going to villa villekulla

It’s official. We’re taking another Shepard-family vacation this summer, with John’s mother and husband, as well as his two brothers and their little families. We’ve taken a number of these vacations over the past eight years, as they’ve been a great way for this far-flung family to assemble. I think we all agree that it’s important for the cousins—Simon (9), Winston (7), Bjorn (7), Dodi (6), Sophia (4), and Scarlett (2)—to see each other on some occasion other than Christmas. And, I miss watching my nieces and nephews grow!

When John and I were casting about for a summer trip with the boys, we were initially thinking about national parks. Yosemite, Yellowstone, Voyageurs, Crater Lake, Rocky Mountains, all came up in conversation. So, too, did Canada—Vancouver, Lake Louise/Banff, Montreal. On the flipside from the rugged nature, I’ve been fixating on England, a trip that would have been totally extravagant, but that would have mended a big gaping hole in my heart. All of these would make fine vacations and will go on a very long list of places to visit before we die or the boys grow up and get complicated lives, god forbid.

Then we came back round to family, deciding this might be the perfect year to visit John’s brother Will, who lives in Stockholm, Sweden. For years, Will has been begging us (and shaming us with stories about all the other family friends who’ve made this particular trip) to spend a week in Visby, the walled city on Gotlund island. It wouldn't be just any ol’ week, either. We would come for Medeltidsveckan—medieval week. Yup, like the Renaissance Festival, all day, every day, for a week. I’m excited and I’m fearful. I can usually take a few hours of the RenFest before I want to run screaming from the oppression of giant smoked turkey legs and being called “m’lady” or "wench." I'm mulling how into this I'm going to be—twenty-first century innocent bystander or eleventh-century costumed persona??

So we're going. When I told the boys that I had booked our tickets to Stockholm, Simon asked if we were going to Villa Villekulla. His class is reading Pippi Longstocking right now, which pleases me to no end because it's an awesome children's book and because I wanted to be Pippi when I was nine. I said, “Yes,” we’ll go to the Pippi playground in Stockholm, but little does he know that the Villa Villekulla movie-set house is in Visby!!

If only Villa Villekulla took reservations...

another banner day

Following an exhausting yoga practice with Joel the Dancer, I accompanied my little family and a couple other families to Taylors Falls. We hiked the River Trail on the Minnesota side of Interstate Park. The boys and their friends climbed the jumble of glacier-moved rocks and stuck their heads into the potholes. Despite the beauty, Interstate Park makes me a little crazy. The boys tend to push their play a little close to the edge of the bluff...and consequently my comfort zone. I'm not an overfraught mother, by any means, but I'm always sorely tested here. Nonetheless, we had a great hike, then hightailed it back to St. Paul for a special soccer practice and scrimmage. I got to read aloud from James and the Giant Peach, there and back.

banner day

~ Free Comic Book Day: stopped by Uncle Sven’s for free comic books. Not just for kids, John and I received a pack with a dozen or so comic books.
~ Lunch at Groveland Tap, next door to Uncle Sven’s: happy hour-priced Summit beer (tried the Horizon Red, didn’t love it, though cold beer is always refreshing) and pierogies. Yum.
~ All-day playdate for kids; John and I got stuff done around the house and rode our bikes up the hill to Grand Performance where, courtesy of an air compressor, I had the grips popped off the Milano's handlebars.
~ Family bike ride to SeaSalt, a seafood eatery at the foot of Minnehaha Falls. Gorgeous, if slightly chilly night. We were the only fools not wearing polar fleece. Two sweet Barren Point (WA) oysters to start, followed by grilled marlin tacos for me. An Australian chardonnay in a plastic cup…not bad.
~ Homemade lemon ice cream for dessert. Cannot stop eating it. Maybe the best ice cream I have made in the four years I’ve owned an ice-cream maker.
~ Another full day on the horizon. Good night!

spelunking

Yesterday I accompanied Simon’s third-grade class on a field trip to Crystal Cave in Spring Valley, Wisconsin (don't you know that Crystal Cave is one of the most popular names for caves). First, I have to say that I was only vaguely aware that this cave existed. Second, I urge you to visit it. Spring Valley is approximately forty-five minutes from the Twin Cities, making it an easy day trip.

The cave was discovered in 1881, by two teenagers, who were allegedly chasing a rabbit that disappeared down a hole in the ground. Legend has it, the boys probed the hole with a stick, which then dropped. As the stick clattered down the hole, the boys knew that this was not an ordinary hole. They returned later with kerosene lamps, tied a rope around a nearby tree, and lowered themselves into a hole, discovering the cave. The cave was later developed for commercial purposes. It has always been privately held, and is currently owned by former geologists who maintain it for educational purposes.



In the early 90s, new exploration of the cave was begun, and the length of the cave tripled. Crystal Cave, at a mile long, is the longest cave in Wisconsin. To enter the cave, you descend a staircase, just as if you were going down into a basement—and voila! You’re standing in a limestone cave. It was amazing and beautiful and I totally get the appeal of spelunking. Everywhere you turn, there is something interesting to see. Yes, there are bats, which appear as fuzzy growths on the walls. Though the bats were smaller than I anticipated, I did not find them cute. Fortunately, the bats were, for the most part, still in hibernation. And, there weren’t that many that we could see.


The guides were really fantastic, giving informative short speeches in various underground chambers. I learned a ton of new vocabulary, including speliothems (any cave formation, such as stalactites and stalagmites), cave bacon (a rippled effect), and drapery (kind of self-explanatory).


The kids were also fantastic, not straying from the group. I think it helped that only the rooms we were occupying at the moment were lit, which discourages moss growth. Otherwise, most of the passageways were dark. Also, the kids asked a ton of questions, and the guide wearied of them quickly.

Naturally, I want to see more showcaves—neighboring Wisconsin has seven—and read books about caves. Cary Griffith just published Opening Goliath: Danger and Discovery in Caving, and I heard him on MPR's "Morning Edition" just the day before the field trip. He'll be at the St. Paul Central Library on May 17.

kit

Apropos of everything, the article of the day at wikipedia today was kit. As the term relates to association football, or soccer, kit refers to “the standard equipment and attire worn by players.” The article details the history of jerseys and colors and emblems, and it’s all quite fascinating. And timely as I have spent the past two days up to my eyeballs in gathering uniform orders for Simon’s soccer team—just one of my many team-manager duties. According to the article, the term kit should not be confused with strip. The strip includes the jersey, shorts, and socks, while the kit encompasses those things plus shin guards and shoes (or “boots”), as well as details like colors, logos, and numbers.


The Blackhawks’ U9 boys kit consist of a white jersey, a black jersey, black shorts, and black socks. Plus, I had to assign numbers. Last summer, I numbered the team with our assigned range, 14-24. There must have been some logic to these particular numbers, though I didn’t ask at the time. In theory, the boys can wear their jerseys for two years. But, the boys don’t stay with their same team from season to season, especially as boys move up an age group. So, I’ve got a handful of players who came to the team with their fall numbers, none of which fall in between 14 and 24. For those who need new uniforms, I’ve been given 41-49, but I am to avoid 44 and 48 since boys on other teams already have them. Somehow it all worked out, but I feel a headache creeping up just thinking about it now.

At any rate, go read the article on kits and click on some of the other links. We’re eating, drinking, sleeping soccer at our house, all of which imbuing me with super nostalgic for England, where I couldn’t swing a cat without hitting soccer…on TV, with my mates.

introducing...yarn stash

When I first learned to knit, eighteen years ago, I vowed that I would only work on one project at a time. Why?

1. Knitting can be expensive, especially if you’re making an adult-size sweater, which often requires upward of 12 skeins of yarn. A skein of yard can run from $8 to $30. Yes, a skein. You do the math.

2. Current stashes in other pursuits include more books than I will be able to read in my lifetime. By comparison, eighteen years ago, I owned only a fraction of the books that I now own. The last time we moved, we had over 50 boxes of books. The first time I moved, from my college apartment to my post-college apartment, I had two boxes. Although the inventory (for insurance purposes!) is far from complete, I'll err on the side of caution and say that my personal library holds 2000 books.

3. I love my mother, but I strive, daily, not to become my her. It’s probably too late, but still, a girl can hope. My mother is an accomplished seamstress (what an old-fashioned term!), and I envy her ability to knock off a garment within a few days. In high school, she sewed 80s power suits so I could look intimidating to rival debate teams. I owe some of my success to her! When she built her dream house she had a laundry room that also served as her sewing studio, with amazing natural lighting and loads of cabinets for storing bolts of fabric and bins of patterns and other sewing notions. It didn’t take long to fill those cabinets with stacks of fabric for countless projects. Then she branched out of the sewing room to a closet that had floor to ceiling shelves as then undedicated to any particular purpose. These shelves seemed tailor-made for housing her fabric stash. Projects backed up to infinity. This would would never happen to me (see #2).

All of that said, thanks to a small discount for enrolling in a class, as well as an opportunity to shop The Yarnery's annual sale pre-sale, which coincided with my last knitting class, I have recently acquired a yarn stash. I believe this earns me capital-k Knitter status. I offer no apologies and I am completely unashamed. Since finishing John’s sweater and taking the class on finishing, I have been bitten by an overwhelming need to do creative work, specifically to knit more often. And, I figure, to knit more, I have to have some yarn to choose from.

My plan is to knit more often throughout the year and not just during the winter. The only way I'll be able to knit during the hot, hot days of a midwestern summer is by taking on smaller projects, such as hats, scarves, and mittens. I have my eye on some really neat one- or two-skein patterns, some of which will make wonderful gifts for family and friends. Additionally, I'd like to experiment with yarns in different textures and weights. Pardon the really fuzzy photo...I guess each of my yarns—Lamb's Pride bulky (the color range is pretty amazing, making it difficult to choose), Jo Sharp rare comfort infusion kid mohair, luscious hand-dyed Malabrigo worsted, some fun multicolored dk weight skeins, and a few Rowan yarns, Cocoon in a lovely celadon—possibly the softest yarn I've ever touched—and Cashsoft Classic dk in a mossier green.

what do you stash?

a day in the park

Back a few weekends ago—Easter weekend, to be precise—I traveled to Watertown, little family in tow. It’s inevitable that at some point during our visit with my parents, we will take a long walk in Memorial Park, a county park abutting their property. The park is small, but its beauty is unfettered. Okay, the buckthorn strangles healthy roots of almost every plant, and my parents work very hard to see that the park is properly maintained. Once you look past the results of the upkeep, which my mother is quick to point out, you see the souvenirs of time and the elements. These are the things in nature that move me the most.

Star. I would love to have counted the rings in this sawed-off branch.

Twisted. How long did it take for these branches to intermingle?

Wispy. Without leaves, trees look so crazy...and a little scary.

Smooth. Roots worn satiny and gnarled, like arthritic hands, by lake waves and wind.

open call for music

The weather is getting warmer again, though very windy over the past few days, and I’m preparing for my inaugural bike ride of the year. For the most part, I’m looking for the arm warmers and putting air in the tires. But, more important, I need to set up my tunes. Yes, I know it’s somewhat unsafe to wear earbuds while riding in traffic, but I stick to bike lanes and dedicated trails. Plus music is really necessary to stay motivated while I’m exercising—how else would one make it through a spinning, aerobics, or yoga class.

Here’s last year’s playlist. So far, I’ve got a few songs from recent CD purchases—King Kahn, The Black Keys, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, U2, and The BPA—but I’m looking for more.

What songs motivate you to finish climbing that exercise hill? What songs just generally kick ass?

doing

bailing out the house
purging all the crap, organizing the good and useful items

reading
delicate edible birds (stories by Lauren Groff), fatally flaky (culinary mystery by Diane Mott Davidson), the other side of the island (YA speculative fiction by the incomparable Allegra Goodman), animal, vegetable, miracle (nonfiction by Barbara Kingsolver)

listening
new Yeah Yeah Yeahs'a album, It's Blitz, adoring the first two tracks, as well as acoustic versions of others. Yup, I totally buy into the cult of Karen O. And, the single "Zero" is the purest homage to 80s synth pop that I've ever heard. Check out the video (embedding disabled) Channeling Chrissy Hynde??

eating
launched burger of the week

exercising
yoga, twice—sometimes three—times a week practice at CorePower studio in St. Paul, heated (85 degrees)

parenting
monitoring homework and getting back into respectably earlier bedtimes (the boys and the parents, it’s harder than you’d think). Since spring break in early April, we’ve been way out of synch on these things, and have recently introduced weeknight soccer practices to further foul up schedules.

researching
doors and windows, we need to replace some rotting window frames and warped mechanisms, as well as the damaged door, and we need to upgrade some seriously energy deficient doors. these aren't the kind of sexy home renovations I live for...just that basic home maintenance shit that costs a fortune anyway.

celebrating
April is our busiest birthday month of the year (John, Winston, Krista, Dave, Sarah, Jill, Anders, Ruhi, and my mom)

marveling
buds are unfurling, which I find so magical…how do they know to do that?

knitting homework

Last night, I had a major cram session to complete a knitting assignment for the second session of a three-part class I’m taking at my local yarn shop, The Yarnery. I swear, this is the best homework I have ever had.

Finishing is the knitting term for putting the pieces of a project together, such as sewing together the seams of a sweater front and back or knitting the collar on a sweater. I have knit countless sweaters over the past 18 years, but I have never felt confident about my finish work. The last sweater I knit, which was flawless in every other respect, had my nerves wracked as I tried to sew it together. At the end of the day, I’m pretty pleased with how the sweater turned out—the bulky yarn certainly was very forgiving. But, if I’m going to call myself a Knitter and engage in some of the projects I have my eye on, then I need to come to terms with finish work.

Led by a local knitting luminary, the class has been awesome. For the most part, I am a self-taught knitter, using a glossy book with wonderful illustrations as a reference to every new technique I have needed to learn, as well as a refresher between projects. And guess what I’ve discovered during the course of the class? That I put together sweaters exactly the way you’re supposed to. My book has served me well! But, I certainly don’t know everything, and I’m glad to learn some new tricks. After all, as my guru Theresa Gaffney says, you need to have a variety of tools and know when to use them. Which really means that I need to do more knitting.



For the class, we’ve knit the front, back, and sleeves for a cardigan—wait for this…the cardigan is for a stuffed bear. The small scale lent itself well to knitting up quickly but it’s also a bit of a struggle to sew together. When the edges roll, which is their want, you’re left with not much to hold onto. Sewing together a bear cardigan has been, well, a bit of a bear. Pictured above is a teeny tiny, itty bitty sleeve for the bear cardigan. I'm using a scrumptious superwash merino wool from Karabella that is machine washable, and knit up easily, even on needles that were too long for the tiny project.

Each of the ladies in my class have arrived with a tote bag, burgeoning with yarn skeins and gear. One woman even pulled out an intarsia sweater she's working on, and it was intricate and beautiful and I coveted it. But, I'm trying to, as my yoga instructor encourages, "take my yoga practice off the mat," and resist the temptation to compare myself to the other Knitters in my class. One session remains, and I still feel far from confident of my skills. I know I simply need more practice.

phone old school

I haven't decided yet whether this is the coolest product I've seen, or if it's just silly. A retro phone handset—the likes of which went out of style in the 1970s—with an adapter for your cell phone. Makes sense if, like me, you despise conducting conversations longer than a few minutes on tiny cell phones. I love the colors. You can purchase them here and here and straight from the source.

Just one question: where do you store the handset when you're out and about? The handset seems somewhat incompatible with the simplicity of keeping your cell phone in your front pocket. Another question: Will purses become ridiculously huge again?

Image courtesy of Neiman Marcus

spring cleaning

Last night, John and I watched an MSNBC documentary about a woman with a form of OCD that manifests itself in hording. She collects junk, the neighbors’ trash, and food thrown out by groceries stores because the expiration dates have passed. Repulsive and compelling at once, the documentary was directed by the subject’s daughter and details the steps that were taken to get this woman some help, especially as the city was threatening her with eviction. Her attachment to the trash in her house was so strong that she felt her sons, who had been enlisted to help clean out the house, were robbing her. As the sons and daughter waded through the detritus, they found a few dead rats and tons of rat feces. The documentary was exceptionally well done, portraying the anatomy of illness in a very real way, and it has a happy ending.

All I want to do today is bail out the house. I have wanted to do this for a long, long time. We’re not packrats in a clinical sense, but we’re collectors, each one of us in my little family. We have more clothes than we can fit in our dresser drawers. We have more books than fit on the bookshelves. We have more magazines and comic books than we can reasonably read each month before the next batch comes in.

Every closet and cabinet in our home is full. Our house is just shy of 3,000 square feet so we have lots of space to fill—and yes, we can see the floor!—but we don’t have a lot of traditional storage space, lacking an attic and basement. Yes! We don't have a basement (our home is built into a hill), and we don't have an attic.

John and I were properly frightened by the documentary, and although we’re in no danger of living in a trash house, I am determined to improve this situation. I want to give everything from clothes and shoes to books and bike gear a proper home. I want to encourage the boys to save fewer special items, especially art work and papers from school, as well as to make sure they pick up their rooms regularly. It’s time to face our modern home’s limitations and make adjustments, whether built-in or freestanding storage—we need it.

I'm not quite sure where to start, which is always a problem. And I envy those people I know, who, when determined to clean out the basement, unsentimentally chuck everything and have something to show for it at the end of the day. I tend to sort piles into smaller piles to be dealt with, but before I can get to the smaller piles, I have to push everything back into a bigger pile.

So, I'll ask around: Do you have clutter? How do you deal with it? Should I hire an expert?

spring break: days two and three, the double issue

Unwittingly, spring break 2009 has evolved a theme: eat ice cream every day. I’m not sure how that happened but I do believe it’s a tradition I could repeat.

Yesterday, the boys had friends over to play. These sisters typically bring their electronics, but came empty-handed. Now I know my boys are creative and capable of role-playing without props, but I hadn’t realized what a crutch the DS and the Wii had become when “entertaining” their friends. Fortunately, I had already planned to do a cooking activity with the kids when their play devolved into tearing the house apart, but I didn’t expect, given how things were going, that I would have to interrupt a rousing game of Mouse Guards and fort building to get the kids interested in making ice cream.

The sisters were the most excited to cook so washed their hands and rolled up their sleeves. I had them measure and stir, and we talked a bit about the process. You prepare your flavorings—fruit, chocolate, coffee, and so on—so they’re reading when the custard is done. Then you heat milk or cream and sugar, temper egg yolks with the heated cream, and re-heat the mixture until it thickens and you have custard. Then you strain the custard into the flavorings and chill in the fridge or over an ice bath. Later you freeze the custard in an ice-cream maker, according to manufacturer’s instructions, and voila!


Dinosaur Egg ice cream was inspired by one of our favorite flavors at Izzy’s. For the recipe, we used David Lebovitz’s amazing cookbook, Perfect Scoop, as a jumping off point. I’m including the recipe here because it’s easy and fun to do with kids, but the malted milk ice cream base is amazing so even if you didn’t add malted milk balls, you’d still be plenty happy.


Today we had lunch with another set of friends at Snuffy’s Malt Shop, where we had malts with our burgers, naturally. (I know, yoga body scupting be damned!) Winston and I split a vanilla malt, for comparison to our malted milk ice cream. The malt was sweet and delicious with the perfect amount of maltiness. I would add more malt powder to the ice cream base next time round.

Dinosaur Egg Ice Cream
inspired by Izzy’s and David Lebovitz’s Perfect Scoop

1 cup half-and-half
3/4 cup sugar
pinch of salt
2 cups heavy cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2/3 cup malt powder (I might try 3/4 cup next time)
4 large egg yolks
1 cup malted milk balls, coarsely chopped (in the spirit of the season, we used Brach’s malted milk eggs)
food coloring (we used 3 drops of green gel paste food coloring; blue or violet would be awesome)

In a medium saucepan, over medium heat, warm the half-and-half, sugar, and salt, until sugar is dissolved. Take off heat. In a large bowl, whisk together the heavy cream, vanilla, and malt powder. Set a mesh strainer on top.

In another bowl, whisk together the egg yolks. Slowly pour the warm half-and-half mixture into the egg yolks, whisking constantly. Scrape this mixture back into the saucepan.

Stir the mixture constantly over medium heat. Scrape the bottom as you stir. The mixture should thicken and coat your spoon or spatula (if you drag your finger through—be careful! mixture is hot—you’ll have a line in the custard). Pour the custard through the strainer into the malted milk mixture. Whisk. Place the mixture in the refrigerator or nestle it into a larger, ice-filled bowl.

When the mixture is completely chilled, add food coloring and whisk well to distribute. We were going for a pale tint. Pour into ice cream maker and freeze, following the manufacturer’s instructions. When the ice cream is frozen, fold in the chopped malted milk balls.

spring break, day one

The boys are on spring break. I wish we had planned a vacation somewhere. I am in serious need of sun and warmth. But we didn't because John doesn't have any vacation time yet, not to mention that he's deep in a project and is needed. He is needed. These are words that feel really good to type, so I'm not complaining that we're here in the Twin Cities. We have a fun "playdate" lined up on Friday, but otherwise we're going to play it pretty loose and close to home.

In preparation for a week with Mom, I'd had a chat with Winston. He tends to not want to leave the house—ever—and when he decides he's not going out, he's fierce. It can get kinda ugly, so I had to make it clear to him that we would be making excursions and he would not complain. And I would make it worth his while.

Day One started kind of slow. I slept in, all the way to 9. Luxurious. We had a quick cereal breakfast, then I let the boys gorge themselves on TV while I finished reading Little House on the Prairie, something I started way back in October. After a lunch of grilled salami and cheese sandwiches and just shy of too-ripe pears, we packed ourselves into the car and trekked over to Linden Hills, a charming Minneapolis neighborhood.

First stop: Wild Rumpus, the most fantastic children's bookstore on the planet. This place is like something out of a dream—from the ceiling mural of an eggshell cracking open to the chickens and cats that roam the store freely. And, the books selection is amazing, especially the way the sections are arranged. There is a wall of quality fiction for adults, or for young adults who are ready for the challenge. There is a "haunted house", which hosts mysteries and kid-appropriate scary books, as well as a plexi-topped rat cage set into the floorboards. The bathroom sports a fishtank behind the medicine chest. And, throughout the store, more cages hold a bevy of animals, ranging from chinchillas to tarantulas. Simon picked up a the fifth book in the Warriors series, A Dangerous Path, while Winston carried around a stack of books that, once abandonned, I scooped up and purchased stealthily. He'll received Nicholas and Ripley's Believe It or Not 2009 for his birthday later this week.

Next stop: Clancey's Meat and Fish. This small shop is heaven on earth, though Winston noted that it smelled funny. Yup, that would be the iron-rich smell of meat that hasn't been subjected to plastic wrap. Dry-aged steaks in various cuts, confited duck breasts, fresh sausages, and more sit proudly behind a glass-fronted counter. We replenished our sausage supply with tiny lamb merguez, fat lamb links studded with pinenuts and dried blueberries, and traditional French garlic-pork. And, I picked up a tub of frozen lard for the pot beans I want to make later this week. This lard was rendered on site and is absolutely free from hydrogenated nastiness.

Last stop: Sebastian Joe's, a satellite of a local ice cream purveyor. Simon chose a scoop of Oreo, which was so thick with pulverized sandwich cookies that the creamy base looked like charcoal, but it also had really satisfying large chunks of cookies throughout. I had Chocolate English Toffee, which was so redolent of caramel as to give the chocolate a really unexpected flavor. And, Winston took a scoop of vanilla, which he declared to be the best vanilla he'd ever tasted.

It's going to be hard to top this near-perfect day!

knitting: easy bulky sweater: DONE!

Back in October, I started knitting a sweater for John from yarn that I had purchased two years ago. And now the sweater is done. It took longer than I anticipated, for such any easy pattern, but each time I encountered a new technique, I put the project away. When I was finally able to face the sweater again, patiently, quietly working through the steps, I caught on quickly and was able to motor through to the next challenge.



Knitting the sleeves down from the shoulder seams was pretty neat, even if it was very cumbersome to have the entire sweater on my lap. I’m glad I learned how to do that, and I think I may, in the future, want to try knitting an entire sweater from the top down.

Then the sleeves were finished. Two sides and two sleeves to sew together. Should be easy, but finish work has always made me uncomfortable, and a few of the sweaters I made during my early knitting years are downright sloppy looking, which is why I’d taken to having a professional do the finish work for a small price. So I pulled out the Vogue Knitting, my go-to source for any knitting question that pops up, and consulted the section on joining pieces. The book’s illustrations are very clear, allowing me to sew each seam, well, seamlessly!



I’m so pleased with how the easy bulky sweater turned out. Just in time, too, as we’re experiencing a brief return to winter. The sweater looks awesome on John. See:


I have an unused skein and most of another leftover, and I’m scheming about how I might use the wool. Any ideas?

I'm in

I found the golden ticket—and it arrived yesterday, in a fat, maroon-colored envelope.

At the end of February, I applied to the University of Minnesota’s College of Design in the hope of studying interior design this fall. And, the College of Design said, “yes,” they would have me. I have been accepted to the program!!

I am so excited, I can’t think straight. I’m excited to be a student again. I feel inspired by the possibilities of a new career. I am thrilled for the opportunity to do creative work.

Definitely, more to come…

ipod shuffle

I listened to some really fantastic tunes today:

1. Hyena (REM)
2. Car Song (Elastica)
3. All the Small Things (Blink 182)
4. Love and Peace or Else (U2)
5. Disenchanted Lullaby (Foo Fighters)
6. Cretin Hop (The Ramones)
7. Time to Pretend (MGMT)
8. Stepping Stone (Duffy)
9. Listen (Collective Soul)
10. Fall Out (The Police)

BONUS: Bosco's Blues (The Sugarman Three)

where did I leave off?

What a lousy month for blogging! Just saying…

On this Monday, I’m enjoying a rainy day. Normally, the overcast sky would suck the life out of me, but I feel that we have come so far, and that a drizzly March day carries with it massive amounts of optimism.

~ First, the rain could be snow, and the fact that the rain isn’t snow is much to rejoice.
~ Second, the rain will melt the remaining slabs of ice that form in my yard at those places where the sun don’t shine.
~ Third, I can see the grass greening up, right before my own eyes.

It’s the kind of day where I’ll hole up, not to hide from the dreariness but to officially bail out from winter hibernation. The fresh starts of spring are promising, and on the next nicer day than this, I hope to be out riding a casual loop on my bicycle.

field trip: northfield, mn

No lie, “Cows, colleges, and contentment” is the official motto of Northfield, Minnesota (pop. 18,000). Only 45 minutes from the Twin Cities, Northfield is smack dab in an agriculture belt (“cows”, although wikipedia says there are more pigs than cows, go figure). It’s home to St. Olaf College and Carleton College, two top-notch institutions of high learning (“colleges”). And, over the past 15 years, Northfield has become a bedroom community to the Twin Cities—a quiet, clean, and cozy small town populated by lots of really smart and interesting people (“contentment,” I surmise).

In the 90s, work took me to Northfield at least three times a year. I liked its quaintness then. The draw to urbanites, looking beyond the suburbs to a small town as an ideal place for raising their families, was evident. It has been four years since my last visit, but a few weeks ago, I had an opportunity to remedy that situation. My friend Jeanne Z. and I drove down for a little Odegard Books reunion with our former coworker Jessica, who has lived and worked in Northfield for the past six or seven years.

We started with Indian buffet lunch at Chapati, located in the Palmer House hotel. Clearly, if you work downtown, you eat lunch at Chapati. The restaurant was packed and Jessica knew everyone. We snagged the last table and tucked into some of the best Indian buffet I have had in a very long time. Chapati’s website promises, on Tuesday through Sunday, to offer salad, fresh fruit, chutneys (mint-cilantro and tamarind), two soups (which I skipped for no particular reason, except that I made a beeline for the papadams), tandoori chicken, basmati rice, naan, pakora, four meat curries (chicken curry, spicy beef vindaloo, chicken sabzi, and lamb sabzi on the day I visited), and four vegetarian curries (for example, saag paneer, dal makhani, chana masala, and something with mushrooms), as well as gulab jamen and rice pudding for dessert. The food was well seasoned, fresh, and utterly comforting, but I was sold by unlimited access to the papadams.

After lunch, we took a stroll. Jessica introduced us to everyone we met on the street. I wondered if this—in a small town, you tend to know everyone, and everyone tends to know you—is part of the “contentment.” Quite frankly, having grown up in a small town, I find it singularly stifling. I think it’s the one thing that would keep me from relocating.

But, the shopping! Oh the shopping. Jeanne and I managed to keep the Northfield economy stimulated that day. Division Street—Northfield’s main street—is peppered with gift shops, like Swag; clothing stores; bookstores (although River City, owned by Carleton College as a “service” to the downtown, is going out of business, Monkey See, Monkey Read, with a great mix of new and used, is worth a visit); restaurants/bars/coffeehouses; and a bead shop. And, it’s a really, really good bead shop. The owner is making some neat beads by fusing bottle caps in a unique way, as well as cutting and tumbling glass bottles into fabulous organic shapes. I bought beads, but also incredibly inexpensive, one-of-a-kind jewelry.

As far as I can tell, Division Street, far from needing another home furnishings/tchotcke shop, could use a good Thai restaurant, a kitchenware shop (e.g., Cook's of Crocus Hill) and a cheese shop. I hear a business opportunity calling my name. . .

second chances

At my last job, I dreaded Mondays because I never every got anything done. Typically, I had multiple morning meetings, and it was only after lunch that I could read and answer e-mail, as well as prioritize the week’s deadlines. Since I’ve been laid off, I’ve resented Mondays, mostly because I wasn’t reporting to the demands of an office, and, quite frankly, I found the demands of home rather oppressive.

Sometimes, I just have to write off Mondays, but this morning I had a bit of a revelation: Mondays aren’t so bad! Admittedly, getting out of bed was unbelievably painful, but once I was up, I began to look forward to, once again, having the house to myself. After I got the boys to school, I walked into a blessedly quiet home. Then I wallowed in the quiet, curled up on the sofa with a very large mug of coffee and read 100 pages of The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks.

I love the idea that Mondays can be about regrouping after a long weekend with family. Almost without exception, the house is a complete disaster. But, I can sweep the floors, tidy stacks of mail and magazines, sort through the paper output of two artistic boys, pick up errant toys, fold laundry and distribute the clothes piles for the boys to put in the drawers, and more. And I can do all of these tasks without anyone getting under foot or trailing behind me, undoing my good work. I can shop for groceries, drop off the dry cleaning, and run any other errand that the masses do on the weekend, crowding parking lots and stores. Monday is the only day of the week when I’m able to assemble dinner and slow cook something that’s ready to eat when John walks in the door.

Further indulging my me-time, I can get caught up on TV. Since the little boys aren’t allowed to watch TV on weeknights, they tend to gorge themselves on the weekend, which means that mama doesn’t get any TV. On Mondays, I can watch whatever shows are in my DVR queue. Also, I can finish those show I’ve fallen asleep watching with John so I’m ready for the coming week’s episode.

I'm glad to have a new appreciation for the most dreaded, most maligned day of the week. But now, the spinner bike and a few episodes of SATC, season five, beckon...

field trip wednesday: One on One Bike Studio

A few weeks ago, before John went back to work (yay!!!), we took a trip to Minneapolis. Our mission was twofold: to have lunch together and for John to introduce me to the inner circle of hell. We combined both action-items in a single stop: the One on One Bike Studio.

One on One is the hip North Loop bike shop (Washington Ave., in Minneapolis, cozied right up to SexWorld) that sells bicycles, clothing, and gear; exhibits bike-related art; and serves soup, sandwiches, and coffee. I just love this place, and I have reserved a spot in my heart for the sandwiches. They’re simple and homey, with just a few carefully chosen, high-quality ingredients, such as whole-grain loaf bread, corned beef, pepperjack cheese, hot-sweet mustard, which is what I had that day. Yes, I know. I could make that sandwich at home, except my sandwiches are never nearly as tasty.


Bellies happy, we descended into hell. And what I learned that day is hell isn’t that bad, especially if it's populated with…bike parts!!! Really, the One on One’s basement isn’t hell, it's a Junkyard*. It’s just that, from the descriptions, I always imagined the junkyard would be a nightmare. In fact, I’m here to confirm that One on One’s basement is a well-kept secret: a treasure chest of bikes and bike frames and bike parts that you cannot steal**, but can purchase for a steal.


And, so it was that I accompanied John to the Junkyard, as he looked for—and found—treasure. See:


*One on One's official term
**From One on One's 117 blog: Jan 5, 2009 - 7:59 pm: "Nothing brings in a new year like finding out that some dirtbag decided to put the parts in his pocket instead of paying for them. In the 7 years the junkyard has been open to the public, very, very few parts have been taken without paying. NOS Mavic 531 hubset gone out of the showcase."

souvenirs from a great day at the rink

doing

ice skating
This winter has been lousy for ice skating. The weather has either been too cold to tolerate being outdoors for long or too warm so that the rinks get slushy. Yesterday we found our sweet spot and met some friends at The Coliseum (State Fairgrounds) ice rink. I took a few laps, patiently willing my skating legs to return. Not only had they gone unused for a year, but I had practiced yoga before arriving at the rink and my quads were sore. Skating was a blast. The not-too-crowded rink had great music ("Lara's Theme," among others) and a good energy, with a bunch of kids and their parents, some of whom were awesome skaters. There was an older couple, sixties-ish, who were ice dancing. It was all so lovely, and I cannot wait to go skating again.

reading
Over the weekend, I finished reading Fire and Ice, the second book in the Warriors series. Although I had no objection to Simon reading these books, I resisted reading them aloud, which is what we wanted. But he asked so politely that I could hardly say no. I didn’t expect to enjoy the first two books quite as much as I have. The story follows Fireheart, a former kitty pet who trades the comforts of a litterbox and a bowl of kibble for fresh kill and life with a clan of cats. Against all odds, given his cushy former life, Fireheart becomes a warrior in the Thunder Clan, one of four that populate this series. Each story features shifting allegiances within the clan, as well as tales of survival in a cat-eat-cat world. Today we had an opportunity to start Forest of Secrets, third in the series.

I also finished reading Michael Ruhlman’s House and cried silent tears over his small victories as a homeowner, a husband, and a father.

listening
I’ve purchased a boatload of new music recently, which deserves its own post. But until I can get my act together, I’ve got to highly recommend The Supreme Genius of King Kahn and the Shrines, a kick-ass album of high-octane funk. It’s a bit brass-tastic. Also, I’m revisiting the twenty-plus-year old Marc et Robert from the avant French duo, Les Rita Mitsouko. Singles “Smoking” and “Hip Kit,” the latter a collaboration with The Sparks, still rock.

watching
Last night, I saw Confessions of a Shopaholic. I recommend avoiding it, even on DVD. Two pints of margaritas did nothing to improve this stinky movie, and I didn’t even have high hopes for it. But, I love going to the movies for the entertainment value. Now I’m watching the Sarah Connor Chronicles, which, in one hour, has a tighter, more interesting storyline and better actors than Confessions. I know it’s like comparing apples and oranges, but there you have it.

ipod shuffle

1. Sorrow (David Bowie)
2. Hungry Wolf (X)
3. The News (Carbon/Silicon)
4. Happy Jack (The Who)
5. Rock the Casbah (The Clash)
6. All Nighter (Elastica)
7. Peanuts (The Police)
8. City of Blinding Lights (U2)
9. Smog (Les Rita Mitsouko)
10. Dap Dip (Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings)
11. Video Killed the Radio Star (PotUSoA)
12. Don't Stop Me Now (Queen)

field trip Wednesday: Wabasha, MN, and Nelson, WI

This past weekend*, my mother-in-law and her husband visited from New Jersey. John and I were somewhat at a loss as to how we were going to entertain them. In the back of my mind, I knew we could always go to a museum, but I felt like doing something outdoors, especially since we were experiencing unseasonable warmth, coupled with sunshine. I’m not even sure how the idea made it through my brain’s thick gray matter, but there it was—the National Eagle Center in Wabasha, Minnesota, down river on the Mississippi.

When my mother, sister, and I took our October trip to Lake Pepin, Wabasha was on my long list of towns to visit, but neither my sis nor my mother were much interested in seeing eagles. I don’t think my in-laws would otherwise have been much interested either, but it seemed like a perfect kid-centric outing.

I drove the little boys. We listened to Bill Cosby’s I Began Life as a Child all the way to Wabasha, and all the way back to St. Paul, the boys laughing at the same jokes each time. The first half of the drive was pretty lackluster, the scenery dominated by endless expanses of farmland. I reminisced about the countless times I traveled to Red Wing in the 90s for St. Martin’s Press. Not once on those twenty-one trips did I ever venture beyond the St. James Hotel, which housed Red Wing Books—a travesty I corrected with promises for many returns.


Immediately outside of Red Wing, still on Highway 61 (the Great River Road), the bluffs that line the river appeared. Simon imagined that the limestone hills, with their rugged faces, were sleeping giants, as in the Beyond the Spiderwick Chronicles series, and that when they awoke, the giants would fight. Soon, we reached frozen Lake Pepin, an obvious widening in the Mississippi River. Two eagles, the first we would see that day, flew just over the tree line.

In Wabasha, we took Highway 60 across the river to Nelson, Wisconsin, where, without a street address, we found the Original Nelson Cheese Factory because Nelson is just that small. Located in a former creamery, the Nelson Cheese Factory, which no longer makes cheese, boasts a deli with a large cheese selection (including fresh cheese curds and string cheese), sausages, and imported crackers and cookies. Or, you can eat in, ordering food from a menu that features hot and cold sandwiches, soups and salads, and pizzas.

After filling our bellies with sandwiches and ice cream cones and shopping for souvenirs (spicy lamb sticks, lamb summer sausage, and skinny string cheese), we crossed the river again, through the Mississippi River Wildlife Refuge, back to Wabasha.


The National Eagle Center (NEC) sits right on the river. Prow windows cover a two-story expanse and allow grand views to nesting areas (above), where we saw—with the naked eye—a number of eagles in trees. Binoculars and telescopes gave us sharper focus on the magnificent birds. The NEC has three resident eagles (very top photo), each with damaged wings, which now are part of the center’s educational programs.

I look forward to spending more time around Lake Pepin, and I know we’ll make repeat visits to the National Eagle Center.


*Important note: the Wednesday field trip doesn’t need to have been taken on Wednesday, merely reported then, which I did not make clear in my introductory note.

field trip wednesday: france and 44th

For a year or so, on Wednesdays, I’ve posted random entries from wikipedia, a feature I borrowed (probably without blessing) from another blogger. And while I still like to spin the roulette wheel at wikipedia to learn interesting tidbits, and while it’s been a no-brainer way to blog, I’m looking for a new regular feature—something that will make at least one post a week easy and fun to approach. And so I am unveiling “Field Trip Wednesday” in which I report on little forays around the Twin Cities. This is certain to get me out of the house, as well as give me a midweek treat.

I truly needed a big treat today. My day started poorly. I felt lousy upon waking. Typically the boys take the bus to school, but only if I can get out of bed by 6:20. If I snooze, then I can sleep in ten-minute increments from an extra hour. I hate the drive but prefer not to rush the boys in the morning, especially Winston, who cannot be rushed for anything. Plus I love the extra time in the car with them.

As I was driving home [from taking the boys to school], I realized that I was feeling SAD. The sky is gray, the weather is fiercely cold, and the ground is dangerously icy. My environment is ugly and difficult to maneuver in. I’ve lost a favorite warm glove, but I can’t be bothered to replace it even though I’ll need gloves for another couple months. I’m tired of trying to fish my keys out of my pocket with the gloves on. I could cry. And I recognize that I’m SAD and PMSing so I needn’t worry that I’m finally having a big breakdown. I give myself permission to take care of myself. I decide to curl up on the couch, read a comforting book (House by Michael Ruhlman), caress my warm Thermos coffee pot, and wallow under a pile of blankets until I can face the music.

Pretty pleased with myself for writing a prescription that will get me through the day, I pull into the alley to face a Ford 350 coming my way. The truck, which is pulling a trailer, is trying to creep down the last 15 yards of the icy, steepish alley to the street, while I’m preparing to gun my car up, what are for me, the first 15 yards of the icy, steepish alley. And because the driver didn’t yield to me, I pulled over. I didn’t know I had driven into a snowbank until the truck had passed and I tried to go my merry way. Insert choice words here.

To make a long story less long, the transaction was witnessed by my neighbor Erin, who lives catty-corner across the street from where I was stuck. She came over with her contractor, who directed my tires and gave my car a push until I was free. Did I mention that it was 2 degrees? All this time spent fuming and spinning my wheels in the bitter cold snapped me right out of my funk. After expressing ample gratitude, I had one of those moments when everything crystallizes and it becomes clear that I needed to shop. Sure, I warmed up with coffee and read for a bit once I got home, but after I confirmed that there were no publishing jobs, I hopped in my car and headed to Eat Street—Jasmine Deli for aromatic and restorative beef pho and hot jasmine tea. Then, I drove to France and 44th.

Situated southwest of Minneapolis, France and 44th is a fairly underwhelming intersection, especially when compared to the snazzy shops and restaurants further south, at France and 50th, that define Edina. My destination was France 44 wine shop, which is the most notable business in the area. Although I have taken a number of wine classes here, I rarely schlep over when I need wine, especially when there are plenty of fine wine shops in St. Paul. In addition to an amazing wine and spirits collection, France 44 has an outstanding cheese counter, featuring many American artisan cheeses. The cheese shop even has a blog, which I urge you to visit. Mostly, I stocked up on wine for an impending in-law visit, purchasing a pinot noir to accompany arctic char for Friday night’s dinner, a few chardonnays for MIL’s “happy hour” spritzers, and a handful of Argentinian malbecs and Spanish crianzas to fill out our wine rack.

But, the intersection is also where you’ll find Russell + Hazel, the boutique dedicated to stylish organizational tools, such as binders, files, paper, post-it notes, and more. I love Russell + Hazel! Years ago, when the company debuted its products, you could buy them at gift shops like the Walker Art Center’s museum shop or the Bibelot Shop, but also at the grocery store. I remember buying my first notebook at Kowalski’s. Crazy, heh? Now R+H sells its wares online and at its stand-alone store at France and 44th. Among other little lovelies, I fondled a Lucite desk set, basically a tray with compartments for paperclips or rubberbands or any of the things that junk up your desk. In an effort to organize my paper clutter, particularly household records and manuals and business cards, I purchased two binders with colorful book-linen spines, metal-reinforced corners, fat rubberband to hold together, and dry-erase interior. I also selected loose-leaf paper with a slate blue rule, as well as pocket folders and tabbed index dividers to fill the binders. Plus, I bought a red file box for concealing unsightly paper piles on my desk. I’m excited to put my new organizing gear in action!

And while I was conducting my retail therapy, the sun emerged and the air warmed up just enough to help hope spring eternal.

25 random things about me (with bonuses if you've already read this on fb)

1. I own more books than I will ever be able to read in my lifetime, a fact that sometimes makes me sad.

2. Aside from kidsitting, my first job was as a lifeguard at the country club where my parents were members. The kids hated me because I would scoop the salamanders and frogs out of the pool before they arrived, thus robbing them of all their fun and forcing them to run on the wet deck, for lack of anything more exciting to do.

3. The last time I intentially tanned was the summer I was a lifeguard, and I still have the tanlines on my back to show for it.

4. Cream or milk in my coffee makes me gag, but I can only drink tea if it's white and sweet.

5. Secretly, I kind of enjoy being unencumbered by a job.

6. The first album I owned was Donnie and Marie Osmond's first record. It was a gift.

7. The last album I bought was the Black Keys' "Attack and Release." It wails.

8. The use of jargon is one of my hugest pet peeves. I agree that it can grant groups a common language, but mostly it's overused to the point where it loses all of its power.

9. During the 80s, I was certain the world would end in the poof of a mushroom cloud and had recurring dreams of nuclear annihilation.

10. Despite living in the upper midwest for my entire life, I'm a total wuss when it comes either temperature extreme. Can't stand the heat, can't stand the cold. And, I like to tell everyone I'm miserable in both.

11. I once walked barefoot across a bed of red hot coals.

12. I take sledding very seriously.

13. I once flew to Jacksonville, FL, but my luggage flew to Jackson Hole, WY.

14. All my best fantasies involve eating scrumptious food in exotic locales.

15. I am an unrepentant Francophile. I have spent more vacations in France than anywhere else. If I had my way, my next vacation would be spent there, too.

16. I am mildly addicted to the clean, bright flavors of Vietnamese food.

17. I prefer lime to lemon.

18. My biggest regret is drifting from cherished friends.

19. I can read music easily but have no ear for notes and cannot carry a tune.

20. It makes me cringe when I hear people use "reference" as a verb, when what they really mean is "refer."

21. I rode my bike across the state of Iowa, from west to east. In case you were wondering, Iowa is approximately 500 miles wide.

22. I am astonished and pleased by the thought of having spent almost half my life with my handsome husband.

23. I'm ultra nice, according to my son Winston, not ultra bossy, like kings and queens.

24. My favorite holiday is whichever one prominently features chocolate.

25. The sound of laughter is music to my ears. I was first drawn to John by his laugh, which I heard across a room before I ever saw his face.

Bonus things about me:
26. I live by former SMP colleague Jeff Cope's motto: "The only job I want is the one I already have."

27. I love the calm that aging brings but the creakiness, not so much.

28. Contrary to popular belief, given that I work in the publishing industry and devour books, I was not an English major.

29. Political science was my major, although I currently cannot listen to ANY political commentary without incurring a major headache.

30. When it comes to snacks, I'm more of a salty person.

31. Also, I swear a bluestreak, much to everyone's consternation.

catching up

Really, I thought I was going to be able to blog all last week, after sitting in class from 8a-4p with a chaser of parenting duties. What can I say—I am delusional. I had my last class for the Mini Masters yesterday and rewarded myself with a fun evening with Caryl and lots of book talk. After volunteering in Winston’s classroom this morning, I decided to spend the rest of the day decompressing. I need some reflective time to process my new learning, as well as to recall the details of two whirlwind weeks leading up to this very moment in time.

But, most important, I wanted to reconnect with my handsome husband, who has done major dad duty. And, I missed my feller. So we made a lunch date for ourselves at the Khyber Pass*, an awesome Afghani restaurant in St. Paul. Before we went to lunch, however, we watched an episode of Classic Album on VH1 Classic. And, so it came to pass that we were sitting on the couch in the den, minding our own business, in utter awe over the genius of Daniel Langlois, oh and the members of U2 (Joshua Tree was the featured album). Occasionally, I’d get lost in my own reverie about 1987 and about seeing U2 in Dublin, when one after another, our cell phones started ringing. John answered his cell: the school nurse. Never a good thing.

The nurse reported that Winston had a small accident—got hit in the head with an icy snowball (apparently his “little friend” was in quite a bit of trouble—can't wait to hear who it was). Win was fine. No need for us to pick him up. John and the nurse chatted for a while. From my end, I could hear John laughing. A lot. After he hung up the phone, John related the following:

Winston to the nurse: Can I tell you something?
Nurse: Sure. What is it sweetie?
Winston: My dad is the hottest person my mom has ever met.

[Yes, my eyes are bugging out in horror as I’m trying to imagine in what context I’ve ever said this in front of him. Bracing myself now for the follow up.]

Winston: Yeah, he sweats a lot.

Apparently the nursing staff got quite a chuckle and just had to call us. I’m glad they did, cuz it’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time and I'd forgotten how much I like to laugh hard.

*I’d like to wax rhapsodic about the lunch buffet at Khyber Pass, which, in my opinion, far exceeds any other local lunch buffet. For one, all of the food tastes fresher, by far, as well as being hearty and warming. Today’s buffet held a couple dals, a chicken curry, curried potatoes, eggplant, meatballs, to name a few highlights. But, I mostly go for the hummus. One day I will summon the courage to ask Amil for the recipe.

knitting

Despite resolving to blog more regularly in the new year, I’ve become more scarce. Mind you, I’m still attached to the internets by a tungsten umbilical cord, but I just haven’t had the energy to string together a thought. I lay all the blame at January’s feet.

Cruel mistress, January. She sets us up with the promise of new beginnings, then pulls the rug out from under us by presenting SAD-inducing gray skies and bitterly cold weather. This winter, I’m giving in to self-preservation by hibernating, and one of my all-time favorite winter activities is knitting.

You may remember, from way back in October, that I started a sweater for John. I had hoped to finish by the end of 2008 so that I could get back to a few unfinished projects. Alas, I hit a bit of a snag.

Mind you, the pattern I’m following is extremely straightforward, with one stitch and very little shaping. No cables. No patterns. No color changes. I knit the sweater front, shaping the armholes and the neck. Then, using virtually identical instructions, I knit the sweater back, shaping the armholes and the neck.

Most patterns that I have knit then instruct the knitter to make each sleeve. When the sleeves are finished, you typically knit the neck on circular needles. Then, with the same yarn, you sew all the pieces together. I’m lousy at finish work. Actually, I’m probably better than average at it, but I’m never satisfied. Rather than stressing over perfection, I schlep pieces to my local yarn shop. For a very reasonable fee ($20, last time I used it), the store sends the sweater to a pro-knitter, who blocks the pieces and puts them all together. I was going to do this with John’s sweater, until the pattern had different plans for me. After the front and back are knitted, you then sew the shoulders—hence, the snag.

I was deep in the procrastination—two entire months—when I met Penelope, my sister-in-law Caroline’s stepmother. In addition to being an accomplished knitter, Penelope has owned a yarn shop and designs patterns. She gave me tips and encouragement so I could tackle the shoulders. When I returned from Princeton, I sat down, with great determination, and stitched those shoulders together. With newfound confidence, I faced the next new-to-me technique—picking up stitches from a bound edge—which I did around the armholes so that I could knit the sleeves. Yes, the sleeves are being knit right into the sweater as opposed to sewing them in as separate pieces.

At this point, with one sleeve attached, the sweater is an awful lot to juggle. I imagine the kids’ version will be much, much less cumbersome. I hope. That said, I have a quarter of sleeve two finished. The end of this sweater is in sight!!

So, sadly, everything else—blogging, job searching (wink), housekeeping, child rearing (wink wink)—has taken a back seat…but the meditative qualities of knitting make it all worthwhile. Oh, and it's fun, too.

i'm back. again.

Finally, we’re done celebrating Christmas. This past weekend, John and I took the boys to So Dak to visit my parents. When we left St. Paul on Friday, we had heard that the roads were questionable—icy in spots—but thought we’d give driving a shot. Even though the roads were fine, the conditions were stressful. Blowing snow alternating with flat light resulted in eyestrain that quickly turned to fatigue. Normally John does all the driving so that I may serve as a human audio book (for this trip, Nemesis, a post-Cold War thriller with a comet as weapon, by Bill Napier), but we took turns driving. On my turn, I marveled at how the colorless sky was connected to snow-covered fields by a graphite line on the horizon, making the world a study in grayscale.

The time with my family went better than I had hoped. It’s always anyone’s guess how it will go. My mother tends to go w-a-y overboard with her hospitality. I know she’s trying to make our stay extra special but she stresses herself out, gets crabby, and fails to spend any meaningful time with the boys.



Everyone tolerated each other as best they could given that we were housebound by weather. My parents’ house is on a lake, on the prairie. A complete lack of shelterbelts means that you feel all the wind, which is refreshing during the punishing heat of summer but lethal during the bitter cold of winter. Brutal. The boys wanted to sled so John and I took them to the highest point around my parents’ house and let them rip. As they were oblivious to frostbite-provoking cold, we had to drag them inside.

On Saturday afternoon, we took the boys to sled on St. Ann’s hill, the highest point in Watertown. It occurred to me that I had never sledded here as a kid. During my sledding days, my family lived across the street from a golf course so we had plenty of places to sled, but none were as impressive as St. Ann’s hill. It is a really big hill, ending—impressively, dangerously—at active railroad tracks. Even as an adult, I was tempted to take a run, but alas, gravity held me firmly on my feet. Needless to say, the boys had a blast.

Then we went downtown. Typically a depressing endeavor, the downtown business district is a fragment of its former “glory.” A shopping mall, Walmart, and a handful of big box stores on the edge of town, not to mention a citizenry seemingly unwilling to support its businesses, have turned it into a ghost town. Those establishments the remain are pathetic, maintained with little care for their appearance. Most seem to be on the verge of closing.

One bright ray: the Goss Opera House and Gallery. I remember hearing about this theater, on the upper floor of the building at the corner of Kemp and Maple, when I was a kid, in the late 1970s, around the time of the state’s centennial celebration. Then, the Town Players, a local theater group, was trying to raise money to renovate the historic theater to serve as their home. Undoubtedly, the project was ambitious and nothing came of the group's plans. Ironically, a recent transplant, with d-e-e-p pockets, purchased the building, turning the lower level (formerly a Rexall Drugs, plus a few more businesses in both directions, Maple-side and Kemp-side) into art galleries, shops (toys, a Life Is Good boutique), a private book collection cum bookstore, and an enormous coffeehouse. I have to say, the exposed brick, high tin ceilings, and arched passages between spaces reminded me of Stillwater. It’s incredibly cool, and I hope Watertown will support it. We didn't get a chance to see the King Tut (replicas) exhibit—maybe a compelling reason to visit again, soon.


John took these photos with his phone. Another saving grace is Lake Kampeska’s surrounding natural beauty, especially in the winter. My parents’ house is nestled into lovely corner of the lake, with water on one side, slough on another, and a county park on a third side.