I’m back.
Contrary to rumors, I have not gone dark. I’m trying to resume good blogging habits, despite many interruptions, such as technology challenges, family responsibilities, and the distraction of other media (books, namely). Believe me when I say I have missed writing. But here we are at the end of the month, making amends and resolutions for a new month.
Some September highlights include the following:
~ school. This fall, both boys started a new school, Capitol Hill, joining many of their friends who were either already there or who also transferred. Simon is in the third grade. He is an eager, disciplined learner, keen to do his homework each night, which sort of knocks my socks off. Winston is in the first grade and lives in perpetual denial that he has any homework. So you can see, I have my work cut out for me. Both have a fair amount of homework, which we’re trying to juggle with two nights of soccer each week. We’re managing, but getting into a good groove has been a bit of a struggle.
~ soccer. Simon and Winston are both playing with the Blackhawks club this fall. Tuesday nights are development nights (an extra practice for Si) and Little Hawks (Win’s main program). Simon is super casual, strolling around the field, not exerting himself terribly hard. Winston is super competitive and never stops running during his hour-plus on the field. I watch contentedly from the sidelines—reading books and playing with my new toy and chatting with other parents—glad not to be the team manager.
~ iPhone. No longer able to resist the temptation, John and I bought matching iPhones. 3Gs. I have spent much of the past few weeks learning how to use the thing, setting up contacts and accounts, synching iPhoto and iTunes, and so on. It was pretty easy, especially after I upgraded my OS. A little extravagant, I know, but I couldn’t synch iTunes to my phone without downloading version 8, which my OS didn’t support. So I coughed up the money for Leopard, installed it, and synched iTunes. Shortly thereafter, I discovered I couldn’t open iPhoto or view any of my pics, the last three years of which I am storing on my laptop. So I shelled out for iLife. In a few months, I’ll have forgotten about the time and expense. For now, I love surfing the web or collecting e-mail when I’m away from my computer, as well as using Google Maps for directions. Next up: apps!
~ books. In September, I read a three books: The Invention of Hugo Cabret (Brian Selznick), The Man Who Ate the World (Jay Rayner), and Thirty-Three Teeth (Colin Cotterill). As my friend Caryl said, when she handed over her copy, “Hugo Cabret is a must-read,” and Caryl is rarely wrong about such things. I loved this middle-reader novel, heavily illustrated in Selznick’s amazing pencil sketches and set in Paris, and I look forward to reading it aloud to Simon and Winston. Also, Thirty-Three Teeth introduced me to a fantastic new character—Dr. Siri Paiboun, the reluctant national coroner. This novel is part of a character-driven series, set in Laos, following the Vietnam War. The non-taxing mystery reminded me of Alexander McCall Smith’s Precious Ramotswe series, but the exoticism of Asian culture and superstitions put in mind John Burdett’s Bangkok 8 (and subsequent books). Currently, I’m in the middle of three or four books, which isn’t unusual for me but it has been awhile since I’ve been able to split my attention in this way. My book group is meeting on October 9, so I’m motoring to finish The Annunciations of Hank Meyerson, Mama’s Boy and Scholar—a mouthful, I know, but I’ve really enjoyed this first novel. And, I know I’ll be talking about it quite a bit in the months to come. The author, who is local, is a friend of a friend, and the book is being published by a small press, which means that it won’t get a lot of attention, so word-of-mouth helps. I am happy to loan my copy to anyone interested. Simply put your request in comments or e-mail me.
~ bike. I put just shy of 95 miles on my bike this month, 61.5 of which happened in one day in Door County, Wisconsin. As the weather turns colder, I’m finding it altogether too easy not to hop on my bike. So I’m ordering a long-sleeve jersey and knickers, and I’m setting a goal for myself before I hang up my bike for the season. In October, I’d like to ride 200 miles, which, I figure, can be achieved by taking one 25–30-mile ride a week, supplemented by a few short trips to the Cathedral and back.
~ travels. In September, I made two quick weekend trips, exploring parts of the Midwest I’d not yet seen. Earlier in the month, John and I visited Door County, Wisconsin, which was beautiful and wooded, with Lake Michigan lapping the shore on one side of the peninsula and Green Bay on the other side. We traveled there in the splendid company of friends, Tom and Bonnie. Last weekend, I drove to Lake Pepin, a bulge in the Mississippi near Red Wing. My mother and sister accompanied me, ostensibly to help me celebrate my birthday. Again, the area was beautiful, all bluffs and trees and Old Man River. We enjoyed a wonderful dinner at the Harbor View Café in Pepin, WI, which features local, seasonal fare, and we stayed at a comfortable B&B with an eco theme. Please, go stay at Journey Inn. It’s a great getaway, not far from the Twin Cities, and the owners were neat people. More on this later.
Bring on October, the very best month of the year!
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Thursday, September 18, 2008
what I talk about when I talk about cycling
~ Chastise myself for waiting so long to ride today that my twenty-mile ride turned into an eight-mile ride.
~ Wave to my neighbor, Lindsay. She and her husband have matching white Audi station wagons. They each handwash their cars. Often.
~ Admire the Obama yard sign I installed earlier today. We've never ever before had a yard sign. My friend Katherine had a Wellstone sign for me in 2002. I was meant to pick it up from her the day before his plane crashed. This election is too important to lose. I have been grappling with my conscience over volunteering. Afterall, I have the time to give. This time around, merely voting is not enough so I marched myself down to Obama's St. Paul HQ today, picked up signs (one for the front yard, one for the more heavily trafficked alley) and filled out a volunteer form. I was told, "Someone will get back to you." The office buzzed with phone calls and a steady stream of middle-aged women requesting yard signs.
~ Absolve my guilt over not taking a longer ride. Before the halfway point in this ride, I'm relieved that I've chosen the nine-mile route today.
~ Worry that the horrible condition of the bike path will cause a tire to blow. Remember that I've left the tire-repair kit in my other, larger, heavier handlebar bag. Think about moving from the River Road bike path to the road, but, ultimately, can't be bothered. I'm on the path because I need am automatic ride, i.e., no cars or buses or traffic lights to filter. Just ride.
~ Notice that the really cool modern house on East River Road and Franklin is no longer on the market. I'd love to get in this house.
~ Listen to the absolutely undated tunes and lyrics of the Sex Pistols on Never Mind the Bollocks. Wonder if anyone can hear me singing along, aloud.
~ Try not to freak out about the economy and our current banking crisis.
~ Wonder why only seniors and joggers use the bike path. Feel like a goof, momentarily. Dudes on Specializeds and Orbeas blow past me.
~ Reflect on John's answer to the question, "what do you think about when you cycle?" He thinks about cadence and rhythm.
~ Attack the hills, as best I can.
~ Wave to my neighbor, Lindsay. She and her husband have matching white Audi station wagons. They each handwash their cars. Often.
~ Admire the Obama yard sign I installed earlier today. We've never ever before had a yard sign. My friend Katherine had a Wellstone sign for me in 2002. I was meant to pick it up from her the day before his plane crashed. This election is too important to lose. I have been grappling with my conscience over volunteering. Afterall, I have the time to give. This time around, merely voting is not enough so I marched myself down to Obama's St. Paul HQ today, picked up signs (one for the front yard, one for the more heavily trafficked alley) and filled out a volunteer form. I was told, "Someone will get back to you." The office buzzed with phone calls and a steady stream of middle-aged women requesting yard signs.
~ Absolve my guilt over not taking a longer ride. Before the halfway point in this ride, I'm relieved that I've chosen the nine-mile route today.
~ Worry that the horrible condition of the bike path will cause a tire to blow. Remember that I've left the tire-repair kit in my other, larger, heavier handlebar bag. Think about moving from the River Road bike path to the road, but, ultimately, can't be bothered. I'm on the path because I need am automatic ride, i.e., no cars or buses or traffic lights to filter. Just ride.
~ Notice that the really cool modern house on East River Road and Franklin is no longer on the market. I'd love to get in this house.
~ Listen to the absolutely undated tunes and lyrics of the Sex Pistols on Never Mind the Bollocks. Wonder if anyone can hear me singing along, aloud.
~ Try not to freak out about the economy and our current banking crisis.
~ Wonder why only seniors and joggers use the bike path. Feel like a goof, momentarily. Dudes on Specializeds and Orbeas blow past me.
~ Reflect on John's answer to the question, "what do you think about when you cycle?" He thinks about cadence and rhythm.
~ Attack the hills, as best I can.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
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.
Never heard of the Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E. or their seventh album, Angry Samoans. Have you?
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
Never heard of the Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E. or their seventh album, Angry Samoans. Have you?
Angry Samoans is the seventh album by Samoan rap group, Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E.. The album was originally going to be released in 1997, however the albums release was scrapped in the United States and remained unreleased until 2006. Unlike the groups previous albums which were mainly Gangsta rap, this album was mainly Rapcore. Three singles were released, "Skared for Lyfe", "Buried Alive" and "Boogie Man".See the entry, linked above, for a playlist.
Monday, September 15, 2008
weekend review (in homage to DFW, RIP)*
9/12. On Friday night, the whole family attended the first-grade potluck at school, a sham of an event that confirms my severe dislike for school functions. The head of the PTO** urged parents to join, that first grade is such a crucial year to become involved. Seriously, I wanted to join (I am so not a joiner) but now I fear I'll burn-out before my kids reach eighth grade. After the potluck***, with a few families we knew from preschool, we endeavored to find a place where the parents could have bottomless glasses of wine, while the children colored and ate cookies. D'Amico couldn't accommodate. No room at the inn. So we stood around and named every place on Grand Avenue, working our way through greater residential St. Paul, shooting down every suggestion, guessing most restaurants would have waiting lists at 7:30 on a Friday night. I can't believe that neither couple, each of whom lived in the neighborhood, had a bottle of wine at their homes. John and I gracefully bowed out, went home, popped a couple Bell's Oktoberfests, and called my father to wish him a happy birthday.
9/13. John took soccer duties this morning. Called me mid-game to announce that Simon had made his first ever goal! What a triumph. What a boost for the little guy. I am so sorry I missed it. The whole day after that was kind of weird as I was trying to reach my friend Tracy, with whom we were to have dinner and see The Walkmen at the 400 Bar, to let her know we hadn't found a sitter and were bailing on the evening. In the end, we took the boys with us to have dinner with Tracy and her beau, Bill, at Bill's house. They fed us so incredibly well with an amazing cheeseboard and a Chateaux Donjon Chateauneuf de Pape, followed by a shrimp and mussel stew on Indonesian black rice, chased with a Claudia Springs pinot gris, easily one of my favorite whites. Dessert was blue cheese and a port. So delicious and civilized. The boys gorged themselves on movies, viewed on Bill's 52-inch flat screen, while playing with Bill's Yorkie mix, Harvey. The boys loved Harvey and can't stop talking about how we need a dog like him.
9/14. Winston and John rode the 14-mile course of the Minneapolis Bike Classic while Simon and I went to the farmers market (Black Russian cherry tomatoes, beefsteak tomatoes, broccoli, green beans, a stunning orange buttercup squash, a muskmelon, and green bell peppers) on our way to his noon soccer match in Woodbury. Simon had a rare-for-him meltdown when we reached our turn to the farmers market. He didn't want to walk around in public wearing his soccer kit. He said, "I don't feel normal." I negotiated with him, unsuccessfully for fifteen minutes, at which point I was running out of time for shopping and so left him in the car. With the doors locked. Of course. He's eight years old and knows to stay put. I remember when I started to sit in the car while my mom ran her boring errands. I loved it, especially if it meant more reading time. But, I thought he was being ridiculous, and I was mad when I consented. I shopped as fast as I could. Ran into a friend who assured me Simon would be fine. When I returned to the car, we had a hug and a heart-to-heart. I don't want him to stay in the car every time I need to run an errand, but I am willing to let him be mature enough to do this (with the doors locked and a book for him to read) occasionally. Mostly, I missed his company. He's a great kid, and I like hanging out with him. Simon's team played a great soccer game. When we got home, we watched the Vikings lose a game they had seemingly wrapped up toward the end of the third quarter. For dinner, I made some amazing, 90% local stuffed peppers, loaded with Big Woods Bison ground bison; onions, garlic, and tomatoes from the farmers market; oregano, sage, and thyme from my herb pots, grown from early-season farmers market purchases; and manchego cheese (obviously not local).
Weekends like this make me wish I could live in a land of nothing but weekends!
*David Foster Wallace, author of the door-stopper Infinite Jest, was found dead, of self-inflicted injuries, on Friday. That fucking selfish idiot—how could he? Suicide is stoopid. He was so brilliant. And he had a wife and a family who loved him. And he battled serious depression. He did electroconvulsive therapy this past summer. Damn demons. One of the world's brightest bulbs has been dimmed and I'm really really sad about that.
**The "O" stands for organization, the answer to the question that parents with advanced degrees asked repeatedly, mostly to make small talk. Remember, advanced degrees don't buy common sense. Followed by the equally important corollary, offering stupidity as an ice-breaker will not make you popular.
***What a pathetic potluck dinner. I know a lot of parents work, thus don't have time to whip up, or even reheat, something in advance of a 6pm school event. Heck, I used to have an 8-6 job so I get that. I also acknowledge that not everyone likes to cook. But it scares me to see what some folks pass off as food. All those accusations of our lousy American diet are writ-large in convenience and processed food. I know because I saw a lot of it at this dinner. And, I know potlucks are challenging even if you like to cook and have the time because, heck, I never know what to make, either. But, jeezus, what was with the macaroni and cheese? There were no fewer than 12 mac-and-cheese casseroles, including my own (homemade) version, as well as a few that had clearly been made from a family-size box of Kraft, then poured into a serving vessel. People, let's take back the potluck. Look here for inspiration. I know I may have gone too far with this rant. Sorry if I have offended.
9/13. John took soccer duties this morning. Called me mid-game to announce that Simon had made his first ever goal! What a triumph. What a boost for the little guy. I am so sorry I missed it. The whole day after that was kind of weird as I was trying to reach my friend Tracy, with whom we were to have dinner and see The Walkmen at the 400 Bar, to let her know we hadn't found a sitter and were bailing on the evening. In the end, we took the boys with us to have dinner with Tracy and her beau, Bill, at Bill's house. They fed us so incredibly well with an amazing cheeseboard and a Chateaux Donjon Chateauneuf de Pape, followed by a shrimp and mussel stew on Indonesian black rice, chased with a Claudia Springs pinot gris, easily one of my favorite whites. Dessert was blue cheese and a port. So delicious and civilized. The boys gorged themselves on movies, viewed on Bill's 52-inch flat screen, while playing with Bill's Yorkie mix, Harvey. The boys loved Harvey and can't stop talking about how we need a dog like him.
9/14. Winston and John rode the 14-mile course of the Minneapolis Bike Classic while Simon and I went to the farmers market (Black Russian cherry tomatoes, beefsteak tomatoes, broccoli, green beans, a stunning orange buttercup squash, a muskmelon, and green bell peppers) on our way to his noon soccer match in Woodbury. Simon had a rare-for-him meltdown when we reached our turn to the farmers market. He didn't want to walk around in public wearing his soccer kit. He said, "I don't feel normal." I negotiated with him, unsuccessfully for fifteen minutes, at which point I was running out of time for shopping and so left him in the car. With the doors locked. Of course. He's eight years old and knows to stay put. I remember when I started to sit in the car while my mom ran her boring errands. I loved it, especially if it meant more reading time. But, I thought he was being ridiculous, and I was mad when I consented. I shopped as fast as I could. Ran into a friend who assured me Simon would be fine. When I returned to the car, we had a hug and a heart-to-heart. I don't want him to stay in the car every time I need to run an errand, but I am willing to let him be mature enough to do this (with the doors locked and a book for him to read) occasionally. Mostly, I missed his company. He's a great kid, and I like hanging out with him. Simon's team played a great soccer game. When we got home, we watched the Vikings lose a game they had seemingly wrapped up toward the end of the third quarter. For dinner, I made some amazing, 90% local stuffed peppers, loaded with Big Woods Bison ground bison; onions, garlic, and tomatoes from the farmers market; oregano, sage, and thyme from my herb pots, grown from early-season farmers market purchases; and manchego cheese (obviously not local).
Weekends like this make me wish I could live in a land of nothing but weekends!
*David Foster Wallace, author of the door-stopper Infinite Jest, was found dead, of self-inflicted injuries, on Friday. That fucking selfish idiot—how could he? Suicide is stoopid. He was so brilliant. And he had a wife and a family who loved him. And he battled serious depression. He did electroconvulsive therapy this past summer. Damn demons. One of the world's brightest bulbs has been dimmed and I'm really really sad about that.
**The "O" stands for organization, the answer to the question that parents with advanced degrees asked repeatedly, mostly to make small talk. Remember, advanced degrees don't buy common sense. Followed by the equally important corollary, offering stupidity as an ice-breaker will not make you popular.
***What a pathetic potluck dinner. I know a lot of parents work, thus don't have time to whip up, or even reheat, something in advance of a 6pm school event. Heck, I used to have an 8-6 job so I get that. I also acknowledge that not everyone likes to cook. But it scares me to see what some folks pass off as food. All those accusations of our lousy American diet are writ-large in convenience and processed food. I know because I saw a lot of it at this dinner. And, I know potlucks are challenging even if you like to cook and have the time because, heck, I never know what to make, either. But, jeezus, what was with the macaroni and cheese? There were no fewer than 12 mac-and-cheese casseroles, including my own (homemade) version, as well as a few that had clearly been made from a family-size box of Kraft, then poured into a serving vessel. People, let's take back the potluck. Look here for inspiration. I know I may have gone too far with this rant. Sorry if I have offended.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
personal phenology
9.1.08 first regular application of hand lotion and lip balm
9.6.08 first bedtime socks
9.7.08 first yellow and red leaves
9.8.08 first early morning jacket
9.9.08 first winter squashes at the grocery store
9.10.08 first late-night cuppa (English Breakfast, white)
9.6.08 first bedtime socks
9.7.08 first yellow and red leaves
9.8.08 first early morning jacket
9.9.08 first winter squashes at the grocery store
9.10.08 first late-night cuppa (English Breakfast, white)
wiki wednesday (special 200th post)
It's time for Wiki Wednesday!
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
My first entry for a book! Although I hadn't heard of the anarchist collective CrimethInc., I'm very familiar with the contemporary social-protest movement in which they participate. Even if you don't believe in their politics (which are extreme) or their tactics (ditto), you have to applaud the good fight. It doesn't seem as if our traditional electorate system or current political candidates speak for the truly disenfranchised. Our sociocultural values, especially when it comes to consumerism, are very, very warped.
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
My first entry for a book! Although I hadn't heard of the anarchist collective CrimethInc., I'm very familiar with the contemporary social-protest movement in which they participate. Even if you don't believe in their politics (which are extreme) or their tactics (ditto), you have to applaud the good fight. It doesn't seem as if our traditional electorate system or current political candidates speak for the truly disenfranchised. Our sociocultural values, especially when it comes to consumerism, are very, very warped.
Days of War, Nights of Love is a collection of political, social and philosophicalanarchist collective CrimethInc.. Most essays advocate the fight for personal freedom, alternate choices and lifestyles. Some of the book is devoted to the criticism of capitalism, statism, and mass-consumerism, arguing that these things dehumanize the individual and decrease the general quality of life. Published in 2000, by the CrimethInc. ex-Workers' Collective, many of the writings contained therein are currently available free online. essays written and published byLikewise, a "copyright" statement in the book allows for the book to be redistributed freely:
English language (and all applications thereof) used without permission from its inventors, writers, and copywriters. No rights reserved. All parts of this book may be reproduced and transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, especially including photocopying if it is done at the expense of some unsuspecting corporation. Other recommended methods include broadcasting reading over pirate radio, reprinting tracts in unwary newspapers, and just signing your own name to this and publishing it as your own work. Any claim relating to copyright infringement, advocation of illegal activities, defamation of character, incitement to riot, treason, etc. should be addressed directly to your Congressperson as a military rather than civil issue.
– Days of War, Nights of Love, page 4
There are whole passages taken from Hakim Bey's Temporary Autonomous Zone[1] word for word that are never acknowledged and it is unclear whether Bey has been informed, as per his desire.
The title of the book references Days and Nights of Love and War, by Eduardo Galeano, a book about political struggle in Latin America, and has in turn inspired the title of rock band Papa Roach's album Days of War, Nights of Love, which has since been renamed Metamorphosis.
Translations
Days of War has been translated into Icelandic as Dansad Á Ösku Dagannaimage),[2] and is in the process of being translated into Czech by the PragueIdeozlocin. It's already translated into Polish and looking for a publisher.
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
a little stiff, a little sore
Door County was all that and a bag of chips. The weather was beautiful, to spite a forecast of thundershowers, not overly warm, which is perfect for riding. And, I had a chance to wear my new arm warmer/shrug thing.
Prairies, wooded areas, farms, sailboats, and shorelines mark the landscape on the peninsula. Illustrating this entry with photographs would be lovely, but I don’t have any pics. I brought my camera with me but left it in the hotel room. This has to be a first since I tend to document the heck out of every place I travel. But, we were in Door County to complete a century, meaning that our priority was riding bikes. And, my handlebar bag—containing windbreaker, inner tubes, compact emergency tool kit, ClifBars, lip balm, sunglasses, bandana, cell phone, Chamois Butter—was very, very heavy and full and the camera didn’t fit. And, yes, I needed all that stuff. I guess it may be time for a better camera on my phone.
DCC had four different distances to choose from—30, 60, 78, and 100. I set out to ride 100 miles, which I has been a goal since completing RAGBRAI (70 miles a day for seven days) in 2005. In May, I started riding ten to fifteen miles (an hour to an hour-twenty minutes), three to four times a week. I wouldn’t call that sort of riding training. By any means. I could have done with at least one twenty- to thirty-mile ride a week. About forty-four miles into the Door County ride, I was toast, and it became clear I wouldn’t be riding 100 miles. And I was okay with that.
The Door County route was gently rolling and really pleasant, but occasionally a short, steep hill would present itself, with no notice. I avoid hills at all cost, normally, so these really took the wind out of my sails, if I may borrow a sports metaphor. And the voices in my head started chattering about how I'm not in as good shape for a ride like this as I thought I was. Once they start, well...it gets really, really ugly.
My quads were screaming. And then all my cycling mojo left me. My lower back was quietly spasming, my shoulders and neck were crunchy, the balls of my feet and my hands were numb (actually preferable when the extremities merely hurt), my saddle was post-delivery tender (I’d forgotten how horrible this feels because I hadn’t done more than thirty miles in one sitting this year).
At the end of my ride, I’d put 61.5 miles on my cyclometer, which is this longest single-day ride I’d done since the last day of RAGBRAI in 2005. Not shabby. I will finish a century at some point, even if it takes a year of training. Next September: the Headwaters 100. Anyone want to join me?
The Door County Century marked the beginning of my fall training. Kicking off with 61.5 miles certainly helps the personal motivation. I’m still a tad bit sore today, but not too sore to spin the wheels so I did an easy ten-mile ride up to the Cathedral and back, stopping to vote on my way home.
Prairies, wooded areas, farms, sailboats, and shorelines mark the landscape on the peninsula. Illustrating this entry with photographs would be lovely, but I don’t have any pics. I brought my camera with me but left it in the hotel room. This has to be a first since I tend to document the heck out of every place I travel. But, we were in Door County to complete a century, meaning that our priority was riding bikes. And, my handlebar bag—containing windbreaker, inner tubes, compact emergency tool kit, ClifBars, lip balm, sunglasses, bandana, cell phone, Chamois Butter—was very, very heavy and full and the camera didn’t fit. And, yes, I needed all that stuff. I guess it may be time for a better camera on my phone.
DCC had four different distances to choose from—30, 60, 78, and 100. I set out to ride 100 miles, which I has been a goal since completing RAGBRAI (70 miles a day for seven days) in 2005. In May, I started riding ten to fifteen miles (an hour to an hour-twenty minutes), three to four times a week. I wouldn’t call that sort of riding training. By any means. I could have done with at least one twenty- to thirty-mile ride a week. About forty-four miles into the Door County ride, I was toast, and it became clear I wouldn’t be riding 100 miles. And I was okay with that.
The Door County route was gently rolling and really pleasant, but occasionally a short, steep hill would present itself, with no notice. I avoid hills at all cost, normally, so these really took the wind out of my sails, if I may borrow a sports metaphor. And the voices in my head started chattering about how I'm not in as good shape for a ride like this as I thought I was. Once they start, well...it gets really, really ugly.
My quads were screaming. And then all my cycling mojo left me. My lower back was quietly spasming, my shoulders and neck were crunchy, the balls of my feet and my hands were numb (actually preferable when the extremities merely hurt), my saddle was post-delivery tender (I’d forgotten how horrible this feels because I hadn’t done more than thirty miles in one sitting this year).
At the end of my ride, I’d put 61.5 miles on my cyclometer, which is this longest single-day ride I’d done since the last day of RAGBRAI in 2005. Not shabby. I will finish a century at some point, even if it takes a year of training. Next September: the Headwaters 100. Anyone want to join me?
The Door County Century marked the beginning of my fall training. Kicking off with 61.5 miles certainly helps the personal motivation. I’m still a tad bit sore today, but not too sore to spin the wheels so I did an easy ten-mile ride up to the Cathedral and back, stopping to vote on my way home.
Friday, September 05, 2008
tgif
It is with great relief that the week is ending. Finally.
Earlier, I met John for lunch in Lowertown, a district in downtown St. Paul. On the way, I noticed that the cyclone fencing that lined Chestnut (winding up from Shepard Road, past the Science Museum, up to W 7th, past the Excel Center and up the hill to the I-35 ramp) is gone already. The troops are gone. The RNC is done. Good riddance.
And, not a moment too soon. Events got a little hairy, starting yesterday in the afternoon. Law enforcement was seriously ramped up—police on horses, on bikes, in riot gear, with gas masks—to “provide protection” from permitted anti-war protesters, who had gathered at the Capitol for a rally and were marching downtown. Downtown businesses closed early at the recommendation of police. State officials were encouraged to go home. Police officers were stationed at all the major freeway ramps nearing downtown and at the major intersections of Shepard Road (John’s office is at one of these major intersections and the boys’ school is at the last exit before downtown).
Just a little stressful, especially when you read minute-by-minute accounts from the street (scroll down for the good stuff). The stress wasn’t unwarranted either. As the protesters reached the John Ireland bridge over I-94, they were met by a full battalion of law enforcement and snowplows. The stand-off was ugly, but it never turned violent. Because, guess what? Minnesotans are really nice. It was an anti-war/peace protest made up of citizens who have a constitutional right to voice their opinion, not anarchists hell-bent to break windows. Sheesh.
But it’s over. Yay! On Tuesday, I’m marching myself down to Obama’s headquarters and giving what’s left of myself, after wife and mother duties.
The boys survived their first week of school. Getting up earlier than usual—not just earlier than summer, but earlier than last school year—has been a challenge for all. But, I’ve found that the boys can be lured out of bed if I promise oatmeal or scrambled eggs. They both like their teachers, and each has revealed the courses they’re most excited about. Simon easily exhibits the maturity of matriculating another year at school. And, Winston is surely coming into his own.
Simon had his first soccer practice this week. I could tell that Si really got a lot out of the coaching and play from the summer. He looked more confident on the field. I’m glad we let him “play up” to the next age group with older, more experienced teammates. Initially, he was the only player from his summer team, but just yesterday, another kid joined the fall team. Not just any kid, either, but the best player from the summer team. The first game is Saturday morning, and I’m truly looking forward to it.
Right after the game, John and I are driving 300 miles to Door County. Many friends have recommended this area in Wisconsin—the thumb of the mitten—as a great destination so I’ve always had it in mind to travel there. When a friend invited us to ride a century with her and her husband, we jumped at the chance. This 100-mile bike ride loops around the peninsula, with Green Bay on one side and Lake Michigan on the other. Should be scenic. Also, cold and rainy, as scattered thundershowers are predicted. John said, “That’s what rain jackets are for,” as he scurried out the door last night to buy a new windbreaker at REI. We love our gear.
The boys are staying with their favorite sitter, one who has been with us for five years and recently graduated from college. Since the ride ends late on Sunday, we’re going to take an extra night and revel in some couple time.
Be back Monday... or Tuesday…
Earlier, I met John for lunch in Lowertown, a district in downtown St. Paul. On the way, I noticed that the cyclone fencing that lined Chestnut (winding up from Shepard Road, past the Science Museum, up to W 7th, past the Excel Center and up the hill to the I-35 ramp) is gone already. The troops are gone. The RNC is done. Good riddance.
And, not a moment too soon. Events got a little hairy, starting yesterday in the afternoon. Law enforcement was seriously ramped up—police on horses, on bikes, in riot gear, with gas masks—to “provide protection” from permitted anti-war protesters, who had gathered at the Capitol for a rally and were marching downtown. Downtown businesses closed early at the recommendation of police. State officials were encouraged to go home. Police officers were stationed at all the major freeway ramps nearing downtown and at the major intersections of Shepard Road (John’s office is at one of these major intersections and the boys’ school is at the last exit before downtown).
Just a little stressful, especially when you read minute-by-minute accounts from the street (scroll down for the good stuff). The stress wasn’t unwarranted either. As the protesters reached the John Ireland bridge over I-94, they were met by a full battalion of law enforcement and snowplows. The stand-off was ugly, but it never turned violent. Because, guess what? Minnesotans are really nice. It was an anti-war/peace protest made up of citizens who have a constitutional right to voice their opinion, not anarchists hell-bent to break windows. Sheesh.
But it’s over. Yay! On Tuesday, I’m marching myself down to Obama’s headquarters and giving what’s left of myself, after wife and mother duties.
The boys survived their first week of school. Getting up earlier than usual—not just earlier than summer, but earlier than last school year—has been a challenge for all. But, I’ve found that the boys can be lured out of bed if I promise oatmeal or scrambled eggs. They both like their teachers, and each has revealed the courses they’re most excited about. Simon easily exhibits the maturity of matriculating another year at school. And, Winston is surely coming into his own.
Simon had his first soccer practice this week. I could tell that Si really got a lot out of the coaching and play from the summer. He looked more confident on the field. I’m glad we let him “play up” to the next age group with older, more experienced teammates. Initially, he was the only player from his summer team, but just yesterday, another kid joined the fall team. Not just any kid, either, but the best player from the summer team. The first game is Saturday morning, and I’m truly looking forward to it.
Right after the game, John and I are driving 300 miles to Door County. Many friends have recommended this area in Wisconsin—the thumb of the mitten—as a great destination so I’ve always had it in mind to travel there. When a friend invited us to ride a century with her and her husband, we jumped at the chance. This 100-mile bike ride loops around the peninsula, with Green Bay on one side and Lake Michigan on the other. Should be scenic. Also, cold and rainy, as scattered thundershowers are predicted. John said, “That’s what rain jackets are for,” as he scurried out the door last night to buy a new windbreaker at REI. We love our gear.
The boys are staying with their favorite sitter, one who has been with us for five years and recently graduated from college. Since the ride ends late on Sunday, we’re going to take an extra night and revel in some couple time.
Be back Monday... or Tuesday…
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
atmospheric pressure
This morning, as I was driving east, into the blinding, rising sun, following my kids on the school bus they were riding for the first time (yes, I did that because I’m totally neurotic and they’re the most precious thing I have and a stranger is driving them to their destination and I watch way too many godawful crime dramas and I drink way too much caffeine)*, I couldn’t help but think that something about St. Paul is "off". Sure, the start of the new school year brings a certain bustle, missing during the summer, but the atmosphere is all wrong at the moment.
And, I know what is causing this feeling. The RNC. We’ve been talking about and preparing for the Republican National Convention for so long. And, by we, I do mean the collective we that is St. Paul. For weeks, spare green spaces, such as those near freeway ramps, have stored concrete barriers, fencing, and other material meant to create a perimeter defense. The city passed an ordinance, temporarily extending the hours that bars can serve liquor, from two a.m. to four a.m. This would be welcomed news if I was in college, required little sleep, or was childless. Then the barriers were installed; the cyclone fencing created a corridor and a dead-end to Kellogg Blvd. The National Guard arrived in full riot gear. Law enforcement agents and vehicles appeared from all over the state to lend a hand. Helicopters fly surveillance through the day and night.
It looks like—feels like—martial law has been enacted. Independent of each other, John and I each came to the conclusion that the convention wouldn’t be so lock-down if the Democrats were hosting. Denver couldn’t have felt like this.
If you don’t get to0 close to downtown St. Paul, you may not know it, but I’m hanging out at Dunn’s right now, at the corner of Grand and Snelling, and for all intents and purposes, it’s business as usual. Mac students studying and housewives waiting to pick up their preschoolers. Same ‘ol.
One block over, though, on Summit Avenue, the bike lanes are busy. These aren’t your garden-variety, spandex-clad, VPs on expensive bikes, squeezing in a quick club ride before returning to the office, which is what I typically see on my afternoon rides. No, these are twenty something, grungy road warrior-types on vintage single-speed bikes, no helmets, riding in a small packs. And, there is something slightly menacing about them. As my friend Colin, who also has witnessed this phenomenon, says, “They ride over the hill [into downtown St. Paul], and they never come back.”
*for the record, I didn’t follow the bus so much as meet it at school, and, from a safe distance, I watched the boys get off. Roly-poly, tumble-bumble, pell-mell. They made it!!
And, I know what is causing this feeling. The RNC. We’ve been talking about and preparing for the Republican National Convention for so long. And, by we, I do mean the collective we that is St. Paul. For weeks, spare green spaces, such as those near freeway ramps, have stored concrete barriers, fencing, and other material meant to create a perimeter defense. The city passed an ordinance, temporarily extending the hours that bars can serve liquor, from two a.m. to four a.m. This would be welcomed news if I was in college, required little sleep, or was childless. Then the barriers were installed; the cyclone fencing created a corridor and a dead-end to Kellogg Blvd. The National Guard arrived in full riot gear. Law enforcement agents and vehicles appeared from all over the state to lend a hand. Helicopters fly surveillance through the day and night.
It looks like—feels like—martial law has been enacted. Independent of each other, John and I each came to the conclusion that the convention wouldn’t be so lock-down if the Democrats were hosting. Denver couldn’t have felt like this.
If you don’t get to0 close to downtown St. Paul, you may not know it, but I’m hanging out at Dunn’s right now, at the corner of Grand and Snelling, and for all intents and purposes, it’s business as usual. Mac students studying and housewives waiting to pick up their preschoolers. Same ‘ol.
One block over, though, on Summit Avenue, the bike lanes are busy. These aren’t your garden-variety, spandex-clad, VPs on expensive bikes, squeezing in a quick club ride before returning to the office, which is what I typically see on my afternoon rides. No, these are twenty something, grungy road warrior-types on vintage single-speed bikes, no helmets, riding in a small packs. And, there is something slightly menacing about them. As my friend Colin, who also has witnessed this phenomenon, says, “They ride over the hill [into downtown St. Paul], and they never come back.”
*for the record, I didn’t follow the bus so much as meet it at school, and, from a safe distance, I watched the boys get off. Roly-poly, tumble-bumble, pell-mell. They made it!!
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
boys safely off to school
This year, we're trying something new: John and I decided the boys would ride the school bus. The bus stops half a block (plus the two-block alley) from our door so it seems foolish to drop them at school for their early start (8:05 a.m.). We spent so much time talking about the bus—where they get on, what to expect on the ride, and where to get off—that we failed to mention what happens after they arrive at school. Their new school. The one they've only visited once, at the Open House last week. Putting together all the information seemed to be a little much for them.
Okay, I can't lay it all on the boys' door. It was a little much for me. (hangs head in near-shame)
Last night when we were tucking them into bed, Simon was a little concerned about how to get from the front door of school, a heavy bag of supplies and his little brother in tow, to his classroom. Winston was totally panicked about finding his classroom. Poor little guy. He even had a whopper of an anxiety-based nightmare (a blue monster was in our house, so I had to get everyone out, then I killed it and buried it the backyard, but then it came back to life and got free). I never slept well before the first day of school, either. Mostly because I was so flippin' excited to get back to school and see my "town" friends, most of whom I hadn't seen during the summer (don't ask—it's not like we didn't have a car or drive the ten miles to town, daily). Unlike Winston's monster dream, my dreams were along the lines of forgetting homework—or my shirt, arriving at school in only my bra.
John and I offered the boys a ride to school and a walk-through from the bus drop-off. I have to admit I feel better, too. Don't get me wrong, I'm really excited about the independence afforded by riding the bus and navigating their way through the school. I just wasn't ready for it this morning.
At school, we ran into our friend Steve and his daughter Z, who looked adorable— carefully dressed in pink short-sleeve oxford shirt with ruffles, a pleated, plaid, knee-length skirt, and leggings. Steve mentioned that she'd been planning her back-to-school look for weeks. Boy did that unearth a nostalgic pang. When I was in elementary school, my preparations for the first day of school involved setting my hair on bristle rollers the night before so that I might have glamorous, wavy hair. Going to bed with rollers in my hair only ensured that I had a lousy night sleep. And, my stubborn, thick but poker straight hair never was wavy, rather bent at the ends and poufy on top.
My apologies for the lack of photos. We've done a traditional "first day of school" photo for the past couple years, but in our haste this morning, I forgot to pack the camera. When I mentioned it at school, Simon said, "That's okay, Mom." Not in an "I forgive you for your error" sort of way, but in an "I'm so glad you're not going to embarass me" sort of way.
We've come to that. Sigh.
Okay, I can't lay it all on the boys' door. It was a little much for me. (hangs head in near-shame)
Last night when we were tucking them into bed, Simon was a little concerned about how to get from the front door of school, a heavy bag of supplies and his little brother in tow, to his classroom. Winston was totally panicked about finding his classroom. Poor little guy. He even had a whopper of an anxiety-based nightmare (a blue monster was in our house, so I had to get everyone out, then I killed it and buried it the backyard, but then it came back to life and got free). I never slept well before the first day of school, either. Mostly because I was so flippin' excited to get back to school and see my "town" friends, most of whom I hadn't seen during the summer (don't ask—it's not like we didn't have a car or drive the ten miles to town, daily). Unlike Winston's monster dream, my dreams were along the lines of forgetting homework—or my shirt, arriving at school in only my bra.
John and I offered the boys a ride to school and a walk-through from the bus drop-off. I have to admit I feel better, too. Don't get me wrong, I'm really excited about the independence afforded by riding the bus and navigating their way through the school. I just wasn't ready for it this morning.
At school, we ran into our friend Steve and his daughter Z, who looked adorable— carefully dressed in pink short-sleeve oxford shirt with ruffles, a pleated, plaid, knee-length skirt, and leggings. Steve mentioned that she'd been planning her back-to-school look for weeks. Boy did that unearth a nostalgic pang. When I was in elementary school, my preparations for the first day of school involved setting my hair on bristle rollers the night before so that I might have glamorous, wavy hair. Going to bed with rollers in my hair only ensured that I had a lousy night sleep. And, my stubborn, thick but poker straight hair never was wavy, rather bent at the ends and poufy on top.
My apologies for the lack of photos. We've done a traditional "first day of school" photo for the past couple years, but in our haste this morning, I forgot to pack the camera. When I mentioned it at school, Simon said, "That's okay, Mom." Not in an "I forgive you for your error" sort of way, but in an "I'm so glad you're not going to embarass me" sort of way.
We've come to that. Sigh.
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