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!

Last year Paris, this year Iowa

Yes, I'm talking about my summer vacation plans. Since it's hard to beat a good European vacation, I'm not even going to try. Instead, earlier today, I agreed to ride RAGBRAI in late July. Me, and John, our friends Steve (hopefully) and Scott (remotely possible?), and my friend Krista—oh, and Lance Armstrong.

RAGBRAI is the (Des Moines) Register's Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa. The ride takes place during the last week of July (think hot—two years ago, the temperature was over 100 degrees on the first day). It starts at some point on the western border of Iowa and ends, seven days and approximately 500 miles later, on the eastern border of the state. That's right, about 70 miles each day—sitting on a tiny saddle. With 10,000 other people. It's one of the nation's best parties. Other states have similar border-to-border rides, but none are as large or as lively as Iowa's ride. And, no other state has Iowa's hospitality—everyone you meet wants to know where you're from and how many RAGBRAIs you have done.

I'll be writing a whole lot more about RAGBRAI in the coming months, especially as I am now officially in training, which has to be worked around spring break (the boys are taking a vacation, leaving their parents at home so we've lined up a week of fine wine and food) and New Orleans (where I'm meeting Krista at the end of April for Jazz Fest).

Did I mention the pie?

[That's my handsome husband, John, in a ride-through town on RAGBRAI 2005. Notice his tanned, smooooooth arms!]

another way to wake up

This is how I really woke up this morning. "This" is a house mouse, although the one in my bedroom was more gray than brown. Yes, a mouse in my bedroom.

During the later hours of the early morning, in the half-sleep/half-awake state between snoozes, I heard a scritching noise near the foot of my bed. Sitting bolt-upright in my bed, fumbling with the bedside lamp, and trying to find my glasses, I felt that unmistakable surge of adrenaline course through my core. After I pulled myself together, I saw a mouse climbing Mt. Jansport, the backpack on wheels that we store in our room. In a panic, I notified John—my absolutely mostest hero, in the whole world—that there was a mouse in our room. And, to my rescue, he grabbed a sticky pad from an earlier episode, trapped the mouse, and whisked it out of our room.

My husband is so handsome, strong, funny, smart—and very brave! He caught a mouse with his hands because he loves me. As a result, I may give him a huge pass on his clutter (such as the piles of magazines on the floor or the Jansport), which he had weeks ago offered to move to another part of the house, but hadn't yet. Just think: our clutter served as an early warning system. Without it, the mouse may have invaded our room with more stealth.

Despite the adrenaline rush, I feel like I handled this mouse better than the last few, although, admittedly, I haven't spent a night in our room since Monday night. I am scarred—and obsessed with these questions: where are the mice coming from? Why are they coming into my bedroom? Where are they going when they come into my bedroom? How can I stop them from coming into my room? Where can I get more of these sticky pads, which are better for catching mice by hand? When will I stop wiggin' out at the slightest noise?

Just one more question. When does mouse season end????

one way to wake up

This is the preferred method for waking up on any given day, but especially on a Tuesday morning: a strong cup of Dunn Brother's coffee and a sweet almond roll from Trotter's. I've been going to this neighborhood cafe for over ten years. Back in the day, John and I lived just around the corner, and it was a pleasure to eat their homey soups (pasta fagiole was a favorite), focaccia pizzas, and sandwiches (hands down best chicken salad with crunchy celery and pecans, as well as an toasted sandwich with avocado, slices of red onion and red pepper, and pepper jack cheese). But, Trotter's strength is their baked goods—chocolate chaos cupcakes (like an upscale Hostess cupcake with cream cheese filling), sweet rolls (maple pecan, orange, almond, and cinnamon), coffee cakes, lemon bars, and the best cookies in the city (chocolate chip, monster, midnight mint, ginger, and peanut butter, as well as seasonal specialties like pecan sandies with maple syrup and pumpkin chocolate chip drop cookies). The sweet rolls and cookies particularly remind me of the treats my mother makes so well.

Can't you taste the yeasty sweetness of this roll, drizzled with almond frosting and sprinkled with slivered almonds?