checking in

Work has been a tad overwhelming since I returned from vacation two weeks ago. It’s been impossible to blog or read blogs. I hope that this will change after I ship my issue to the printer on Thursday or Friday. In the meantime, here’s a wrap on my birthday trip to Northern California.

The weather was amazing, bright blue skies and warm. I’ve posted my photos, which pretty much capture how pretty Napa is in October.

Food was one of the driving forces for choosing Northern California as our destination. Chez Panisse and The French Laundry, whose reputations are deserved, offered incredible multi-course meals we’ll not soon forget. Equally memorable, though, were other restaurants where we took meals.


John and I also stood in line for at least a half hour to order burgers at Taylor’s Refresher, a roadside institution for nearly sixty years. The burgers were solidly good and the sweet potato fries were stupendous. Besides, milkshakes and sodas, the beverage menu offers beer and wine, including the half bottle of Karl Lawrence cab for half the price we paid the night before at the French Laundry. Only in Napa.

Rounding out our meals, we ditched our reservations at Zuni Café and Piperade to eat sushi at an incredibly hip Japanese restaurant with a technobeat, Ozumo. We sat at the sushi bar and were served an amuse—a first when out for sushi—of a tuna “salad” on cucumber wafers. To start, we ordered hanabi (slices of hamachi and avocado with a warm ginger-jalapeno ponzu sauce. We ate the following nigiri—maguro, mushi ebi (tiger prawn), hamachi (as always), sake, kampachi (amber jack), and kaki (kumamoto oyster). We had rolls—yokozuna (grilled unagi, crab, tobiko, avocado and asparagus), spicy scallop (scallop, kaiware, cucumber).


For play, we drove. A lot. Our rental Sebring convertible was fun and we took advantage of top-down weather to see as much of the countryside as we could. We also took a hike in Robert Louis Stevenson State Park, which encompasses Mount St. Helena where RLS lived in an abandoned miner’s cabin in 1880 and wrote vignettes about Napa Valley. The two-mile hike took us to the monument marking the site where the cabin stood and from where we had great views.


Back in San Francisco, we had a nice stroll through Chinatown and brunch at a random restaurant in North Beach, which was gearing up for the culminating day of a weekend-long Columbus Day celebration. At the intersection of these two diverse neighborhoods, sits one of the country’s most famous bookstores, City Lights. We browsed. I could have purchased piles of books. Then we lifted a pint and spent an hour reading next door at Vesuvio. John and I had the entire second floor to ourselves—just us and the ghosts of Kerouac, Ginsberg, Ferlinghetti, Burroughs, and every other member of the Beat Generation.

I can’t wait for our next trip to No Cal!

ETA: photos

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!

Oooh, I got a good one today!

Pressure Drop is the name of a song by Toots & the Maytals. The first cover showed up by Robert Palmer on his second-solo album aptly titled “Pressure Drop.” The song was next covered by The Clash, and can be found on their B-Sides compilation album Super Black Market Clash.[1]

The Clash version is probably most well known and has recently been used in a Nissan TV commercial.

weekend report: October 13 and 14

Saturday
I’ve "somehow" [I think we all know how this has happened ;)] fallen desperately behind at work. I have an an issue that ships to the printer next week and I haven’t started the editorial yet. With each new issue planning session, I vow that this will not happen, and yet, here I am, dragging my ass into the office on a Saturday. Winston accompanied me in exchange for unfettered access to internet games.

First we rewarded ourselves with a trip to the St. Paul Farmers Market. The main weekend market is just a few blocks from my office so we moseyed over to see what sort of things were available on the second weekend of October. I was surprised to see that the market was hopping and that vendors had plenty of produce yet. We bought tomatoes, fresh sage, leeks, red onions, a beautiful head of cauliflower (which later this week will join ham and cheddar cheese in a casserole—I know, I can’t wait to see how this new recipe turns out), vivid-orange sweet carrots, and pinkie-sized fingerling potatoes. We visited with the Big Woods Bison lady and purchased a log of bison cotto salami and a few bison salami sticks. And, because Winston insisted, we picked up a bag of kettle corn, of which we made short work .

Later, we went to an early evening “surprise” 40th birthday party. I use the term surprise quite loosely as there was no hiding and/or jumping out yelling surprise, which is fine, it was just all sort of understated. The party was held at the birthday boy's sister-in-law's house so he was pleasantly surprised when friends began arriving . The invitation promised “family dinner,” which never materialized. Love these friends, but lord help them. Renee (the wife) bought frozen party food—egg rolls, meatballs, and more—from Sam’s Club and reheated them. The beer was good, however.

Sunday
John and I took the boys to Bread and Chocolate for pastries. I so wish I had a picture of Simon reading the comics. Some people are born to read the newspaper, and he’s one of them. Even though he's only almost-eight, it’s not hard to picture him wearing a bathrobe and slippers, sipping a steaming mug of Costa Rican and puffing on a pipe. It was a relaxing morning. I loved basking in the glow of My Guys.

After breakfast, we made a trip to Target for kid clothes as neither boys has jeans or shirts that fit. I’m not sure how that happened, either, since we had this foolproof method of hand-me-downs from Simon to Winston. Somehow the system is broken (one is grown, the other isn't or something), and they both need clothes at the exact same moment. We dropped a small fortune—which is possible at Target even when you're only buying what you need, damn Target—and returned home to watch football, fold laundry, and cook. The braised pheasant and polenta, with brussels sprouts on the side, was pretty delicious. I look forward to tackling another pheasant recipe soon. I already have at least four birds in the freezer and hunters in the family (brother Jeff alights later this week for the SoDak pheasant opener, which is a very big deal in my family). Must. Make. Room. For. More.

best. birthday.ever: day one

Thursday, October 4

My parents, who took care of the boys while we were away, arrived around noon so that we could have lunch together. Following a splendid meal of Punch wood-fire pizzas and a glass of chianti, our server delivered my tiramisu with a candle. The entire restaurant sang “Happy Birthday” to me, which was pretty touching.

After lunch, my parents gave us a ride to the airport for the Sun Country three o’clock to San Francisco. Once on aboard, I had the luxury of a three-hour flight where I could read uninterrupted and nearly finished the breezy mystery I’ve been carrying around for a few weeks.

Eventually, we landed and picked up our very heavy, but very attractive, duffle, then made our way to the rental-car counter. Since we were hoping for a top-down adventure, I rented a convertible. We were meant to drive a PT Cruiser. I had one on hold with a confirmation number, but when we arrived at the rental counter, we were offered a Sebring. Never mind, it’s still a convertible.

After a quick stop at our hotel to change clothes, we boogied to Berkeley for dinner at Chez Panisse. Finding the restaurant wasn’t easy. The building is located on a bustling commercial street and there is no obvious sign identifying the place. Even though I knew this, we still drove by restaurant a number of times before we parked and walked a few blocks.

It has long been a dream to eat at this seminal restaurant, and sharing a meal with my handsome husband on a special birthday was ideal. We ate in the main-floor restaurant where a four-course prix fixe meal is served nightly (there is also an upstairs café featuring an a la carte menu). A confluence of elements—walls clad in dark-wood paneling, brass wall sconces and ceiling lamps with Arts and Crafts styling, hand-tinted woodcuts of fruits and vegetables, and intimate seating arrangements—all make for an elegant and comfortable dining room.

The kitchen sent out a bowl of olives with fresh thyme. For some reason, Chez Panisse olives tasted better than almost any other olives I ever eaten. We nibbled on these and sipped $18 a glass champagne, toasting the best birthday ever (so far). That evening’s menu was both a farewell to summer and a preview of the wonderful fall produce trickling into California markets. Soon, the first course arrived—a composed salmon salad with perfectly sweet, tiny cherry tomatoes, tender-crisp baby fennel, and more. Next, mushroom soup. Then, the main course of spit-roasted pork loin with a dab of fig chutney—the tiny hole left by the spit was encrusted with rosemary—and a side of corn, which was my favorite item of the entire meal. I could have eaten three courses of the corn. Dessert was an apple-quince tart with burnt-honey ice cream providing an interesting counterpoint to the sweet fruit. We drank a local wine, which is to say a wine from Napa or Sonoma.

It was all simply amazing. Local, seasonal, fresh—the restaurant’s mission is accomplished.

back from Cali

Wow, what I wouldn’t give to be back on vacation. Handsome husband and I have been home now for four days, but my head, heart, and stomach are still in Northern California. The week has been a blur of deadlines, faces (I’m interviewing candidates for an entry-level editor’s position), and other obligations. I’m just getting caught up on mail, email, phone calls, and blog reading, so soon the highlights from a long, wonderful weekend will follow.

happy birthday—to me!

Today I am 40. I've had a year to prepare for the occasion, and I must say that I am both excited with the prospects of a new year and terrified. Quite frankly, I don't have many gray hairs or crows' feet. I have an awesome husband and two amazing sons. There is a nice roof over my head. I have all the friends I need. And, I have a fun, creative job, which sustains me. I have few complaints!

I do have a few resolutions or wishes for the coming year, which I may post next week. Later today, John and I are flying to San Francisco where we'll spend four days dining, imbibing, strolling, reading, and generally basking in the glow of each other's company. Dinner tonight is at the legendary Chez Panisse in Berkeley. I feel like a kid on her birthday!

Back Monday...

110 pounds of soul excitement

Run, don’t walk, to your local music store today and pick up Sharon Jones’ new album, 100 Days, 100 Nights.

While you’re at it, check out Daptone Records. This label’s website should give you a taste for their retro, yet fresh, takes on serious funk and soul. Daptone’s stable of recording artists is pretty selective. In addition to Sharon Jones, I can vouch for the awesomeness of The Sugarman Three and the Budos Band—each of which have killer brass and percussion. Plus, you can buy a lot of the music on vinyl—LPs and 12” singles. I hear turntables are making a comeback.

I’m secretly counting the days until November 16 when Binky Griptite introduces the hardest working woman in showbiz at First Ave.

Until then, here’s a dose of the funky and dynamic sister:

weekend report: September 28 and 29

The Shepards just wallowed in a lazy weekend. Most weekends we’re overbooked with kid stuff and parent stuff, so every once in a while we put Nothing on the calendar. Nada, no plans. Well, Soccer was on the calendar because it’s always on the calendar. But, this Saturday, we gave Simon and Winston a pass so that we could spend some good family-time together.*

This is how quality our “together” time was: I watched Saturday morning cartoons with the boys, and I discovered that Ben 10 isn’t half bad. After cartoons, Winston helped me make Bittman’s crazy-easy waffles. Then, we all headed out to run errands for important things such as Pokemon booster packs at Uncle Sven’s Comic Shoppe and bike parts at Grand Performance.

Later, we headed out again. This time, John hopped on his bike and pulled Winston on his Piccolo.** Win was clad in performance gear (kid-size cycling jersey and padded shorts), shouting “Tour de France.” They earned their ice-cream stop at Izzy’s (hot brown sugar). Then, they further shamed the sluggos who chose to burn fossil fuel rather than conspicuous calories by pedaling over to Micawbers in St. Anthony Village where we visited our friends Karen and Tom. We also bought some cool books: Adventures in the Rockies by Isabella Bird (part of Penguin's exceptionally cool Great Journeys series) and 2007 Best American Travel Essays for me and a remaindered copy of Four Colors Suffice: How the Map Problem Was Solved (by Robin Wilson) for John.

On Sunday, John and I took the boys to Keys Cafe on Raymond, the flagship of a small local chain. It hasn’t changed a lick since we were last there—oh, ten years ago, when we used to regularly brunch with the Cohen-Murphys. Winston was really crabby because we had to wait for a table, which is exactly why we stopped coming here for brunch. That and the restaurant is always crowded. The food’s not great. The portions are enormous and you roll out the door feeling as if you never want to eat again, but it’s fun.

I spent much of the afternoon washing and drying—but not folding—all of the laundry. My favorite part of the day was the time I spent in the kitchen. Since the weather is turning cold and the weekend was rainy, I turned to fall favorites, such as chicken pot pie. I made the very old-school filling (bacon, onion, carrots, celery, corn, thyme, and chicken napped by a sherry-enriched sauce). Tomorrow I’ll heat the filling on the stove as I’m making the biscuit topping, then bake it for Monday dinner. I also made an apple crisp, thus putting a small dent in the 14 pounds of Sweet 16s we picked at the apple orchard last weekend.

I wish for more weekends like this.

*Okay, true confession: we gave the boys a pass on soccer so their mom and dad could sleep in until 8 a.m. Yes, John and I are totally selfish this way. But well-rested parents make better parents. It’s a universal truth you’ll find most parents won’t admit. And, since we tend to go to bed at an ungodly late hour (typically, two a.m. on Friday and Saturday nights), you’ve got to find your sleep somewhere.

**Even though John drives a (red) Prius and milks 50 mpg out of it, he still wants to save the world by riding his bike everywhere. It only took him about 10 minutes longer on bike to get where I did by car, and I think he made a fine point. Let’s park our cars.

wiki wednesday on thursday

It's time for Wiki Wednesday:

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

Yesterday got away from me, and I didn't have the wherewithal to post my wiki wednesday entry, which was actually a good one. Which is to say a random entry that I recognize. Although I've never been a Van Halen fan, ever, the musical pop culture is right up my alley.

OU812 is the eighth album by American hard rock band Van Halen, released in 1988. The album title is allegedly a joke on former band member David Lee Roth's 1986 album Eat 'Em and Smile (OU812 translates phonetically to "Oh, you ate one too?"). However, "OU812" was also seen in the 70s sitcom "Taxi" written on a wall. [1]

The original European release (as shipped in France, Germany, Italy and the UK) is missing track 10, as are all vinyl pressings of the album. The CD and cassette versions have Track 10. (Note: some U.S. cassette versions of "OU812" did not contain Track 10.) The track listing on the back cover is arranged in alphabetical order, instead of chronological.

Many people found the production on this album weak. Eddie's guitar sits even lower in the mix, and its sound, as on 5150 does not resemble the loud, bright sound on the Roth era albums. However, the crisp acoustic western sound and style on Finish What Ya Started was well received as a first for the band [2].

One song, "Cabo Wabo" was a reference to the band's, particuarly Sammy Hagar's, love of the Mexican port town of Cabo San Lucas. The band later opened a Cabo Wabo restaurant and cantina in the city, as well as other American locations. However, the venture was soon bought out to be owned by Hagar in its entirety. Hagar later parlayed this into a premium tequila brand sold around the world, Cabo Wabo[3]

The album is dedicated to Eddie's and Alex's father, Jan, who died that year at the age of 66. The inner linings of the album include the words, "This one's for you, pop." Jan Van Halen had previously appeared playing clarinet on one track, "Big Bad Bill (Is Sweet William Now)," on Van Halen's 1982 album, Diver Down[4].

Read more and see the album play list here.

C

I’m always looking for new ways to listen to songs in my itunes library, especially if it’s been a while since I’ve added new music. Currently, my music is organized alpha by song. “C” is an especially good mix with a healthy dose of soul, alt, Frank, 80s, 90s, and now. Herewith:

1. "Camel Walk" (Southern Culture on the Skids)
2. "Can’t Set Rules About Love" (Adam Ant)
3. "Canary in a Coalmine" (The Police)
4. "Candy" (Iggy Pop and Kate Pierson)
5. "Cartoon" (Soul Asylum)
6. "Catch Hell Blues" (White Stripes)
7. "Cattle and Cane" (Go-Betweens)
8. "Cha Cha Cha" (Jimmy Luxury)
9. "Chicken Payback" (A Band of Bees)
10. "City of Blinding Light" (U2)
11. "Come Dance with Me" (Frank Sinatra)
12. "Concrete Jungle" (The Specials)
13. "Country Girl" (Sugarman Three)
14. "Crater Lake" (Liz Phair)
15. "Cut That Line" (Sharon Jones)
16. "Cutter" (Echo and the Bunnymen)

addition to the blogroll

Earlier today, I was tipped off to a new-to-me blog. Places I Have Never Been features graphic designer Jennifer Hill's drawings and musings of imaginary travels to real places. I dig her illustrations and have made a point to check out the note cards and prints in her online store.

Excuse me now, while I lose myself in her archives.

honkin' huge TV

How does one go from wanting to get rid of the television—bane of my existence, bane of my children’s existences—to becoming the proud owner of a 46-inch flat screen TV*?

I’m not really sure either. But when I saw the vivid green playing field on Monday Night Football, players leaping out of the screen into the den, I wondered how we’d ever lived as long as we did without an enormous TV.

Yes, I understand the absurdity of the big TV, which didn’t even fit into my station wagon’s way-back. Not to mention that the TV was stupidly expensive—we were a little embarrassed to tell our closest friends. But, I won’t mind it at all when the fall line-up starts tonight.

*Perhaps the point would be illustrated better if the jpeg I borrowed from Sony was a little larger. Anyway, we purchased a Bravia.

house of chairs

I have a fetish for chairs. The more dramatic, the better.

William Haines, 1920s actor-turned-designer, designed this stunning modern chair in a just-so yellow leather.I love the low-slung profile and the lack of armrests.

Learn more about Haines here. Font-hounds will appreciate the typeface.

rainy day

St. Paul is in the throes of a rainy day—sometimes drizzling, other times positively monsoonal. By all rights, it’s a good day to wallow in it. The overcast gray sky precisely matches my mild depression, which has been provoked by a lousy night of sleep, not to mention a persistent sore throat, congestion, and skin sensitivity. I’m on the verge of a sneeze with no relief in sight. Cold-and-flu season is knocking, and I forgot to look out the peephole before I opened.

I’d like to decamp to the sofa in our den. Curl up with a good book. Turn on the Food Network for background noise. John would bring me soup and wake-up tea. The boys would play quietly or cuddle with me. My fantasy life is simple.

Instead, I’m at the office where the lights are too bright and coworkers voices are too loud. Work is super stressful right now. The pub team is swimming in projects; we’re feeling the affects of being short an editor; and we’re getting up to speed with a new designer.

Still, I love what I do and, as always, I work best under immense amounts of pressure. I’m currently juggling two issues that need to be paginated and two issues that need new editorial written (including editor’s letters, contents, captions, a testimonial, and a new feature article). I’ve been asked to rewrite nearly all the text on a cover, not to mention editing coworkers’ stuff. And, well, I could go on, but what would be the point.

Some days are like that—even in Australia.

Reading: United States of Arugula, David Kamp’s lively and appetite-piquing account of the American Food Revolution

Listening (audio book): Jane Austen’s brilliant Pride and Prejudice—a 39 for 39 title that I’m trying to finish by the end of the month.

Listening (music): Big Country’s “Where the Rose Is Sewn”—big shout-out to another Jen S for reminding me of a favorite band and song from the early 80s. Hard not to get choked up over timeless lyrics such as: “If I die in a combat zone, box me up and ship me home.”

A tale of two Carolines, part 1

Caroline Yang

Way back in July, I mentioned here that John hung the Caroline Yang photograph we had purchased, but I feel like I'd just sort of dropped her name as if everyone knows who she is. Caroline takes amazing photos and counts Sports Illustrated, cyclingnews.com, Cycle Sport, and the (St. Paul) Pioneer Press as some of her clients. She also does outrageously cool shots of speed skaters. To wit:



We first became familiar with Caroline last year when One on One Bike Gallery in Minneapolis put up a show of the photos that Caroline took at the 2005 Tour de France. My first impression was that she took wonderful candid photos of individual riders who often are swallowed by the peloton. We missed that show, but vowed that if Gene O. did another for the 2006 TdF, we'd make it over to the shop. Well, he did and so we went.

I've got to say, all the dopers featured in Caroline's photos raised my blood pressure—which is absolutely NOT a reflection on her work, merely commentary on the sad state of pro cycling. Imagine my delight, then, when John showed me this beaut, which embodies everything we hold dear about European stage races: peloton, fans, mountains. The photo had already been purchased so Caroline agreed to make another for us and have it framed before her baby was born (about a three week window).


The framed photo is enormous (at least 3 feet wide) and hangs in our studio—the room many would call the living room, but where John and I do most of our creative work. Since the wall is about 18 feet high, and because I took this photo at a crazy angle, the picture looks puny.

Here's another view of the Col du Tourmelet from Caroline's website. You know John Shepard dreams of climbing this mountain, dancing on the pedals all the way. The peloton beckons under a scene that is lucid and bright.

Doin' the ipod shuffle

Ten random songs from my ipod library:

1. Bed's Too Big without You (The Police)—a long live version with complex reggae riffs
2. Mountain Song (Jane's Addiction)
3. Chorus (Erasure)
4. Jew Blues (New Orleans Klezmer All-Stars)
5. Bosco's Blues (The Sugarman Trio)
6. All That Money Wants (Psychelic Furs)
7. Waste It On (Silversun Pickups)
8. Sunday Bloody Sunday (U2)
9. Credit in the Straight World (Hole)
10. Basket Case (Green Day)

All together, these songs make a surprisingly good mix.

What are you listening to?

Not malignant

Yay!!! My lab report says NOT MALIGNANT in all caps.

A few weeks ago I was at the dermatologist for a skin issue, clearly, and he happened to notice the largish mole on my lower back. The very largish mole I cannot see but I know exists because countless massage therapists have told me it's there. Mostly I forget it's there. Sometimes I make a note to have it checked.

So, I had an appointment to see Dr. Stansbury about something else and planned to tell him about the mole in an "oh, by the way" manner, but he beat me to it. As a matter of business, he asked to see my back, and the next thing I hear is, "I need to get some film on this."

After magnifying the mole and photographing it, I could see that it very closely resembled the scary posters that hang on the back of doors at the dermatologist's office. Surgery was prescribed, which sounds more serious than necessary. Dr Stansbury also handed me a brochure and said, "Memorize this." The brochure was jam-packed with info about skin cancer and about how to do monthly spot checks. He also advised me, "Never get another sun burn."

Last week I had the mole removed, which is a slightly invasive procedure requiring stitches. The stitches were pretty cool, if very itchy. But, they're out now. I'm mending nicely and the biopsy came out okay and I'm never going to neglect a mole again.

And, one last thing, although I don't usually like to preach, I'm saying: Check. Your. Moles.

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!

I have my fingers crossed for a really good entry today. And, it's the IBM Future Systems project, which, since I hate to clog up bandwidth, you should read more about at the source.

The Future Systems project was a research project at IBM aiming to develop new software models which would simplify software development by exploiting modern powerful hardware.

"You've never seen so much air-drumming"

On Monday morning, I had to read music critic Chris Riemenschneider's review of the Rush concert in the Star Tribune, not so much because I care what he thinks but because I fell asleep at the concert and I was dying to find out how it ended.

Now that I have your attention—for the record, I did not fall asleep, but I may as well have for the concert was l-o-n-g, and I didn't recognize enough of the songs to stay invested. Sorry, but it's true.

The show wasn't boring by any means. In fact, this may have been the most electrically charged concert I have ever attended, with over 12,000 fans ON THEIR FEET for the better part of three hours. The Police, whom I saw in concert in July, and their fans, were comatose by comparison. I know it's not fair to compare Rush to the Police—there is a certain blasphemy to that—but let's just say every member of Rush was "on" and seemed happy to playing together. And their fans rewarded them for that.

Here is a true confession—John and I left during intermission. Yes, intermission. There was no opening band. Rush went on stage at about 7:45 and played until about 9:15, then took a break. During the intermission, John and I started listing all the things we needed to do before we went to bed, stuff like signing a bunch of school forms for the boys, picking up milk at the grocery store, and so on. At some point, John said, "Why don't we go?" Really, we can do that? Just leave in the middle of a rock concert? Won't we lose our credibility among our friends who would never go to a rock concert let alone go to a rock concert on a school night? John said, "Yes, really it would be alright if we left now." So, after assuring security that we were leaving for the evening, not just going outside to smoke pot, we left the building.

What if we had stayed?

Of the twelve songs Rush played in the first set, I knew two. Admittedly, those two songs—"Limelight" and "Free Will"—rocked hard even if Geddy Lee did not hit the high notes. John and I knew we both ran the risk of missing a classic-laden second set. Imagine my relief when I learned in Riemenschneider's review that the twenty-seven songs played left out many of the "radio-familiar" hits.

Another true confession: I'm not much of a Rush fan but I do love disc one of Retrospective, which covers the bands greatest hits from, oh, 1974-1980. If we had stayed, we would have heard an "insanely elaborate" drum solo on "Tom Sawyer," which I would have loved to have seen and heard. But, to be honest, we likely wouldn't have made it that far into the show.

Here's what I liked about the show: exceptionally tight band, spectacular lighting (even the circa 1980s laser show), dedicated fans (especially the Wayne and Garth-ish duo a few rows down who wer out-of-their-minds excited), air-drumming (Neal Peart is a god, what can I say?), and the music from the band's new album.

I still have a few burning questions.

1. Can someone explain to me the large ovens and the rotisserie chickens that roadies would occasionally baste? Was it an inside joke? Did the chickens feed the hungry crew after the show? Were the chickens raffled to audience members after the concert?

2. How can you not play "Xanadu"?

3. What kind of a name is Geddy?

Weekend report: September 8 and 9

A staggeringly busy, but fun, weekend was had by all. We kicked it off with Friday cocktails—Rob Roys (scotch, red vermouth, and bitters) and a nice piece of Brie de Meaux, which was slathered on Lesley Stowe's Rainforest Crisps (the hazelnut and cranberry variety).

The boys had their first fall soccer game on Saturday morning. Since we'd all had such a great time doing Blackhawks this summer—and by all, I do mean kids and parents—I talked the Warches and the Hamiltons into signing up for Groveland Rec soccer. It's a great location for us as we can mosy up the hill, and I love seeing other families spill out of our neighborhood. Needless to say, our united requests for soccer buddies were denied. Theo is a little stressed out about not knowing anyone on his team, and Sydney's pretty bummed out. Simon is somewhat indifferent and made two new friends on his team by INTRODUCING HIMSELF. I am so very proud of him. I made the rounds, watching a little soccer and chatting with parents. Despite the situation with the kids being on separate teams—which may be a bigger drag for the parents—the boys had a great time. And so did I. Winston made all the goals on his team. One of the kid's from Win's team last fall is on his team again, as are Sheila F's daughters (Sheila, a high school friend of my sister, lives in my neighborhood).

After soccer, we stopped by Regina's Candies. The boys didn't know this place existed, even after three years of living down the hill from the shop. We have to drive by it every day—I would have to be completely insane to have let them know any sooner. Simon figured it out when we walked by on Thursday, following their soccer meetings. He doesn't seem to be angry at the lie of omission—though I'm sure he's keeping it buried for his therapist to discover later in life—and plans to rot all his beautiful new permanent teeth on purchases made here. Just wait until I tip off Dr. O'Kane.

Then, I drove to Osseo, in the northwest corner of the metro, to visit my childhood friend Ann. She and her husband, Ken, were hosting a yard party, taking advantage of Osseo's annual carnival. They're on the parade route. The boys had a blast scooping up candy tossed from parade participants. Friend Jen S. (formerly Jenny E.—I think we were all Jennys at some point), also a friend from my hometown, was there with her husband and two beautiful children.

It was so good to see these two old friends—it had been way too long. Really criminally too long. Both are doing very well. We've made plans to see more of each other, which I hope we do. I'm the first to admit that life has a way of getting out of control. Or maybe we get into these grooves that are hard to get out of. I'm not talking about ruts either, because if I've learned anything with a career, a husband, and children, it's that routine works.

On Sunday, John and I took the boys to the Farmers Market where we hit Golden's for breakfast bagels—and, oh, the garden-ripe tomatoes and red onions were amazing on this. We picked up more tomatoes (I'd be surprised if we see any next week), broccoli, green beans (the last batch was fantastic), corn, and otherworldly brussel sprouts on the stalk. Then we made the rounds so the boys could say hello to the Bison guy.

We dropped Winston at Anders' house, then had a shopping spree with Simon. First stop: Target for a few essentials and a trip down the Ben 10 aisle. I'm proud of Simon. He didn't see the alien he wanted to buy, and allowance be damned, he walked out of the store without purchasing anything. He's really getting very mature at window shopping. Maybe he can teach his mother a lesson. Next stop: Patagonia, where John bought a corduroy blazer (very Paper Chase with suede elbow patches) and a kick-ass pair of shoes. He is so ready for NoCal. Final stop: The Comic Shoppe where Simon picked up a Pokeman booster pack and I bought a Nancy Drew graphic novel, which I can't wait to read, but will have to wait until I find the issue that precedes it. Naturally I didn't notice before I made my purchase that the book was part two of three.

Later in the day we hit the library and went visiting the Cohen-Murphys. And, John and I skipped yet another annual Alley Cat party to see Rush at the Xcel. More on that later—Blogger is about to boot me. And I'm rambling. I hate rambling.

wiki wednesday

It's time for Wiki Wednesday.

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

Oh. Dear. Lord. This entry begs for references and citations.

Casual gamer is a term used to describe a type of video game player whose time or interest in playing games is limited compared with a hardcore gamer. They can be found playing games across all genres and of varying levels of complexity and difficulty. However, they do not devote the amount of time or practice to video games spent by hardcore gamers. Whereas a hardcore gamer may approach gaming with the mindset of a professional, a casual gamer would think more like a hobbyist.

Casual gamers can conceivably consist of any people who show more than a passing interest in video games, therefore it is difficult to categorize them as a group. For this reason games which attempt to appeal to the casual player tend to strive for simple rules and ease of game play, the goal being to present a pick-up-and-play experience that people from any age group or skill level could enjoy.

Not all gamers who play casual games are themselves casual gamers.

Usage of the term

The term casual is often misleadingly used to describe a class of hardcore gamers who play massively multiplayer online games, a type of game which is generally not casual by definition. In that case the term is used with various meanings, most often to differentiate players between 2 or more specific gameplay preferences. For example, the term casual is sometimes used to identify a player who spends significantly less time playing than other players. Alternatively the term is used to identify a player who spends a significant amount of time playing but prefers less competitive or time intensive activities to productivity maximization (rapid character development, rapid income production, acquiring the best possible equipment etc.).

What I did on my summer vacation

Finally, summer break is over and done for another year. Am I busted up? No. As a rule, I'm not a huge fan of summer. Yes, I was one of those rare, freakish kids who couldn't wait to be back in school because she didn't know what to do with herself in the summer. Be that as it may, I do appreciate the improved weather and enjoy summer activities, such as shopping at the Farmers Market, swimming at outdoor pools and in lakes, and golfing, to name a few. And, I am a little dismayed by how fast summer seems to pass. Maybe it's an adult perspective.

Even though fall is several weeks away, not to mention that we're in the midst of a short heat wave, leaves are starting to change colors. My time of year is coming and I feel fine.

This summer was pretty jam-packed with activity. Although we didn't manage to get in a family vacation, we did plenty. Okay, maybe it was the boys who did plenty as part of their summer program (trip to Valleyfair, a Lynx game). Simon took a ten-day vacation in Montana with Gpa and Gma. We had house guests for a week—Will, Helena, Bjorn, and Sophia visited from Stockholm, Sweden. We took a trip to Princeton, NJ, to visit Dorothy and David, and took a side trip to Philadelphia to see the King Tut exhibit. In late July, John rode RAGBRAI with Steve. It felt like the summer was full.

Yesterday was the first day of public school in St. Paul. Simon, who started second grade, was positively vibrating with excitement over being reunited with many friends he hadn't seen over the summer, as well as with his teacher, Mrs. Cochran. Kindergarteners don't start until tomorrow so I've had the pleasure of Winston's company, though we did have a "goal-setting" meeting yesterday with his teacher, Ms. Maura.

Winston has come to work with me the past few mornings. Today we met John at his new office, which has some really excellent cubicles (with ergonomic desks that you can raise) and lovely amenities (including an especially nice, large, loungy breakroom). Then we all ate pizza at Cossetta's.

After lunch, Winston and I headed for the MOA to shoe shop at Nordstrom's—and I must say we both made out rather well. Winston found a great pair of Saucony running shoes with yellow trim ("yellow is a symbol for 'fast'"), while I picked up a pair of dark red patent ballet flats and a very comfortable black pump with plaid piping. Red, plaid, ballet flats and skimmers, and pumps with a high heel in a contrasting color were the predominant styles and colors at Nordstrom's. Oh, and I scored a free tube of Laura Mercier lipstick in a color/formula that's about to be discontinued. I love Nordstrom's!

So, now it's time to gear up for fall. John and I have concert tickets to Rush at the Xcel Center (this weekend) and to Sharon Jones at First Avenue (in November). I'm looking forward to a turning a new leaf with a milestone birthday. In October, John and I travel to San Francisco to celebrate said birthday, partaking in fine food and in the pleasure of our own company. Then in November, I'm going to spend a long weekend in New York City with Tracy, Jill Y, and Jill S, as the former and latter are also celebrating the same milestone birthday as I am. Shopping and siteseeing for all my friends. We'll likely be in Princeton for Christmas, and I'm hoping my friend Krista will visit for Thanksgiving. And, publishing starts its fall season of books, which is always a happy time!

wiki wednesday

It's time for Wiki Wednesday.

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

Today's random offering is a stub. So if you know anything about this anti-poverty project, this is your chance to make a mark on "wiki scholarship."

Integrated Rural Development Programme is a program initiative by Government of India to promote rural enterprise.

back from new jersey—finally

Last Friday, John and I took the boys to visit Gma Dorothy and Gpa David in Princeton, NJ. We flew in and out of Philadelphia, which we seldom do, but flight times were more favorable than at Newark. For the record, Northwest flights leave from PHL’s worst terminal. The newsstand is criminal and options for food are paltry at best. This really only matters if you have a long layover or are delayed, as we were—repeatedly—on our attempted return to St. Paul.

I refuse to dwell on the particular details from this trip because, sadly, these sorts of delays have become routine when flying. I’m feeling especially angry about building extra vacation time into any trip to accommodate the airline’s worst practices. For the moment, I’m off travel and never want to fly anywhere again . . . or until the next time I have to fly somewhere.

We still managed to have a lovely time with John’s mother and her husband. We ate spectacularly well. On Saturday night we learned how to grill beer-can chicken. I know, we’re the last on the block to try cooking chicken this way, but I have to say this was the best chicken I’ve eaten. Steaming the bird’s cavity with liquid really does make the meat moister. The skin was perfectly seasoned with a cayenne-brown sugar rub, which totally and flavorfully permeated the chicken. Farmstand corn on the cob and New Jersey tomato slices dressed with balsamic vinegar, olive oil, and feta accompanied the chicken. The raspberries the boys had picked that morning were transformed into a silky-tart homemade ice cream, which is the best ice cream we’ve had this summer.

On Sunday, we took in the King Tut exhibit at Philadelphia’s Franklin Institute. The show had some amazing treasures, which were well presented with each gallery serving as a tomb chamber. Various hallways connecting the galleries were constructed to resemble the passageways between tomb chambers—a nifty device to make a transition from the treasures of King Tut and those of earlier rulers.. Simon was a little creeped out by the chance that he might encounter a mummy (there were none), but Winston reveled in every detail. He especially was blown away by Tutankhamen's age when he became king—9, just a little older than Simon.

In all, our visit was too short, considering all the travel time involved. Nonetheless, it’s always fun to make this trip when the weather is warm and we’re the only guests.

Viva le King

This week marks the 30th anniversary of Elvis’s death. Do you remember where you were when Elvis died?

My family was on a major summer vacation, touring the western US in a (borrowed) RV. We were sightseeing in Salt Lake City when news of Elvis’ death broke. “Did you hear, the King is dead?” was a common refrain passed between tourists visiting Temple Square that day. I remember my father trying to explain what a huge deal this was, especially to people who had come of age in the 50s.

While I’ve never been a huge Elvis fan, I can easily acknowledge his place in the history of rock. And, I’m endlessly fascinated by Elvis impersonators, especially those in this feature.

Is anyone surprised to learn that Elvis is the second-highest grossing dead star? Kurt Cobain is #1. Cuing up my favorite Elvis number, “A Little Less Conversation.” Here’s the original version in a video clip from Live a Little, Love a Little..

Son number one exposes truth

Not long after Simon collected fifty cents from the Tooth Fairy this morning, he asked me if She was real. He had a theory about how She must not be real because of "the excuse Mom and Dad use when She's late." He lost his tooth on Saturday night, but the TF hadn't visited yet because, yes, John and I kept forgetting, and, conveniently, She'd been delayed by (very real, intense) thunderstorms.

But, John and I have never discussed how to handle The Confrontation so I asked Simon to tell his theory to his father after dinner this evening. And, that's when It happened. In one fell swoop, the ugly truth about the Tooth Fairy (mom and dad), Santa (mom and dad), and the Easter Bunny (Grandma Margaret) was revealed. I was certain he'd find out on the playground, from that thug Tony, but no, Simon's parents exposed themselves as (petty) frauds.

Bless John, though, for telling Simon that we perpetuate the myth about The Trinity because it's fun and for asking Simon to let Winston keep believing as long as Winston wants. Which will probably be until he leaves home for college.

Also, I've bribed Simon with extra special presents if he keeps his mouth shut.

Wiki Wednesday

Hey, it's Wiki Wednesday again. I've got my fingers crossed for an interesting entry! Here are the rules:

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

Oh, dear god. I am stunned by the complete randomness of this entry. Read more about Clayton, WI—the one in Polk County—here.

There are two other towns named Clayton in Wisconsin.

Clayton is a town in Polk County, Wisconsin, United States. The population was 912 at the 2000 census. The Village of Clayton is located within the town.

This probably wouldn't surprise anyone:

The racial makeup of the town was 99.23% White, 0.33% Native American, 0.11% Asian, and 0.33% from two or more races. 0.66% of the population were Hispanic or Latino of any race.

Listening

My workload today called for something that would inspire me to keep at my project as well as provide an occasional worthy distraction. Scrolling through my iTunes file at work—all the way to the bottom (at the moment, I have music arrange alpha by artist)—I landed on The White Stripes' latest album, Icky Thump.

The somewhat bizarre album title should warn the listener that the musical arrangements and the lyrics might be unnerving—but only in the best sort of way. I have loved The White Stripes' hook-laden tunes from their very first album. While the duo has a very distinctive sound, this is the first album where they really stretch and flex their abilities. Icky Thump is , I guess you could say, an experimental album. As with any such changes to a band's musical style, some tracks wail while some fall far short.

Here are some of the tracks getting repeat play:

~Icky Thump—guitar stylings pay homage to 70s rock icons, such as Led Zepplin while the lyrics display a strange but brilliant quality

~300 M.P.H. Torrential Outpour Blues—soulful surf guitar and laid back Southern California sounds

~Prickly Thorn, But Sweetly Worn—pleasingly folksy with a clear Scottish influence that seques into the utterly bizarro, very creepy St. Andrew , which defies description (Catholic anguish perhaps?)

Weekend report: August 11 and 12

Sadly, the weekend was a little stressful. Both boys were pretty demanding of our attention, and when they weren't physically pulling on us, they bickered. Some weekends are like that—even in Australia.

The Twin Cities experienced some severe thunderstorms on early Saturday morning—around 4 a.m. For the first time, I had a slight panic about tree limbs landing on the skylights about our bed, then remembered we had the tree in question removed in July. This storm's lightning was flickery and bizarre and was destined to keep me up. John and I didn't even have time to place wagers on how long it would be before the boys were in our bed when the skylight over his side of the bed started leaking. In a steady stream. Simon did wake up and found us in the den where I was reading HP7 to John. We all craved sleep so John and I each curled up with one of the boys. Winston managed, blessedly, to sleep through the storm. And, we were very lucky to have escaped any damage and to have retained our electricity.

Saturday: Simon went to a birthday party. Winston received a much needed haircut. The boys had a new sitter from the end of the block while John and I met our friend Liz M-P for a fantastic dinner at Saffron. We all shared a mezze platter with a feta cheese spread, potato salad with preserved lemon, lamb meatballs in harissa, and chickpeas. My meal started with a blue crab and avocado-citrus salad; the salmon-clam tagine (silky poached fish on a bed of sliced potatoes rather than couscous was unusual and tasty) was my main. For dessert we shared a tasty, spicy dried-fruit tart that was presented in a filo purse and a chocolate mousse cake, which didn't really meet expectations for a chocolate dessert.

Sunday: Simon served as John's tour guide when we saw the Pompeii exhibit (which really wasn't as good the second time around) at the Science Museum. Winston enjoyed looking at the little burial artifacts and satisfied his morbid curiosity in the room with the casts of people caught by Mt. Vesuvius' fiery blast. He's going to love the King Tut exhibit in Philadelphia, which we're going to see at the end of this week. On our way home, we had cocktails at our friends' Colin and Helena's. They served some really good food—cantaloupe wrapped with prosciutto; figs with blue cheese, walnuts, and balsamic vinegar; and a store-bought salsa that they doctored with fresh tomato chunks. Friends Sarah and Dave were also there. I made "Thomas Jefferson" macaroni and cheese—this is what the kids call the not-from-a-box version—for the boys' dinner. John and I were pretty sated from the food we'd eaten at C & H's but managed to help the boys with their mac and cheese...and another bottle of wine. Nothing like a Sunday night lush.

We got a reservation!

After a day and a half of simultaneously speed-dialing on a cell phone and on my work land line, I finally got through the endless string of busy signals to reach a live body at The French Laundry. Getting that far is just the half of it. Then, you have to be willing to face outright rejection because all the tables are booked for the evening(s) on which you'd like to have dinner, oh, two months from now. Or, you'll be offered a table at lunch: "We have a table at eleven and at eleven-thirty." As if you'd settle for lunch to celebrate your milestone birthday.

Persistance with the humorless reservationist—Iris—yielded at 5:30 p.m. reservation on October 5, 2007.

A debt of gratitude to you Iris!

Lucky 13

This past weekend, John and I celebrated our 13th wedding anniversary—that would be the lace wedding anniversary if you follow the traditional gift table, or leather or fur if you're on the modern track. Long ago, we decided to relieve the pressure of another gift-giving occasion by opting not to buy each other presents for our anniversary. Instead, we treat ourselves to a lovely meal in a restaurant, where we gaze happily, gratefully into each others' eyes. Just as we did on our honeymoon, which we took in Bariloche, Argentina.

This year, we had our anniversary dinner at Muffuletta’s, in the charming St. Anthony Park neighborhood of St. Paul. Muffuletta’s menu highlights dishes with local and seasonal ingredients, prepared in generally innovative ways. My biggest quibble with the place is that the portions were enormous. The salmon rillettes I ordered as a starter could have satisfied four diners. But, the smoked salmon and wine-poached fresh salmon blended with aioli and served on toasted baguette slices was divine, and the gnocchi with heirloom tomatoes and a pistachio-almond pesto that followed knocked my socks off. We look forward to returning in the fall to see what JD Fratzke has up his sleeve for my favorite eating season.

Uncle Nik, who is staying with us for a week, was watching the boys so we took advantage of his bargain rate and lack of curfew to take in a movie. We saw Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix at the Highland Theater, which was approximately three hours long. It’s a trip to see the actors growing up, seemingly outgrowing their characters. I wonder how they’ll hold up until book number seven is turned into a move. As Order of the Phoenix represented the first truly bloated book, lots of scenes (such as Hagrid’s unnecessarily long search for the giants) from the book were edited out for the movie, which I truly appreciated.

It was a lovely, long evening, and a perfect anniversary celebration.

iota

I love what this architecture firm is doing. And, they have some great marketing—check out their website.Our home doesn't need the sort of residential overhaul in which this firm specializes, but if we did, I'd put them on the list.

Wiki Wednesday

Karen at Verbatim, one of my favorite daily reads, plays Wiki Wednesday, which has the following rules:

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

I think this is just the thing to spice up my blog, so I'm going to participate.

Hugh Grant could play this guy in the movie version. Not only does Grant resemble this politician, but he often takes the role of cad.

Jim Rogers is a Democratic city councilmember of the city of Richmond, California. He was well known throughout the San Francisco Bay Area as a lawyer, until he was elected to ^[1] and ceased practicing law as of September 2006.

Rogers' legal career was marred by controversy, as he was repeatedly accused of fraudulent, negligent, and unethical practices by former clients^{[citation needed]}. A 2003 feature story in the East Bay Express ^[2] outlined the various allegations and lawsuits against him in detail.

As you can see, this Wikipedia article is wanting for credibility, but it also illustrates how far-reaching the "people's encyclopedia" can be.

thus, we end the hiatus

The summer has been very busy at chez Shepard—as it has been for almost everyone. Believe me, my busy is no more important than your busy. We have had people coming and going, and I have had some technical difficulties with my computer, which has either been with Apple Care or unusable. All of these things have made it difficult to sit down for any amount of time to write, and I have sincerely missed blogging.

Some of the highlights of the past two months include the following:

Atlanta photo shoot
In late June, I accompanied our photographer to Georgia for a photo shoot of some houses built from our designs in the greater Atlanta area. For the most part, the homes were in the suburbs so I don't feel like I really got a sense of Atlanta. I'm not even sure I spied the downtown area of taller buildings, but since we are about all things residential, we stuck to the areas where people live. And, we did drive all the way up to the Appalachian foothills, which were beautiful. I'd like to write more about the trip later.

Simon
My oldest, and very independent, son took a two-week vacation with my parents in early July. They started in Watertown, SD, then drove to Winner, SD, where my father has a place and a lot of farm land. Simon got to help drive a tractor in Grandpa Ron's wheat fields. But, the pretext for Simon's extended stay was a trip to Big Sky, MT, where my mother was attending a conference. The conference had a kid's program ideal for 7 and up. So, Grandpa chaperoned the pasha as he made a jaunt to Yellowstone and Mammoth Spring, took a hike with a naturalist, and tried his hand at tying flies and fly-fishing.

Simon has plans to spend the rest of the summer writing a book and has already bound some watercolor paper inside cardboard covers.

Winston
My youngest son is having adventures of the more local variety. While I was in Atlanta, Winston lost his first tooth. I'm secretly please not to have been there, but he was excited enough to call me and share the news. To keep Winston amused and distracted while Simon was away, we took him to REI where he proceeded to climb the Pinnacle, a 55-foot climbing wall. When asked about his experience, he replied, "From the top, you looked like ants." Which is funny, little dude, because from the bottom you looked like an ant. More on this later, too.

John
My handsome husband is just a few hours from finishing his third RAGBRAI, and I am so proud of him. He is riding with his friend Steve. Neither of them are in good shape physically. Both have admitted that they would have had more fun if every day hadn't been a struggle with sore muscles and numbness in the extremities. These are just a few of the reasons why I opted out of the ride this year. A few weeks ago, I did an organized 35-mile bike ride and decided that was about all I could manage. RAGBRAI, cruel mistress, demands 70 miles a day (on average) for seven days. Plus, camping, which is fun but means sleeping on the ground. I miss John and can't wait for him to return.

Houseguests
John's brother Will and his little family--wife Helena, son Bjorn (5), and daughter Sophia (2)--are visiting from Sweden for a month and graciously gave us a week of their time. We had many wonderful meals together. I spent a day with Winston and our guests at the Minnesota Zoo. And, on Saturday morning we visited the St. Paul Farmers Market.

By this time tomorrow, my little family will be intact for the first time in over a month, and I can't wait to have some more summer with them.

They Rocked

That is, The Police--they rocked. Hard. Sure, each band member is over 50 and needs to conserve energy to get through a set (about 1.5 hours) and three encores, but I was not disappointed. The performance wasn't perfect--there were plenty of miscues and missed words, and it often seemed as if the band was holding back (again, conserving energy or reluctance to have too much fun). That said, watching Sting and Andy jam and Stewart wail on drums was worth every penny spent on tickets ($180 + processing fees), parking ($15), beer ($12 for two), and kidsitter ($40).

Most songs had been rearranged, which made it challenging to figure out which song the band was playing next. The reworked songs demonstrated how The Police were able to keep their music relevant after 24 years of not making music together, as well as helped them avoid the embarrassment of the "aging rock star trying to relive former glory" syndrome.

Here's the playlist:

1. Message in a Bottle
2. Synchronicity II
3. Walking on the Moon
4. Voices in My Head/When the World Is Running Down… (unexpected and well done)
5. Don’t Stand So Close to Me (absolutely timeless--The Police could record this arrangement and it would be better than most single being released today)
6. Driven to Tears (bass-driven)
7. Truth Hits Everybody
8. Bed’s Too Big without You (amped up the reggae for this number)
9. Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic
10. Wrapped around Your Finger
11. De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da
12. Invisible Sun (brilliant, even with the children-of-war slide show)
13. Walking in Your Footsteps (better than recorded)
14. Can’t Stand Losing You

First encore: Roxanne (again, better than recorded)
Then: King of Pain, So Lonely (my favorite of the songs played), Every Breath You Take (hard to sit through, even live)
One last song: Next to You (next favorite)

John and I had so much fun, and it was thrilling to be part of a sold-out show.

The Police

During the summer of 1983, when I wasn’t sunning at the pool or hacking a little white ball around the golf course, I listened to music every chance I had. The British music scene was especially appealing to me. On the soft side, I grooved to the New Romantic sounds of Duran Duran, Bow Wow Wow, Depeche Mode, Culture Club, Ultravox, ABC, Talk Talk, and The Human League to name just a few. On the edgier end of the musical spectrum, anything punk or glam was good. And somewhere in between, there was my all-time favorite band—The Police.

By the time my friends and I had driver’s licenses and permission to travel alone so that we could drive four hours to the Twin Cities for concerts, The Police had broken up. So my friends—Ann D. and Jenny E.—and I watched the concert videos, Around the World and Synchronicity, so often that it felt like we had seen the power trio play live.

Since the mid-eighties, I have had the good fortune to see Sting in concert (twice). And, I sat close enough to the stage that I could be hit by a bead of Stewart Copeland's sweat when he played the Fine Line with Animal Logic.

I even married a man who saw The Police when they played Dallas on the Synchronicity tour in 1984—and he never loved them half as much as I did.

But tonight—even though I despise the idea of watching old men strut around on a stage, trotting out their faded glory—I am going to see Sting, Stewart, and Andy play their reunion tour at the Xcel Center in St. Paul.

It is The Police after all.

Weekend Report

Fifty architectural historians toured our home this past Saturday. And, the two very short weeks leading up to the day were fraught with an urgency to conquer clutter, which we never quite managed. However, John and I were able to tackle just enough mess to be incredibly house proud.

My parents visited last weekend and did massive amounts of yard work—pulling weeds, tidying the patio landscaping, raking leaves, and cleaning the eaves troughs. And, I concentrated on hiding the piles we're not quite ready to toss (largely bills, recipes , souvenirs). We hung the Caroline Yang Col du Tourmalet photo in the studio. (it's massive and awesome and looks so great hanging on the wall). I also completely rearranged Simon's bedroom and "filed" some of his toys.

All this to say that we were ready for the masses. Strangers flooded into our home on Saturday afternoon, asking lots of thoughtful questions about elements of the home that might have been part of the original plan. John had unrolled the blueprints of the original home and the addition so folks could take a look for themselves. We received so many kind complements, the sort that make you feel genuinely good.

We're absolutely on the right track.

After the tour, while the boys were occupied with friends Malcolm and Preston, I put my feet up with a book (Robert Wilson's A Small Death in Lisbon, if you must know), but I had a hard time choosing a room in which to relax. The problem—and it's not such a horrible problem to have—was that each room was immaculate and inviting. For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel as if I was fleeing an oppressive mess, taunting me as I neglected it.

We were also rewarded with a dinner at our friends Colin and Helena's beautiful new house (new to them, not new construction), which was wonderful to tour. It's a 1600-square-foot Victorian with a 1600-square-foot historical addition. Basically, half of the house has been lovingly maintained, while the other half is unfinished. Even though, they have a lot of work ahead of them, C & H have an amazing space. It's fun watching them make a home.

Our mutual friends Sarah and Dave were there, too. Having declared this the Summer of Cocktails when we served French 75s a few weeks ago, Dave made champagne cocktails with bourbon and peach slices. He called it an American, but I can't find a reference to it anywhere on the internet. Could be something from his steakhouse waiter days, but I'm curious about origins of everything, so I'll ask.

I made a heaping bowl of guac, not much of which was eaten. We were served grilled flank steak and a chimichurri (cilantro, parsley, orange, lemon, lime, and olive oil—which was oily more than anything else), roasted new potatoes, and tossed greens with red grapes and blue cheese (they do great salads, which I appreciate). We ended the evening drinking Knob Creek.

Sunday highlights include our first trip of the season to the Saint Paul Farmers Market. We bought lettuce and snap peas, as well as herb plants (two kinds of basil, oregano, thyme) and, at Simon's request, pepper plants (jalapeno and anaheim). It felt good to be back at the farmers market after a long winter. It is important to us to know where our food comes from, to eat as close to home as possible, to support our local economy. And, since we aren't farmers and we don't garden, the farmers market is a natural. Besides buying plants and vegetables, we ate Golden's awesome fried-egg bagel sandwiches and we re-acquainted ourselves with our favorite vendors—the guy who sells Hmong handicrafts, the [Big Woods] bison man, the honey man [Otis Family Farm].

If all this wasn't excitement enough, we took a family bike ride —a test run for bicycle commuting from our home to the kids' school. Winston is riding on the tagalong, throwing both arms in the arm, yelling "Tour de France." Simon is riding his own bike—I think he could cover every inch of the city on bike and ask if he could ride some more.

And, Winston would like me to let everyone know he has a loose tooth. He's so excited. He knows it's a milestone. But, he's also a little freaked out and would like it removed. Now. So, he spent Sunday announcing, "Can you take it out? If I could just get this tooth out."

Simon made his own lunch today

My seven-year-old (pictured above) made his own lunch today (not pictured above). I cannot get over this fact. Which fact? The one in which he can—beyond brushing his teeth, getting himself dressed, and tying his shoes—be a bit independent. He probably doesn't need me any more...

And, the lunch seemed to be comparable to those I make for him—a little bit healthy, a little bit fun. His menu: salami and cheese sandwich, Cheetos, apple juice, and a banana. Simon informed me that if you cut a banana in half, the cut end gets gross and messes up the inside of his lunch box. So, for that matter, he would be eating a whole banana. Still didn't stop him from putting the whole banana in a plastic bag. Some day he'll realize that the banana peel is a natural wrapper, but until then I'm happy he can help out in the morning.

Friday night date night (with friends)

As a rule, John and I rarely go out on Friday night. For the most part all we ever want to do after a long work week is collapse in a heap on the sofa and watch TV—House and Numbers. We love our ritual, and we like staying up late and sleeping in on Saturday morning while the kids gorge themselves on TV. But this past Friday night (4/20), we had an invitation from our friends Dave and Sarah to help celebrate their birthdays (they're married, with birthdays on April 18th and 20th, respectively).

John and I met Dave and Sarah and Colin and Helena for cocktails at The Monte Carlo, which was our stomping grounds throughout our 20s. The Monte Carlo has this fantastic mirror-backed bar and a dining room patina-ed with timelessness. The bartenders mix cocktails big and strong, which is exactly how I like them. The restaurant has added a large patio since we've stopped hanging out there regularly. And, this Friday evening was absolutely gorgeous so we took advantage of the lovely, as-of-yet bug-free evening and sat outside.

After drinks, we headed to Saffron for dinner. Saffron is located in the Warehouse District, across the street from 112 Eatery, in one of those great spaces with sturdy columns and high ceilings, made intimate with walls painted dark red and saffron. The menu features upscale Mediterranean food, leaning heavily toward the spice combinations (saffron, cumin, coriander, and sumac) and food stuffs (merguez, kibbeh, lamb, chickpeas, couscous) of Morocco.

We started by sharing some mezzes (eastern Mediterranean small plates, like tapas) that included a house-made, spicy lamb merguez with red pepper confit, braised beef ravioli with eggplant and harissa, a grilled leek and sheep's feta tart, tuna and veal carpaccio with preserved lemons, chilled rare tuna with tabbouleh, and scallops with fried clams and saffron.

All the guys had the beef strip loin served with a smoked potato gratin. Sarah had the salmon and clam tagine with potatoes—the salmon was silky and rich. I had a braised lamb shoulder, melting and unctuous, served on a bed of stewed chickpeas that, to my mind, redefined the potential of dried legumes. We drank a passable chianti (Castillo Chianti Reserva '01). Organized by characteristics (e.g., semi-dry, medium bodied, lush), it's an easy, but not great, list to navigate. We wrapped up the meal by sharing a few desserts—a chocolate ganache cake, a banana tart, and a saffron rice pudding that nobody liked (and, I've noticed, is no longer on the menu).

In all, it was a fun evening out with friends. Lots of laughs and very good food. I can't wait to eat at Saffron again as there were other things on the menu that I'd like to try, such as the salmon and clams or the sumac-rubbed chicken, as well as other mezzes, such as the lamb brains. The house lavash and hummus that appeared from the kitchen as an amuse-bouche were also noteworthy.

Go eat there now!

Blasts from the past

I have been thinking about old friends this week, something I do from time to time. But, a few friends in particular have dominated my thoughts as I have had some casual encounters with them. We may have exchanged a few words or chatted for a while. The connections are sustaining, with sparking memories of time or place and reminding me why I enjoyed each person's company. And, in some cases, leading my thoughts to mutual friends. I'm pretty lousy at staying in touch with people, and I wish I were better at it. Starting a friendship takes a lot of energy, and unless maintenance is mutual, it's often easier to release friends when our paths diverge. Bittersweet in many ways.

A few weeks ago, I ran into Jeanne Z. at Little Szechuan a few weeks ago. We chatted only for a moment, but I did get to meet her husband and hear that Jeanne had recently seen Jessica. I worked with Jeanne and Jessica at Odegard Books. Jeanne and I worked the Wednesday evening shift with Seth J. (I wonder whatever happened to Seth?), then we'd meet Jessica for post-work drinks at Sweeney's. Sometimes the three of us would go dancing on Thursdays—Funk Night—at First Avenue. I have no idea what Jeanne is doing, not that it matters much. It made me happy to see her.

Yesterday, I ran into Kay Y., who lived across the hall from me first year at college . She was to have been my sophomore roommate, but during summer break she transferred to a neighboring school. We saw each other occasionally throughout our remaining college years, and I had the pleasure of working with her twin sister at a crappy part-time job. Kay looked great—like a 40-year-old version of her college self. Seeing her reminded me of other college friends that I would like to see or check in with —Liz F., Jane M., and Katie R. to name just a few. I wonder whatever happened to Colette C.?

Also yesterday I received an e-mail from Michele, who forwarded a message from childhood friend John H. He had attached photos of his young son and daughter, both of whom are the spitting image of him. It's so amazing to see the similarities and realize how powerful a gene pool can be. I'd really like to give a him shout-out. Naturally, seeing him makes me think of the entire old neighborhood—Ann D. and Catie L. We were so close during our formative years. Why didn't we all stay connected as we set out in the world?

Talking to Krista last night stirred up similar sentiments about the friends and professional contacts I made at SMP. I think about those folks often and miss many of them.

Former coworker Melissa D. just phoned, and although I didn't get to speak to her, I do think about her often and wonder how she's doing in Japan. She added so much energy to the workplace, an energy that's really missing now.

Well, since I hate wallowing in nostalgia, I resolve to reconnect with those who have fallen out of touch. I have my work cut out!

Happy birthday Winston!

My dear son, I can't believe you are five years old today. It's snowing here in Minnesota, just as it was on the day you were born.

Back in 2002, Auntie Michele surprised me with a visit on your due date. She had planned to welcome her second nephew in fine style, but you took your own sweet time. You are never to be rushed, believe me, I get that. On the morning Michele was to leave, very early, I felt too crummy to drive her to the airport. Too crummy to get out of bed even, and I knew that was the sign I had been waiting for. The sign that you were coming.

So, Daddy very generously drove Michele to the airport at 5 a.m. When he returned, I asked him to spend the day with me rather than going to the office. I was afraid the weather would turn worse and he would have a hard time getting home when I needed him most. Because he is the best Daddy in the whole wide world, he stayed with me. We watched lots of bad TV and took walks in the snow and ate donuts from PJ Murphy's.

Grandma Margaret was going to take care of Simon, but she couldn't make it through the storm so we sent Simon across the street to the Lange's house. Eventually Daddy drove me to the hospital, and after a lot of hard labor and an epidural and many nurses and many hours, you arrived red and screaming. Birth was a lot of work for you too. And, I was so relieved and pleased that you had finally arrived.

I miss you so much today, but you are a very big boy on your very own vacation, and I am so proud of you. Winston Graham Shepard. Five. Years. Old!