what's in a [cat's] name

Whenever I overhear anyone talking about baby names, I will insert myself into the conversation, even if uninvited. I love names. Before we even had the kittens, we’d decided to call them Pablo and Emmett. Of course we assumed we would be getting male cats. Instead, we’ve got these beautiful girls, which we have named Trixie and Nancy.

Trixie is a name I’ve always loved. My paternal grandmother—who I admired because she was a dedicated teacher, as well as being creative, artistic, and well-read—was named Beatrice, and, for as long as I knew her, she went by Bea. During my first pregnancy, I really wanted to name a girl baby after my grandmother, but call her Trixie, after my favorite teen-girl sleuth, Trixie Belden. This name was declared—by many, not just my husband—a hooker name and was shelved. I forgot about the name until we had a female kitten and proposed it to the boys. And, she’s a perfect Trixie…cute, energetic, curious, unafraid, sticking her nose in places it doesn’t belong.

Then, we had this other cat. Most of the names that were suggested seemed too immediate. I had this same problem when John and I were trying to decide what to name our children. If we knew someone with the name, good or bad, friend or foe, it was vetoed. It occurred to me that if we could follow the girl-sleuth theme to its logical conclusion and name the older cat Nancy (Drew Shepard). Amazingly, all my guys agreed.

Mostly I call her Fancy Nancy because she has a sleek, gorgeous blue coat. Or I call her Nancy Cat, which also seems to suit her.

now with cats

Yes, hell has frozen over. Succumbing to pressure from our children—and this is no small thing, as I am the queen of “I’ll think about it”—John and I adopted kittens. I know: we’ve always contended that we’re not pet people. Though, if we had to be pet people, we’d have a cat.

A month ago, Winston began making his case for a dog. Winston is scared of dogs, so he was thinking Chihuahua-size would be okay for him. And, when I asked why he wanted a dog, since he avoids them at all cost, he said, “Because if you have a pet, you get less stress and live longer.” Well, I want that, too. So we asked Winston if he could live with a cat, and it turns out that he’d love a kitten.

I bought Winston a great book about being a cat owner so he could see what he was getting himself into. He would read diagrams and captions aloud to me whenever we were in the car. He knows what to feed a cat (pasta, good) and what not to feed a cat (milk and tablescraps, bad), also how to train a cat to sit (reinforce with a treat, of course). But, Winston also read that if you have a busy family and are away from home often, you should get two cats so they can keep each other company instead of, out of boredom, ripping up your home. I have kids ergo I follow the logic.

After Winston’s soccer practice on Saturday, we headed to the Animal Humane Society, which, at 11 a.m. had many kittens available. But, by noon, AHS had one kitty. And she’s a cute kitty, at that. I thought maybe we’d come home with just that one, even though the plan had been to adopt two kittens, preferably littermates. Then, a blue-cream calico tapped John on the shoulder. They quickly became friends, and her fate to have a good home was sealed. The calico is a year old, so she’s a young cat, too. We’re hoping the kitty will keep her active since she’s a little overweight—not that it’s obvious, either.

The boys are both soooo awesome with their new pets, preferring to play with the kitties instead of with their electronics. Hallelujah!

Introducing Trixie


and Nancy

ipod shuffle, with annotations

I am anesthetizing myself with music today as I prepare for double-whammy, back-to-back overnight guests. John’s father arrives this evening, stopping over on his way to Coloma, WI, where he has a cabin. As soon as he leaves tomorrow, my mother arrives. She’s spending the night before taking a morning flight to Albuquirky to see my sis.

~A Forest (The Cure)
More than my own high school experience, The Cure always makes me think of that girl who hung out at Cahoots in the mid-nineties. I used to take manuscripts there, leaving behind the pages I read rather than schlepping around stacks of paper. Anyway, that girl skulked into the back room one day and spilled onto the sofa. In her hand was a Cure album, vinyl. She put the record on the turntable and sighed, declaring her devotion to Robert Smith. Ten years later, I wonder what happened to that girl and if I would recognize her. Certainly, though, she's still spinning "Head on the Door."

~Perfect (Flyleaf)
John gave me the Flyleaf album for Christmas. Not sure I like it. Certainly haven’t given it much of a listen. Just thrilled by the thoughtfulness of the gift, especially since he did a ton of research. That, and we have some overlap in our musical tastes, but ultimately listen to some really different stuff.

~Puttin’ on the Ritz (Taco)
A few years ago, when invited to our friends’ houses for dinner, we would bring a “mix” CD, constituting whatever music we were enjoying at that moment, as well as the requisite bottle of wine. Friend Scott reciprocated with a mix CD of his own that had such unexpected tunes as Taco’s one-hit wonder.

~Rockaway Beach (Ramones)
It’s the Ramones.

~The Barry Williams Show (Peter Gabriel)
A lifelong dream fulfilled when I saw Peter Gabriel in concert on the tour promoting Up. Gabriel’s later music isn’t my favorite, but I appreciate that he continues to buck convention. This song is seven minutes, long.

~Listen Up (Walt Mink)
I wish this local band had enjoyed the same sort of album sales as Nirvana and Smashing Pumpkins—they certainly had similar accolades from critics and fans.

~Protex Blue (The Clash)
Minor and barely tolerable song; let's face it, the world's greatest band had some klunkers.

~Does Everyone Stare (The Police)
I’m always happy when The Police are shuffled, although since they constitute a large part of my ipod, I don’t know if their appearance here is entirely random.

~Tongue Dance (Les Rita Mitsouko)
Cheeky.

~War on Culture (Carbon/Silicon)
Preachy lyrics set to unbelievably catchy melodies, which has always been Mick Jones’s weakness.

in which I leave the residue of my estate to my husband

This morning, John and I had our will executed, which means that we went to our lawyer’s office and signed on a couple dotted lines. Once for the power of attorney. Once for our respective wills. And, once for a health care directive. In the end, it was less painful—and less expensive—than closing on real estate. Voila!

We can die now and know that our children will be in good hands…or will they? I’m not worried about our choice for guardians, but should they be called upon—god forbid—they must pass muster by a court of law. So, the guardians are mostly a done deal, as notorized in a legal document. And, I thought assigning a guardian was the really important part of signing a will, at least for those who have children.*

However, the lawyer informs me, the health care directive is a much bigger deal. The health care directive, while not a do-not-resuscitate order, was hard to complete. If I am not terminal and have a rapidly deteriorating condition would I want oxygen? antibiotics? pain medication even though it may be lethal? I have no idea.

We have been volleying the will around for the past three years, so it is with great relief that we found a good lawyer who was patient and understanding, who started the questionnaire last October and had a document for us by December. But, now it’s done and I can cross off another line item from my metaphysical checklist!

*Don’t get me wrong, though, cuz if you have children, you should have a will. Verbal agreements for your sister/brother/Aunt Sally to take care of your children upon your untimely death don’t hold any weight.

going to villa villekulla

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

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

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

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

If only Villa Villekulla took reservations...

another banner day

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

banner day

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

spelunking

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

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



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


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


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

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