She may not have a snowball's chance in hell, but Hillary Clinton's announcement gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling. First woman to run for president.
Run Hillary. Run.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Monday, January 15, 2007
Mondays don't get better than this
Simon and Winston have the day off for MLK, Jr Day. By "day off" I mean no school, no Discovery Club. John took the a.m. shift while I got in a few hours at the office (putting out fires, no less). Now, Simon is enjoying a play date at a friend's house. Winston is playing with Play-Doh happily—his choice over ice cream at Izzy's— allowing me unfettered access to the Internet where I am intermittently reading (others) and writing (mine) blogs.
Sure beats the weekend, which was, IMHO, the worst of the year, so far.
On Friday evening we noticed the kitchen sink was backing up at the slightest provocation, something it never ever does. At some point late Saturday a plumber deigned to make a housecall—at a usurious weekend time-and-a-half rate, I might add. As soon as he threw open the doors under the sink, he announced, "Looks like your mousetraps are working." Great. How did he know I couldn't deal with mice, dead or alive? (On the bright side, the mice are dead. Afterall, the only good mouse is a dead mouse. Funny though, when John cleared out the area in anticipation of the plumber, he didn't see any mice in the traps.)
While the plumber was getting equipment out of his truck, I invited John to remove the offending traps. I couldn't bear to look, but the traps were rumored to contain four baby mice. Apparently, one of the parents was running around at the moment of discovery.
Later, when I replayed the tapes of the day, I felt a little remorse. Intellectually, I know these mice—I'm assuming they're a couple—just wanted the best for their babies. They found a warm, comfortable, sheltered place to build a nest and start a family. They scurried around day and night looking for food to keep their family well fed. Isn't that all anyone can ask for—to be sheltered and fed? Then, their babies stumble onto a glue pad...I can't even articulate the rest.
I'm obsessed with the mice. Even though the occurrences are contained, the quality of my mental health would be much improved if we never had any vermin in the house. Ever.
Back to the sink. Sludge. That was the diagnosis of the clogged sink. The prescription: fill both sides of the sink with water, then pull the plugs simultaneously and force the water through the pipes. Length of treatment: forever.
I am happy to report that we did have some happy times over the weekend. On Friday evening I got to read and knocked off a big chunk of The Whole World Over, which I will finish not only before Conversation with Books (1/22), but also before its library due date (1/17). I also cooked for a couple hours on Sunday, making an appropriately comforting chicken pot pie with biscuit topping.
The boys each had their first ski lesson on Saturday morning. Win's class met inside and practiced walking in ski boots, pushing up from a fall, and duck walks. Outside, on a patch of snow slightly larger than the Arctic ice cap, Simon's class learned the same fundamentals. Next week, we'll trek them out to the ski hill. Hopefully the snow we received last night will stick around until next Saturday.
Since every dish in the kitchen was dirty and the sink was clogged, we took the boys out for lunch after ski school. John thought Andy's Garage—a 50s-style diner in a former service station—would be the perfect treat. Apparently not enough other people think the same way as a big "For Sale" sign on the building thwarted our plans. I'm sad, but not surprised, that Andy's has closed (the Pioneer Press, not long ago, profiled the restaurant as failing). Mickey's Diner, located in a diner car, was our next choice but everyone near downtown St. Paul had that idea. So, reluctantly, I acquiesced to Boundary Waters Brewery—where, of course, I had an unexpectly good time. The boys wanted to sit at the bar and watch college hoops. So we did, and the bartender took very good care of us, bringing the boys crayons and sheets of paper and root beer. Our food was pretty mediocre, even for bar fare, but who cares.
And, on Sunday I took the boys to see a matinee—Night at the Museum, which was playing at Highland. Initially, Simon was buggin' out in anticipation of Ben Stiller's character getting locked in the Natural History Museum overnight with every animal and scruffy historical character coming to life. I had to assure him the movie was a comedy, but he gave me that withering look of disbelief. He was in anguish. I wondered how badly he would be scarred if I forced him to watch the whole thing. Soon enough hijinks ensued, and he decided to tough it out to the bitter end, laughing throughout. Now, he wants to make his own "night at the museum " adventures, imagining such things as all of his books coming to life while he's sleeping. I love his creative spirit.
Listening to some good tunes now—"Got to Be the Way It Is" Sharon Jones, "Peanuts" The Police, "What This Town Needs" Blanche, "Rise" PIL, "Jellybelly" Smashing Pumpkins.
Here's wishing every Monday could be like this one.
Sure beats the weekend, which was, IMHO, the worst of the year, so far.
On Friday evening we noticed the kitchen sink was backing up at the slightest provocation, something it never ever does. At some point late Saturday a plumber deigned to make a housecall—at a usurious weekend time-and-a-half rate, I might add. As soon as he threw open the doors under the sink, he announced, "Looks like your mousetraps are working." Great. How did he know I couldn't deal with mice, dead or alive? (On the bright side, the mice are dead. Afterall, the only good mouse is a dead mouse. Funny though, when John cleared out the area in anticipation of the plumber, he didn't see any mice in the traps.)
While the plumber was getting equipment out of his truck, I invited John to remove the offending traps. I couldn't bear to look, but the traps were rumored to contain four baby mice. Apparently, one of the parents was running around at the moment of discovery.
Later, when I replayed the tapes of the day, I felt a little remorse. Intellectually, I know these mice—I'm assuming they're a couple—just wanted the best for their babies. They found a warm, comfortable, sheltered place to build a nest and start a family. They scurried around day and night looking for food to keep their family well fed. Isn't that all anyone can ask for—to be sheltered and fed? Then, their babies stumble onto a glue pad...I can't even articulate the rest.
I'm obsessed with the mice. Even though the occurrences are contained, the quality of my mental health would be much improved if we never had any vermin in the house. Ever.
Back to the sink. Sludge. That was the diagnosis of the clogged sink. The prescription: fill both sides of the sink with water, then pull the plugs simultaneously and force the water through the pipes. Length of treatment: forever.
I am happy to report that we did have some happy times over the weekend. On Friday evening I got to read and knocked off a big chunk of The Whole World Over, which I will finish not only before Conversation with Books (1/22), but also before its library due date (1/17). I also cooked for a couple hours on Sunday, making an appropriately comforting chicken pot pie with biscuit topping.
The boys each had their first ski lesson on Saturday morning. Win's class met inside and practiced walking in ski boots, pushing up from a fall, and duck walks. Outside, on a patch of snow slightly larger than the Arctic ice cap, Simon's class learned the same fundamentals. Next week, we'll trek them out to the ski hill. Hopefully the snow we received last night will stick around until next Saturday.
Since every dish in the kitchen was dirty and the sink was clogged, we took the boys out for lunch after ski school. John thought Andy's Garage—a 50s-style diner in a former service station—would be the perfect treat. Apparently not enough other people think the same way as a big "For Sale" sign on the building thwarted our plans. I'm sad, but not surprised, that Andy's has closed (the Pioneer Press, not long ago, profiled the restaurant as failing). Mickey's Diner, located in a diner car, was our next choice but everyone near downtown St. Paul had that idea. So, reluctantly, I acquiesced to Boundary Waters Brewery—where, of course, I had an unexpectly good time. The boys wanted to sit at the bar and watch college hoops. So we did, and the bartender took very good care of us, bringing the boys crayons and sheets of paper and root beer. Our food was pretty mediocre, even for bar fare, but who cares.
And, on Sunday I took the boys to see a matinee—Night at the Museum, which was playing at Highland. Initially, Simon was buggin' out in anticipation of Ben Stiller's character getting locked in the Natural History Museum overnight with every animal and scruffy historical character coming to life. I had to assure him the movie was a comedy, but he gave me that withering look of disbelief. He was in anguish. I wondered how badly he would be scarred if I forced him to watch the whole thing. Soon enough hijinks ensued, and he decided to tough it out to the bitter end, laughing throughout. Now, he wants to make his own "night at the museum " adventures, imagining such things as all of his books coming to life while he's sleeping. I love his creative spirit.
Listening to some good tunes now—"Got to Be the Way It Is" Sharon Jones, "Peanuts" The Police, "What This Town Needs" Blanche, "Rise" PIL, "Jellybelly" Smashing Pumpkins.
Here's wishing every Monday could be like this one.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Christmas all over again
...but only the good parts: the presents. I'm sure post will sound pretty petty, but I'm willing to risk it, especially since I'm the only person who reads this blog.
The boxes containing our Christmas presents arrived from Princeton yesterday!! David (John's "stepfather") mailed them on Wednesday, December 28—and they only just arrived at our house, by way of USPS, yesterday, Monday, January 8. A holiday and a national day of mourning for a dead ex-president has a particular way of messing up a well-oiled machine.
Despite the delay, the boys have been so excited to rip right into the boxes and rediscover their loot—lots of board games, building systems (wooden blocks for building a pyramid and Illumibot), a remote control pteranodon, and lots of wonderful books (including the color-illustrated The Trumpet of the Swan and the Narnia Chronicles boxed set).
As for my gifts, I can't wait to dig into the classic ski movies (from my cheeky monkey), Emma Goldman's diaries, Adam Gopnik's New York essays, and the fabulous cookbooks (including The Silver Spoon, Nigel Slater's The Kitchen Diaries, and A Swedish Kitchen).
The boxes containing our Christmas presents arrived from Princeton yesterday!! David (John's "stepfather") mailed them on Wednesday, December 28—and they only just arrived at our house, by way of USPS, yesterday, Monday, January 8. A holiday and a national day of mourning for a dead ex-president has a particular way of messing up a well-oiled machine.
Despite the delay, the boys have been so excited to rip right into the boxes and rediscover their loot—lots of board games, building systems (wooden blocks for building a pyramid and Illumibot), a remote control pteranodon, and lots of wonderful books (including the color-illustrated The Trumpet of the Swan and the Narnia Chronicles boxed set).
As for my gifts, I can't wait to dig into the classic ski movies (from my cheeky monkey), Emma Goldman's diaries, Adam Gopnik's New York essays, and the fabulous cookbooks (including The Silver Spoon, Nigel Slater's The Kitchen Diaries, and A Swedish Kitchen).
Monday, January 01, 2007
Happy New Year!
At the top of my resolution list: Learn when to say when. Starting the new year with a horrible hangover is a lousy tradition. But every year, except 2000 when I had a newborn baby, I have insisted on drinking stupid amounts of alcohol that inevitably result in feeling bad and dumb and tired and apathetic to the optimism of a new year. But I must say, John and I were the hosts with the most last night! And, it's no small feat seeing as the adults were outnumbered by children (four couples and a parent flying solo, each with two children).
Friend Helena, with whom I planned this dinner, insisted that John and I not do any cooking since we were hosting. So we agreed doing the meal potluck. Helena and her husband brought the main course (pork tenderloins, marinated in a soy/sherry/ginger/garlic concoction then baked, and roasted potatoes); Shawn and Annika brought a lovely tossed green salad (with red peppers, pears, blue cheese, and caramelized walnuts) and a focaccia; and Dave and Sarah contributed dessert (miniature tarts and truffles, raspberries and blackberries—the fruit was a treat). John and I provided pre-dinner nibbles—an excellent salmon tartare (capers, scallions, serrano chile, and lemon juice mixed with diced raw salmon), duck foie gras, salted mixed nuts, and an assortment of olives (black balsamic, fat green olives stuffed with citrus, and teeny nicoise).
Naturally everyone brought wine—a few good Bordeauxs in the bunch—and sparkling wine (cava and a bottle of Mumm Napa, which would have made a great contrast to the Mumm Cordon Rouge we bought). At the end of the evening, the bottle count was 8 wine, 2 sparkling wine/champagne. So, slightly more than a bottle per person.
Oh, and, we finally have snow. Yesterday's drizzle turned to sleet around 3 p.m., which Simon and I noticed as we were running errands. When we returned home we were so busy with party details that we hardly noticed that the snow was beginning to pile up.
This morning was bright with sun and clear skies. The outdoors, fresh and crisp, beckoned, but my head was so disconnected from my body that I couldn't get going. So we blew off the sledding party that had been organized last night in favor of whatever sleep or rest we could manage with wild kids, screaming in the den.
Later in the morning, I had the kids bundle up and head outside to put some fresh human tracks in the yard. Simon reported that he saw deer hoofprints, which is exciting to think about, and I heard/saw a woodpecker going to town on the tree just outside the front door. I love our neighborhood.
If I had felt more ambitious, I would have packed up the ornaments and decorations, and taken down the tree, but it was nice to just lounge around the house, feeling no urgency toward anything. I finished reading Charlotte's Web to Simon and had a little cry over the scene when Wilbur asks Charlotte why she was so nice to him and she replied, "Because you're my friend." Then we both curled up on the couch for a long afternoon nap.
Since I'm beginning to feel more human post-nap, I'm starting to look forward to the new year. Lots I want to accomplish. Most of our friends at the dinner last night had similar resolutions: eat better, exercise more. And, my resolutions follow those lines. Though I feel like I eat well, I definitely will exercise more—starting tomorrow even when I intend to take my first lunch-hour class at the Skyway Y. I also have some reading goals that I hope to achieve before my birthday in October. And, I have some culinary goals—restaurants to eat in and food items to try making at home, all of which I hope to blog about here. Some professional goals: get that managing editor position at a certain glossy magazine. Travel. Invest. Landscape our yard. Take a wine class. Go camping and do more cycling with my little family.
Let the wild rumpus begin!
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