weekend report: april 26-27

As John and I collapsed in a heap on the sofa last night, we looked at each other and said simultaneously, “What a good weekend.” Jinx. While it was a somewhat typical weekend for us—see friends, eat good food, do kid stuff, exercise, get the house in order for the next week—all was done in such a fashion that we weren’t worn out.

Saturday—I spent the day getting ready for dinner guests. The house had been cleaned earlier in the week so it was in unusually good shape. I ran errands on Grand Avenue with the boys—Creative Kidstuff for a birthday gift, Wuollets for dessert (brownies for the adults, cupcakes for the kidlets), Kowalski’s for groceries, and Whole Foods for the grocery items we couldn’t find a Kowalski’s (typical). Dinner was really nice. Our guests brought amazing bottles of wine (chateauneuf du papes and cotes du rhones) and happy demeanors. For pre-dinner nibbles, I served a nice spread of domestic raw cow’s milk cheese, including the Thomasville (GA) Tomme that is so amazing.

Typically when I have a dinner party, I try to keep the menu pretty low-key by preparing a one-pot meal—a fish stew, paella, or coq au vin—and a green salad tossed with goodies, such as cheese, nuts, and dried or fresh fruit. Or we grill. Simple but delicious meals, though, truth be told, it's quite a bit of work to make dinner look like it wasn't any work at all. Also, we always feed the kids first so they stay out of the adults’ hair while we’re talking about them over our meal (these week, those of us who aren’t already at Capitol Hill received our acceptance letters for the next school year)*.

I tried something different for this dinner party and served a first course and a main course. To start, we had white anchovies and avocado on crostini with basil oil, which is one of our favorite small plates at 112 Eatery. As a main, I broiled arctic char, then placed the filets on a bed of Israeli couscous and dressed them with an orange-pistachio vinaigrette. We also had a bit of Swiss chard, sautéed in olive oil with garlic, on the side. We drank a 2006 Sharecropper’s pinot noir from Oregon, which was fitting since the fish was from the Oregon coast. I know we should be eating locally, but we’re between seasons. Dessert was local, though: warm brownies from Wuollet’s, garnished with Izzy’s Hot Brown Sugar ice cream.

Sunday—I had a very good yoga session at Colin and Helena’s. I think my flexibility is improving, and I'm definitely not as creaky and sore at the end of a practice. Though, practice is the key word. I need to develop a practice beyond once every other Sunday. The rest of the day was mellow. John took the boys and a friend out to run around so I did the errands and picked up the house in peace. Made the year’s best batch of guacamole. Heck, this is just a warm-up for the season. I have come to the conclusion that guac is not about the lime or garlic, and it’s certainly not about the quality of the avocados. The key is chiles, which are oh so important for zip and a fresh, green-tasting balance to the raw garlic and citrus. I even had a chance to read—Miss Pettigrew.

*Our acceptance letter was the good news/bad news of the week. Good news: Winston got into Capitol Hill, ISD 625's gifted/talented school, for first grade. Bad news: Simon did not get in. Placement of qualified learners (minimum score on a standardized test) is done by lottery so it was just dumb luck that he didn't get accepted. We really like where we are now, so I would have few reservations about staying, but since other friends have been accepted, Simon's feeling left out. I have already mailed in Winston's acceptance, securing a space, and will call the placement office weekly until Simon gets bumped up the waiting list.

weekend report: April 18-20

Friday—Spent the morning web surfing and catching up on e-mail, then spent the afternoon shopping. First stop: 50th and France, ostensibly to pay a long-overdue visit to the Premier Cheese Market. I have to admit that the shop is a bit of a disappointment. The shop lacks character. The cheese selection is standard fare. Still, while I can find most of these cheeses at the Lund's or Kowalski's, unlike the grocery stores, Premier Cheese Market doesn't over-refrigerate their cheese, displaying cheeses in a case, cutting pieces to order, wrapping them properly for you to take away. I found the raclette cheese for dinner (the raclette grill and a typical array of veggies on which to pour the melted cheese), as well as some cured meats (the Spanish cured pork loin, lomo, and salchichon, a chorizo from the famed pata negra, flavored with black pepper rather than smokey paprika). Then I drove up to France 44 wine shop (at 44th and France) and splurged on a few bottles of wine that we probably should cellar but will drink immediately because I’m silly that way. The best part was finding a kindred spirit at France 44's cheese counter, as well as an unbelievable small selection of cheese. I came home with three very promising domestic, raw milk's cheeses that I plan to serve next weekend. I so can't afford to be unemployed.




Saturday—Setting the alarm clock on Saturday mornings is just plain wrong. We had a soccer meeting at 8 a.m., followed by practice in the fairly miserable cold, but we met the coaches, and as we suspected, the attorney is an ass. That’s all I can say. Simon and I ran errands in the afternoon, including a stop a Izzy's (hot brown sugar, unadulterated by an izzy). That evening, friends Colin and Helena hosted a dinner party to celebrate the birthdays of friends Sarah and Dave. We had a marvelous time, drinking far too much red wine and Knob Creek. The food, as always, was sensational—a grilled flank steak marinaded in a thick chimichurri with spring onions and cherry tomatoes, gratineed potatoes, and a green salad (arugula, blue cheese, pine nuts, sun-dried tomatoes tossed with a unabashed balsamic vinaigrette).

Sunday—Six months after turning 40, I finally accept my limitations when it comes to carousing. We didn't get home until midnight. Morning came painfully, mostly because the boys woke up at the crack of dawn. I don't know how they function. Winston (muffins) and Simon (scrambled eggs) helped me make breakfast, but mostly chased each other around the house with Winston's new video camera. Winston tried filming his butt, because he's six. When pressed for details, he was very embarrassed, admitting that he'd tried to film his butt but it was too difficult. Sigh. The high point of the day was sneaking out for a movie with Caryl. We saw Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day at the Grandview. Based on a novel published in 1938, the story is a fairy tale set in London at the outbreak of WW2. I don't want to give away much, except to say that I really enjoyed it and would urge anyone who likes a romantic escape. Amy Adams was a delight, and Frances McDormand is, as always, solid. The styling was spot-on, with a luxurious Deco sensibilities. Since the Cities were in the throes of a geniunely lovely spring day, I sat outside and dipped into Miss Pettigrew, the novel. Delicious. John and I wrapped up the day by watching four—yes, four—episodes of Dexter, thus concluding the first season. What an intense series. Highly recommend it, especially if you like well-written police procedurals with a little quirk. Also a bit creepy. Months ago we cancelled our premium cable channels, but I'm seriously considering ordering Showtime for Dexter, Weeds, and more.

TGIF

This day is going entirely too fast. Funny how that happens when all the time in the day is yours to fill with things you enjoy doing.

Here I am, on the second day of the rest of my life, enjoying obscene amounts of coffee made from the most perfectly roasted beans, blogging and e-mailing and reading and working up the courage to now, finally, start my book group book (Joshua Ferris's Then We came to the End).

We have some fun weekend plans, including helping two friends—a married couple—celebrate their birthdays. Her birthday is April 18 (oh, today!). His birthday is April 20. They went to high school together in Wisconsin, but weren't high school sweethearts. I love the coincidence.

John and I have some responsibilites to Simon's soccer team that we need to fulfill over the weekend. We're the team managers and need to receive some training. We're also trying to track down the coaches so we might meet them and make a plan for the season. Stop me now—feeling a lot of agita over our The Organization That Shall Remain Nameless. Let's just say communication from the club SUCKS, and there's a serious time crunch to get a very long list of things done. Good thing I don't have a job getting in the way (heh heh).

I'm off to Minneapolis to make my premier visit to Premier Cheese. At Simon's request, we're pulling out the raclette grill tonight so I need to get some supplies, such as cured meat and the raclette cheese. It's a chilly, overcast day so this mostly winter meal won't seem out of place.

The Beastie Boys last album, The Mix-Up, has been in HEAVY rotation chez Shepard. Most of the videos I found online were filmed at concerts or festivals. While I enjoy listening to live renditions, I cannot abide by the bobbing bald pates that inevitably fill the screen of the "videographer's" camera phone. Instead, I'm leaving you today with some classic, mid-career Beasties. Natch, Simon and Winston LOVE this song.



As a bonus, I found the "Off the Grid" video. I love the sweet groove, the penetrating bass, the spacey keyboards. Perfect modern funk. Let me know what you think.

then we came to the end: a true story

For our next discussion, my book group is reading the critically acclaimed Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris—winner of a Hemingway/PEN Award and a National Book Award finalist. This is how the publisher (Little, Brown) pitches the book:

This wickedly funny, big-hearted novel about life in the office signals the arrival of a gloriously talented new writer.

The characters in Then We Came to the End cope with a business downturn in the time-honored way: through gossip, secret romance, elaborate pranks, and increasingly frequent coffee breaks. By day they compete for the best office furniture left behind and try to make sense of the mysterious pro-bono ad campaign that is their only remaining "work."

For reasons that will become obvious, I have been completely unable to crack the spine. Here is my true story:

Over the past six weeks, I have been toiling at work under the duress of uncertainty. If you've been following along, feel free to skip this excerpt from February 29:

Our parent company no longer wants us. They’ve never been able to make us fit in their mix, even though the synergy is obvious. Move's fault, not ours. Since before calendar year 2007 ended, the Home Office has planned to sell us. A deal was nearly completed, too, and was meant to have been announced at our company lunch. Done deal. Here's your new owner. Instead we have a long lead time in which to fret about who might buy us, will we all have jobs, what if no one wants to buy us, and so on. The Home Office's goal is to have us spun off by the end of second quarter, which is a little over three month from now.

A new owner could be good. We could have a budget for a new database as we move toward database publishing. We could have a budget for freelancers so I could assign someone else to write articles. We could fire unproductive employees (no names necessary).

Even before this announcement, I had decided to put myself back on the market. I’d like to be better compensated for my work and have a little more authority. It’s time. I’ll be exploring this move further here in weeks to come as I’m thinking it may finally be time to work in a different industry. Yes, publishing is and will always be my first love but I do have other interests.

For weeks, gossip consumed my coworkers' every working moment. One rumor had a group of designers vying for the deal; another rumor identified a former Homeplans' VP—backed by an investment group comprised of past owners and (possibly) a current employee—who wanted back into the business. We ran every possible scenario of how these deals could work out, and invariably they concluded in the same way: we each had a 50/50 chance of keeping our jobs.

As the weeks progressed, with nothing but conjecture to mislead us, it became increasingly more difficult to stay focused on work, the outcome of which may not even matter. New rumors that a deal was close started circulating last Friday. This past Monday we heard murmurs that an announcement would be made on Wednesday. On Tuesday I used my final sick day to get myself in a good place. I enjoyed an overpriced massage at Juut on Grand, after which I checked my work e-mail to find a flurry of coworkers exchanging personal e-mail addresses. With promises of staying in touch and getting together over the summer, it felt like the last day of high school.

On Wednesday—yesterday—the office was abuzz with word that there would be a meeting at 10 a.m. And by 10:45, The Skipper announced that the sale was complete. Hurrah! The new owners, in order to afford the acquisition, however, had to lay off pretty much everyone (eight lucky [?] employees are staying on to run an incredibly stripped-down company).

Yes, I joked about losing my job, but I really didn't expect it would happen. Of course, letting everyone go is the only scenario that could work. In addition to publishing shelter magazines, Homeplans sells blueprints to peeps who are building new homes. If you've read the news over the past two years, you know that housing starts (privately owned homes under construction) are dropping dramatically daily. It does follow, then, that Homeplans' business has dropped dramatically, too.

I don't know how the new owner—the former VP—plans to rebuild, let alone keep the company afloat in this economy. But more power to him, and them.

I loved my job as a magazine editor. While holed up in hotel rooms through the '90s on business trips, reading shelter magazines, like House Beautiful and Martha Stewart Living and Home and Garden, I dreamed about becoming a magazine editor. It was a pipe dream—I wasn't a writer, or so I thought. My journey to magazine editor was quite accidental, and I do realize my good fortune. I will be looking for another job as an editor, but will expand my search to book editing as well. I'm also going to explore one of my passions—food—by lining up some freelance food writing.

As I told Winston last night, as he gave me a hugely comforting hug and condolences, "onward and upward." Rather Mary Poppins-ish, I agree, but I'm a little overdue for a bigger and better job company. While I don't relish the job search—who does?—I am truly looking forward to a new work adventure.

In the meantime, while I'm enjoying my big fat severance (she says sarcastically) and the benefits of an unemployment check, I will be whipping our home into shape. I have robust plans to toss and organize the detritus of our busy lives.

This gift of time allows me to reconnect with friends, and I consider myself most lucky for that!

doing

reading
The View from the Seventh Layer, stories by Kevin Brockmeier, who is so fucking amazing. Last April, I devoured his novel, A Brief History of the Dead. His stories are even more powerful, and I’m inclined to say this may be his genre. I’ll write more on this later. Let’s just say I’m not plowing through the book. In the first 100 pages, each story has required a moment for rumination as a wave of WOW washes over me. His other backlist titles, Things That Fall from the Sky (stories) and The Truth about Celia (novel) are going on my TBR list. Right. This. Minute.

listening
The Beastie Boys did an instrumental album last year, called The Mix-Up, and I’m all over it for the funk. And, for Adam Yauch’s penetrating bass line. It seems like the right thing for them to do—explore musical styles, evolve. “Suco de Tangerina” is my favorite track, but a few minutes ago when I heard the first track, “B for My Name,” it made me happy.

avoiding
~ taxes
Our accountant doesn’t do much for us beyond asking if we donated any money or saved the receipts for our car tabs. Even I could have figured out those things. Still we end up paying stoopid amounts of money in taxes. This year, we vowed, we would hire a new tax preparer. By mid-March, without a prospect for a new accountant (inertia is to blame) and with encouragement from a few trustworthy folks who use TurboTax, we thought we’d do our own taxes this year. So yesterday, with less than a week before taxes are due, I mailed all our W-2s and 1099s to our usual, useless accountant.

Looking ahead to paying 2008 taxes, I’m getting a jump by asking Do you have a good accountant whose name you’d like to share with me?

~ a birthday party for Winston
Since Winston was spending his birthday away from home, for the third year in a row, we had a family celebration the weekend before the blessed date. Then, my mother threw him a party on his birthday. How much cake and how many presents does a six-year-old need? I don’t mind taking the boys to their friends' birthday parties, but I hate entertaining oodles of loud kids and making small talk with their parents. I know I have a bad attitude about this, but somewhere something went amok with kid parties, and now there’s no going back.

anticipating
Dinner at Meritage tonight with Tracy and the Jills. Mostly I’m looking forward to the big, fat cocktail I’m going to drink at the bar before my friends arrive. A little campari and sweet vermouth, with a splash of soda should revive me.

happy birthday cheeky monkey!

Belated wishes to my handsome husband, who celebrated another birthday yesterday.

I almost didn’t mention it here because John hates having a fuss made, though we did celebrate with a favorite meal (shepherd's pie) and chocolate cake. For many years he teased me about his age in relation age his father was he had his massive heart attack. For example, on John’s 37th birthday he said, “You know, I’m five years older than my father was when he had his dissecting aorta.” Would scare the shit out of me. Thankfully, John's father (70 y.o.) has long exceeded his life expectancy (36 y.o.)!

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention how much I love my life with you, Cheeky Monkey. Many happy returns of the day!

xxoo, lt

weekend report: april 5-6

Friday—My weekend began Friday morning. The little boys are back from SD where they were visiting Grandpa and Grandma so I happily spent the day with them, undoing the damage, as they finished spring break. We had breakfast at the Grandview Grille because Mommy was in serious need of eggs with runny yolks and toasted English muffins (I know, neither healthy nor difficult to make at home). Mostly I wanted to get out of the house. A trip to Target yielded a spring wardrobe for each boy—short-sleeved shirts for the big one, who has outgrown every shirt he was able to wear last fall, and jeans for the little one, who has not grown much but has blown holes through the knees of almost every pair of his pants. Also, since Mommy is totally indulgent—and because I love them—the boys each picked out an Ironman action figure. They see Tony Stark, I see Robert Downey, Jr. and I love Robert Downey, Jr. Then a trip to the video store and to the grocery store for, among other things, popping corn so as to keep boys busy while Mommy surfed the web for the remainder of the afternoon. Kind of pathetic, I know, but the path of least resistance works best for me right now. John and I watched the season premier of Battlestar Galactica, which was the fastest hour of the entire week. I think it's criminal that this is the final season for some of the smartest, most exciting TV.

Saturday—We squandered the most gorgeous day of the year, so far, by running errands that keep us indoors. I hate when that happens. Friends Scott and Renee and their boys came to dinner. To celebrate the approach of spring-like weather, I made a clam roast with fennel, potatoes, kielbasa, and clams, which we served with a chilled, crisp rose—our first of the warmer-weather season. Because Scott and Renee are thoughtful guests, they arrived bearing Izzy’s ice cream—Norwegian Chai and yogurt. Not frozen yogurt. Yogurt ice cream, and it was very, very good. I think the sweet and tangy would play nice with booze-macerated fruit or with warm chocolate brownies. After we put the little boys to bed, John and I conked out watching an episode of Dexter, my new favorite show.

Sunday—John and I took the boys to Bruegger’s for bagels, then we schlepped to REI in Bloomington to look at gear and spend our dividend (rain jackets for the John and the boys). We’re so ready for hiking, rain or shine. It poured rain all day, so I spent the afternoon tinkering over dinner—osso bucco, which you can read about here. After we put the little boys to bed, John ran to Lund’s for chocolate because he loves me so much. Then we watched more Dexter. Isn’t TV on DVD the very best thing ever?

Happy Birthday Winston!

I cannot believe you are six years old today, my dear son. Where does the time go? See how much you’ve grown.

This past year has been such a huge one for you with many milestones, most of which were achieved because of your drive to outdo your older brother. For example, you decided that this would be the year you scaled the climbing wall at REI, and twice you came to within a toehold of reaching the bell on the nearly 55 ft. high wall. The first time you told us that, from where you were at the top, we appeared like ants on the ground. Funny that: you’re so little, that from where we stood on the ground, you looked like an ant to us, too.

You started kindergarten, at which you’re excelling. I’m so proud of the way you have learned how to navigate your environment, gaining more independence. You’ve made friends. You’re learning how to read and are mastering the lost art of shoe-tying. Soon, you won’t even need me.

Spending time in the kitchen with you has become more fun. You’re a great helper and have become quite accomplished at measuring and mixing. Even though you’d rather stay home in your jammies all day, I’m glad when you consent to keep me company running errands.

After all, you are adventurous, especially if food is involved. It was fun watching you eat salmon roe sushi, one fish egg at a time—“Dabby dots of jelly. Pretty on my plate and yummy in my belly.”

I’m pretty excited for all the things the next year will bring!

Happy Birthday, Winston. Six. Years. Old.

wiki wednesday

It's time for Wiki Wednesday!

1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.

This week's random offering is short and sweet. I wanted to find a photo online, but found none of the village. Plenty of Calvados and Lower Normandy here. If you like Norman castles, the Bayeux tapestry, and dairy (especially cheese), these photos will make you want to travel.

Poussy-la-Campagne is a commune of the département of Calvados, in the Basse-Normandie région, in France. Its postal code is 14540. The INSEE code is 14517.

dinner at red stag

Top left: roasted bone marrow with garlic toast and sauteed mushrooms
Top right: "steak fries," these were creamy inside
Middle: empty bone
Bottom: elk stroganoff, with amazingly sweet toasted garlic

weekend report: march 29-30

Friday night—John and I rarely, if ever, go out on Friday nights, mostly because we're too exhausted by our work week, but also because we've developed a great ritual that we hate to miss. But it was our pleasure to spend the evening with Tracy and Bill, who had invited us to see Greil Marcus and the Mekons with them.

We started with dinner at Red Stag Supperclub*, Kim Bartmann's ultra cool restaurant with a great menu and spectacular dining environment. It's the first Minnesota restaurant to have LEED certification, meaning that they've taken extra steps to ensure green building—that is to say environmentally friendly, energy conscious, and, most important, sustainable. The food was fantastic, especially any menu item with meat. I had elk, something I haven't eaten since I was a kid, when my dad hunted elk in Colorado with my Uncle Bill. It was very good and tender, unlike when I ate it as a child and made me instantly suspicious that it might not be elk. John's beef filet and Bill's duck were also outstanding. Anyhow, I'd like to go on record as saying that the red stag over the restaurant's front door would look great on my fireplace. Just saying.**

Over in St. Paul, at the Fitzgerald Theater, we saw Greil Marcus interviewed by The Current's Mary Lucia. I've long been a fan of Mary Lucia. I could recognize her voice anywhere, but I had no idea what she looked like. Tracy and I both thought it was a little trippy to now have a face to pair with her voice. The interview was great. The Mekons were pretty awesome, too. Sally Timm knocked my socks off. They played for almost an hour. Folksy tunes with edge, a totally natural progression from their alt country vibe of the early 90s, which, quite frankly, was evident even in their "punk" music from the mid 80s. Great Friday night out!

Saturday—Took Winston to the first stop on the March-May birthday party circuit, and caught up with the SPCC parents. After the party, so as not to waste a drive all the way out to Woodbury, I dragged Winston with me to Trader Joe's where he took control of the shopping cart so that he could find Tiki Sven, which was hidden in the store. Trader Joe's is such a weird place. Many of their food items look intriguing, but ultimately I'm grossed out that it's processed food—albeit without a lot of junk, such as HFCS. I spent a lot of time putting things into my cart, then returning them to the shelf. Later, John and I took the boys out for dinner to celebrate Winston’s birthday. He’s turning six at Gpa and Gma house later this week and he’s milking it, which seems so innocent and is yet so Machiavellian. Still we had dinner at Saji-Ya. Simon, who won’t touch sushi (which is okay, he’s 8.5) devoured two bowls of edamame and a plate of tempura shrimp. Winston ate a bowl of rice saturated with soy sauce, as well as a number of rolls and the eyes off a fried shrimp head. Both were mesmerized by sounds and flames of the teppanyaki chefs upstairs, so we vowed to return and try it ourselves.

Sunday—I love our weekend mornings. This one started with the family Shepard making a pancake breakfast together. Everyone got in on the action. We lifted our juice glasses and toasted the measurers and mixers, egg crackers and pancake flippers. Then I took a pile of Nancy Drew graphic novels—so much fun—and a very large, very heavy duffel bag packed with dirty clothes and headed for the laundromat. I don’t want to dwell on broken appliances so let’s just say I stepped in a very large puddle while washing clothes on Saturday. After the laundry was done, we drove to Montevideo to meet my parents. On the way we ate PB&Js that Simon had made. I read aloud from Winston's library book—The Secret in the Old Mill, a Hardy Boys mystery—as well as listened to Bill Cosby's 1964 recording I Started Out As a Child. In Montevideo, a halfway point (ish) between us and my parents, we handed the boys over to Gpa and Gma, who are kindly entertaining the boys on their spring break. On the return drive, I read aloud to John from Tony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential, his hilarious and revolutionary behind-the-scenes look at the restaurant industry. The first/last time I read this book, I read the manuscript, prepublication. And, though it was funny and well written, I would have laughed in your face if you had told me it would be a bestseller. John and I kicked off our third annual Hambone and Spice Restaurant Week at La Cucharacha, then returned home and plopped in front of the telly. In a very quiet house.

*I won't link to Red Stag's site as some redneck idiot has hacked it, and three days (or more) later, it still isn't fixed.

**Ostensibly, we went to Red Stag for bone marrow. The roasted marrow was beautifully presented. How could you not want to brag about how you love bone marrow—except it's about the most disgusting thing I have ever eaten. Mind you, I have eaten blood sausage, tripe, foie gras, sweetbreads, shrimp heads—all good. The marrow was oozy, like pure fat, but some of it was bloody. Okay, the less said about this the better. Needless to say, I'm feeling a little traumatized by roasted bone marrow.

spring in the Midwest

A view of our home from the alley, March 21 (St. Paul)

Entering Memorial Park from the lake side, Easter (Watertown, SD)

Running on frozen Lake Kampeska, Easter (Watertown, SD)

doing

watching
A few weeks ago when I read in the NYT that Amy Sherman-Palladino had a follow up (score!) to The Gilmore Girls—The Return of Jezebel James, starring Parker Posey (score!)—there was no question I would add the show to my DVR queue. Unfortunately I missed the first couple episodes, but last night I watched what might have been the third episode. My first impression is that it’s not the instant success that Gilmore Girls was. The story is unfolding slowly in a way that doesn’t really fit a sitcom format, but the show had potential. I say had because Fox announced this morning that Jezebel James has been cancelled after only three episodes. I liked Posey’s daffy character—Sarah, a successful editor (score!) at Harper Collins. The petit annoyances hardly seem worth bringing up now so it’s back to Grounded for Life reruns.

reading
Over the weekend, I finished The Omnivore’s Dilemma, which was very, very good. It’s eye-opening, to be sure. But more, I loved Michael Pollan’s writing style, with its logically composed arguments and richly detailed prose. As a writer, I marveled at the way the prose effortlessly flowed from factual information (statistics, science, history) to personal (Pollan’s experience visiting the corn farmer and the grass farmer, as well as hunting and gathering). My book group met last Thursday to talk about the book. We were each suitably impressed by Pollan, yet horrified by the omnivore’s dilemma of too many food choices, many of which are killing us. I’ve got a little bit of ruminating to do before I write more; then I'll pick up one of the next three food books in the queue—Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, Judith Jones’ The Tenth Muse, or John Thorne’s Mouth Wide Open.

eatingFish tacos. For the past few Fridays I have been eating fish tacos for lunch at Golden’s. Made with tilapia fillets and topped with shredded lettuce and pico de gallo with loads of lime and cilantro, these are my fish taco ideal. I tried my hand at making my own tonight. Lunds had tilapia but Simon encouraged me to also buy red snapper so we could compare. I used flour tortillas, which I prefer to corn, and a store-bought but serviceable pico de gallo. The family was split over which fish was better, though my preference was the soft and buttery tilapia. Next time, we’ll make fish tacos on a weekend so we can eat them with this awesome tropical fruit salsa (avocado, pineapple, kiwi, mango, lime juice, red onions, serranos, cilantro).

listening
Carbon/Silicon, Mick Jones' new gig.

weekend report: march 22-23

The family Shepard is back in the Twin Cities following a slow weekend in Watertown, SD. We brought fewer toys and projects with us this time, so the car felt less loaded, which was okay since we drove the Prius. Still, we didn’t manage to use most of the things we brought. For example, I never cracked open my laptop.
The roads on Friday evening were in better shape than I had feared, which was a pleasant relief. In fact, there was very little traffic, coming or going, from the Twin Cities, so we flew. I read aloud to the boys for a bit from The Fire Within, which showed promise.

While John took his evening nap, I drove and listened to disc one—remixes—of the Scion Daptone compilation, and to the Kitchen Sisters's audiobook Hidden Kitchens, narrated by Frances McDormand. Both were pretty awesome. I had some great ideas while listening to the Kitchen Sisters and look forward to exploring them further.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, there isn’t much to do in Watertown. The highlight of the weekend was taking a hike through the park next to my parents’ home. We saw robins, their fat red breasts providing pops of color throughout the naked tree branches. My naturalist father helped us identify tracks in the snow—robins, pheasants, and canine of some sort (dog, we hope).

Also, my mother and I filled plastic Easter eggs with candy and hid them for the boys, who then conducted their own hunt WITHOUT WAKING ANY ADULTS. This was so against the rules when I was a kid. I was a little stunned to see the boys’ baskets half empty by the time I rolled downstairs at, oh, 8 a.m. Simon said, "But Mom, I could see three eggs without even looking for them." Translated: if you can see it, hunt it.

After a gut-busting, albeit delicious, ham and potato midday meal on Sunday, we packed up and drove home. Apparently the snow continued to fall in St. Paul on Friday and Saturday and the temperature has remained low. The streets are still snow packed, the sidewalks are icy.

Even so, we’re glad to be home!

LISTENING: itunes shuffle

1. My Weakness (Moby)
This is what angels must sound like

2. Ways to Be Wicked (Lone Justice)
I had no idea I had a copy of this

3. Vertigo (U2)
A little commercial, but likeable

4. Love Pipe (The Red Elvises)
Russian surf guitar

5. Black Star (Soul Asylum)
From the live album recorded at the Grand Forks (ND) senior prom, awesome

6. See How We Are (X)
A demo version; nothing says summer of 1989 louder than X; they're playing the Cabooze tomorrow night and I'm bummed to miss them

7. Don't Leave Me This Way (Communards)*
Wins award for the day's most blatantly 80s tune; some might say this is a dance song, but, as personal experience is my witness, it would argue for its potential as a great makeout song (see Christmas break 1985, initials NM)

8. Colossus (Walt Mink)
One for the "where are they now" files

9. A Wot (Orgone)
Just got this CD from Krista; funk from Ubiquity Records, a West Coast version—if I dare say so—of Daptone, whatever that means

10. Deathwish (The Police)
Not much to say

* Here, see for yourself:

welcome to spring

Today marks the first full day of spring. I should feel more cheerful, and I would except for the snow that's falling. The lead-gray skies have provoked a bought of SAD, which was suspended temporarily when I went to book group last night. The snow is inevitable—it is, after all, mid March in Minnesota.

John, the boys, and I are meant to drive to So Dak to celebrate Easter with my parents. I have already told John that I'm not keen to drive in the current sloppy, slushy turning to icy driving conditions but he has yet to take me seriously. My life is in his hands, and I completely trust him—until he hits his 7 p.m. slump and drives us into a ditch. I also mentioned to the boys that I'd like to wait until tomorrow morning to make our drive, but they view this idea as a betrayal of the grand plan in which John drives and I read to the family.

Am I being a big baby? I don't think so...I just don't feel like putting my life, and the lives of the people I most cherish, at risk.

Regardless of when we leave town, we are spending the weekend in Watertown, SD, which means packing as if we were going to be stranded on an island in the middle of the ocean. Actually, this analogy isn't far from the truth. There is not a gosh darn thing to do in Watertown. To be fair, the best things to do in Watertown—such as golfing and swimming in the lake or at the new, awesome water park— involve warmer, drier weather. Since my parents don't believe in providing us with activities or entertainment and sort of treat our visits as an afterthought, we like to bring our own amusement.

For this trip I'm packing the following:
~ a few books I've already started and would like to finish (From the Mixed-up Files ... and the second book in Donna Leon's series)
~ magazines, small stack I've been hording, yikes, including the Vogue from two months ago
~ a puzzle to assemble with the kids
~ cool Dover coloring books we got for xmas, this is mine
~ mommy's box of 64 crayolas
~ laptop, even though there's no wi-fi
~ external hard drive
~ camera
~ boots, hat, mittens for a hike in the park
~ knitting, for when I can no longer concentrate on reading over my mother's yammering

And, of course there's the food:
~ cheese (you cannot get a decent, non-processed chunk of cheese in Watertown; Laguiole, which we're trying for the first time, a truffled pecorino-type cheese, and a few others that I picked up at Whole Foods earlier this week)
~ wine (there's serviceable wine to be found in Watertown, but my dad, who claims to love wine and who has drunk from some exquisite bottles in France, refuses to spend more than $3.99 on bottle so we bring a few good but not expensive selections)
~ crackers, to eat with the cheese
~ Easter candy for the kids' baskets, because I couldn't resist
~ B.T. McElrath truffles for the adults' "baskets, because I shopped at the Golden Fig yesterday and couldn't resist

We'll drive slow and treat ourselves well. By the time we return to the Twin Cities, the latest snowfall will have melted. Soon, we'll be back to the business of spring.

Happy, happy weekend!

is it time for lunch yet?

Since the announcement was made three weeks ago that the company employing me would be sold, as soon as humanly possible, all productivity, mine included, has come to a screeching halt. Naturally we’ve all assumed that we’re going to be out on our asses, jobless, rather than reaping the benefits offered by new owners.

Here’s my exit strategy:

1. polish resume (but it’s more fun to blog)
2. beef up my LinkedIn profile, starting here
3. let every friend and acquaintance know I’m on the market (consider yourself notified)
4. pull together a portfolio of clips (the articles I have had published in Homeplans publications)
5. start thinking about options outside of publishing

Sounds easy doesn’t it?

wiki wednesday

It's time for Wiki Wednesday!

1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.


Another geography entry—this one in the continental U.S.—Walsenburg, Colorado. Go here to read about local attractions, history, and demographics (median age at the 2000 Census: 38).

The historic City of Walsenburg is a Statutory City that is the county seat and the most populous city of Huerfano County, Colorado, United States.^[6][2] The city population was 4,182 at the 2000 census.

Robert Ford, the assassin of outlaw Jesse James, operated a saloon/gambling house in Walsenburg, and his home at 320 West 7th Street still stands.

erin go bragh*

The luck of the Irish to you. I’m not Irish in the very least, but every March 17, I'm Irish for the day. It's kind of the law if you live in St. Paul, Minnesota.

Twenty years ago, while spending my JYA in London, I accompanied my flatmate, Julie, to Ireland for spring break. We flew then-fledgling Virgin Atlantic from Luton (outside of London) to Dublin. We rented a car and drove around Ireland for a week.

For the record, I have never met a bigger U2 fan than Julie. Ever. This trip to Ireland didn't just signal a heritage visit for her, either (she's 110% Irish). This trip to Ireland was meant to trace every single step that each member of U2 had ever taken. I'm no longer sure how each place we visited is connected to the band, but I can assure you that at times our trip had a life of its own.

We saw some amazing sites—most of which an not U2 related—and an incredible landscape.



Our itinerary took us from Dublin to Galway on the west coast. We followed the coast, stopping to crawl on hands and knees to lean over the very windy and stunning Cliffs of Moher (county Clare). The Cliffs, pictured above, was a site for a promotional video that U2 shot prior to Unforgettable Fire. We drove along the breathtaking Ring of Kerry (county Kerry). At Kenmare we cut east to the small market town of Macroom, which has a cool gate to the city. On our way to Cork, we kissed the Blarney stone. On our way back to Dublin, we visited Youghal, a quiet fishing village, and the Waterford factory.

Before we reached the Dublin city limits, we made one last very special stop in Bray (county Wicklow)—to knock on the door of a man known locally as Paul Hewson. We had Hewson's address from a reliable source**, but still had to do some asking around to find his unusual home, a Martello tower. Jules had read a Rolling Stone interview in which Bono stated that he would invite in for tea anyone who could find his home. We found his home and knocked on the door, to no avail. Bono was busy in Dublin doing a press junket for what would be U2's breakout album.

Finally, we celebrated St. Patrick's Day 1988, in Dublin, during what I believe—though wikipedia begs to differ—was the city's 1,000th anniversary. St. Paddy's Day was crazy with a big parade and drunk people—lots of drunk people—hanging off statues and streetlights. Not exactly the solemn, religious holiday I had been told the Irish practice. Later that week we hit every Dublin club in which U2 ever played and saw Van Morrison, the Chieftains, and U2 play live. Free.

St. Patrick's Days since then—even those spent with the Scanlan's gang—have paled.

*Long live Ireland
**Jules had a boyfriend who worked for Island Records

weekend report: march 15-16

Friday: My weekend started early on Friday, when the pub team cut out of the office for lunch and the Parade of Homes. We tour Parade homes semi-annually for inspiration and to see a more three-dimensional rendering of the blueprints with which we spend our days. Plus it’s a fun and easy way to do some team building. In past years we have visited homes in the northeast, southeast, and southern parts of the Twin Cities, so it was fitting that we would travel west to Plymouth and Wayzata for the spring Parade.

The first two homes we toured were part of a large development, built by Lennar, the Twin Cities’ largest builder. These homes had standard layouts with square footage ranging from 2,845 to 3,233 s.f., placing them firmly in the “move-up” category. Some of the nice details included cherry cabinetry, granite countertops in the kitchen, and a two-way fireplace shared by the family room and the living room. Homes in this category start at $600,000, which seemed to be incredibly overpriced.

The last two homes on our trip were massive, gorgeous luxury homes built by Hickory Fine Homes. I must say that while each of these homes was beautiful, they were a bit over the top, starting at $1.5 million. One home was a basically a large “barn,” with a series of gambrel roofs. Continuing the barn-theme inside, the Great Room had an incredible vaulted ceiling with massive support beams. The kitchen’s was vast. Both rooms open onto each other and shared a view of a small lake. The laundry room, five bathrooms, kitchen, and lower-level bar each had countertops from a unique slab of granite. The lower level also sported a basketball half-court and a climate-controlled wine cellar. Oooolala.

In general, the homes were really well staged, which always inspires me to conquer clutter and pay attention to the details in my own home, which, if I do say so, has very nice bones.

John and I took the boys to see Horton Hears a Who, which I found to be a near-perfect adaptation. I’m always amazed at how a fifty-page children’s book can be stretched to fill eighty minutes onscreen. In between the computer-animated jungle and Whoville scenes, there was a neat homage to the hand-drawn art of Dr. Seuss that will satisfy the Seussian among us.

Saturday: Made Bittman’s quick and easy waffles (How to Cook Everything has the best, uncomplicated breakfast recipes). John and I worked in our bedroom, folding the mountains of clothes and sorting through the detritus the ends up there on a daily basis. John took the boys to Minnehaha Falls for a hike with friends while I enjoyed some time for myself. First I hauled a couple buckets of paint and cement sealer to the county household hazardous waste site. The cement sealer, which had been stacked between two other containers for at least three and a half years, started leaking last week. So I bagged them as best I could without actually touching the ooziness, and with thoughts of Pa Ingalls and Mr. Edwards treacherously hauling nitroglycerin to Mankato in their horse-drawn wagon, I transported the containers very, very carefully to the dump. Then treated myself to a cafe mocha at Dunn Brothers while I read Omnivore’s Dilemma in anticipation of book group this coming Thursday.

Finally, the evening of our dinner reservation at one of Minneapolis’ hottest new restaurants, Heidi’s, had arrived. John and I shared our four-top with Tracy and Bill, who had just returned from a month in Mexico. We started at Tracy’s for aperitifs (a chateauneuf du pape and a tempranillo accompanied salumi from Salumi and some treats from Premier Cheese Shop—lomo, roquefort, and an Irish cow’s milk soft-ripened cheese).

Heidi’s is a tiny space that looks posher online than in real life, but it’s still a lovely space. Even though we arrived late, we were still greeted by a slight backup, which gave us time to chat with Frank, the zany front-of-house guy. Chef Stewart Woodman’s food was phenomenal. I started with the fingerling potatoes enrobed in a grainy mustard and cornichon-studded raclette sauce and topped with frizzled leek strips—an elegantly reconstructed take on the French apres-ski treat. We drank a Gruner Veltliner Gmork with our starter. My main was off the menu: lobster in pureed parsnips and a ginger reduction of some sort. Sublime. We drank a French pinot noir with our main courses. I’m still thinking about Tracy’s beet ravioli with a whisper-thin wrapper surrounding a beet slice (rather than a puree), nestled into a truffle foam. John’s Australian sea bass was crispy on the outside and soft inside in the way we’re never able to cook fish at home. The table split a chocolate cake with espresso ice cream that was, hands down, the best dessert I’ve had since 112’s tres leche cake. I cannot wait to go back to Heidi’s, and you should march there as soon as you can.

Sunday: Yoga was cancelled so what better alternate than a pastry breakfast at Bread & Chocolate with the guys, who, afterward, very politely indulged me in a trip to Garden of Eden. Later, Simon and I snuck out for ice cream at Izzy’s (Irish moxie [coffee base with Jameson whiskey, oreos, and heath bars] and a Guiness izzy); then stops at Cheapo’s (looking for Carbon Silicone, Mick Jones’s latest project) and the library. We spent a lazy afternoon around the TV. I got to read for an hour or so while John watched Tiger Woods win the Arnold Palmer Invitational. We met friends at the St. Paul Curling Club for dinner and watched our friends Colin and Dave curl. Their four-person curling team advanced out of the semifinals for their league’s championship. John and I stayed up late, hanging out in the studio and working on our computers. Such an awesome way to end a good weekend.