new week

This morning, John and I drove the boys to the Midway Y, where they hopped a bus for day camp. I am so excited for them, I could scream. Truthfully, I am so excited about camp that I had a hard time sleeping last night. And, no sooner had I fallen asleep than Simon appeared (at 3:45 a.m., on John’s side of the bed), inquiring as to what he should do with the shirt he had just barfed on. Bless John for being the first responder on this middle of the night crisis. He gave Simon a sponge bath, stripped his bed, and put the sheets and towel and jammies in the washer (thankfully empty). Then John took Simon down to the guest bedroom, where they both spent the remainder of the night. What a great dad! And, Simon seemed fine this morning.

As a kid, I loved camp—the activities (crafts, swimming, even KP duty), the food (hobo packs), the cabins, the ceremonies (flag raising, flag lowering), campfire (stories and songs), and—most important—the independence from my family. If I could have, I would have lived at camp year round. Suffice it to say, that it was challenging to provide the boys with just enough information about camp without overselling it, because I really want them to love it too.

Day camp this summer, sleepaway camp next summer (please, please, please). I chose a Y camp close enough to home, but still in the woods. As we were loading backpacks, Simon asked, "Where did the Ewoks live?" Me: "Endor. Why?" Simon: I'm pretending that the bus is a spaceship and we're going to Endor." Aw shucks, that's kind of cute—yet kind of a scary need to cope. Please tell me I'm not scarring the kids by taking them out of their Summer Discovery Club comfort zone and sending them to a proper camp. In nature. With fresh air.

Simon is doing the traditional day camp with arts and crafts (you should see the way his eyes pop wide whenever I say “crafts”), outdoor sports (archery, swimming, canoeing), games, hikes, and more.

Winston is partaking in rock climbing class because, quite simply, he loves to climb everything. He has successfully climbed the 45-foot wall at REI, as well as a few other walls, and when we were in Maine, he scrambled over the rocks/boulders like a mountain goat on a moderate mountain climb. This child is like Spiderman when it comes to scaling obstacles and everyday objects in his path. He needs to climb in an controlled, safe environment—i.e., with ropes and a harness. When I woke him this morning, he tried begging out of the day with a sore throat and a stomachache, which he very well may have. The family has been passing a bug since we returned from Maine. Then he said, “I’m concerned.” About what little man? “That my hands are slippery.” Thank goodness for chalk. He’s really excited about gear, like chalk, which he knows the “big boys” use.

After we dropped the boys, I accompanied John on his bicycle commute, from our home to his office. Then had a nice solo ride back home, with good tunes. In all, I put in about ten miles, with a little bit of climbing. Trying to shake the Monday out of my legs.

I know. All this before 9:00 a.m.

The new week—that is destined to be a busy week—is off to a good start. I have an interview on Tuesday, plus I have leads on a few other job openings. I’m getting my hair cut, so get to hang out with my gal Anna for a while. I've promised myself a trip to Cheapo/Applause for new tunes. Thursday is parents’ night at camp with a picnic and tour. And, somewhere in between, I’m taking my friend Bonnie on a birthday bike ride with a celebratory detour to a wine bar.

Maybe I don't want an office job...just yet...

reunion

Something is kicking my ass. Earlier this week, John complained of a sore throat, headache, and fatigue, to which I may not have been appropriately sympathetic. When I felt that first bit of throat scratchiness yesterday, while preparing for dinner guests, I wasn’t surprised. But I did ignore the irritation because I was expecting lots of people at my house and there was cleaning and cooking to be done. The minute the last guest left—at 11:45—the full-fledged sick set in. Aargh! I have an interview next week. I don’t need to feel crappy.

Last night was a lot of fun. My former coworkers came over to grill and commiserate about having been laid off.

Katey, who was on maternity leave when she lost her job, brought Calvin, who is a deliciously chubby and bald six-month-old. Leon brought his spouse, Chris, who was friendly and absolutely engaged with everyone at the party. Leon is busy applying for all the same jobs I am, whether he’s qualified or not. I keep thinking I’ll run into him in on the interview circuit. Ginny, who had only been at the company for four months before she was laid off, brought her husband, whom I’d never before met. They’re a cute but funny couple. Both committed vegetarians, they’re converting to vegans as a summer project. Jeff left the company long ago, but we were friends before Homeplans (the Mac circle) and I thought he’d enjoy seeing former coworkers. He attended with family. His wife tried to put a positive spin on being laid off, how it forces you to change, which I found unnecessary and a little hurtful. As I’ve said before, I liked my job and hadn’t been at it long. I wasn’t a lifer, but was skill-building. Plus, it’s an impossible job market—not the best time to be unemployed. Aargh. I know she was trying to cheer us up, but geez, I wanted to say, “You’ve clearly never lost a job.” Bruce, my former boss, came solo. He’s currently doing my job on a hush-hush part-time basis. Rat fink. And, Eric, who has never received his due here (I wouldn’t even know where to start—let’s just say he was a corporate liability), also attended. Unemployment hasn’t altered him a bit.

Some folks have had interviews, though none have found jobs. The market certainly isn’t helping, and the season almost makes it too nice to work! But, I think it’s safe to say that most of us thought we would have jobs by now. We all compared notes on any interviewing we’d done, as well as filing for unemployment. We gossiped about the new, stripped-down version of the company. We dished on former coworkers and directors who weren't in attendance. And, we shared tips on the best daytime television.

tgif

Those of you who regularly read this blog, who might even have a feed set up, may have noticed that I have been backdating entries. Guilty, as self-charged, of cheating in the blogsphere. And I hope you'll forgive me. It has been one of those weeks. I haven't had much in my appointment book and my soccer duties are done so it hasn't been particularly demanding in the way of time management. Being overscheduled may have improved the week, however. Unemployment has sucked the life out of me. Yes, I'm rubbing up against depression but I have a call in to a good therapist.

Until my first appointment, though, I'm self-medicating with exercise. My bicycle has saved my sanity this week. Daily ten-mile rides, even when my legs felt like logs and my saddle ached, were the prescription for anxiety. I sweated and detoxed. I processed conflicts, planned the evening meals, organized my activities, and prepared for a phone interview. Wheels, don't fail me.

Yes, I had a ten-minute phone interview yesterday. This was an HR screening, and I sweated bullets for it. Apparently I used all the correct code words because I have an hour-long face-to-face with the hiring manager next week. Wish me well. I'd like to be back in an office environment, and this job seems pretty cool. And a bit demanding. More details to follow. Just earlier this week, when I didn't have any interviews on the horizon, John and I talked about other options, including freelancing. I think I'd like the flexibility of setting my own schedule, as well as the substance of editing.

John and I have some fun activities lined up for the weekend. Tomorrow morning, we plan to ride our bikes, the little boys in tow, to the Riverview Theater, which is showing the penultimate stage of the Tour de France (a time trial) on its big screen. That evening, my former coworkers are coming over to grill. I'm looking forward to seeing them and getting caught up on their lives post-Homeplans. On Sunday, we'll go to the Farmers Market and later, we'll catch a Minnesota Thunder (soccer) game in Blaine.

Plus, I'll be posting more about Maine. In real time. I hope.

accommodations

When we weren’t sightseeing or involved in wedding activities, much of our time in Maine was spent at Gruesome Gables, the house (pictured above) my mother-in-law, Dorothy, rented. You can see more photos online, but there are two things you won’t sense—the enormity of those bedrooms and the truly gruesome nature of this home, which is seriously in need of refreshing. Maybe a really good scrubbing, too. This is not to suggest that the house wasn’t clean. Heavens, no—it’s just old.

A lot of homes on the Down East coast, like Gruesome Gables, are built in the Shingle Style. On the other side of the house, not visible in this photo is a gambrel roof, which is a great detail.

The owners left an eight page, single-spaced guide to the house and its idiosyncrasies, such as doors that stick in the near-constant coastal humidity. Renters are advised not to force the doors open, which always proved tricky when one was stuck in the half-bath. The electrical system needed to be replaced. More than one fixture pull required just the right touch to get the bulb to light. The owners also asked that the china cabinets not be opened and the old (but not necessarily valuable) books be left on the shelves.

My favorite story is one that David (the stepfather-in-law) tells. On their first night, the bedroom in which David and Dorothy were sleeping was stuffy, and they wanted run a fan. The nearest—and only—electrical outlet was full so they followed one of the occupying plugs out of the room, into the hall. It appeared to be an extension cord leading to the attic, perhaps powering a ceiling fan to cool the house, so thought David, who unplugged the cord and swapped in his portable fan. The next morning, the caretaker, who lived next door, paid a visit. David mentioned that he had unplugged the extension cord running out of the attic. The caretaker turned white and said, “Well, we’ll have to fix that.” A few years ago, he went to the attic because no one had been up there in over twenty years. When he poked his head into the ceiling access, he found a two-foot thick carpet of bat guano. After the shit was cleaned up, a machine—on a long extension cord because the attic doesn't have electric outlets—was set up to emit a bat-deterring sonic pulse. So, yes, we’ll be wanting to plug in that device. ASAP.

And, the house has a ghost. Of course, a house like this has a ghost, but I’m guessing it was just the bats.

Built in 1885 as a summer cottage, GG is huge and has large rambling rooms and some tiny rooms, such as two pantries, as well as multiple fireplaces and porches galore. I spent a lot of my time at GG on the porches. The front porch wraps around half the house. This is where David would plant himself with a pile of mysteries and thrillers, while the children—six of them, half boys, half girls, ranging in age from two to eight years old—rode scooters (yes, on the porch, it was that big), mastered the hula hoop, and, in general, squirreled around, all glad to see each other. I preferred the glassed-in porch, just off the living room, as did my mother-in-law, who would appear with her books, white wine spritzers, and white cheddar and Triscuits. God bless her. The house had its own water tower, which was removed at some point in the house's history. The remaining circular cement slab was converted to a private porch, mirroring the many rocky “islands” throughout Blue Hill Bay.


In between spells sitting on the porches, the adults would take turns accompanying the children to the beach, where we would look for crabs, hermit crabs, starfish, and jellyfish in the tidal pools. I could comb the beach for hours, even though this was possibly the worst beach for that. Occasionally I would find part of a sea-urchin shell (very fragile), but most of the shells were from mussels (sharp, too common) or snails (dull, too common). The sea glass was still too fresh, too jagged and dangerous to palm, as well as too shiny to be of much interest. Not quite tumbled, frosty sea glass, which jewelry artists in these parts suspend in silver and string on chains to become very expensive bracelets and necklaces.


In the evenings, each couple (John’s brothers Will and Ben and their wives, as well as his mother and her husband) took a turn making dinner for everyone. Nothing induces panic in me more than cooking for more than eight people. Fortunately the house was equipped with a full kitchen and had a grill on the back porch. Plus, my mother-in-law brought her Cuisinart (no kidding! They drove from NJ so it was easy to pack the car trunk with everything but their own kitchen sink.) When it was our turn to provide dinner, John stepped up and grilled lamb and feta burgers, which we topped with fresh tomatoes and hummus. John’s brothers each took a turn with fantastic pasta dishes.

The house also sported its own lobster pot, a deep metal container you fill with water and under which you build a fire to boil the water. It’s the similar device as what is used in a New Orleans crawfish boil. I regret that we didn’t use this to cook our own lobsters, but it wasn’t in anyone’s nature to fire it up. Besides, just a few miles down the road in Blue Hill village, the roadside lobster shack sold whole cooked beauts for less than the price of a gourmet burger in Minneapolis.

Rooms at GG had been doled out on a first-come basis, and the St. Paul Shepards missed out on getting one since we committed to the trip much later than everyone else. Instead, we stayed at the Blue Hill Farm Inn for the first weekend. It was only a short drive away. The rooms were small but clean. No air-conditioning so we slept with windows opened wide. Between super late bedtimes and the fresh air, the boys slept until 9:00 most mornings. We also stayed with family friend Helen, at her summer home in East Blue Hill, also very close to GG. Helen’s son Alex’s wedding was the reason we had trekked to Maine. I have known Alex since he was slightly older than Simon is now. His wedding was, btw, on a spit of land overlooking Blue Hill Bay, and it was one of the most beautiful ceremonies I have ever attended.

there's no place like home

Life doesn’t get much better than this—I’m writing and reading blogs while flipping between two of my favorite sporting events on television: the Tour de France (today’s stage is the first in the Alps) and the British Open, where, stunningly, Greg Norman—newly married to tennis superstar Chris Evert, yikes—leads.

Vacation’s over. Done. I’m back to the land of errands and chores and parenting (yes, we never parent while traveling—please note the sarcasm dripping onto my keyboard) and exercising and obligations and bedtimes. It’s not all bad. In some ways, I’m feeling refreshed from our trip—getting out of routine, seeing cool things, sleeping with fresh ocean breezes wafting over me, eating well. Now, I’m able to face responsibilities anew. Vacations can be good for that.

The trip was amazing and will definitely go on record as one of our best-ever vacations. Maine dazzled with stunning landscapes (green mountains and rugged coast), hot but not miserable weather, and remarkable foodstuffs (blueberries and lobsters). Let’s just say I wasn’t the only visitor from our entourage (14 family members total) who picked up a real estate booklet to dream and scheme about owning a home in Maine.

Oh, we can dream, can’t we?

with apologies to R. Barker

Tomorrow morning the family Shepard is leaving town for Maine. Hard to believe we haven’t had a proper family vacation since 2006, but it’s true. Maine beckons in all its northwoods glory. Blueberries, lobsters, rocky outcroppings, salty accents, lighthouses, the easternmost tip of the continental US, colonial farmhouse architecture, villages. Much remains on my to-do list (apply for a job, e-mail soccer team about events happening while we’re away, dash a thank-you note, register boys for summer camp, finish final load of laundry, wash dishes, empty dishwasher, take out trash and recycling). Oh, yeah, pack whole family—clothes and amusements—into foot locker and carry-ons must get done by decent hour. Just a couple things to do.

Vacation is much needed as I’m in a deep shithole of yucky stuff with my parents and a few siblings. Also, I’m still unemployed.

With a delightful backdrop of Eat, Pray, Love audio* on the car stereo, managed to do all the running around today:

~ Lunch with John. Lamb burgers with feta and hummus at Shish, followed by Wet Paint where John arranged for poster framing and I replenish the little boys’ drawing pad supply.
~ Trip to Minneapolis in pissing rain to pick up John’s new suit at tailor. We’re going to be such a sharp-looking couple. Take that, Manhattanites! Manage not to be distracted by beautiful produce at farmers market stalls (small red potatoes, baby zucchini, onions, snap peas). Realize we haven’t been to St. Paul Farmers Market in weeks and miss it. Make note to go as soon as we get home. Manage not to trip or stub toe in flip-flops as I motor down Nicollet Mall.
~ Done: Stopped mail; printed itinerary, boarding pass, and car rental confirmation
~ At Patina, found clutch for the wedding—black patent with groovy silver, square chainlink handle. Had straw clutch in mind (Maine, outdoor wedding, would enjoy future use) but short on time to find one. In pique of retail therapy, also bought dream summer purse, in white leather with very feminine pleating for slightly vintage look.
~ Returned videos—Juno and Harold and Kumar—unwatched after a week. Yes, we’re the only family still not signed up for Netflix or equivalent. I’m a browser, always have been. Same goes for books and groceries, which I buy at brick and mortar stores. Though I admit a certain weakness for buying trinkets and baubles online (etsy).
~ Toe buffing and polishing (brilliant orange) at favorite Vietnamese nail place. Who thought giving Rachael Ray an hour-long talk show was a good idea? Read last twenty pages of Hens Dancing. Look up from book to full-fledged sunshower. Marvelous!
~ Think about the important items on my packing list: books and shoes. These two items represent the most difficult decisions when it comes to travel. As to shoes, you want to look good, but if you’re going to do a lot of walking, you’ll want to be comfortable. Often aesthetics and comfort are at great odds when it comes to footwear. Also, factor in whether shoes will be worn with skirts or pants or both. One may need two or more pairs, space permitting. For this trip, I have no idea what shoes to bring. Hideous blisters on heels have had me in flip-flops all week, making me feel underdressed. Books. Well certainly you need something for the plane and something to span the time until your return flight. Maybe there’s a long car ride from the airport to your destination so you’ll need something to read aloud to the driver. Mass market mysteries are perfect for leaving in plane seat pockets if you finish in-flight or if the book is too unbearable stinky to finish. A book related to the place you’re visiting can be nice. Something literary can keep you busy for a while, especially if you like to re-read stunningly written passages. Story collections or essays serve up short pieces, ideal for short attention spans and for when you’re short on time. No hardcovers as they’re too heavy in the carry-on and too unwieldy to hold.

How will I survive this vacation without my laptop?

*reminder to self: at some point talk about why I’m an evangelist for this book

happy 4th of july

Have a great holiday! I'm taking the boys, big and little, to swim in a lake while I bask in the sun, an attempt to even out my cyclist's tan. Later we'll grill with friends and catch some fireworks.

Exactly how I like to spend my day—especially when done to a backdrop of Joe Strummer's "London's Calling" radio program. Starting at noon, The Current is broadcasting eight one-hour episodes of this BBC radio show where Strummer featured his record collection. Check it out!

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.

This week's random selection is one for the "you learn something new every day" file—a biographical entry for economist William Joseph Samuels. I think, but cannot confirm, that the photo at top is William Samuels the economist rather than William Samuels the body surfer. Just guessing, it's the economist?

Warren Joseph Samuels, (born 1933, New York City) is an American economist and historian of economic thought. He received a BBA from Miami University and obtained his Ph.D. from Wisconsin University. After holding academic posts in the University of Missouri, Georgia State University, Atlanta, and Miami University, he was appointed Professor of Economics in Michigan State University in 1968, where he stayed until his retirement in 1998.

Warren Samuels has made many extremely valuable contributions to the history of economic thought and the methodology of economics. His work has been inspired primarily by his "...interest in generating greater clarity as to the economic role of government both in the history of economic thought and in contemporary economics"^[1].

Hello July

July has entered 2008 blazing hot. The thermometer topped out today at 90 degrees. Fortunately, I took my bike ride before the stroke of 10 a.m. John started bike commuting so I rode with him to his office, which took about half an hour, then continued on for another hour. The extra ten miles gave me some time to reflect on some of the awesome things I did during June, such as:

~ Star Wars exhibit—John and I took the kids to see the Star Wars exhibit at the Science Museum. The boys were thrilled to see Darth Vader’s costume, lightsabers, spaceship models, Chewbacca and his “brother” Wookies, among other items.

~ movies—The boys and I had an outing to see Kung-Fu Panda. We all loved Jack Black and the animated action! I saw Sex and the City twice. It was a predictable movie in the very worst ways, but I enjoyed seeing the gang together again. And, who could deny the awesome eye candy of clothes, shoes, and New York City.

~ bike races—As a family, we took in a few of the Nature Valley Grand Prix events, including the culminating race in Stillwater, a criterium involving a very big hill. We also caught a few races at the velodrome in Blaine, including one in which the Italian national track champion reached 41 mph in a lap around the oval.

~ meals in—grilling salmon (a first), hazelnut-green olive pesto (a surprising concoction, which I could eat by the spoonful), lamb kebabs, lamb burgers with tzatziki in pitas, green bean and golden beet salad, veggie-loaded scrambled eggs and English muffins with apricot jam for lunch

~ meals out—a very delicious bun salad at Ngon Bistro, walleye with lobster risotto at the incomparable Porter and Frye, frog leg “popsicles” at Meritage, a lackluster vodka penne with salmon at Bellanotte

~ I managed to read more books this month, finishing Shark’s Fin and Sichuan Pepper (Fuchsia Dunlop), Devil May Care (Sebastian Faulks), Then We Came to the End (Joshua Ferris), and Petite Anglaise (Catherine Sanderson).

~ My friend Jill Y. had an extra ticket to the second round of the U.S. Women's Open golf tournament, and generously treated me to a long morning walk at Interlachen. We had a magnificent time. Even though the golf course was hushed, there was a pulse of excitement. I will readily admit that I was super-starstruck by the likes of golf greats Juli Inkster, Annika Sorenstam, Se Ri Pak, and Kelli Kuehne, to name a few, as well as upcoming talent such as Lorena Ochoa, Stacy Lewis, and ’08 winner Inbee Park.

At the beginning of June, I had set a few goals for myself:

~ clean the yard (pull weeds, pick up sticks, landscape, plant herbs and flowers)
~ finalize our wills (I know, I know)
~ finish our 2007 taxes (maybe we’ll get our rebate before the end of the year?!?)
~ throw away ALL the clutter that bogs down our existence (possibly insurmountable, but now is the time to tackle)

Mostly, these are house projects that take advantage of the extra time on my hands. I managed to clean about a quarter of the master bedroom, sorting, tossing, and filing clothes, shoes, papers, and books. Sadly, this only represents about one-quarter of one-seventh of our house. I have done some yard clean up, though most of this—pulling weeds and picking up sticks—is ongoing. I planted herbs—basil, rosemary, sage, thyme, and oregano—in pots on the terrace, and I am happy to report that they are thriving. The basil and sage, especially, are growing gangbusters, progressing enough so that I may now use them in cooking. There’s always July…

Upcoming
~ Tour de France
~ more Wimbledon
~ Maine vacation

doing

It's quiet this morning at the coffeeshop. Just the way I like it. My concentration is much improved without the loud conversations around me, and I can actually read past the first sentence to the next and the next until I've read a page and then another page. I am on such a roll!

Where is everyone? Is there something going on that I don't know about? Did all the regulars get jobs? It's hard for me to imagine that they have something better to do—and I'm not just being snarky. I can see that the morning regulars at J&S Bean Factory have formed a community.

Perhaps the regulars are outside, enjoying the beautiful weather. It's all sunshine and clear skies here in Minnesota. And, not that I should complain prematurely—but I will—the heat and humidity are on their way.

So, what am I doing?

reading
It's summer, and I have been reading about as much fluff as I can stand. About 60 pages remain in my latest guilty pleasure. Petite Anglaise is a blogger's memoir. Author Catherine Sanderson is a British ex-pat in Paris. At the time she started her blog, Petite Anglaise, she was working as a secretary and living with her French boyfriend (Mr. Frog, predictably) and their baby (Tadpole, of course). Without giving too much away, she has an affair with a reader who has left a comment on her blog—and hi-jinks ensue. I'm enjoying this insider's look at blogging and the thrill of connecting with those who leave comments (not so much the affair, which is pretty uncool). And, I love Paris. Even the descriptions of unglamorous activities that are inherently Parisian, such as waiting for a train at a metro stop, have me jonesing for the City of Lights.

Admittedly, I am craving a little more substance so I will next turn my attention to Muriel Spark's Abbess of Crewe, described by the publisher as an "elegant fable about intrigue, corruption, and electronic surveillance." My friend Caryl and I have an informal Spark discussion, which has been on hiatus but, as we both miss our dose of Spark, is now being resumed.

eating
I'm not a big fan of strawberries so I don't buy them often. Simon, on the other hand, loves strawberries. For him, I will buy strawberries in the spring, when the big, juicy red one come in from California. He gravitates toward the largest containers at the grocery store and we argue about how its too large and that a pint will be plenty. "But, Mom, I really, really love strawberries. Please. I'll eat all of them. I promise." Yet, this year, he has hardly made a dent in his strawberry supply before the container is overrun by mold. I've got to say, I can't blame him for rejecting them. These berries, which are bright red and look ripe, are firm and nearly tasteless, bordering on tart.

So on Sunday when we spotted strawberries at the St. Paul Farmers Market, I let Simon pick out the biggest, fullest container the stand had. No argument. Simon took a small, hesitant bite from a berry, replete with cap and stem, gave me a glance and said between bites, "Now this is good." Even my eight-year-old can tell the difference between a strawberry that had been picked before its prime and shipped acrossed the country and a strawberry that had been picked the night before it was sold, spending, at best, twenty minutes to get to market. These local strawberries were so sweet and tasty and obviously sun-kissed.

And, also highly perishable. We enjoyed eating many out-of-hand, but most of the quart was pureed yesterday to become ice cream later today.

playing
John and I took the little boys to see the Star Wars exhibit at the Science Museum last weekend. We had a great time, mostly because the boys were excited to see seven-foot tall Wookies and lightsabers. We also saw Special Effects, a short film formatted for the IMAX theater that offered a short history and a few examples of movie special effects, such as how the Millenium Falcon flies. Simon, especially, is intrigued by the possibility of a career blowing things up in the name of movie magic. I'd support that, with the caveat that he would be the very best Hollywood pyromaniac pyrotechnical expert he could be. And, maybe I should be careful what I wish for.

riding
Last week, I took a 15-mile bike ride with my friend Bonnie. We rode at the same pace and could carry on a conversation, which made the time fly. Tonight we're going to get another ride in and hopefully make this a regular weekly ride. Also, since I'm feeling stronger on the bike, I opted in for a family ride this past weekend. I pulled Winston on a tagalong, while John towed Simon, and we used our bikes as our main form of transportation to get our destination: the State Fair, five miles from our house. Much of our ride was done on bike lanes. It was easy and fun. Our reward was a two hour walk around the fairgrounds, looking at vintage cars. John and I agreed that the MG we dream about restoring when the boys are grown could easily be replaced by a '50s Corvette.

WARNING: injured child post (w/photo)

WARNING: injured child post (with photos)

My baby (who is six years old) came home from his summer program yesterday with a hole in his head. The hole is small—as compared to the hole that was created in his skull when he was four months old to compensate for his craniosynostosis—but perceptible. John called from the car after picking the kids up to warn me. Winston was feeling small and didn’t want me to worry about his head. So I tried to be a cool customer, and I was—up to a point.

When they reached home, Winston bounded down the patio stairs as I waited at the door to usher him into the house. He greeted me with his jack-o-lantern grin. He seemed fine, if a little sheepish about showing me his injury, so I’m imagining it’s not that bad. Then, he turns around to show me the hole in his head and I see that the back of his white T-shirt is covered in blood. I dig tenderly through his blood-matted blonde hair to find the injury, and there it is. A hole, slowly seeping blood.


John and I made the joint, executive decision not to go to the ER or Urgent Care, where we would sit in the waiting room for hours, during which time, the bleeding would stop. Then, we’d see a doctor who would tell us the hole wasn’t deep enough to warrant stitches, but also that there wasn’t enough skin to stitch together. Been there, done that.

But, we needed to stop the bleeding. Among other reasons, he was leaving a trail of red plops throughout the house. John crafted a tourniquet by folding up a clean dishtowel and securing it to Win’s head with a bandana, and later he slept in his Team Jelly Belly stretchy cycling cap to keep the “bandage” in place.

I hate when the kids get injured like this. I do my best to administer care and comfort, but ultimately it's really hard for me to see them scared and vulnerable, with blood pouring out of their heads.

Apparently, our EMT efforts were a success. Even though the hole hasn’t quiet completely scabbed over, he went to soccer this morning. AND SCORED A GOAL! I wish I could have been there for that, but I was having some QT with Son #1 (sneaking a few chapters in my latest guilty pleasure while Simon watched cartoons). I want nothing more than to wash Winston’s rather grisly-looking hair before we attend the Star Wars exhibit at the Science Museum this afternoon…perhaps no one will notice. I hope.

some notes for my next bike ride

Restock my handlebar bag with the following:

~ new inner tube
I used the inner tube that was in my handlebar bag when I changed last week's flat.

~ lip stuff and sunscreen
The sun has become more intense over the past couple days, and I can feel its affects on my skin.

~ contact case with spare contacts, mirror, and contact wetting solution
I always wear protective lenses when I ride. In addition to keeping trail dust out of my eyes, my glasses also catch my contacts when they get dry and flip out of my eyes. It's finally time to add more eye-related supplies—wetting solution for when my eyes get dry, spare contacts and a mirror for when my contact hits the bike path or road, which has happened.

~ small notebook and pen
Crucial equipment for jotting down license numbers when rednecks drivers in cars harass you, such as yesterday. I was minding my own business IN A BIKE LANE, when I encountered a funeral procession. If I had been in a car, I would have pulled over until the procession passed, as the law requires. But I was on a bike, so I stopped, then crept slowly, respectfully along. The guy in the black SUV behind me? He kept driving along on River Road, at 35 mph, passing me. He pulled into the bike lane so he could give the funeral procession wider berth, then slammed on the brakes right in front of me. WTF???? I yelled, "Hey! Watch out!" as I swerved into the curb to avoid being hit by his truck. Dude yells back at me to get off the road, which I DO NOT TOLERATE. I reminded him loudly that I am in the bike lane. He screamed back, "Yeah, well what do I have?" Me: "You have a lane. Stay in it." To which I got a harassing revved engine and a "Fuck you bitch!" Adreneline pumping, I let it go. Here's the other thing he has: 2 tons of truck. Oh, and anger.

firsts

The summer is still young, but already it has been pretty rich with personal firsts.

~ collecting unemployment
~ serving as a team manager for a kids’ sports club
~ visited Las Vegas
~ cooked fish on the grill
~ had my first flat tire
~ changed my first tire—by myself
~ bombed down Kellogg Boulevard—a very big hill—on my bike
~ attended my first session with a therapist*

I can hardly wait to see what the rest of the summer brings...

*more on this later

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.

It's been a summer of firsts for me. So it should stand to reason that the "random article" function should deal me my first animal entry. Although this entry lacks references and sources and needs some cleaning up to satisfy wikipedia standards, it's very interesting. My boys would love this lizard. Read more about the gusteris.

Gusteris (Gustéris, Gustera*) is a rare amphibian lizard

This incredibly rare lizard species is living in the Western Macedonia, a part of northern Greece (Lefkopigi, Polyphitos Lake, Kozani, West Macedonia, Greece). It is believed that this strange creature is surviving in this specific place from prehistoric times. There are two different types of this creature, the one is a small horned lizard and the other one is reaching enormous sizes with the female being the cock of the walk (1-2 meters long). Both types are amphibian and they tend to live in marshy environments. They have strange procreation circle, they breed once in two years only if the conditions correspond to their needs. It's the only lizard species that doesn't hibernate and breeds in winter time (10-30 January). It lays its eggs (about 6-23) in soft waterlogged soil nearby marshes or lakes. Hatching time varies depending on weather conditions (ground moisture and temperature) but can be from 2-9 months. Gusteris lizards usually are omnivores feeding on vegetation, insects, smaller lizards and rats. Those living in lakes can enjoy hunting fish. They tend to be more carnivorous when young and tend to become more herbivorous as they age. They produce saliva; therefore they can eat while out or in the water. The lifespan of this rare lizard fluctuates approximately 25-30 years.

rite of passage

So, there I was today, minding my own business, on my bike ride, when I got a flat tire. Lots of people get flat tires so what’s the big deal?

I have had my fair share of bike things happen. Mostly accidents. There was the legendary wipe-out on the Munger Trail in 2005, yielding a spectacular road rash on the entire front of my right calf. Later that summer, while cycling around beautiful Lake Kampeska (coming from the east, nearing The Prop), I hit a dog off-leash that charged at me, resulting in a concussion when I crashed my bike and whacked my helmeted head on South Lake Drive.

My chain has slipped off the chain ring countless times. But I have never ever, in thirty-five years of bike riding, had a flat tire. Never. Ever. Not even on those crappy bikes I had in high school and college, which is to say, the bikes that were never maintained. Not even on two RAGBRAIs, each one five hundred miles in distance (seventy miles a day for seven days, times two). That’s what I’m saying: Never. Ever.

My handlebar bag has an inner tube, and typically (though, clearly, not today) I have a portable pump strapped on my bike’s frame. Mea culpa. I’ve got the gear but I don’t know how to use any of it. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m a bit of a girly girl, and I HATE getting dirty, so it’s not surprising that I have never changed a flat. Though, you sort of have to have a flat to change one, and, remember, I’ve never had one.

Over a month ago, as I was still prone to procrastinate going on a ride, I dished out an excuse to John: I can’t go on a ride; I don’t have a tire-changing kit. As he held up my cell phone, he said—and I quote—“Here’s your tire-changing kit.” Naturally, I would get a flat during the middle of a workday. If I’d had a pump, I would have tried changing it. Even though I would have had no idea what I was doing. Really. Instead, I called John. At the office. And, he kindly retrieved me.

I was having such a really good ride, too. Feeling strong. Flying along. Listening to some good tunes.

Oh well, getting in half a ride is better than not riding at all.

I know what you’re thinking: Don’t ever go on a bike ride with that Jennifer-girl. Sheesh. I think it’s time to take the bike maintenance class. Finally.

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 got a pretty cool random article today. I would love to live in a town named after a number. If you scroll to the bottom of the wikipedia entry, you'll see that Eighty Eight, Kentucky, isn't the only town that follows suit.

Eighty Eight is an unincorporated town in Barren County, Kentucky, United States. The town's most recent claim to fame was the celebration of August 8, 1988 (08/08/88). People with an affinity for the number 8 descended upon the town from various parts of the nation, and the celebration was televised on national television.

tuesday i-pod shuffle

My bike ride today was an expansion on the River Road-Marshall/Lake loop, crossing the Mississippi at Franklin, adding fifteen minutes to the ride. Here are the tunes that powered perfect circles:

~ A Little Less Conversation (Elvis Presley)
~ The Song Remains the Same (Led Zepplin)
~ Fall Out [Live] (The Police)
~ Le Disko (Shiny Toy Guns)
~ Don't Stand So Close to Me [Live] (The Police)
~ Wrapped Around Your Finger [Live] (The Police)
~ Time to Pretend (MGMT)
~ So Lonely [Live] (The Police)

Mostly Police Live, with a sprinkling of other stuff.

weekend report

After overscheduling our long Memorial Day weekend, John and I made no plans for this past weekend. Sure, we did plenty, but with no obligations to anyone or anything. Well, okay, except for Winston’s Saturday morning soccer practice—which was, by the way, a blast. He is all over the ball in a way that thrills me to no end.

Saturday, May 31
Our one main house-related task was to put the screens on the dining room windows. Just three little windows, that’s all. Three little windows resolutely painted shut. I'm not at all embarassed to admit that in the nearly four years we've lived in this house, this is the first year we've attempted to open these windows. John had a bear of a time prying out the winter storm windows (ha! vindication!), but managed to remove two of the three. The wood frame on the third window wanted to break so we left it in place. We have been enjoying fresh air, cool breezes, and birdsong ever since.

Then, for fun, we took our inaugural family bike ride of the summer. Simon rode his tagalong behind me, and Winston rode with John. Riding my café cruiser, which has fat tires and eight speeds and isn’t meant to ride fast, is even tricksier with 75 extra pounds on the back. It is exactly like pedaling through molasses. Also, I get a little claustrophobic from the result not being equal to the effort put forth, i.e., I feel like I should be traveling a greater distance than what I’m managing. Still, we had a good time.

For even more fun, John and I took the boys to watch our soccer club’s U16 boys game at McMurray Field, near Como Park. It was a blast to see the older boys use their Brazilian-style foot skills and clobber their competition. We ran into Coach Rod and his boys, so hung out with them for a while. The plan was to stay for the semipro game that followed, but a huge thunder- and hailstorm moved over Como quickly and we retreated.

Upon arriving home, John and I poured ourselves tall G&Ts and “studied” while the boys had some quality time with the boobtube. This gave the storm just enough time to roll over. Then John fired up the grill as I made a spice rub—1 tablespoon brown sugar and 1 teaspoon each cumin, cayenne, paprika, and kosher salt—for the arctic char filet I picked up at Coastal Seafoods earlier in the day. Grilling fish was a first for us—well, mostly for John, who prepped the grill (oil), flipped the fish, and put out the flame flare-ups when the char’s fat rendered into the fire. The fish was phenomenal. The spice rub created a nice crust for the flesh side of the fish, and had a fantastic flavor (sweet, salty, spicy). We had sides of fresh corn and zucchini slow cooked together in butter and a barley-brown rice-toasted pecan pilaf, as well as a bottle of Mark West pinot noir.

Sunday, June 1
John rode his bicycle to the St. Paul Farmers Market, where the boys and I met him, by car, for breakfast bagels. Then we made our rounds, visiting our favorite vendors and shopping for the vegetables that will be the basis of our week’s menu. We bought ruby-red radishes for eating out of hand and for thinly slicing into tossed green salads, as well as asparagus, which I will serve as a side with salmon cakes, for a quick meal on a soccer night.

Since we first started dating, oh some eighteen years ago, John and I have had a Sunday ritual of watching sports. Back in the day, we mostly watched tennis and football—in fact, John proposed to me between quarters of a Bears game—but since have evolved our viewing to golf, X Games, downhill ski races, more cycling than you can imagine, and, now, soccer. I love that we can record sports events on the DVR and remain oblivious to the results. It really is like watching in real time. We haven’t missed a thing. Yesterday we were privileged to watch the United Champions League Final between Chelsea and Manchester United, which was held end of April. The first half was fast and tight with Manchester dominating. I look forward to watching the second half at my convenience!

Hope your weekend was restful.

welcome june

I’m ready for a new month!

May marked my first full month of being unemployed. I’d say I’m weathering it fairly well. Frankly, though, I don’t have a choice. Applying for a job is time consuming, especially whenever I need to bundle work samples. The interview process takes even longer, and now I'm in a holding pattern waiting for screening interviews, even. Still, I’m determined to make the most of my time, unencumbered by a job and the attendant stress, even if it means an occasional day when I feel at loose ends.


May highlights:
~ the flexibility to see some of my favorite people during the light of day (Caryl, Suzanne, Leon, Tracy, Ginny, and Katey—thanks for the camaraderie!)
~ travel, namely the well-documented Las Vegas trip
~ quality family time by way of school trips with each of the boys’ classes (pictured above, a view of the Mississippi River from Lock and Dam #1, one of Winston's field trips)
~ soccer, lots of soccer (I’m grooving on watching the boys build skills and become engaged in the game)
~ exercise (I’ve been getting in almost daily bike rides, and—without changing my diet—have lost six pounds)
~ finished two books (even though I haven’t allowed myself as much reading time as I’d like)
~ seasonal firsts: grilling dinner, soft-shell crab po' boy at Sea Salt (pictured below), and Sundays at the St. Paul Farmers Market
~ more blogging (I’m trying, really I am)


June heralds
~ warmer weather, which may even creep up toward hot
~ sleeping with the windows cranked open
~ stone fruit (hallelujah! I’m climbing off the locavore high horse to gorge myself with peaches, cherries, apricots, plums)
~ summer break from school (no more homework or rigid bed-and-bath schedules)

June is also for hunkering down. I would like to accomplish a number of things while I’m not chained to a desk:

~ clean the yard (pull weeds, pick up sticks, landscape, plant herbs and flowers)
~ finalize our wills (I know, I know)
~ finish our 2007 taxes (maybe we’ll get our rebate before the end of the year?!?)
~ throw away ALL the clutter that bogs down our existence (possibly insurmountable, but now is the time to tackle)

I think I’ll stop while I’m ahead ;)

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.

With no offense to Claudia van Thiel, it appears as if wikipedia is truly equal opportunity. Anyone can have a wiki entry.

Claudia Elisabeth Maria van Thiel (born December 22, 1977 in Wijchen, Gelderland) is a retired female volleyball player from the Netherlands, who represented her native country at the 1996 Summer Olympics in Atlanta, Georgia, finishing in fifth place under the guidance of head coach Bert Goedkoop.

To further illustrate the point, I offer a bonus—today's featured article:

Troy McClure is a recurring fictional character in the animated television seriesThe Simpsons. He was voiced by Phil Hartman, and first appeared in the second-season episode "Homer vs. Lisa and the 8th Commandment".^[1] McClure is a washed-up actor and is usually shown presenting infomercials and educational videos that are viewed by the main characters. He appears as the central character in the seventh-season episode "A Fish Called Selma", in which he marries Selma Bouvier to aid his failing career and quash rumors about his personal life. He also hosts "The Simpsons 138th Episode Spectacular" and "The Simpsons Spin-Off Showcase".

McClure was based on B movie actors Troy Donahue and Doug McClure, as well as Hartman himself. After Phil Hartman's murder in 1998, the character was retired, making his final appearance in the tenth-season episode "Bart the Mother".

The world really was a better place with Phil Hartman in it. RIP.