head out to the exercise bike to blow off some energy.

That evening we have decided to stay in. Chris makes a delicious salmon and vegetable dinner and we plan to play games with the kids. Instead, before dinner is finished Chris pulls out her memorabilia from high school and a bottle of wine. Soon we are both engrossed in the past, laughing so hard we draw the kids in from their various pursuits several times, wondering what craziness is going on to create so much mirth. Looking through her photos, dance programs and yearbooks we slowly begin to piece together our past. The highlight of the evening, by a landslide, is Chris’s journals from our senior year, which she transparently shares. We read each other entries and hoot and howl. The boy Tom Hawley has created quite a rift between us, and has moved her to write of her feelings for him often. Tom is a boy we literally picked up on the side of the road one night when I was out driving with Chris and another friend Lani. At first we don’t remember many details, but soon the whole sordid tale unfolds. I’m sure I dated him first, but as he didn’t attend our school, and as my crushes changed almost daily, it appears this information was not relayed to Chris. A few weeks later, Chris and Tom are dating and when I find out a few weeks after that, well, the teenage girl madness begins. I appear to give Chris an awful lot of annoying advice amounting to a suggestion she dump Tom immediately. This is a suggestion that is not well received by Ms. Chris. Her commentary on the whole affair provides much insight into my 17 year old mind as well as hers, and I relish this refreshed knowledge. It becomes clear early on that she is a patient girl to put up with friendship from me. It seems to comes with a lot of judgment and rhetoric . What makes the whole thing very funny is that much of her complaints about me are found in the journal she was keeping for our Advanced Placement English course; the course taught by my all time favorite teacher. Ms. Beitel’s comments are peppered throughout the text so I can be assured she got to read all about what Chris had to say about me. Unfortunately, every ugly word of it rings true as I read it. Yep, turns out I was a shit back then too. Sigh.

We finish out the evening hugging and laughing and enjoying Kenzie’s yearbook. I know we are tired when her matter-of-fact explanation of what the “cop” does at their school sends me into fits of laughter. We head to bed and I am happier than I have been in many months. I have rediscovered some of the origin of who I am. I am re-piecing parts of me that got jettisoned along with so much else during the dark year surrounding my divorce. I’m not proud of everything that is resurfacing, but I am finding that some of my strength, my clarity of purpose, and my zest for life has been around for many years longer than I had recalled. This has a stabilizing effect on me that I like. There are no coyote cries tonight, but the howling wind again provides a fence-line for the cozy warmth I feel inside this trip, inside this house and all its hospitality.

KC Trip: Back in Time Day One

2009-11-01T08:00:00.004-06:00

Tuesday, October 22, 2009 (recorded November 1, 2009)

As I age, I find myself less and less setting out on adventures. The sad truth is, like the ossification of the bones in my spine and near my joints, the layers of my lengthening days seem to weigh me down and my spirit forgets it can soar. Still, every couple of years I remember that I am a creature of the road, and I set out to find those parts of myself that get lost in the everyday business of life.

Such was the genesis of the trip that began today. Looking back just a few weeks, I can see where the journey began. A friend from high school now living in Kansas City, has found me through Facebook and after we talk once or twice, we are unsure how to proceed. I make some promises of a visit to online friends from Kansas City. A friend of a friend mentions a violinist who ignites my passion for music. Although from Germany, he just so happens to be playing in Kansas City the third week of October. My mind clicks into “why not? and what if? mode and I’m off, planning a five day trip to spend time with people that are all but strangers, to visit a town I haven’t seen much of since my parents moved away nine years earlier.

Planning a trip with the internet at your fingertips is a delightful treat. Places that were just dots on a map 10 years ago are now available for intimate analysis with Google and tourism websites. I love art and music and architecture and theatre and finding out the wheres and whens of these types of venues in a city precisely 444 miles away is simple. I find the theatre where my German violinist is playing, we order tickets, I look at Google Earth in a street level view and begin to plan the places I will walk that night while waiting for the concert to begin. I hear clips of the music he will play. I see photos of the inside of this lovely restored theatre, I map the trip down to assure I arrive in time to refresh and change for the evening.

On my library website I search with the subject matter “Kansas” and “fiction” and land on the book In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. Ah yes, I think, as I reserve it on CD, this will be the perfect brew for the car trip down. Hour after hour of excellent prose, a sparse, hungry tale read in a pleasant voice will keep my company and be part of the whole experience. I pack hastily the night before, feeling less fearful than I often do just before an adventure.

Although a little later than anticipated, thanks to some smatterings of rain and the ubiquitous road construction, I arrive unharmed and after a brief flutter upon seeing the bountiful property at which my high school buddy resides, we settle in as if the time had never passed.
When I approached this outing I did not anticipate I would be received with such warmth and honesty. The world tells us that when one travels back 27 years, artifice will prevail as the characters seek to show their lives as amounting to more than they have. It is a week of finding that not all of what the world instructs is true. Chris is as real and transparent as the day I last saw her, and this puts me at ease enough to honestly share my own heart.

Her three children are also a delightful surprise. The oldest, Kinsey, is an auburn haired spitfire of a girl, bright and rich and full of life and more certain than most preteens feel they have a right to be. She immediately wins me over by engaging me in conversation, as so few children do with adults these days, and by the welcome note and candy she leaves on the pillow of her bed, which she has given up for the week so I can be comfortable. The youngest, Kyla is also a delightful little sprite, the type of child that even old curmudgeons cannot resist grinning around. She tells me while dancing around the table that she just got braces, that she loves gymnastics, that I look older at 45 than her mother who is the same age. I am entranced for the rest of the visit by her impish ways, by her ease in asking for what she needs emotionally, and her assurance that she will receive it, one way or another. Finally, the boy, Cole, buried in the arms of an oversized leather chair, seemingly lost in a popular TV show, but I can see the sparkle in his eye, the curiosity and the joie de vivre bubbling just beneath the surface. At once, through the review of her children, I know that my friend has become a great mom, providing those ingredients essential to becoming a successful adult; fortitude and resilience and a way of looking at life as if seeing it for the first time each day.

We head outside to visit the horses; we had planned a quick ride before the concert, but the rain has not cooperated and so we feed them, and I nuzzle Rusty, the horse that was born a year before I entered Christine’s life, and who was lost to her for over a dozen before she was reunited with him in his old age. The times we had with this horse – it was horses that initially brought us together beyond the school chore Chris had been assigned of leading the new girl, come midyear to this sleepy little country school, through the first few days of her classes. Seeing this elderly rust colored equine brings back memories that I thought were lost forever. I’m again taken with just how much of my past has been buried. Will the excavation prove positive and helpful? I can smell it, like a scent both exotic and familiar; this trip will be a success.

We change, wolf down a little pizza, instruct the children and head off to our concert. We talk almost without rest throughout the half hour trip. So much to share, so much we find in common at the heart level. Our lives externally appear as if they have taken vastly different paths, but when examined at a deeper level, chords of a similar melody run through both. As we discover this the conversation grows more and more interesting, and I think very early we both see that our friendship will continue now, we’ve come home to it and found it both a comfort and a spark.

We arrive at the theatre, the building a work of art in itself, the seats we have are close enough to give the concert an intimate feel and I discover after only one number that the slick background music quality of his CD masks the magnitude of his skills, and the artistry of his band. David Garrett must be heard live; his music is moving in recorded form, but it blew us away in person. I am notorious as a crier when it comes to the power and magic of live music. This concert is so much more than I expected the tears stay frozen inside. I find myself forgetting to breathe, forgetting that this is real. On break, without realizing it, Chris orders us each a glass of my favorite red wine. The concert restarts. The band is not merely adequately supporting Herr Garrett, they are in fact nearly as brilliant as he and each piece washes over me in different ways than the one before. Chris, who has not researched his music beforehand, is equally enamored. It does not hurt that he is achingly beautiful as well. We head home to apple crisp and ice cream and several more hours of rewarding conversation, and I easily drift off to sleep, feeling safe and happy as a patch of coyotes howl their complaints outdoors. This is a place of joy and safety, I cannot feel their lament right now.

"Picnik Show"

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McClintics

2009-10-31T15:05:00.004-05:00

Quite a bit will be written about this lovely family in the next few days (I'm gonna blog my nanowrimo entries in November) and I thought I'd introduce them today.

This is the lovely family I stayed with while in Kansas City. Chris was my best school friend in highschool. I haven't seen her in 27 years. Denny is her charming husband and Kenzie, Cole and Kyla are her great kids.

Ben is One...and loves his daddy!

2009-10-13T12:31:00.006-05:00

It was so touching to see Ben interact with Dave on Sunday. That child really is just a lover all the way around! Our evening bookclub got cancelled, so we stayed way longer than I had intended. I was having a great time, so that was a plus!

Old Books

2009-10-10T10:10:00.003-05:00

Two schools of thought this girl subscribes to:

I like my books, wine and beer well done enough to be background noise to the story or drinking experience. I want the words or the taste to be subtle and to not draw attention to themselves, so I can go about the business of being caught up in the story or just enjoying a drink.

But I also like a book, wine or beer with a strong note of identity to it. Scott and I did some wine tasting at the apple orchard this year, and the wines that caught my attention and made me want to buy them were the ones that had a singular flavor. That stood out from the crowd. I've definately had my share of book crushes that were based on the words the author used, as much as the actual story, which in those cases becomes secondary in importance. It's the poet in me I think.

I have read several great stories lately, books where I can't really comment on the quality of writing, except to say that it didn't get in the way of what I really wanted, which was the story.

I wanted to mix in some juicy words, and so I reserved Metamorphoses by Ovid from the library. Imagine my delight when I picked it up and it was this antique copy, printed in 1922 and first checked out in 1947? Luscious!

The preface reads,

The eastern skies of modern thought are flushed with the dawn of a Classic
revival. The transient dark agse of dollar education, finding neither
comfort for the present nor hope for the future in such rewards as gross
materialism affords, turn eagerly to the morning light of the ageless
Classics.

Hard to believe that was written in 1922, it sounds to pertinent to 2009.

She's Got an Ax...

2009-09-26T21:23:00.005-05:00

...and she knows how to throw it!

Little Bits of Sunshine

2009-09-22T23:10:00.002-05:00

One of the things the I love about the internet, and that becomes a regular feature on my blog is when I find beauty out there in cyberspace that I might never have known about otherwise.

These school kids are one of those things. This video is one of dozens their inspirational teacher "Mr. B" has posted on YouTube. You can find out more about the PS22 Chorus on their blog

I love this song they do by Bjork "Joga"
"Joga"

All these accidents,That happen,Follow the dot,Coincidence,Makes sense,Only with you,You don't have to speak,I feel.Emotional landscapes,They puzzle me,Then the riddle gets solved,And you push me up to thisState of emergency,How beautiful to be,State of emergency,Is where I want to be.All that no-one sees,You see,What's inside of me,Every nerve that hurts,You heal,Deep inside of me, oo-oohh,You don't have to speak,I feel.Emotional landscapes,They puzzle me - confuse,Then the riddle gets solved,And you push me up to thisState of emergency,How beautiful to be,State of emergency,Is where I want to be.State of emergency,How beautiful to be,Emotional landscapes,They puzzle me,Then the riddle gets solved,And you push me up to thisState of emergency,How beautiful to be,State of emergency,Is where I want to be.

Andrew Camping Baker

2009-09-19T22:37:00.003-05:00

I didn't realize what a big deal this would be for us until I saw him today. Yesterday at 1pm Andrew went over to his friends house to join them and a few other friends on a camping trip to Baker Park Reserve. Scott couldn't get the time off of work, and I couldn't afford a campsite, so our good friends offered to take him along. He comes back tomorrow late afternoon. I went out to visit with them for half the day today and he was doing just fine. Very tired, kinda dirty, definately didn't want to leave. It became clear to me just how independent he is these days in so many ways. So much his own person. I was surprised how hard it was to drive away. I was surprised how much I want to get up early tomorrow morning and drive back out there. The ravine you see toward the end of the slideshow is right behind the campsites they reserved. The kids were in heaven!

Do you know what day it is?

2009-09-17T07:27:00.003-05:00

If you have a school kid who talks to you about his/her day, you probably
do, or you will by the end of the day.

In 2004, the US Congress passed a
law which declared September 17 a day for school students learn about and
government officials to remember the importance of this important document.

This
day was chosen because it was on this day in 1787 that the Constitution was
signed. Most people my age or older can quote the Preamble:

We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect
Union,
establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility,
provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the
Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this
Constitution for the United States of America.

Of course
what was signed in 1787 did not include the Bill of Rights. Several delegates to
the convention refused to sign the newly drafted constitution because it did not
include a bill of rights. Bills of rights were typically parts of the
constitutions of the several states of the day (and today), placed there to
ensure that certain rights were recognized by the government. Most of the
delegates did not feel such a bill was necessary, and other may have been on the
fence but were weary from the months of negotiations.
The lack of a bill of
rights was one of the main arguments that Anti-Federalists used to try
to convince the public to reject the Constitution. But the need for change was
all too evident, and it was not rejected. However, some of the states sent
suggestions for amendments to the Constitution to add an enumeration of certain
rights. The ratification messages of the states included many varying
suggestions, which the very first Congress took under consideration in its very
first session.
Representative James Madison, who was so instrumental in the
creation of the Constitution in the first place, drafted a bill of rights.
Though he originally opposed the idea, by the time he ran for a seat in the
House, he used the creation of a bill as part of his campaign. He introduced the bill into the
House, which debated it at length and approved 17 articles of amendment. The
Senate took up the bill and reduced the number to 12, by combining some and
rejecting others. The House accepted the Senate's changes, voting on September
24th and 25th, 1789; twelve articles of amendment were sent to the states for
ratification.
The first two articles were not accepted by enough states, but
the last ten were. We know them today as Amendments 1 through 10. The second
article was eventually ratified as the 27th Amendment. The first ten amendments,
collectively known as the Bill
of Rights, were ratified on December 15, 1791 (811 days).

Here is
the text of that original senate drafted document, with 12 amendments. What do
you think about the two that weren't ratified?

Congress of the United States begun and held at the City of New-York, on
Wednesday the fourth of March, one thousand seven hundred and eighty nine.

The Conventions of a number of the States, having at the time of their
adopting the Constitution, expressed a desire, in order to prevent
misconstruction or abuse of its powers, that further declaratory and
restrictive
clauses should be added: And as extending the ground of public
confidence in the
Government, will best ensure the beneficent ends of its
institution.
Resolved
by the Senate and House of Representatives of the
United States of America, in
Congress assembled, two thirds of both Houses
concurring, that the following
Articles be proposed to the Legislatures of
the several States as amendments to
the Constitution of the United States,
all, or any of which articles, when
ratified by three fourths of the said
Legislatures, to be valid to all intents
and purposes, as part of the said
Constitution; viz.
Articles in addition to,
and Amendment of the
Constitution of the United States of America, proposed by
Congress and
ratified by the Legislatures of the several States, pursuant to the
fifth
Article of the original Constitution.

Article the first ... After the
first enumeration required by the first
article of the Constitution, there
shall be one Representative for every thirty
thousand, until the number
shall amount to one hundred, after which the
proportion shall be so
regulated by Congress, that there shall be not less than
one hundred
Representatives, nor less than one Representative for every forty
thousand
persons, until the number of Representatives shall amount to two
hundred;
after which the proportion shall be so regulated by Congress, that
there
shall not be less than two hundred Representatives, nor more than one
Representative for every fifty thousand persons.

Article the second
... No law, varying the compensation for the services of
the Senators and
Representatives, shall take effect, until an election of
Representatives
shall have intervened.

Article the third ... Congress shall make no law
respecting an
establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise
thereof; or
abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right
of the people
peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a
redress of
grievances.

Article the fourth ... A well regulated
Militia, being necessary to the
security of a free State, the right of the
people to keep and bear Arms, shall
not be infringed.

Article the
fifth ... No Soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in
any house,
without the consent of the Owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner
to be
prescribed by law.

Article the sixth ... The right of the people to be
secure in their
persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable
searches and
seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue,
but upon probable
cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly
describing the place
to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.

Article the seventh ... No person shall be held to answer for a capital,
or
otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a
Grand Jury,
except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the
Militia, when in
actual service in time of War or public danger; nor shall
any person be subject
for the same offence to be twice put in jeopardy of
life or limb; nor shall be
compelled in any criminal case to be a witness
against himself, nor be deprived
of life, liberty, or property, without due
process of law; nor shall private
property be taken for public use, without
just compensation.

Article the eighth ... In all criminal prosecutions,
the accused shall
enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an
impartial jury of the State
and district wherein the crime shall have been
committed, which district shall
have been previously ascertained by law, and
to be informed of the nature and
cause of the accusation; to be confronted
with the witnesses against him; to
have compulsory process for obtaining
witnesses in his favor, and to have the
Assistance of Counsel for his
defence.

Article the ninth ... In Suits at common law, where the value
in
controversy shall exceed twenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall
be
preserved, and no fact tried by a jury, shall be otherwise re-examined in
any
Court of the United States, than according to the rules of the common
law.

Article the tenth ... Excessive bail shall not be required, nor
excessive
fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.

Article the eleventh ... The enumeration in the Constitution, of certain
rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the
people.

Article the twelfth ... The powers not delegated to the
United States by
the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are
reserved to the States
respectively, or to the people.

Frederick
Augustus Muhlenberg, Speaker of the House
John Adams, Vice-President of the
United States and President of the
Senate
Attest John Beckley, Clerk of
the House of Representatives
Sam. A. Otis Secretary of the Senate
This information and so much more is available at http://www.usconstitution.net/choose.html

What interesting facts do you know about our founding documents?

Psalms Four

2009-09-14T00:00:00.003-05:00

I found myself unable to sleep last night...having similar problems tonight. The problem is two-fold: first of all I am restless, because my body is used to having at least half an hour of vigorous exercise everyday and for the last two days it hasn't gotten that. Secondly, my mind will not shut off. I have worries, and its hard to give them up and continue on to rest on some days.

Last night, after trying prayer, reading, a hot bath and some push ups, I finally tried opening my Bible. I'm not a big proponent of random Bible searches, but I was so tired, and so I thumbed open to Psalms, figuring I was in a David kinda mood. By whatever impetus, I started to read Psalm 4. A few minutes later I was asleep, a smile on my face.

Directed to God:
Hear me when I call, O God of my righteousness!
You have relieved me in my distress before
Have mercy on me now,
And hear my prayer.

Directed to his fellow man:
How long, O you sons of men,
Will you turn my glory to shame?
How long will you love worthlessness and seek falsehood?
But know that the Lord has set apart for Himself him who is godly.
Directed to himself as a reminder:
The Lord will hear when I call to Him.
Be angry and do not sin.
Meditate within your heart on your bed and be still
Offer the sacrifices of righteousness
And put your trust in the Lord.
There are many who say, "Who will show us any good?"
Lord lift up the light of your countenance upon us.
You have put gladness in my heart,
More than in the season that their grain and wine
increased.
I will both lie down in peace, and sleep
Directed in prayer to God:
For You alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.

KC Trip: Supersized!

2009-09-09T16:58:00.006-05:00

Here's another example of why I love the internet. Yesterday? The name David Garrett meant nothing to me. Today? "Met" him, fell hard, looked up his concert schedule, called my high school buddy Christine in KC where he is playing in a few weeks, got tickets, extended my vacation. Done. Of course I could just buy a CD, but lordy, lordy, then I would miss this:

Booklists

2009-09-07T11:12:00.002-05:00

Last night I spent a few hours talking books with a couple of friends, and compiled a list of Want to Reads. Here it is, anyone else read any of these books and want to comment?

Neverend: An Erik Winter Novel
In The Woods
White Tiger
Pope Joan
The Forger's Spell
Iran Awakening by Shirin Ibadi
Molokai by Alan Brennert
Time Traveler's Wife (have I read this?)
The Girl w/ The Dragon Tattoo
The Devil in the Junior League
Codex 632
The Guernsey Literarry & Potato Society
Beneath a Marble Sky
The Book Thief (I know, I know!)
The Coroner's Lunch
Haunted Ground
Playing for the Ashes
A Thread of Grace
A Conspiracy of Paper by David Liss
In Cold Blood by Truman Capote
The Perfect Nest by Catherin Friend
The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky
The Sonnet's and a Lover's Complaint by William Shakespeare
David Golder by Irene Nemirovsky
The Silent Gondoliers by William Goldman
The Adventuress by Audrey Niffenegger
People of the Book: A Novel by Geraldine Brooks
In Cod We Trust: Living the Norwegian Dream by Erik Dregni
The Savage Garden by Mark Mills
Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts

To Those Who Disparage Their Rulers

2009-09-03T21:50:00.003-05:00

Something has been eating away at me in the background for several months now, and tonight I want to let it out. I want to talk about President Bashing. But first I'll talk about a subject I know almost nothing about, Armchair Quarterbacking.

Although I am completely outside the community of those who worship at the feet of the football gods, I am neither deaf nor impervious to their debates, clubs and catcalls. My father and brother were avid football fans when I was growing up, and so I was in the house during many game recaps and predictions. As I've aged, my circle of friends has never been without the odd football lover or two, so my "knowledge" has grown a little bit. But one thing that has always irritated me about sports fans in general, is the phenomena of "armchair quarterbacking". You of course all know what I mean, the tendency of fans to relive the game by judging, after the fact, each play and choice made by the team or coach or quarterback. I'm not sure why Fan 1 is so convinced that what they saw on the TV qualifies them as an expert on how that play shoulda gone down, but he/she is, and away they go, back and forth, approving or disproving each decision made, each play run. It is one of the reasons I dislike sports, because of all the judgement and hoopla that surrounds it.

Another sector of society also gets an inordinate amount of second-guessing, and its another sector of society I don't like talking about much. Of course I am talking about politicians. Now part of the reason I don't like talking about politics is because when it comes to politics I'm a Viking in Green Bay territory. Although I am neither a staunch Democrat, nor did I vote for our current "quarterback", I am a person who is politically a little left of center, and that is not a popular position amongst the majority of my friends and family. (Thank God for Tami!)

I am no expert on politics, although I have several in my extended family, and I don't spend a great deal of time searching the various media for updates on that front. I do believe that one of the things I most love about this country is that one can truly speak their mind, even when it is not a majority position, and fear nothing more than being ignored.

I am also not an expert on doctrine, although I also have several of those in my extended family, but I do know that the UGLY second-guessing and MOCKING and DERISION I have heard coming from the mouths of many among my family, friends and acquaintances feels very ungodly to me.

In Romans 13, Paul says

"Every person is to be in subjection to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and those which exist are established by God. Therefore whoever resists authority has opposed the ordinance of God; and they who have opposed will receive condemnation upon themselves. For rulers are not a cause of fear for good behavior, but for evil. Do good and you will have praise from the same; for it is a minister of God to you for good. But if you do what is evil, be afraid; for it does not bear the sword for nothing; for it is a minister of God, an avenger who brings wrath on the one who practices evil. Therefore it is necessary to be in subjection, not only because of wrath, but also for conscience' sake. For because of this you also pay taxes, for rulers are servants of God, devoting themselves to this very thing. Render to all what is due them: tax to whom tax is due; custom to whom custom; fear to whom fear; honor to whom honor. Owe nothing to anyone except to love one another, for he who loves his neighbor has fulfilled the law."

I don't think what this is recommending is passivity and neither do I. By all means pay attention, campaign when it is the season, and lobby for the things that you have prayerfully considered. But I do think this passage is calling for respect, for entrusting the leadership of our country to God, who is over all leaders, even the President of the United States. The criticism I have heard in the first eight months of this young president's tenure takes my breath away. Oh we of little faith. God tells us with the faith of a mustard seed we can move a mountain with a single word, but we do not believe that God can guide this leader, that God can "mean it for our good".

This is the president and administration that we have. I don't care who you are, you do not have more information, have not been better informed, and do not have a clearer perspective on the complicated nature of that position than the man to whom God has entrusted that task. Pray blessing upon him. Thank God for His supreme position over all leaders. Have just a modicum of hope and faith that this young man, who entered the arena just a few months ago, during a time of great financial turmoil, will be used by God to further His kingdom.

Back to School Party

2009-08-31T17:33:00.004-05:00

I do have a slide show filled with Ren Fest photos to share, but its giving me some trouble. So, here are some Back to School party photos from this afternoon! We invited the homeschool group gang over to play some games, make a healthy lunch, enjoy recess where we played four square and eat some watermelon and school bus shaped cakes. It was great fun as a way to usher in the new year and think about some of the advantages we have as homeschool kids. I fell in love with four square again!

The kids were all assigned new random names for their first day of school, thus the name tags.

"Picnik Show"

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Dinner

2009-08-22T19:48:00.006-05:00

One trick I have learned for making the weekends without my husband more palatable is realizing that I get to plan the menus. He and I eat VERY differently, so getting to plan the food around my tastes is a treat. This weekend here was our menu:

Friday night

Herb crusted salmon steaks and green beans

Saturday lunch

Tomato Basil cream soup and seeded crackers with Laughing Cow swiss cheese

Grilled broccoli

Saturday night

Penne w/ Asparagus, Sage, and Peas

Honey Lemon Curd w/ Creme fraiche

Anyone noticing what is missing from the menu? Yep, you got it, not an ounce of meat among us! I love my husband's cooking and many dishes are my favorites, but I'm enjoying mixing it up a bit on the weekends.

From the Magazine Food and Wine come tonights recipes:

Ingredients
1/2 pound penne
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 pound thick asparagus, cut into 1-inch lengths
2 cups chicken stock
2 cups (10 ounces) shelled English peas or frozen baby
peas, thawed
1/4 cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 tablespoon chopped fresh sage
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
cheese, plus more for serving
Salt and freshly ground pepper
Directions
Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the penne and
cook, stirring occasionally, until al dente. Drain.
Meanwhile, in a large
skillet, heat the olive oil. Add the garlic and asparagus and cook over
moderately low heat, stirring occasionally, until the garlic is fragrant, about
3 minutes. Add the stock and boil over high heat until reduced by half and the
asparagus are tender, about 5 minutes.
Add the peas and cream to the skillet
and boil over high heat until the sauce has thickened, 3 minutes. Stir in the
penne and cook until heated through. Remove from the heat and stir in the
butter, sage and the 1/2 cup of cheese. Season with salt and pepper. Transfer
the pasta to bowls and serve right away, passing additional cheese at the table.

Honey Lemon Curd with Creme Fraiche

Ingredients
5 large egg yolks
1 large egg
2/3 cup fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon finely grated lemon zest, plus more for garnishing
1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons honey
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into 8 pieces
Crème fraîche, for serving
Directions
In a medium heatproof bowl, whisk the egg yolks with the whole egg, the lemon juice, 1 teaspoon of the lemon zest and the honey. In a medium saucepan, bring 1 inch of water to a boil. Set the bowl with the lemon mixture over the boiling water, reduce the heat to moderate and cook the mixture, whisking constantly, until thickened, about 7 minutes. Remove the bowl from the heat and whisk in the butter. Pass the curd through a fine-mesh strainer into a medium bowl.
Ladle the strained curd into 4 cups or ramekins. Press a piece of plastic wrap directly on the surface of the lemon curd to prevent a skin from forming; refrigerate until chilled, at least 3 hours. Top the curd with dollops of crème fraîche and sprinkle with the remaining lemon zest.
Make Ahead
The lemon curd can be refrigerated for up to 2 days.
Serve With
Shortbread cookies.

Japanese Lantern Lighting Festival

2009-08-16T22:32:00.003-05:00

Today Andrew and I invited Lisa to join us for the Japanese Lantern Lighting Festival at Como Park. It was a perfect night for it, the rain that ran through earlier cooled things down and after letting Andrew spend a little over an hour at Como Town on rides we headed over to listen to music, watch dancing and Taiko drumming, observe various martial arts in practice and as a surprise, enjoy the many costumes in the crowd. We did not on the other hand stay for the Lantern lightning...here are the photos I captured before we left!

"Picnik Show"

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I wish I'd said that...Civilization

2009-08-16T14:23:00.002-05:00

Paul's theory is that our civilization is collapsing into a dark age and that the advancing edges of this are visible in urban ghettos. He says dark ages are all about forgetting civilization and its arts and also the increasing reluctance of the ruling classes to pay for civic life. This sealed the fate of Rome, he claims. He doesn't think that the ghetto needs uplift, however, but rather that when the crash comes, the poor will survive better than their masters. They need less, he says, an they are more charitable, and they don't have to unlearn as much. This was why Jesus preferred them. Yes, quite crazy; but when I observe the perfect helplessness of my fellow citizens of the middle class and higher; our utter dependence on electricity, cheap gas, and the physical service of unseen millions, our reluctance to pay our fair share, our absurd gated enclaves, our "good buildings," and our incompetence at any task other than the manipulation of symbols, I often think he has a point. The Book of Air and Shadows Michael Gruber

Staycation End and some Scrapbook pages

2009-08-15T11:50:00.007-05:00

Later in the week we petered out a bit, and Thursday was spent at home during the day. We enjoyed the quieter pace, reading and doing a bit of housekeeping. In the evening I went out with Lisa for her birthday and had a nice time.

Friday we stayed home again and had Ben over for a few hours and Andrew played with Tristan for a bit and then Ronan spent the night. The boys are still happily playing in the other room, and I'm almost done with the laundry. I predict some reading will happen this evening after Ronan leaves, Andrew is beginning to look a bit tired...good tired!

I did another page last night and realized it has been some time since I've posted any pages I've done. I think these are all that I've done this month, or at least since Erin was over last.

Edina Aquatic Center: Staycation Day 3

2009-08-12T22:09:00.005-05:00

Today the pace was a bit slower, and Scott got to stay home and relax. Andrew and I met friends at the Edina pool for three hours of HOT swimming and such. Not a slide show worth of photos today, just a couple of the pool area and a couple of the youngest member of our party. I'll have to take Andrew again when its not so hot that I don't want to roam around and take photos!

In the evening, Scott and I went out for a nice bookstore and dinner run, while Andrew played more with his best friend. By 9:15 we were all exhausted and in bed. (and then I got up an hour later to post this!)

I wish I had said that...Autonomy.

2009-08-12T09:31:00.002-05:00

Humanity craves but dreads autonomy. One does not want to live under the yoke of guilt and fear. Autonomy consists of making with open eyes the decisions that give shape to one’s life. But being afraid of making fateful decisions, one is tempted to hide autonomy in a metaphysical fog and to become sidetracked and bogged down in puzzles about free will and determinism. It is far easier to define autonomy out of existence than it is to achieve autonomy in the very meaningful sense in which it can be attained. The difference between making the decisions that govern our lives with our eyes open and somehow avoiding this is all-important.Taimur Khan

Staycation Day Deux

2009-08-11T20:02:00.002-05:00

Last night we loaded the bikes into the truck and this morning we took off early in order to try to beat the heat of the day. Andrew's best friend was able to join us and the two of them were angels, chattering in their own secret best friend language all the way there, during the whole 20 mile ride and all the way home, saddened only when told that they'd have to wait until tomorrow afternoon to see each other again.

I'm not gonna lie to you, this workout crazed chick was T-I-R-E-D at the end of the ride and happy to get home to a bath and a nap. The Cannon Valley Trail is such a gift though. Nearly perfectly flat, surrounded on both sides by lovely mature trees of many types and tons of wildflowers, surrounded mostly by protected lands, this was a nice long morning and early afternoon with nature. Andrew caught many toads, including this giant, and we encountered road delays even on this protected trail as they pulled down a tree across the path and quick cleaned it up. Only in Minnesota!
The boys were thrilled with our lunch at Culvers in Red Wing and then we stumbled across a lovely sculpture garden at the top of a cliff on our way back to the car. IT was a hot, hard climb, but worth the effort.

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Staycation Day 1

2009-08-11T00:29:00.002-05:00

This week, due to the economic conditions of our household after numerous unplanned car repairs, we decided to use our vacation week to have a "staycation". Besides, it makes us oh so trendy that way!

Today was a lovely afternoon at the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum. Every time we go I am struck by two things; how much I love this place, and how much Andrew loves this place. Scott and I have pledged to try to get here at least monthly through the fall so we can be renewed more often!

What to do with all the beautiful but sort of useless photos I took today? Slideshow of course! Enjoy!

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Walker Sculpture Gardens

2009-08-07T20:18:00.007-05:00

Last Saturday after our little film festival, Andrew and I drove over to the Walker and enjoyed the sculpture garden for an hour before heading home. These are the kinds of things that are hard to do on weekends without a car, and we had so much fun. This may be an unpopular view, but except where the sculptures specifically stated they weren't to be climbed, I let Andrew play "with" them. He still loves to climb, has done so all his life. Maybe my friend Debbie will take us out "real" climbing sometime soon?

Here is a fun slideshow of the pictures I snapped thanks to Picnik.

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So Long Gone...

2009-08-05T17:34:00.005-05:00

Been working out like a fiend, 16 out of the last 18 days and most of those were two workout days.

Watched my cousins win four prizes between the two families at a system wide Library film contest.

Had my car in FOUR TIMES to be repaired. The day it seemed we had finally gotten it all working...the electrical system in the FORD started in on us.

Had my bike stolen out of the "secure" underground garage. Was told to keep our bikes in our apartment (?)

Met my next door neighbor and the neighbors next to them. We've all lived here more than three years and we've never met. LOVE our quiet building! Unfortunately found out mine was not the only bike stolen.

Have my eye on a leather couch in the garage. Its taking up space in someone's stall and I'm thinking they might want to part with it. It matches our loveseat...

Finished all my "learning coach" tutorials for Andrew's school and found a spot for his textbooks. He completed his first live session today, just a fun craft club to get him used to the technology. Boy is his typing going to improve quickly, those kids can CHAT!

Decided to start one more blog to keep a diary on how the Connections Academy process is going for us.

Andrew is super excited and taking it very seriously; he took his science textbook with him in the car last night when we were out running errands because he thought it looked so fun!

Have not done one scrapbook page in over two weeks...but I'm gonna!

Got a new family computer with uber power so Andrew would be all set for school. I love that four hundred bucks buys and uber computer these days.

Heard Ben say, "woof, woof", "book", "kiss" and saw him wave goodbye all in one week!

Uploaded and backed up all my photos for January through June, 2009. Where has the time gone!

Borrowed the truck from Scott Saturday and took Andrew to a short film fest (that he loved) and to the Sculpture Gardens at the Walker. Good times!

Forgot to pick Scott up at work at midnight...oops!

Here's a coupla short videos of sounds I love...

Goldsworthy On Snowballs

2009-07-29T13:02:00.003-05:00

Since I don't seem in the mood to create art often lately and since being a nanny daily involves nap-time, I checked out three awesome art books from the library recently filled with glorious photos. One that has my attention now is by Andy Goldsworthy and is about his artwork with snowballs over the years. One thing I love about Goldsworthy is he seems to see art as a science, an exploration of where a medium will take him, what hidden meaning it holds, what secret beauty is stored in it. Although I know this is no new concept, think of Monet's Haystacks for example, because his art is so fleeting and his photography of it such an integral part of the art, it is easier to see the process he is creating. He doesn't find his work precious; it apears he loves to see how the environment as part of the installation interacts and effects the whole and considers that interaction part of the art itself.

A quote from the book:

Although the snowballs will all be in very public locations, they have not been made for people. They are about people. This goes beyond just wanting to see the public's reactions to them. I am interested in the dialog between two time flows. A snowball melting amongst the river of people that runs through a city...the ebb and flow as people arrive for work, have lunch, then leave to go home in the evening. Set against all this activity, the snowballs may appear almost permanent as they very slowly disappear. They will become markers to the passing of time - slow and deliberate like the hour hand of a clock - appearing hardly to move.

Fascinating man.

No Worries!

2009-07-29T03:47:00.002-05:00

Recently I've received a spate of emails about my status on facebook and tallyscrapper.com. The majority of them are in the line of being concerned because the writer is not "my friend" on one or both of these sites, and appear worried that we've had a falling out. As a way of reassurance and clarification I wanted to explain myself a bit. While a member of tallyscrapper.com I "met" and had an online relationship with many, many people. I developed close, daily relationships with a few, and the rest were a great bunch of people that I got to know a little, but with whom neither I nor they had time to develop things into anything further.

Over the last several months since I decided to step down my involvement with the internet in general and tallyscrapper.com in specific, I have greatly reduced my contacts on facebook. Why? Not because I am mad at any of those people, not because I don't care about them, but in fact because I did care...too much. I found that when I stopped visiting tally daily for the reasons I stated on tally, I was still embroiled in the lives of over 100 people that I didn't really have a relationship with. I worried about the problems they posted, I tried to comment, etc. Basically it only took me a couple of weeks to realize that unless I also cut my facebook list down to the people that I already had a steady, daily ongoing relationship with, I'd either have to stop reading facebook too, or I'd be in the same time crunch boat.

I realize from the outside that it seems cold to "unfriend" casual acquaintances from facebook, and I've explained myself to a handful of those 100 that noticed and were cool enough to confront me on why. Please know this: if I removed you from my friend list on facebook, you would know if it was because we had a falling out. When and if I have a problem with someone, I hit it head on, talk to them directly one on one and don't leave that conversation until there has been an impasse reached. Haven't had a conversation like that with me? Well then know that I think you are a great person, I hope all the best for you, but I had to be firm with myself and cut back on the number of people I was "following" in order to keep my life manageable.

As for my status on Tallyscrapper.com, I stated several months ago that I didn't know if I would be able to keep up there, and after revisiting two or three times, decided a few weeks ago to "close down" my status there so as not to lead anyone on about my involvement. Truth is I'm not there anymore, so I deleted all my contacts to make that clearer if anyone happen to look me up there. As I've stated before, my time at tally was amazing, and the inspiration I gained there was phenomenal. There was so many high quality people it was nearly a miracle, and hit my life just when I needed a place to call my scrapbook home. I've never seen any place like it, and I enjoyed it immensely. Yes, a couple of weeks ago as part of a larger post on those "unspeakable" things in our lives, I commented that I was disappointed in a few people that I met on that site. Yes, they do know who they are and why. But that has nothing to do with facebook or my status on tally. I'm in a new season of my life now, and it appears so is tallyscrapper.com (last time I checked there was no new owner and the site certificate runs out at the end of July. If you are a fan, and I certainly don't blame you if you are, it was a cool place, check in there for further updates.) So yes, you can't see my layouts there anymore and I'm not checking in there.

I hope this post helps clarify for anyone who I may have inadvertently hurt through my actions. I wish all those wonderful people I have met over the years the best in their lives, and if they have time to check in, I'll still be updating this blog with tidbits from my life.

So, I'd love to hear from my readers, what kinds of things do you do to keep your life manageable?

He's trying to kill me!

2009-07-24T09:07:00.003-05:00

Not really. But here is a funny story. On Monday Scott, Andrew and I went kayaking on Hyland Lake. We had a blast and found a new fun family activity. While on the island that is in the middle of the lake, the men explored around for a good 20 minutes, while I took a brief break for some photos and headed back out in my kayak.
When we met back on the beach, Scott had brought me a present. He had collected four kinds of berries which the island was covered in. I looked at each one, named two of them, pondered the other two and then set them on my kayak to take a photo. Eventually out in the middle of the lake I through them overboard.

Tuesday evening, my eye started to swell and by Thursday morning I had familiar pustuals primarily on my left side. I seemed to have contracted poision ivy, but I just hadn't been anywhere I could have gotten it. I thought about the island, but I had stayed on the beach and didn't touch any plants while I was out of my kayak. Very strange. Various friends posited that it was probably mange/scabies delivered from the dog I had helped rescue this weekend. Andrew begin to have symptoms on Wednesday (but of course didn't tell us right away!)

This morning, Scott was praying before he got out of bed and God told him, Blister berry. He thought that was odd, but got up and googled it. Did you know you can get a blister on your finger from using a Blackberry device? He knew that wasn't it and was about to give up. Since I had been so sure it was poison ivy, he looked up poison ivy berries on google and BLAM! up pops the close up photo above with the green pumpkin like berries. One of the two we could not identify in his collection. My, my, my did I have a sad husband when I woke up this morning.

I had a good laugh and found that I was mainly relieved, because I know how to treat that, and I don't need a doctor's intervention.

Plus, I was really tired of that puppy being the blame for everything!

Now THAT looks like a fun wedding!

2009-07-23T10:33:00.004-05:00

This just makes me happy! I dare you to watch it and withhold a smile!

New Crush

2009-07-20T23:00:00.003-05:00

Today, after a year of talking casually about it, Scott, Andrew and I rented kayaks and tooled around our local Lake Hyland for an hour. Within half an hour of leaving the beach I said, "This is what I want for Christmas/my birthday gift!" Kayaking "on top" is easy to learn, fun and a good upper body workout. Hyland Lake is a decent sized lake with a nice island to visit, some great bird watching and beautiful trees surrounding it. Scott and Andrew went out on a tandem kayak and I went out on a single. After the boys spent some time at the island (I left after a brief photo shoot to get more time on the lake) we swapped to Andrew and I together and Scott alone. I came home and immediately planned my next several outings!

Wanna join me? At $8 an hour is a great deal!

Dining In

2009-07-18T12:03:00.003-05:00

Scott and recently pulled on our big boy/girl pants and set a budget and started sticking to it. Yes, I know, mid 40's is a little late to grow up, but isn't it encouraging that even crazies like us do eventually? Anyway, our grocery budget was a source of concern, because it was bigger than average, but still a bit tight for us. Why? Well, we generally buy only fresh foods, especially alot of fresh meats, fruits and veggies and those "real foods" are expensive! Also, I am a solid veggie and pasta lover and Scott is a solid, eggs, meat and meat kinda guy, so we really eat different things.

Enter ALDI. We stumbled across Aldi by accident really; our friend Mel was called to ask about a local produce warehouse in her neighborhood when we were out shopping one day and she mentioned ALDI as a good way to save more on groceries. We had heard of it of course, understood it to be cash only and since we never used to operate on a cash basis, had never gone.

Now we are fully cash only and so we checked it out, and saved 50% on our groceries for that week! We were hooked.

A week later I googled ALDI to see what was on sale that week and found their web presence was impressive. Not only can you check out the sales for the next two weeks, but they have a database of customer recipes, a meal planning tool and any recipes you save can be put into a grocery list, sorted by the layout of the store for ease in shopping.

We have tried about a dozen recipes from the site, usually about three a week, and we have absolutely loved 2/3 of those recipes and have added them to our "stable" of weekly meals.

Two favorites from this week were:

Chicken Scallopini and Barbecue Mini Meat Loaves

Aldi is a chain located in many places all over the GLOBE, so check out to see if they are in your area, and give it a try. Oh, and they now take debit cards too, so if you don't do the cash thing you can still make it work, just make sure to bring a quarter for your grocery cart and your own bags!

The Unspeakable

2009-07-15T15:48:00.004-05:00

This is THAT post. The one that talks about the things we are not to talk about. The unspeakable things. What in your life is "off limits"? What things are you afraid to share?

I was raised in a home where the list of unspeakables was L O N G. I mean like train long. I mean like DNA strand long. Posting that fact right there is one of my unspeakables. It is not/was not okay to talk about the way I was raised with anything other than glowing praise. I don't know why. I'm not sure what would have happened if I had talked. Probably nothing. Or a little disapproval, but nothing serious. So I didn't not because of what the consequences might be, but I just didn't...because.

Like music. I didn't listen to "popular" music for the most part growing up. I didn't blast rock tunes from the radio in my bedroom. I just didn't. Was I forbidden to? I don't think so, but I'm just not sure. I just knew that it wasn't done.

I really only remember one command I received from my parents of something I was NOT to do...it was that I was NOT to have sex before I was married. Maybe they did better with the subtle approach, because it was the things I "just knew" not to do that I didn't do, and this one forbidden was something I did.

Other unspeakables that are far more current include my involvement with a website that I was all wrapped up in. I spent MOST of my free time (and some that wasn't so free) investing in this place. I made a few friends. Took a trip. Then the season passed and I found myself uninterested. I realized through a few incidents that online is not REAL for many people. That the personae people put on there was not who they really were. I removed myself from the center stage and still occasionally checked in to see what was up. Now, a few months later I shake my head. The behavior of some people is so sickening to me. Even typing that word I worry. How sad is that? I worry about the repercussions of typing my opinion on my own personal blog. But what I discovered is that there are some people in this world that just aren't good. You know? Aren't wholesome, aren't above board, twist things, aren't decent.

Now I'm far, far, far from perfect, I can't even see perfect from where I'm at, but I hope that the real me comes through, that I try to keep things decent, even if they are a bit raw. I worry that in pandering to that group I stepped outside of myself and did things I will regret. Said things that weren't true to me and my beliefs. I hope I didn't, but I guess without analyzing every word I can't be sure.

Another unspeakable I've been dealing with lately is friendship. I know, what is unspeakable about friendship? Well, things like loyalty. What does it all mean? And really taking a hard look at myself and realizing how hard I fight to keep people at arms length. And looking at why. Looking at all the people who were supposed to love me without reserve, who judged, abandoned and discouraged me. I had a breakdown a few weeks ago and admitted that the only person in my WHOLE LIFE who has stood by me through thick and thin is Scott. That is SCARY. Scary because that is too many people who ditched out on me. Scary because losing Scott means losing that one person who I feel I can totally trust. Scary because it puts a lot of pressure on him, you know? There are others in my life right now that I believe care about me and that I want to trust. But I'm afraid. So I push them away. Its a "me first" mentality, doing it before they do it to me. Ugh. I know what I need to do. I need to reframe my trust to be in God alone. I know that in fully meditating and focusing on the fact that God is all I need, that I am filled up by His love and grace, is what will save me from this fear.

So, what are your unspeakables? What are the things that keep you up some nights, but you just don't feel like its okay to get them out there.

Brave Balloons

2009-07-11T13:05:00.005-05:00

In order to safely fly balloons, and of course by safe I mean only relatively safe, the wind speed needs to be under 10 mph. Yesterday Scott took the day off and we drove three hours to Wausau, in central Wisconsin, for a Hot Air Balloon festival they hold every year. Scott and I went to a balloon launch in Osceola shortly after we started dating, with our then friend Audra. It was an early morning launch in the spring and was quite cold. We loved it (and I had no decent camera equipment, so we must trust our memory on that one!)

A few weeks ago Scott started thinking about that and so he researched where we could find a balloon launch to watch. I love the way he comes up with these great ideas and then enthusiastically moves toward them.

It was VERY warm yesterday, well, warm for us hinterlanders, and unfortunately the wind speed never came down below the required limit, but we had some great barbecue, we got to see some cool biplanes up close and flying overhead, we had a fun car trip, and they did inflate two balloons at sunset so we got a feel for what the full launch would have been like. We also learned alot about hot air ballooning and equipment, as they had this cool guy from Mason City, Iowa who "calls" balloon events all over the US. Did you know that with the BTU power of your standard hotair balloon heater, you can increase the temperature of the average house by 100 degrees from only a one second blast? Yeah, these aren't little kids toys for sure!

What I loved about these families is that when it was clear the wind was gonna be too much they all got out these huge, cool kites and flew them instead. When the weather gives you too much wind, you make your fun where you can.

It was a lovely afternoon and evening and the drive went off without a hitch. More on things that came to mind while there later, but for now, here are some photos of the balloons going up at sunset.

He Just Keeps Going, and going...

2009-07-11T12:42:00.005-05:00

And then his mama sends him to bed!

This boy stayed up until 4am two nights ago, 'til midnight one night ago and last night he apparently stayed up all night. Why the lack of sleep? Well, he's hot into a new book series and he seems dead set on finishing all 7 books in a few days! Yikes! It didn't help that his brother's adorable kitten came to live with us last night late, and loves playing with Andrew. So, at 10am I sent him for a nap...and he's keeps sleeping, and sleeping...

More on the Balloon outing soon, but here is my adorable little one playing with his energizer bunny ears that he got at the festival.

Running Away

2009-07-10T11:43:00.004-05:00

Last Sunday (and for a couple of weeks before that) I had an emotionally charged day. Some spiritual friends of mine are going through some rough family times, and watching them struggle through it is bringing up my past. After a good deal of confession and angst, I went home at 5pm feeling like a wrung out wet blanket. And then was relieved that I wouldn't have cause to interact with my spiritual family for almost two weeks. Why did this make me relieved? Well, I think Oswald Chambers said it best today,

"The true test of our spirituality occurs when we come up against injustice, degradation, ingratitude, and turmoil, all of which have the tendency to make us spiritually lazy. While being tested, we want to use prayer and Bible reading for the purpose of finding a quiet retreat. We use God only for the sake of getting peace and joy. We seek only our enjoyment of Jesus Christ, not a true realization of Him. This is the first step in the wrong direction. All these things we are seeking are simply effects, and yet we try to make them causes. "

So as Hebrews 10 commands, my spiritual brothers and sisters, whether they mean to or not, have been stirring me up and I've been tempted to retreat. I know I need to reach out, even in the midst of this turmoil and not seek peace, but seek what God has for me in this moment.

In other retreat news, Scott, Andrew and I are headed off for a day of hot air balloon watching in Wausau Wisconsin. We hope for those nearly perfect conditions that are necessary for a good sunset balloon launch. Pictures to come in the next day or two if it comes off!

Escalade

2009-07-06T23:16:00.003-05:00

Scott and I have been seeing tons of Escalades lately and so the other day while on the road we rang up Lisa and asked her to look up the meaning for us. It was "an act of scaling, especially the walls of a fortification" Both Scott and I have felt a clearing of our schedules, a feeling that we are being prepared for the next thing.
The definition of escalade rang true to that feeling. Yesterday, during an impromptu women's prayer meeting after church at the Olson's, Zeke was sitting on the floor chanting to himself, "Jerico, Jerico, Jerico" and I thought, yep, there is a fortification that was scaled, in an entirely different way.

So we wait, to find out if we will be using the standard ladders to scale the walls of the fortress we are to conquer next, or if instead we will take a less common path and dance around singing until they fall down at God's bidding.

Oh, and we don't actually know what the walls are yet either...but that is okay.

Ch-ch-ch-cha-changes

2009-07-02T21:23:00.006-05:00

Beverage of choice; no longer coffee
Favorite music; Led Zepplin and Jefferson Airplane
Favorite time of day; early morning
The Bachelor/Bachelorette; OUT!
Scrapbooking; infrequently

Its all shocking and strange, the unsought after changes that have been happening lately. I have no idea what is up, but I'm calm about it and waiting for what comes next.

Oh, and since I'm rarely scrapbooking these days, look at the transformation in my scraproom

I gotta go now, its almost my bedtime and I have some Rolling Stones to check out.

Thanks Dad and Mom

2009-06-26T22:14:00.006-05:00

Sunday, Monday and Tuesday we had the chance to take a surprise vacation to the Hinckley/Duluth area. Mom stayed with us at their encampment, and we had a great time. Temperature variations on the trip nearly reached 40 degrees, so we could fit in swimming in the pool to huddling indoors over a pint all in one short period of time.

Wake Up World!

2009-06-20T13:57:00.003-05:00

Although I detest the news, like all humans I love a morning routine. For weeks now I've been pouring my coffee, grabbing my laptop, settling into my favorite loveseat and firing up the Morning Cup of Links at the Mental Floss blog. Here I am pleased to say I find a tasty mix of art, social updates, weird history and just general good yet stimulating stuff. A few days ago, the links included one to Improv Everywhere's blog. This blog has definately been the highlight of my week. The purpose of Improv Everywhere is stated as;

Improv Everywhere causes scenes of chaos and joy in public places. Created in August of 2001 by Charlie Todd, Improv Everywhere has executed over 80 missionsinvolving thousands of undercover agents. The group is based in New York City.
I had seen their infamous Frozen Grand Central some time ago, but didn't realize they had a website and an ongoing plan to continue these sort of missions. Recently they have incorporated MP3 players into their plans, for even bigger and better executed missions.

What surprised me most was my reaction. By the time I had watched two mission videos I was sobbing. The reaction was similar to how I feel at classical music concerts, as if my solid wall of resistance is being broken down and pure joy is immerging...against my will for some reason.

I find myself to be somewhat out of sync with the world in general, lost in a sea of people who seem content to be like each other, to fit in, to go with the flow. I think these missions strike at that core feeling and give me hope. Hope that their is life on this planet. Hope that we can be jarred out of our automaton state. Hope that the world will awaken and we will all see each other for who we reall are; unique, perfect, blessed.

How about you? Is there anything that causes you to sob for joy? What would you say best wakes you up and helps you to feel alive and whole?

The Participles of Imprisonment

2009-06-19T10:46:00.003-05:00

Why do we teach our children incorrect words for things? Nappy and Uppy and Night-Night. Is it so that we can keep them to ourselves, a private language code to hold them to us a while longer?

Scott and I never did this with Andrew. Perhaps we should have named him Samuel, because even before he was born we felt it: that he did not really belong to us, but was lent out, until it was time to return him to his Maker.

We told him rabbit and fish and cookie, and when he played them back to us as bunny and sheesh and keecoo we said no, this is the way you must connect with all that is outside of us, we rejected his private language. We drew him to the bigger world.

Eight years later we see him daily asking for new words, hearing them pronounced, taking in their meanings. Each word draws him farther away from us, gives him one more brick in a path that will lead him on his own journey.

As he spends more time with his peers, he begins to use words to harm, not just as a way to draw things to himself. We try to take a balanced approach, not forbidding some words as “bad”, but making sure he knows their real meanings, and expecting him to reach deeper for what he is really trying to say.

We read about how to be better parents for the special type of learning that Andrew excels in, and work hard to not apply labels that will limit him. Again our goal is keeping him free to explore the depth inside of him and how he can take that to the larger world.

Will Have an Opinion for Money (and candy)

2009-06-17T20:18:00.003-05:00

Months ago I signed up to be considered for future market research focus groups at a local marketing firm. They have called me several times over the past months, but I've always either missed the call, or been unable to attend the group due to scheduling issues.

Last week an opportunity arose that was just too good to pass up. For an amount of money similar to what a lawyer would make in two hours, I got to sit in a lovely air-conditioned room today and eat my favorite candy bar and talk about why I love it.

I also was asked, for a chance to earn additional money, to create a collage that talks about my perfect candy eating experience. I am sad to say my collage did not win, but it was still fun to make.

After I left, chatting up the other participants all the way to the elevator, I realized I felt like I was leaving happy hour, instead of a product meeting. The group of 8 people were great fun and many laughs accompanied this happy topic. I even found out after the meeting that I used to work with one of the participants...I should have realized from his warped sense of humor that this was a guy who had lived through the trenches of American Express and come out on the other side with a smile on his face.

What is your favorite candy bar? What do you love about it? How often do you have one? Do you keep candy around the house, or is it something that you have to go buy when you want it?

Where have all my words gone?

2009-06-17T11:14:00.003-05:00

I may have gone so long in posting here that no one will be left to read this. Where have I been? Well, lately, I just haven't found what I have to say interesting enough to share. Its been a quiet time in my brain, and therefore on my blog. I have a couple of things to say though, so watch here over the next two days and watch my blog rebloom!

In the meantime, here is a quick update of the past month:

Andrew has been officially accepted to Connections Academy, an online school. Since he falls age-wise half way in between 4th and 5th grade, we chose 4th grade to give him a nice easy start to this new way of learning. His first day is September 1.

I have been scrapbooking at a rate more like once every 10 days rather than once a day. It feels more balanced. I also haven't felt the need to spend money on additional scrapbooking supplies. It hasn't been a struggle to cut back, I just haven't felt the need for new stuff. That also feels more balanced.

Scott and I have started talking about dreams and goals again. Nothing concrete on that front, but we are getting things started.

The neighbors K and K are hanging out with us on a regular basis, and we are enjoying their company.

Overall, that is about it. Its been quiet and consistent here and that feels good too.

Now I'm off to sample candy for $100 an hour, have a great day!

Well Said

2009-05-26T18:02:00.001-05:00

“The sound shivers through the walls, through the table, through the window frame, and into my finger. These distraction-oholics. These focus-ophobics. Old George Orwell got it backward. Big Brother isn't watching. He's singing and dancing. He's pulling rabbits out of a hat. Big Brother's holding your attention every moment you're awake. He's making sure you're always distracted. He's making sure you're fully absorbed... and this being fed, it's worse than being watched. With the world always filling you, no one has to worry about what's in your mind. With everyone's imagination atrophied, no one will ever be a threat to the world.” Chuck Palahnuik

What's Up?

2009-05-06T02:39:00.004-05:00

I just haven't had the words for here lately...kinda in a verbal doldrums right now.

So what has been happening in my life?

Scott and Lance fixed my car, so tomorrow I get my little green Saturn back.

Andrew and I are reading books at a rate of one a day.

I am experiencing some temptations with allergies this week.

I stumbled across a couple of people from my high school, which is always interesting.

Ben was in high vampire mode today.

I went to bed at 7pm. Now its 2:30am and I'm wide awake.

Erin cut my hair...ahhhh...fresh cut hair!

Mom and Dad invited Andrew and I up to the cabin for Memorial Day weekend.

Andrew has become a bully magnet of late...sigh.

I'm scrapbooking about once a week instead of daily now.

We had church at our house three times in five weeks.

I am rereading Hemingway and realizing that since my highschool days I've outgrown him. Ho hum.

Oprah bought me dinner.

Off to try to sleep some more!

Coupla pages

2009-05-03T07:57:00.004-05:00

little bit o scrapping happened yesterday, National Scrapbook Day after all!

My next bucket list?

2009-04-26T08:16:00.001-05:00

http://listsgalore.blogspot.com/2009/02/15-remarkable-cemeteries-and-tombs-to.html

BAM!

2009-04-25T11:35:00.002-05:00

Oswald Chambers says,

There are some people who are totally unemployable in the spiritual realm. They are spiritually feeble and weak, and they refuse to do anything unless they are supernaturally inspired. The proof that our relationship is right with God is that we do our best whether we feel inspired or not.
One of the worst traps a Christian worker can fall into is to become obsessed with his own exceptional moments of inspiration. When the Spirit of God gives you a time of inspiration and insight, you tend to say, "Now that I’ve experienced this moment, I will always be like this for God." No, you will not, and God will make sure of that. Those times are entirely the gift of God. You cannot give them to yourself when you choose. If you say you will only be at your best for God, as during those exceptional times, you actually become an intolerable burden on Him. You will never do anything unless God keeps you consciously aware of His inspiration to you at all times. If you make a god out of your best moments, you will find that God will fade out of your life, never to return until you are obedient in the work He has placed closest to you, and until you have learned not to be obsessed with those exceptional moments He has given you.

It took 10 days...

2009-04-22T21:10:00.005-05:00

But I finally scrapbooked again! Fresh pictures always help! This was a free night of scrapping too, as the papers were either part of a kit I won over on Scrap it Forward blog or from my mom, and the letters were from the kit and from Lisa. Now I'm off to read the latest Donna Leon book, I'm almost finished!

Peer Pressure

2009-04-22T07:46:00.003-05:00

Been wanting to talk about this for several days and just haven't taken the time.

When you were a kid, were you susceptible to peer pressure? Or did you stand up to it, with or without the help of your parents?

Now that Andrew is older, what his friends are doing is more of a topic than it had been in the past. I also notice that this is true of other parent friends of kids of a certain age.

Telling Andrew that he can't do something that his peers can do has never been a problem for us. We've been doing it on a routine basis since he was about 4, and although as he ages he occasionally dislikes our decision, he gets over it rapidly. His most constant friend right now, Konner, is allowed a handheld video device and takes it everywhere...Andrew can't have one and Konner can't bring his to our house anymore. Both boys just said, "Okay" and I've never had to repeat the rule. Some of his homeschool friends can attend every activity available, while we choose one or two a week. Again, he just sort of shrugs and moves on. His cousins have video game machines in triplicate at their homes and are allowed to play any game regardless of its rating. We explained that we feel waiting until he is 16 to have a video game console in the house is a better idea, but if he would like to save up for one before that, we will dictate the games that are allowed (and the rating system in this house is way tougher than in the gaming industry!) and a time limit each day.

Furthermore, we try to help him not contribute to the peer pressure his friends encounter. We talk about not bragging about privileges he has that other friends do not, we walk him through scenarios where pushing his rules on another kid could cause them trouble and try to help him see it through their eyes.

When you choose to run your household, and raise your children, not by society majority rules, but by what you believe is best, you MUST stand up to peer pressure and teach your children to do likewise. This seems just standard procedure to us by now, but I know some younger parents might be struggling with it. If you believe what you are doing is the right approach, take that confidence and communicate it to your children. Setting limits, having rules, denying some types of activities, if you do all of this with calm assurance, you are not only raising your kids your way, you are teaching them to think for themselves and to not give in to peer pressure. This is a valuable life skill for anyone to have.

So who were you growing up? Scott had trouble with peer pressure, BIG trouble. He gave in to it over and over and it is a miracle indeed that he made it out of his late teen years. I didn't give in to it at all. I don't really feel like I stood firm, as much as just felt like I wanted to make my own choices and my friend's opinions weren't that important to me. I didn't like not fitting in, I cried many a night over it, but at the same time, when push came to shove, I just took my own path. Dressed how I chose, avoided drugs and alcohol, did the activities that interested me. Obviously Scott has grown out of his peer pressure ways, and sometimes I get pushed around a bit, but for the most part, this homeschooling, homechurching family is finding their own path.

Recently, Andrew was out playing with his friends when some other kids from our building came out to join them. After a short time Andrew called us on the walkie talkie and wanted to come in. Turns out the new kids were throwing rocks and sticks at windows and using every foul word they knew (they knew more than I do!) Andrew decided he didn't want to play with them and thereafter, we set up a code system for the walkie talkie so that he could let me know that those kids were out there again. I feel like maybe he is starting to take a stand against peer pressure. Both of us are happy to see this forming in him.

My Mommy

2009-04-19T15:00:00.001-05:00

at the age of 2 or 3

Paulo Coelho says...

2009-04-18T12:18:00.003-05:00

"Answer me, " she said, looking around my apartment. "Is learning just putting things on a shelf or is it discarding whatever is no longer useful and then continuing on your way feeling lighter?"

On the shelves were all the books I'd invested so much money and time in buying, reading, and annotating. They were my personality, my education, my true teachers.

"How many books have you got? Over a thousand, I'd say. But most of them you'll probably never open again. You hang on to them because you don't believe."

"I don't believe?"

"No, you don't believe, full stop. Anyone who believes will go and read up about [insert subject here] but after that it is a question of letting [the Creator] speak through you and making discoveries as [Creator] speaks. And as you make those discoveries, you'll manage to fill in the blank spaces that all those writers left there on purpose to provoke the reader's imagination. And when you fill in the spaces, you'll start to believe in your own abilities."

How many people would love to read those books but don't have the money to buy them? Meanwhile, you sit here surrounded by all this stagnant energy, purely to impress the friends who visit you. Or is it that you don't feel you've learned anything from them and need to consult them again?"

I thought she was being rather hard on me, and that intrigued me.

"So you don't think I need this library?"

"I think you need to read, but why hang on to all these books? Would it be asking too much if we were to leave here right now, and before going to the restaurant, distribute most of them to whomever we happened to pass in the street?"

"They wouldn't all fit in my car."

"We could hire a truck."

"But then we wouldn't get to the restaurant in time for supper. Besides, you came here because you were feeling insecure, not in order to tell me what I should do with my books. Without them I'd feel naked."

"Ignorant, you mean."

"Uncultivated would be the right word."

"So your culture isn't in your heart, its on your bookshelves."

Paulo, you speak my heart!

Speaking of History in Minneapolis

2009-04-17T07:33:00.003-05:00

One of my mom's guesses (she worked in the building where JB Hudson's was located, so I thought she'd have it for sure, but Chris, my friend from Boston's correct answer was even more surprising!) was the Foshay Tower.

Andrew had a tour of the tower and got to go up to the observation deck a few weeks back for a homeschool coop outing. I did not attend and wish I had, as the building is a fascinating and beautiful one.

The iron work inside of the Foshay Tower is famous, and it was worked at the same company as the gate at JB Hudson.

The Foshay was designed to look like the Washington Monument, and contains four bronze busts of George Washington in its interior.

Foshay Tower was the lifelong dream and namesake of Wilbur Foshay, an art student turned businessman who bought and sold utilities companies in order to make his fortune. He planned to locate his business and residence on the twenty-seventh and twenty-eighth floors where a three bedroom, three bath suite was built, with a fireplace and library, Italian Siena marble walls and glass-paneled ceilings.

Foshay invited 25,000 guests to the dedication ceremony and provided all-expenses paid trips to many who included cabinet members, senators and congressmen. Half nude dancers entertained. Each guest received a gold pocket watch. The military gave 19-gun salutes. John Philip Sousa conducted music, including "Foshay Tower-Washington Memorial March" a march he wrote for the occasion. Foshay presented Sousa with a check for US$20,000.

The march was only played once during Foshay's lifetime. Six weeks after the building's opening, Foshay's corporate empire crumbled as the Great Depression began. Ignominiously, Foshay's check to Sousa bounced, and in retaliation, Sousa prohibited the playing of the march so long as Foshay's debt to him remained outstanding. Foshay never lived in his new home which went into receivership. In 1988, a group of Minnesota investors repaid Foshay's debt to Sousa's estate, and the march was permitted to be played again.

For your listening pleasure....

Nowadays it is a tres chic hotel, which I want to mention because some of the photos above are from their site. For those with some K left during this recession, it would be an awesome place to stay a night, and you'd be right in the heart of downtown Minneapolis, which is a lovely place to visit.

Hungry or Milk?

2009-04-16T12:00:00.004-05:00

Lisa and I have talked on and off the last few months about teaching Ben some sign language. Many believe that infants can learn sign language to communicate earlier than they have the necessary development to form verbal language. We haven't settled on any specific vocabulary yet and I have been exploring options, as has Lisa.

My thought process was to include a list of four or five words that would be the things Benjamin would be most likely to want to communicate to us, his caregivers. At first I looked up words like milk and banana, diaper and up. But as I was again thinking about what words would be helpful yesterday, I explored the options for words that describe his state more than a demand for a specific item, such as hungry, thirsty, wet or sad.

In thinking about prayer, I think some of us choose to communicate with words like milk and up, rather than words like hungry and sad. We come to our Provider with a list, based on our understanding of the solutions to our problems instead of trusting Him to find the best answer. Instead, I want to come to Him with a confession of my state, be it hungry, or something more pressing, and trust that He will lead me to a solution far better than my limited mind can comprehend.

What Jewelry Stores and Alumacraft have in common

2009-04-16T06:57:00.006-05:00

JB Hudson's in the Dayton's building in Minneapolis at 8th and Nicollet. The space is now owned by Macy's which took over Dayton's several years ago, and reacquired this space after JB Hudson relocated to a new location further down Nicollet Mall.

JB Hudson's was "born" in 1885 when Josiah Hudson moved to Minneapolis from Ohio at the age of 35. He had been working in jewelry since he was an apprentice as a child during the Civil War, and had worked hard and saved hard, buying out his bosses interest in a jewelry store in Ohio in 1976. He started in a tiny store near the river on Nicollet and throughout the course of the store's 124 year history, it has continued to "move up" from the riverfront area to its current location near Peavey Plaza.

The Hudson family sold the company to Dayton's in late 1929, mere days before the stock market crash. The store survived this and a 1911 fire which took all its inventory.

JB Hudson was repurchased from Dayton's in 1982 and is still held privately until this day.

The wrought iron gates, of which I showed the headpiece, were designed and handmade by Josef Bernasek, a Bohemian craftsman for Flour City Ornamental Iron Company. He also did the iron railing at the Young-Quinlan store, the ironwork in the Foshay Tower lobby and the famous doors of the Tribune Tower in Chicago.

The Flour City Ornamental Iron Works Company was founded by Eugene Tetzlaff in 1893 in Minneapolis, Minnesota. The company was originally a blacksmith shop, but later became a manufacturer of wrought and cast iron. During World War II, Flour City produced aluminum bridge pontoons and aircraft parts. In 1945, Henry J. Neils, first president of the Flour City Ornamental Iron Works Company, began production of aluminum boats. The first aluminum boat produced by Flour City subsidiary, Alumacraft, came off the production line in 1946. Hupp Corporation bought Alumacraft from Flour City in 1960.

I don't know what will become of this beautiful piece of history and that is why I wanted to get some photos. Hard financial times mean that consumers aren't necessarily looking for a sumptious experience when out shopping and its hard to see the wisdom of reopening the space. Still, it is a one of a kind location with its ornate plaster ceiling, velvet drapings, hand carved ballasters and travertine marble floors and walls. I wish now I had gone in when it was still open, instead of just looking through the doors.

Hint #2 for The Trivia Game

2009-04-14T15:00:00.003-05:00

No, saying its in the Minneapolis area is not good enough.

Mom, you REALLY should know this...think WAAAAAAAAAAAAAY back....

Here is what adorns the ceiling in front of this lovely grate...

Name that Mythological Creature

2009-04-13T22:34:00.003-05:00

Took this cool photo recently and thought it would be great for a trivia game.

Question 1: What is the creature featured on this bronze grate?

Question 2: Where is this grate located?

Lisa and Scott and Erin are exempt from this trivia game, (Lisa because she knows too much, Erin because she was there, Scott because we discussed it over dinner recently!)

Gravity and Scrapping

2009-04-11T21:32:00.010-05:00

For my very own Easter basket I bought a jump rope, which I've been craving to do lately, and a bike pump. Don't I sound healthy! Thing is, 45 year old women who have had 3 near 10 pound babies should NOT jump rope...still I'm stubborn and will make gravity my friend!

Lisa came over this evening and we scrapped. Felt good to get back on that horse.

I'm going to try storing my layout images somewhere new. Its a place where I can make them private or not, and more importantly I can sort them into albums. Another cross reference tool, because when you scrap three to four hundred layouts a year its hard to remember what you've done and what you've just dreamed about doing! I don't want to get involved with another scrap community, because if I had time for that I'd be back at tallyscrapper, so basically I'll be making them private.

I will post them all here though, for my family and friends viewing.

And here are tonight's efforts.

I already blogged about this little adventure. Love Scott's style of teaching!

A more recent addition to our homeschool group, this guy is so cool and handy and doesn't seem to mind helping out with the younger kids who all look up to him.

Andrew has been saying murff nearly constantly for the last few days. Its what a character in the 39 clues book series says (a cat of course!) So this layout about his funny birthday cake had to record this little verbal idiosyncrasy for sure!

Our neighbors are away at their dad's this weekend, which gave me some time to scrap some of the pictures I've taken of them!

A fav of mine for the evening. Just a silly way to record our Easter egg decorating for the year. This is styled after Leachy, who always makes such bright and happy layouts.

This is way cute in person, the photos and paper got muddy in this evening light. Just a simple little layout about Ben's ongoing development.

Again, colors way off in the photo. I love this photo of A and K walking and talking together at the park. I hope their friendship stands the test of time, because it seems like a very postive one.