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)