I’m back.
Contrary to rumors, I have not gone dark. I’m trying to resume good blogging habits, despite many interruptions, such as technology challenges, family responsibilities, and the distraction of other media (books, namely). Believe me when I say I have missed writing. But here we are at the end of the month, making amends and resolutions for a new month.
Some September highlights include the following:
~ school. This fall, both boys started a new school, Capitol Hill, joining many of their friends who were either already there or who also transferred. Simon is in the third grade. He is an eager, disciplined learner, keen to do his homework each night, which sort of knocks my socks off. Winston is in the first grade and lives in perpetual denial that he has any homework. So you can see, I have my work cut out for me. Both have a fair amount of homework, which we’re trying to juggle with two nights of soccer each week. We’re managing, but getting into a good groove has been a bit of a struggle.
~ soccer. Simon and Winston are both playing with the Blackhawks club this fall. Tuesday nights are development nights (an extra practice for Si) and Little Hawks (Win’s main program). Simon is super casual, strolling around the field, not exerting himself terribly hard. Winston is super competitive and never stops running during his hour-plus on the field. I watch contentedly from the sidelines—reading books and playing with my new toy and chatting with other parents—glad not to be the team manager.
~ iPhone. No longer able to resist the temptation, John and I bought matching iPhones. 3Gs. I have spent much of the past few weeks learning how to use the thing, setting up contacts and accounts, synching iPhoto and iTunes, and so on. It was pretty easy, especially after I upgraded my OS. A little extravagant, I know, but I couldn’t synch iTunes to my phone without downloading version 8, which my OS didn’t support. So I coughed up the money for Leopard, installed it, and synched iTunes. Shortly thereafter, I discovered I couldn’t open iPhoto or view any of my pics, the last three years of which I am storing on my laptop. So I shelled out for iLife. In a few months, I’ll have forgotten about the time and expense. For now, I love surfing the web or collecting e-mail when I’m away from my computer, as well as using Google Maps for directions. Next up: apps!
~ books. In September, I read a three books: The Invention of Hugo Cabret (Brian Selznick), The Man Who Ate the World (Jay Rayner), and Thirty-Three Teeth (Colin Cotterill). As my friend Caryl said, when she handed over her copy, “Hugo Cabret is a must-read,” and Caryl is rarely wrong about such things. I loved this middle-reader novel, heavily illustrated in Selznick’s amazing pencil sketches and set in Paris, and I look forward to reading it aloud to Simon and Winston. Also, Thirty-Three Teeth introduced me to a fantastic new character—Dr. Siri Paiboun, the reluctant national coroner. This novel is part of a character-driven series, set in Laos, following the Vietnam War. The non-taxing mystery reminded me of Alexander McCall Smith’s Precious Ramotswe series, but the exoticism of Asian culture and superstitions put in mind John Burdett’s Bangkok 8 (and subsequent books). Currently, I’m in the middle of three or four books, which isn’t unusual for me but it has been awhile since I’ve been able to split my attention in this way. My book group is meeting on October 9, so I’m motoring to finish The Annunciations of Hank Meyerson, Mama’s Boy and Scholar—a mouthful, I know, but I’ve really enjoyed this first novel. And, I know I’ll be talking about it quite a bit in the months to come. The author, who is local, is a friend of a friend, and the book is being published by a small press, which means that it won’t get a lot of attention, so word-of-mouth helps. I am happy to loan my copy to anyone interested. Simply put your request in comments or e-mail me.
~ bike. I put just shy of 95 miles on my bike this month, 61.5 of which happened in one day in Door County, Wisconsin. As the weather turns colder, I’m finding it altogether too easy not to hop on my bike. So I’m ordering a long-sleeve jersey and knickers, and I’m setting a goal for myself before I hang up my bike for the season. In October, I’d like to ride 200 miles, which, I figure, can be achieved by taking one 25–30-mile ride a week, supplemented by a few short trips to the Cathedral and back.
~ travels. In September, I made two quick weekend trips, exploring parts of the Midwest I’d not yet seen. Earlier in the month, John and I visited Door County, Wisconsin, which was beautiful and wooded, with Lake Michigan lapping the shore on one side of the peninsula and Green Bay on the other side. We traveled there in the splendid company of friends, Tom and Bonnie. Last weekend, I drove to Lake Pepin, a bulge in the Mississippi near Red Wing. My mother and sister accompanied me, ostensibly to help me celebrate my birthday. Again, the area was beautiful, all bluffs and trees and Old Man River. We enjoyed a wonderful dinner at the Harbor View Café in Pepin, WI, which features local, seasonal fare, and we stayed at a comfortable B&B with an eco theme. Please, go stay at Journey Inn. It’s a great getaway, not far from the Twin Cities, and the owners were neat people. More on this later.
Bring on October, the very best month of the year!
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Thursday, September 18, 2008
what I talk about when I talk about cycling
~ Chastise myself for waiting so long to ride today that my twenty-mile ride turned into an eight-mile ride.
~ Wave to my neighbor, Lindsay. She and her husband have matching white Audi station wagons. They each handwash their cars. Often.
~ Admire the Obama yard sign I installed earlier today. We've never ever before had a yard sign. My friend Katherine had a Wellstone sign for me in 2002. I was meant to pick it up from her the day before his plane crashed. This election is too important to lose. I have been grappling with my conscience over volunteering. Afterall, I have the time to give. This time around, merely voting is not enough so I marched myself down to Obama's St. Paul HQ today, picked up signs (one for the front yard, one for the more heavily trafficked alley) and filled out a volunteer form. I was told, "Someone will get back to you." The office buzzed with phone calls and a steady stream of middle-aged women requesting yard signs.
~ Absolve my guilt over not taking a longer ride. Before the halfway point in this ride, I'm relieved that I've chosen the nine-mile route today.
~ Worry that the horrible condition of the bike path will cause a tire to blow. Remember that I've left the tire-repair kit in my other, larger, heavier handlebar bag. Think about moving from the River Road bike path to the road, but, ultimately, can't be bothered. I'm on the path because I need am automatic ride, i.e., no cars or buses or traffic lights to filter. Just ride.
~ Notice that the really cool modern house on East River Road and Franklin is no longer on the market. I'd love to get in this house.
~ Listen to the absolutely undated tunes and lyrics of the Sex Pistols on Never Mind the Bollocks. Wonder if anyone can hear me singing along, aloud.
~ Try not to freak out about the economy and our current banking crisis.
~ Wonder why only seniors and joggers use the bike path. Feel like a goof, momentarily. Dudes on Specializeds and Orbeas blow past me.
~ Reflect on John's answer to the question, "what do you think about when you cycle?" He thinks about cadence and rhythm.
~ Attack the hills, as best I can.
~ Wave to my neighbor, Lindsay. She and her husband have matching white Audi station wagons. They each handwash their cars. Often.
~ Admire the Obama yard sign I installed earlier today. We've never ever before had a yard sign. My friend Katherine had a Wellstone sign for me in 2002. I was meant to pick it up from her the day before his plane crashed. This election is too important to lose. I have been grappling with my conscience over volunteering. Afterall, I have the time to give. This time around, merely voting is not enough so I marched myself down to Obama's St. Paul HQ today, picked up signs (one for the front yard, one for the more heavily trafficked alley) and filled out a volunteer form. I was told, "Someone will get back to you." The office buzzed with phone calls and a steady stream of middle-aged women requesting yard signs.
~ Absolve my guilt over not taking a longer ride. Before the halfway point in this ride, I'm relieved that I've chosen the nine-mile route today.
~ Worry that the horrible condition of the bike path will cause a tire to blow. Remember that I've left the tire-repair kit in my other, larger, heavier handlebar bag. Think about moving from the River Road bike path to the road, but, ultimately, can't be bothered. I'm on the path because I need am automatic ride, i.e., no cars or buses or traffic lights to filter. Just ride.
~ Notice that the really cool modern house on East River Road and Franklin is no longer on the market. I'd love to get in this house.
~ Listen to the absolutely undated tunes and lyrics of the Sex Pistols on Never Mind the Bollocks. Wonder if anyone can hear me singing along, aloud.
~ Try not to freak out about the economy and our current banking crisis.
~ Wonder why only seniors and joggers use the bike path. Feel like a goof, momentarily. Dudes on Specializeds and Orbeas blow past me.
~ Reflect on John's answer to the question, "what do you think about when you cycle?" He thinks about cadence and rhythm.
~ Attack the hills, as best I can.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
wiki wednesday
It's time for Wiki Wednesday!
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
Never heard of the Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E. or their seventh album, Angry Samoans. Have you?
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
Never heard of the Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E. or their seventh album, Angry Samoans. Have you?
Angry Samoans is the seventh album by Samoan rap group, Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E.. The album was originally going to be released in 1997, however the albums release was scrapped in the United States and remained unreleased until 2006. Unlike the groups previous albums which were mainly Gangsta rap, this album was mainly Rapcore. Three singles were released, "Skared for Lyfe", "Buried Alive" and "Boogie Man".See the entry, linked above, for a playlist.
Monday, September 15, 2008
weekend review (in homage to DFW, RIP)*
9/12. On Friday night, the whole family attended the first-grade potluck at school, a sham of an event that confirms my severe dislike for school functions. The head of the PTO** urged parents to join, that first grade is such a crucial year to become involved. Seriously, I wanted to join (I am so not a joiner) but now I fear I'll burn-out before my kids reach eighth grade. After the potluck***, with a few families we knew from preschool, we endeavored to find a place where the parents could have bottomless glasses of wine, while the children colored and ate cookies. D'Amico couldn't accommodate. No room at the inn. So we stood around and named every place on Grand Avenue, working our way through greater residential St. Paul, shooting down every suggestion, guessing most restaurants would have waiting lists at 7:30 on a Friday night. I can't believe that neither couple, each of whom lived in the neighborhood, had a bottle of wine at their homes. John and I gracefully bowed out, went home, popped a couple Bell's Oktoberfests, and called my father to wish him a happy birthday.
9/13. John took soccer duties this morning. Called me mid-game to announce that Simon had made his first ever goal! What a triumph. What a boost for the little guy. I am so sorry I missed it. The whole day after that was kind of weird as I was trying to reach my friend Tracy, with whom we were to have dinner and see The Walkmen at the 400 Bar, to let her know we hadn't found a sitter and were bailing on the evening. In the end, we took the boys with us to have dinner with Tracy and her beau, Bill, at Bill's house. They fed us so incredibly well with an amazing cheeseboard and a Chateaux Donjon Chateauneuf de Pape, followed by a shrimp and mussel stew on Indonesian black rice, chased with a Claudia Springs pinot gris, easily one of my favorite whites. Dessert was blue cheese and a port. So delicious and civilized. The boys gorged themselves on movies, viewed on Bill's 52-inch flat screen, while playing with Bill's Yorkie mix, Harvey. The boys loved Harvey and can't stop talking about how we need a dog like him.
9/14. Winston and John rode the 14-mile course of the Minneapolis Bike Classic while Simon and I went to the farmers market (Black Russian cherry tomatoes, beefsteak tomatoes, broccoli, green beans, a stunning orange buttercup squash, a muskmelon, and green bell peppers) on our way to his noon soccer match in Woodbury. Simon had a rare-for-him meltdown when we reached our turn to the farmers market. He didn't want to walk around in public wearing his soccer kit. He said, "I don't feel normal." I negotiated with him, unsuccessfully for fifteen minutes, at which point I was running out of time for shopping and so left him in the car. With the doors locked. Of course. He's eight years old and knows to stay put. I remember when I started to sit in the car while my mom ran her boring errands. I loved it, especially if it meant more reading time. But, I thought he was being ridiculous, and I was mad when I consented. I shopped as fast as I could. Ran into a friend who assured me Simon would be fine. When I returned to the car, we had a hug and a heart-to-heart. I don't want him to stay in the car every time I need to run an errand, but I am willing to let him be mature enough to do this (with the doors locked and a book for him to read) occasionally. Mostly, I missed his company. He's a great kid, and I like hanging out with him. Simon's team played a great soccer game. When we got home, we watched the Vikings lose a game they had seemingly wrapped up toward the end of the third quarter. For dinner, I made some amazing, 90% local stuffed peppers, loaded with Big Woods Bison ground bison; onions, garlic, and tomatoes from the farmers market; oregano, sage, and thyme from my herb pots, grown from early-season farmers market purchases; and manchego cheese (obviously not local).
Weekends like this make me wish I could live in a land of nothing but weekends!
*David Foster Wallace, author of the door-stopper Infinite Jest, was found dead, of self-inflicted injuries, on Friday. That fucking selfish idiot—how could he? Suicide is stoopid. He was so brilliant. And he had a wife and a family who loved him. And he battled serious depression. He did electroconvulsive therapy this past summer. Damn demons. One of the world's brightest bulbs has been dimmed and I'm really really sad about that.
**The "O" stands for organization, the answer to the question that parents with advanced degrees asked repeatedly, mostly to make small talk. Remember, advanced degrees don't buy common sense. Followed by the equally important corollary, offering stupidity as an ice-breaker will not make you popular.
***What a pathetic potluck dinner. I know a lot of parents work, thus don't have time to whip up, or even reheat, something in advance of a 6pm school event. Heck, I used to have an 8-6 job so I get that. I also acknowledge that not everyone likes to cook. But it scares me to see what some folks pass off as food. All those accusations of our lousy American diet are writ-large in convenience and processed food. I know because I saw a lot of it at this dinner. And, I know potlucks are challenging even if you like to cook and have the time because, heck, I never know what to make, either. But, jeezus, what was with the macaroni and cheese? There were no fewer than 12 mac-and-cheese casseroles, including my own (homemade) version, as well as a few that had clearly been made from a family-size box of Kraft, then poured into a serving vessel. People, let's take back the potluck. Look here for inspiration. I know I may have gone too far with this rant. Sorry if I have offended.
9/13. John took soccer duties this morning. Called me mid-game to announce that Simon had made his first ever goal! What a triumph. What a boost for the little guy. I am so sorry I missed it. The whole day after that was kind of weird as I was trying to reach my friend Tracy, with whom we were to have dinner and see The Walkmen at the 400 Bar, to let her know we hadn't found a sitter and were bailing on the evening. In the end, we took the boys with us to have dinner with Tracy and her beau, Bill, at Bill's house. They fed us so incredibly well with an amazing cheeseboard and a Chateaux Donjon Chateauneuf de Pape, followed by a shrimp and mussel stew on Indonesian black rice, chased with a Claudia Springs pinot gris, easily one of my favorite whites. Dessert was blue cheese and a port. So delicious and civilized. The boys gorged themselves on movies, viewed on Bill's 52-inch flat screen, while playing with Bill's Yorkie mix, Harvey. The boys loved Harvey and can't stop talking about how we need a dog like him.
9/14. Winston and John rode the 14-mile course of the Minneapolis Bike Classic while Simon and I went to the farmers market (Black Russian cherry tomatoes, beefsteak tomatoes, broccoli, green beans, a stunning orange buttercup squash, a muskmelon, and green bell peppers) on our way to his noon soccer match in Woodbury. Simon had a rare-for-him meltdown when we reached our turn to the farmers market. He didn't want to walk around in public wearing his soccer kit. He said, "I don't feel normal." I negotiated with him, unsuccessfully for fifteen minutes, at which point I was running out of time for shopping and so left him in the car. With the doors locked. Of course. He's eight years old and knows to stay put. I remember when I started to sit in the car while my mom ran her boring errands. I loved it, especially if it meant more reading time. But, I thought he was being ridiculous, and I was mad when I consented. I shopped as fast as I could. Ran into a friend who assured me Simon would be fine. When I returned to the car, we had a hug and a heart-to-heart. I don't want him to stay in the car every time I need to run an errand, but I am willing to let him be mature enough to do this (with the doors locked and a book for him to read) occasionally. Mostly, I missed his company. He's a great kid, and I like hanging out with him. Simon's team played a great soccer game. When we got home, we watched the Vikings lose a game they had seemingly wrapped up toward the end of the third quarter. For dinner, I made some amazing, 90% local stuffed peppers, loaded with Big Woods Bison ground bison; onions, garlic, and tomatoes from the farmers market; oregano, sage, and thyme from my herb pots, grown from early-season farmers market purchases; and manchego cheese (obviously not local).
Weekends like this make me wish I could live in a land of nothing but weekends!
*David Foster Wallace, author of the door-stopper Infinite Jest, was found dead, of self-inflicted injuries, on Friday. That fucking selfish idiot—how could he? Suicide is stoopid. He was so brilliant. And he had a wife and a family who loved him. And he battled serious depression. He did electroconvulsive therapy this past summer. Damn demons. One of the world's brightest bulbs has been dimmed and I'm really really sad about that.
**The "O" stands for organization, the answer to the question that parents with advanced degrees asked repeatedly, mostly to make small talk. Remember, advanced degrees don't buy common sense. Followed by the equally important corollary, offering stupidity as an ice-breaker will not make you popular.
***What a pathetic potluck dinner. I know a lot of parents work, thus don't have time to whip up, or even reheat, something in advance of a 6pm school event. Heck, I used to have an 8-6 job so I get that. I also acknowledge that not everyone likes to cook. But it scares me to see what some folks pass off as food. All those accusations of our lousy American diet are writ-large in convenience and processed food. I know because I saw a lot of it at this dinner. And, I know potlucks are challenging even if you like to cook and have the time because, heck, I never know what to make, either. But, jeezus, what was with the macaroni and cheese? There were no fewer than 12 mac-and-cheese casseroles, including my own (homemade) version, as well as a few that had clearly been made from a family-size box of Kraft, then poured into a serving vessel. People, let's take back the potluck. Look here for inspiration. I know I may have gone too far with this rant. Sorry if I have offended.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
personal phenology
9.1.08 first regular application of hand lotion and lip balm
9.6.08 first bedtime socks
9.7.08 first yellow and red leaves
9.8.08 first early morning jacket
9.9.08 first winter squashes at the grocery store
9.10.08 first late-night cuppa (English Breakfast, white)
9.6.08 first bedtime socks
9.7.08 first yellow and red leaves
9.8.08 first early morning jacket
9.9.08 first winter squashes at the grocery store
9.10.08 first late-night cuppa (English Breakfast, white)
wiki wednesday (special 200th post)
It's time for Wiki Wednesday!
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
My first entry for a book! Although I hadn't heard of the anarchist collective CrimethInc., I'm very familiar with the contemporary social-protest movement in which they participate. Even if you don't believe in their politics (which are extreme) or their tactics (ditto), you have to applaud the good fight. It doesn't seem as if our traditional electorate system or current political candidates speak for the truly disenfranchised. Our sociocultural values, especially when it comes to consumerism, are very, very warped.
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
My first entry for a book! Although I hadn't heard of the anarchist collective CrimethInc., I'm very familiar with the contemporary social-protest movement in which they participate. Even if you don't believe in their politics (which are extreme) or their tactics (ditto), you have to applaud the good fight. It doesn't seem as if our traditional electorate system or current political candidates speak for the truly disenfranchised. Our sociocultural values, especially when it comes to consumerism, are very, very warped.
Days of War, Nights of Love is a collection of political, social and philosophicalanarchist collective CrimethInc.. Most essays advocate the fight for personal freedom, alternate choices and lifestyles. Some of the book is devoted to the criticism of capitalism, statism, and mass-consumerism, arguing that these things dehumanize the individual and decrease the general quality of life. Published in 2000, by the CrimethInc. ex-Workers' Collective, many of the writings contained therein are currently available free online. essays written and published byLikewise, a "copyright" statement in the book allows for the book to be redistributed freely:
English language (and all applications thereof) used without permission from its inventors, writers, and copywriters. No rights reserved. All parts of this book may be reproduced and transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, especially including photocopying if it is done at the expense of some unsuspecting corporation. Other recommended methods include broadcasting reading over pirate radio, reprinting tracts in unwary newspapers, and just signing your own name to this and publishing it as your own work. Any claim relating to copyright infringement, advocation of illegal activities, defamation of character, incitement to riot, treason, etc. should be addressed directly to your Congressperson as a military rather than civil issue.
– Days of War, Nights of Love, page 4
There are whole passages taken from Hakim Bey's Temporary Autonomous Zone[1] word for word that are never acknowledged and it is unclear whether Bey has been informed, as per his desire.
The title of the book references Days and Nights of Love and War, by Eduardo Galeano, a book about political struggle in Latin America, and has in turn inspired the title of rock band Papa Roach's album Days of War, Nights of Love, which has since been renamed Metamorphosis.
Translations
Days of War has been translated into Icelandic as Dansad Á Ösku Dagannaimage),[2] and is in the process of being translated into Czech by the PragueIdeozlocin. It's already translated into Polish and looking for a publisher.
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
a little stiff, a little sore
Door County was all that and a bag of chips. The weather was beautiful, to spite a forecast of thundershowers, not overly warm, which is perfect for riding. And, I had a chance to wear my new arm warmer/shrug thing.
Prairies, wooded areas, farms, sailboats, and shorelines mark the landscape on the peninsula. Illustrating this entry with photographs would be lovely, but I don’t have any pics. I brought my camera with me but left it in the hotel room. This has to be a first since I tend to document the heck out of every place I travel. But, we were in Door County to complete a century, meaning that our priority was riding bikes. And, my handlebar bag—containing windbreaker, inner tubes, compact emergency tool kit, ClifBars, lip balm, sunglasses, bandana, cell phone, Chamois Butter—was very, very heavy and full and the camera didn’t fit. And, yes, I needed all that stuff. I guess it may be time for a better camera on my phone.
DCC had four different distances to choose from—30, 60, 78, and 100. I set out to ride 100 miles, which I has been a goal since completing RAGBRAI (70 miles a day for seven days) in 2005. In May, I started riding ten to fifteen miles (an hour to an hour-twenty minutes), three to four times a week. I wouldn’t call that sort of riding training. By any means. I could have done with at least one twenty- to thirty-mile ride a week. About forty-four miles into the Door County ride, I was toast, and it became clear I wouldn’t be riding 100 miles. And I was okay with that.
The Door County route was gently rolling and really pleasant, but occasionally a short, steep hill would present itself, with no notice. I avoid hills at all cost, normally, so these really took the wind out of my sails, if I may borrow a sports metaphor. And the voices in my head started chattering about how I'm not in as good shape for a ride like this as I thought I was. Once they start, well...it gets really, really ugly.
My quads were screaming. And then all my cycling mojo left me. My lower back was quietly spasming, my shoulders and neck were crunchy, the balls of my feet and my hands were numb (actually preferable when the extremities merely hurt), my saddle was post-delivery tender (I’d forgotten how horrible this feels because I hadn’t done more than thirty miles in one sitting this year).
At the end of my ride, I’d put 61.5 miles on my cyclometer, which is this longest single-day ride I’d done since the last day of RAGBRAI in 2005. Not shabby. I will finish a century at some point, even if it takes a year of training. Next September: the Headwaters 100. Anyone want to join me?
The Door County Century marked the beginning of my fall training. Kicking off with 61.5 miles certainly helps the personal motivation. I’m still a tad bit sore today, but not too sore to spin the wheels so I did an easy ten-mile ride up to the Cathedral and back, stopping to vote on my way home.
Prairies, wooded areas, farms, sailboats, and shorelines mark the landscape on the peninsula. Illustrating this entry with photographs would be lovely, but I don’t have any pics. I brought my camera with me but left it in the hotel room. This has to be a first since I tend to document the heck out of every place I travel. But, we were in Door County to complete a century, meaning that our priority was riding bikes. And, my handlebar bag—containing windbreaker, inner tubes, compact emergency tool kit, ClifBars, lip balm, sunglasses, bandana, cell phone, Chamois Butter—was very, very heavy and full and the camera didn’t fit. And, yes, I needed all that stuff. I guess it may be time for a better camera on my phone.
DCC had four different distances to choose from—30, 60, 78, and 100. I set out to ride 100 miles, which I has been a goal since completing RAGBRAI (70 miles a day for seven days) in 2005. In May, I started riding ten to fifteen miles (an hour to an hour-twenty minutes), three to four times a week. I wouldn’t call that sort of riding training. By any means. I could have done with at least one twenty- to thirty-mile ride a week. About forty-four miles into the Door County ride, I was toast, and it became clear I wouldn’t be riding 100 miles. And I was okay with that.
The Door County route was gently rolling and really pleasant, but occasionally a short, steep hill would present itself, with no notice. I avoid hills at all cost, normally, so these really took the wind out of my sails, if I may borrow a sports metaphor. And the voices in my head started chattering about how I'm not in as good shape for a ride like this as I thought I was. Once they start, well...it gets really, really ugly.
My quads were screaming. And then all my cycling mojo left me. My lower back was quietly spasming, my shoulders and neck were crunchy, the balls of my feet and my hands were numb (actually preferable when the extremities merely hurt), my saddle was post-delivery tender (I’d forgotten how horrible this feels because I hadn’t done more than thirty miles in one sitting this year).
At the end of my ride, I’d put 61.5 miles on my cyclometer, which is this longest single-day ride I’d done since the last day of RAGBRAI in 2005. Not shabby. I will finish a century at some point, even if it takes a year of training. Next September: the Headwaters 100. Anyone want to join me?
The Door County Century marked the beginning of my fall training. Kicking off with 61.5 miles certainly helps the personal motivation. I’m still a tad bit sore today, but not too sore to spin the wheels so I did an easy ten-mile ride up to the Cathedral and back, stopping to vote on my way home.
Friday, September 05, 2008
tgif
It is with great relief that the week is ending. Finally.
Earlier, I met John for lunch in Lowertown, a district in downtown St. Paul. On the way, I noticed that the cyclone fencing that lined Chestnut (winding up from Shepard Road, past the Science Museum, up to W 7th, past the Excel Center and up the hill to the I-35 ramp) is gone already. The troops are gone. The RNC is done. Good riddance.
And, not a moment too soon. Events got a little hairy, starting yesterday in the afternoon. Law enforcement was seriously ramped up—police on horses, on bikes, in riot gear, with gas masks—to “provide protection” from permitted anti-war protesters, who had gathered at the Capitol for a rally and were marching downtown. Downtown businesses closed early at the recommendation of police. State officials were encouraged to go home. Police officers were stationed at all the major freeway ramps nearing downtown and at the major intersections of Shepard Road (John’s office is at one of these major intersections and the boys’ school is at the last exit before downtown).
Just a little stressful, especially when you read minute-by-minute accounts from the street (scroll down for the good stuff). The stress wasn’t unwarranted either. As the protesters reached the John Ireland bridge over I-94, they were met by a full battalion of law enforcement and snowplows. The stand-off was ugly, but it never turned violent. Because, guess what? Minnesotans are really nice. It was an anti-war/peace protest made up of citizens who have a constitutional right to voice their opinion, not anarchists hell-bent to break windows. Sheesh.
But it’s over. Yay! On Tuesday, I’m marching myself down to Obama’s headquarters and giving what’s left of myself, after wife and mother duties.
The boys survived their first week of school. Getting up earlier than usual—not just earlier than summer, but earlier than last school year—has been a challenge for all. But, I’ve found that the boys can be lured out of bed if I promise oatmeal or scrambled eggs. They both like their teachers, and each has revealed the courses they’re most excited about. Simon easily exhibits the maturity of matriculating another year at school. And, Winston is surely coming into his own.
Simon had his first soccer practice this week. I could tell that Si really got a lot out of the coaching and play from the summer. He looked more confident on the field. I’m glad we let him “play up” to the next age group with older, more experienced teammates. Initially, he was the only player from his summer team, but just yesterday, another kid joined the fall team. Not just any kid, either, but the best player from the summer team. The first game is Saturday morning, and I’m truly looking forward to it.
Right after the game, John and I are driving 300 miles to Door County. Many friends have recommended this area in Wisconsin—the thumb of the mitten—as a great destination so I’ve always had it in mind to travel there. When a friend invited us to ride a century with her and her husband, we jumped at the chance. This 100-mile bike ride loops around the peninsula, with Green Bay on one side and Lake Michigan on the other. Should be scenic. Also, cold and rainy, as scattered thundershowers are predicted. John said, “That’s what rain jackets are for,” as he scurried out the door last night to buy a new windbreaker at REI. We love our gear.
The boys are staying with their favorite sitter, one who has been with us for five years and recently graduated from college. Since the ride ends late on Sunday, we’re going to take an extra night and revel in some couple time.
Be back Monday... or Tuesday…
Earlier, I met John for lunch in Lowertown, a district in downtown St. Paul. On the way, I noticed that the cyclone fencing that lined Chestnut (winding up from Shepard Road, past the Science Museum, up to W 7th, past the Excel Center and up the hill to the I-35 ramp) is gone already. The troops are gone. The RNC is done. Good riddance.
And, not a moment too soon. Events got a little hairy, starting yesterday in the afternoon. Law enforcement was seriously ramped up—police on horses, on bikes, in riot gear, with gas masks—to “provide protection” from permitted anti-war protesters, who had gathered at the Capitol for a rally and were marching downtown. Downtown businesses closed early at the recommendation of police. State officials were encouraged to go home. Police officers were stationed at all the major freeway ramps nearing downtown and at the major intersections of Shepard Road (John’s office is at one of these major intersections and the boys’ school is at the last exit before downtown).
Just a little stressful, especially when you read minute-by-minute accounts from the street (scroll down for the good stuff). The stress wasn’t unwarranted either. As the protesters reached the John Ireland bridge over I-94, they were met by a full battalion of law enforcement and snowplows. The stand-off was ugly, but it never turned violent. Because, guess what? Minnesotans are really nice. It was an anti-war/peace protest made up of citizens who have a constitutional right to voice their opinion, not anarchists hell-bent to break windows. Sheesh.
But it’s over. Yay! On Tuesday, I’m marching myself down to Obama’s headquarters and giving what’s left of myself, after wife and mother duties.
The boys survived their first week of school. Getting up earlier than usual—not just earlier than summer, but earlier than last school year—has been a challenge for all. But, I’ve found that the boys can be lured out of bed if I promise oatmeal or scrambled eggs. They both like their teachers, and each has revealed the courses they’re most excited about. Simon easily exhibits the maturity of matriculating another year at school. And, Winston is surely coming into his own.
Simon had his first soccer practice this week. I could tell that Si really got a lot out of the coaching and play from the summer. He looked more confident on the field. I’m glad we let him “play up” to the next age group with older, more experienced teammates. Initially, he was the only player from his summer team, but just yesterday, another kid joined the fall team. Not just any kid, either, but the best player from the summer team. The first game is Saturday morning, and I’m truly looking forward to it.
Right after the game, John and I are driving 300 miles to Door County. Many friends have recommended this area in Wisconsin—the thumb of the mitten—as a great destination so I’ve always had it in mind to travel there. When a friend invited us to ride a century with her and her husband, we jumped at the chance. This 100-mile bike ride loops around the peninsula, with Green Bay on one side and Lake Michigan on the other. Should be scenic. Also, cold and rainy, as scattered thundershowers are predicted. John said, “That’s what rain jackets are for,” as he scurried out the door last night to buy a new windbreaker at REI. We love our gear.
The boys are staying with their favorite sitter, one who has been with us for five years and recently graduated from college. Since the ride ends late on Sunday, we’re going to take an extra night and revel in some couple time.
Be back Monday... or Tuesday…
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
atmospheric pressure
This morning, as I was driving east, into the blinding, rising sun, following my kids on the school bus they were riding for the first time (yes, I did that because I’m totally neurotic and they’re the most precious thing I have and a stranger is driving them to their destination and I watch way too many godawful crime dramas and I drink way too much caffeine)*, I couldn’t help but think that something about St. Paul is "off". Sure, the start of the new school year brings a certain bustle, missing during the summer, but the atmosphere is all wrong at the moment.
And, I know what is causing this feeling. The RNC. We’ve been talking about and preparing for the Republican National Convention for so long. And, by we, I do mean the collective we that is St. Paul. For weeks, spare green spaces, such as those near freeway ramps, have stored concrete barriers, fencing, and other material meant to create a perimeter defense. The city passed an ordinance, temporarily extending the hours that bars can serve liquor, from two a.m. to four a.m. This would be welcomed news if I was in college, required little sleep, or was childless. Then the barriers were installed; the cyclone fencing created a corridor and a dead-end to Kellogg Blvd. The National Guard arrived in full riot gear. Law enforcement agents and vehicles appeared from all over the state to lend a hand. Helicopters fly surveillance through the day and night.
It looks like—feels like—martial law has been enacted. Independent of each other, John and I each came to the conclusion that the convention wouldn’t be so lock-down if the Democrats were hosting. Denver couldn’t have felt like this.
If you don’t get to0 close to downtown St. Paul, you may not know it, but I’m hanging out at Dunn’s right now, at the corner of Grand and Snelling, and for all intents and purposes, it’s business as usual. Mac students studying and housewives waiting to pick up their preschoolers. Same ‘ol.
One block over, though, on Summit Avenue, the bike lanes are busy. These aren’t your garden-variety, spandex-clad, VPs on expensive bikes, squeezing in a quick club ride before returning to the office, which is what I typically see on my afternoon rides. No, these are twenty something, grungy road warrior-types on vintage single-speed bikes, no helmets, riding in a small packs. And, there is something slightly menacing about them. As my friend Colin, who also has witnessed this phenomenon, says, “They ride over the hill [into downtown St. Paul], and they never come back.”
*for the record, I didn’t follow the bus so much as meet it at school, and, from a safe distance, I watched the boys get off. Roly-poly, tumble-bumble, pell-mell. They made it!!
And, I know what is causing this feeling. The RNC. We’ve been talking about and preparing for the Republican National Convention for so long. And, by we, I do mean the collective we that is St. Paul. For weeks, spare green spaces, such as those near freeway ramps, have stored concrete barriers, fencing, and other material meant to create a perimeter defense. The city passed an ordinance, temporarily extending the hours that bars can serve liquor, from two a.m. to four a.m. This would be welcomed news if I was in college, required little sleep, or was childless. Then the barriers were installed; the cyclone fencing created a corridor and a dead-end to Kellogg Blvd. The National Guard arrived in full riot gear. Law enforcement agents and vehicles appeared from all over the state to lend a hand. Helicopters fly surveillance through the day and night.
It looks like—feels like—martial law has been enacted. Independent of each other, John and I each came to the conclusion that the convention wouldn’t be so lock-down if the Democrats were hosting. Denver couldn’t have felt like this.
If you don’t get to0 close to downtown St. Paul, you may not know it, but I’m hanging out at Dunn’s right now, at the corner of Grand and Snelling, and for all intents and purposes, it’s business as usual. Mac students studying and housewives waiting to pick up their preschoolers. Same ‘ol.
One block over, though, on Summit Avenue, the bike lanes are busy. These aren’t your garden-variety, spandex-clad, VPs on expensive bikes, squeezing in a quick club ride before returning to the office, which is what I typically see on my afternoon rides. No, these are twenty something, grungy road warrior-types on vintage single-speed bikes, no helmets, riding in a small packs. And, there is something slightly menacing about them. As my friend Colin, who also has witnessed this phenomenon, says, “They ride over the hill [into downtown St. Paul], and they never come back.”
*for the record, I didn’t follow the bus so much as meet it at school, and, from a safe distance, I watched the boys get off. Roly-poly, tumble-bumble, pell-mell. They made it!!
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
boys safely off to school
This year, we're trying something new: John and I decided the boys would ride the school bus. The bus stops half a block (plus the two-block alley) from our door so it seems foolish to drop them at school for their early start (8:05 a.m.). We spent so much time talking about the bus—where they get on, what to expect on the ride, and where to get off—that we failed to mention what happens after they arrive at school. Their new school. The one they've only visited once, at the Open House last week. Putting together all the information seemed to be a little much for them.
Okay, I can't lay it all on the boys' door. It was a little much for me. (hangs head in near-shame)
Last night when we were tucking them into bed, Simon was a little concerned about how to get from the front door of school, a heavy bag of supplies and his little brother in tow, to his classroom. Winston was totally panicked about finding his classroom. Poor little guy. He even had a whopper of an anxiety-based nightmare (a blue monster was in our house, so I had to get everyone out, then I killed it and buried it the backyard, but then it came back to life and got free). I never slept well before the first day of school, either. Mostly because I was so flippin' excited to get back to school and see my "town" friends, most of whom I hadn't seen during the summer (don't ask—it's not like we didn't have a car or drive the ten miles to town, daily). Unlike Winston's monster dream, my dreams were along the lines of forgetting homework—or my shirt, arriving at school in only my bra.
John and I offered the boys a ride to school and a walk-through from the bus drop-off. I have to admit I feel better, too. Don't get me wrong, I'm really excited about the independence afforded by riding the bus and navigating their way through the school. I just wasn't ready for it this morning.
At school, we ran into our friend Steve and his daughter Z, who looked adorable— carefully dressed in pink short-sleeve oxford shirt with ruffles, a pleated, plaid, knee-length skirt, and leggings. Steve mentioned that she'd been planning her back-to-school look for weeks. Boy did that unearth a nostalgic pang. When I was in elementary school, my preparations for the first day of school involved setting my hair on bristle rollers the night before so that I might have glamorous, wavy hair. Going to bed with rollers in my hair only ensured that I had a lousy night sleep. And, my stubborn, thick but poker straight hair never was wavy, rather bent at the ends and poufy on top.
My apologies for the lack of photos. We've done a traditional "first day of school" photo for the past couple years, but in our haste this morning, I forgot to pack the camera. When I mentioned it at school, Simon said, "That's okay, Mom." Not in an "I forgive you for your error" sort of way, but in an "I'm so glad you're not going to embarass me" sort of way.
We've come to that. Sigh.
Okay, I can't lay it all on the boys' door. It was a little much for me. (hangs head in near-shame)
Last night when we were tucking them into bed, Simon was a little concerned about how to get from the front door of school, a heavy bag of supplies and his little brother in tow, to his classroom. Winston was totally panicked about finding his classroom. Poor little guy. He even had a whopper of an anxiety-based nightmare (a blue monster was in our house, so I had to get everyone out, then I killed it and buried it the backyard, but then it came back to life and got free). I never slept well before the first day of school, either. Mostly because I was so flippin' excited to get back to school and see my "town" friends, most of whom I hadn't seen during the summer (don't ask—it's not like we didn't have a car or drive the ten miles to town, daily). Unlike Winston's monster dream, my dreams were along the lines of forgetting homework—or my shirt, arriving at school in only my bra.
John and I offered the boys a ride to school and a walk-through from the bus drop-off. I have to admit I feel better, too. Don't get me wrong, I'm really excited about the independence afforded by riding the bus and navigating their way through the school. I just wasn't ready for it this morning.
At school, we ran into our friend Steve and his daughter Z, who looked adorable— carefully dressed in pink short-sleeve oxford shirt with ruffles, a pleated, plaid, knee-length skirt, and leggings. Steve mentioned that she'd been planning her back-to-school look for weeks. Boy did that unearth a nostalgic pang. When I was in elementary school, my preparations for the first day of school involved setting my hair on bristle rollers the night before so that I might have glamorous, wavy hair. Going to bed with rollers in my hair only ensured that I had a lousy night sleep. And, my stubborn, thick but poker straight hair never was wavy, rather bent at the ends and poufy on top.
My apologies for the lack of photos. We've done a traditional "first day of school" photo for the past couple years, but in our haste this morning, I forgot to pack the camera. When I mentioned it at school, Simon said, "That's okay, Mom." Not in an "I forgive you for your error" sort of way, but in an "I'm so glad you're not going to embarass me" sort of way.
We've come to that. Sigh.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
wiki wednesday
It's time for Wiki Wednesday!
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
At first I randomly received few-body systems, which pretty much made me want to put my eyes out. So I exercised my seldom-used right to click the "random" button again. Seems we're having a science-tastic day! Even if you don't read the following selection—and who could blame you if you didn't?—please click on the link to voltage-gaged potasium channel to see a very colorful diagram of the structure. This is just of taste:
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
At first I randomly received few-body systems, which pretty much made me want to put my eyes out. So I exercised my seldom-used right to click the "random" button again. Seems we're having a science-tastic day! Even if you don't read the following selection—and who could blame you if you didn't?—please click on the link to voltage-gaged potasium channel to see a very colorful diagram of the structure. This is just of taste:
Voltage-gated potassium channels are transmembrane channels specific for potassiumsensitive to voltage changes in the cell's membrane potential. They play a crucial role during action potentials in returning the depolarized cell to a resting state.
and
Friday, August 22, 2008
Camp Mom: Day Four
Today we paid obeisance to the retail gods. I’m not proud of it, but occasionally shopping must be done. As I may have mentioned, I bribed the boys to clean their rooms. Bribe is such an ugly word. I prefer to think that I incentivized them, because, let’s be honest, they weren’t going to clean up out of their undying love for me. And, it worked. The promise of LEGOs motivated the boys to whip their rooms into shape.
Legoland at the Mall of America was a natural destination, and, while we were there, I decided we’d do some back-to-school shopping. Both Old Navy and the Gap were offering deals on jeans so each boy got four pairs, which, in addition to a few pairs left from the spring, should take us to Christmas. The boys also got to pick out one long-sleeve T-shirt, just to have a something fresh (i.e., unstained) in their wardrobe (they’ve got tons of T-shirts and Winston is happy to wear all Simon’s hand-me-downs, which is a relief).
We capped our day with cones at Izzy’s—Heath Bar for Win, peppermint bonbon for Simon, and izzy-sized scoops of s’mores and lemon custard for me. The s’mores was exceptionally good—graham cracker-flavored base with graham-cracker crumbs, studded with marshmallows and chocolate chunks.
Tomorrow we’re looking forward to a very special excursion!!
Legoland at the Mall of America was a natural destination, and, while we were there, I decided we’d do some back-to-school shopping. Both Old Navy and the Gap were offering deals on jeans so each boy got four pairs, which, in addition to a few pairs left from the spring, should take us to Christmas. The boys also got to pick out one long-sleeve T-shirt, just to have a something fresh (i.e., unstained) in their wardrobe (they’ve got tons of T-shirts and Winston is happy to wear all Simon’s hand-me-downs, which is a relief).
We capped our day with cones at Izzy’s—Heath Bar for Win, peppermint bonbon for Simon, and izzy-sized scoops of s’mores and lemon custard for me. The s’mores was exceptionally good—graham cracker-flavored base with graham-cracker crumbs, studded with marshmallows and chocolate chunks.
Tomorrow we’re looking forward to a very special excursion!!
camping: gear
According to Heather Menicucci, in Let’s Get Primitive, my camping primer, these are the five big-ticket items you’ll need to camp:
~ tent
Menicucci suggests that any three-season tent will work in warmer weather but that your tent should also be waterproof and well-ventilated. As I mentioned in a previous post, John and I have a very cool two-person tent that we use when we do RAGBRAI. It’s clearly not big enough for four people. Last weekend we bought a six-person tent at REI—the Kelty Grand Mesa. I’m not exactly sure about how we arrived at this particular tent. We went to REI knowing only that we needed at least a four-person tent. REI has, posted on a wall, spec sheets for all the tents they carry. I gravitated toward the color and shape; I thought a dome with some headroom would be nice. John leaned toward weight and price, not wanting to spend too much money. I wanted a large vestibule for storing things that don’t necessarily need to be in the sleeping space. We got a great balance of all those things (okay, maybe not so much color, because I would have chosen an orange tent over such the Grand Mesa’s light tan), and we were able to make the leap to a six-person tent for the same price as many of the four-person tents that I found appealing.
~ sleeping bag
Warmth and lightweight are key. John and I have matching mummy-style sleeping bags that we bought for RAGBRAI. And before you say, “Awww, how romantic,” I have to confess that I have never, in my entire life, felt as claustrophobic as when I slept in that bag. I am a tosser and a turner, and I need room for hurdling legs. Plus, because I have hips, I could never get the zipper completely closed. Since we were camping during the last week of July, and it was hotter than Hades in our tent, I almost always slept on top of the sleeping bag. This won’t always be an acceptable solution. Last summer I bought a granny-style rectangle sleeping bag, after test-driving it in the store, and I am confident it is up to the task of a good night’s sleep.
~ backpack
Size and carrying capacity are important here. Menicucci suggests picking a backpack that specifically fits a woman’s shorter torso because you want the shoulder straps to be comfortable and weight to be properly distributed on your hips. I don’t own a backpack. I have borrowed small backpacks from each of my kids, which I mostly use as a purse when necessary. Otherwise, John has many, many backpacks that I could borrow. True, none of these will properly fit my shorter torso, but we’re car camping. When we’re ready to do a backpacking trip, where we’re carrying all our gear from site to site, I’ll splurge for my own pack.
~ water purifier
I’m not going to dwell on this item. Again, since we’re car camping and don’t need to worry about carrying in the weight, we can fill a collapsible container with water from the filter at home. That said, when we get around to backpacking, I’m going to spring for one of those ultraviolet sterilizing pens, or whatever happens to be the comparable technology at the moment.
~ tarp
Menicucci writes, “A tarp is straightforward. It’s a piece of sturdy waterproof material with grommets—reinforced holes—for easy hanging. Think shelter, shed, raincoat, and ground cover. Camping stores sell durable tarps for about $20.” I’m totally sold, but I can’t seem to convince John that we’ll need a tarp for car camping, especially not when we’ll be 400 feet or so from a concrete shelter and our car will be even closer. Again, I’ll invest when we get around to backpacking.
We should be good to go.
~ tent
Menicucci suggests that any three-season tent will work in warmer weather but that your tent should also be waterproof and well-ventilated. As I mentioned in a previous post, John and I have a very cool two-person tent that we use when we do RAGBRAI. It’s clearly not big enough for four people. Last weekend we bought a six-person tent at REI—the Kelty Grand Mesa. I’m not exactly sure about how we arrived at this particular tent. We went to REI knowing only that we needed at least a four-person tent. REI has, posted on a wall, spec sheets for all the tents they carry. I gravitated toward the color and shape; I thought a dome with some headroom would be nice. John leaned toward weight and price, not wanting to spend too much money. I wanted a large vestibule for storing things that don’t necessarily need to be in the sleeping space. We got a great balance of all those things (okay, maybe not so much color, because I would have chosen an orange tent over such the Grand Mesa’s light tan), and we were able to make the leap to a six-person tent for the same price as many of the four-person tents that I found appealing.
~ sleeping bag
Warmth and lightweight are key. John and I have matching mummy-style sleeping bags that we bought for RAGBRAI. And before you say, “Awww, how romantic,” I have to confess that I have never, in my entire life, felt as claustrophobic as when I slept in that bag. I am a tosser and a turner, and I need room for hurdling legs. Plus, because I have hips, I could never get the zipper completely closed. Since we were camping during the last week of July, and it was hotter than Hades in our tent, I almost always slept on top of the sleeping bag. This won’t always be an acceptable solution. Last summer I bought a granny-style rectangle sleeping bag, after test-driving it in the store, and I am confident it is up to the task of a good night’s sleep.
~ backpack
Size and carrying capacity are important here. Menicucci suggests picking a backpack that specifically fits a woman’s shorter torso because you want the shoulder straps to be comfortable and weight to be properly distributed on your hips. I don’t own a backpack. I have borrowed small backpacks from each of my kids, which I mostly use as a purse when necessary. Otherwise, John has many, many backpacks that I could borrow. True, none of these will properly fit my shorter torso, but we’re car camping. When we’re ready to do a backpacking trip, where we’re carrying all our gear from site to site, I’ll splurge for my own pack.
~ water purifier
I’m not going to dwell on this item. Again, since we’re car camping and don’t need to worry about carrying in the weight, we can fill a collapsible container with water from the filter at home. That said, when we get around to backpacking, I’m going to spring for one of those ultraviolet sterilizing pens, or whatever happens to be the comparable technology at the moment.
~ tarp
Menicucci writes, “A tarp is straightforward. It’s a piece of sturdy waterproof material with grommets—reinforced holes—for easy hanging. Think shelter, shed, raincoat, and ground cover. Camping stores sell durable tarps for about $20.” I’m totally sold, but I can’t seem to convince John that we’ll need a tarp for car camping, especially not when we’ll be 400 feet or so from a concrete shelter and our car will be even closer. Again, I’ll invest when we get around to backpacking.
We should be good to go.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Camp Mom: Days Two and Three
Camp Mom is turning out to be such a blast, and, as I’ve suspected, I’m having a difficult time documenting it. Mostly because I’m pretty exhausted at the end of each day.
Day Two: Cascade Bay
I’m a water park newbie, having played at my first one last summer. For the past few months, to narrow down choices in the Twin Cities, I have been asking around for recommendations. Most Eastsiders, including many who have or work with children, quickly answer Cascade Bay. A quick bit of online research indicated that this water park was close-ish to our home, which made it very appealing. My friend Sarah was looking for some company and had no counterplan so we schlepped our kids to Eagan on Tuesday.
We arrived at the stroke of 11 a.m., which is precisely when the park opened. I’m a big fan of arriving everywhere early and leaving the minute a place gets busy. The moms found lounge chairs to park our towels and the kids ran off as if we were the only people there and the place wasn’t small. And so we took the plunge.
(not sure who to credit for the photo, but I took it from the City of Eagan's website)
Tuesday was hot and very sunny in greater St. Paul so spending the day in the water was ideal. Most of the time, we rode the Lazy River on inner tubes. I loved just floating along water, propulsed by jets. It’s so care free. The kids had a great time jumping into the pool that was five-feet deep. Simon was sink to the bottom and push up. He also practiced his backstroke starts, curling his toes around the side of the pool and pushing off.
The biggest draw, however, was the slides. My favorite was the enclosed purple slide that you could ride down on a tube, which Winston and I did together a number of times. A twisty white slide, open at the top, was fast and fun, but the slides’ seams hurt my back (something that the kids didn’t seem to notice, must be my old back). Next to the white slide, an enclosed green slide offered a sharp drop-off, allowing the rider to pick up serious speed. My experience on the green slide was capital “m” miserable. I bonked the back of my head on the drop, after which I could never quite recover my bearings. So I closed my eyes and waited to be spit out.
Even though I had no other comparison in the Twin Cities, I would highly recommend Cascade Bay. Just two things:
1. Wear sunscreen
I failed to reapply and have a nasty sunburn on my chest.
2. Arrive early
By the time we finished our lunch break, at 1:30 p.m, the crowds were pretty intense; there were long lines for every “attraction” that I didn’t find worth waiting in and the pool was pretty full.
Day Three: Clean Up
I know, I know. Cleaning up isn’t an activity that merits much on the fun scale. However, just as at sleepaway camp, where your cabin must pass daily inspection for cleanliness, so Camp Mom “cabins” are evaluated for tidiness. Both bedrooms have been minefields of toys, paper, clothes, pinecones, rocks, posters, and plastic crappies for a very long time. At best, we manage deep cleans twice a year. Heading into the school year, we are very due for reorganizing and tossing.
Here’s what I learned: Simon is attached to stuff. Gods help us. Every drawer in his bedside table is stuffed with papers from school, including unfinished homework. Ditto the desk drawer. When I told Simon I thought he should keep pens and pencils and his calculator (or “calcliator” as he's want to say) in the desk drawer, his pained look suggested I was ripping his skin off.
Winston is not attached to anything. I could purge his room, and he wouldn’t know a thing was missing. Which is exactly what I plan to do as soon as school starts. In the meantime, he picked up every item from the floor and dresser surface, chucked into bins, and placed in the storage units provided for such. It took him ten minutes. No lie. Would that it was always this easy.
Then we went out for ice cream at Conny’s Creamy Cones (Dale and Maryland) and back-to-school haircuts. In addition to being fun, the day felt productive, too.
Up next: rewards are doled out
Day Two: Cascade Bay
I’m a water park newbie, having played at my first one last summer. For the past few months, to narrow down choices in the Twin Cities, I have been asking around for recommendations. Most Eastsiders, including many who have or work with children, quickly answer Cascade Bay. A quick bit of online research indicated that this water park was close-ish to our home, which made it very appealing. My friend Sarah was looking for some company and had no counterplan so we schlepped our kids to Eagan on Tuesday.
We arrived at the stroke of 11 a.m., which is precisely when the park opened. I’m a big fan of arriving everywhere early and leaving the minute a place gets busy. The moms found lounge chairs to park our towels and the kids ran off as if we were the only people there and the place wasn’t small. And so we took the plunge.
(not sure who to credit for the photo, but I took it from the City of Eagan's website)
Tuesday was hot and very sunny in greater St. Paul so spending the day in the water was ideal. Most of the time, we rode the Lazy River on inner tubes. I loved just floating along water, propulsed by jets. It’s so care free. The kids had a great time jumping into the pool that was five-feet deep. Simon was sink to the bottom and push up. He also practiced his backstroke starts, curling his toes around the side of the pool and pushing off.
The biggest draw, however, was the slides. My favorite was the enclosed purple slide that you could ride down on a tube, which Winston and I did together a number of times. A twisty white slide, open at the top, was fast and fun, but the slides’ seams hurt my back (something that the kids didn’t seem to notice, must be my old back). Next to the white slide, an enclosed green slide offered a sharp drop-off, allowing the rider to pick up serious speed. My experience on the green slide was capital “m” miserable. I bonked the back of my head on the drop, after which I could never quite recover my bearings. So I closed my eyes and waited to be spit out.
Even though I had no other comparison in the Twin Cities, I would highly recommend Cascade Bay. Just two things:
1. Wear sunscreen
I failed to reapply and have a nasty sunburn on my chest.
2. Arrive early
By the time we finished our lunch break, at 1:30 p.m, the crowds were pretty intense; there were long lines for every “attraction” that I didn’t find worth waiting in and the pool was pretty full.
Day Three: Clean Up
I know, I know. Cleaning up isn’t an activity that merits much on the fun scale. However, just as at sleepaway camp, where your cabin must pass daily inspection for cleanliness, so Camp Mom “cabins” are evaluated for tidiness. Both bedrooms have been minefields of toys, paper, clothes, pinecones, rocks, posters, and plastic crappies for a very long time. At best, we manage deep cleans twice a year. Heading into the school year, we are very due for reorganizing and tossing.
Here’s what I learned: Simon is attached to stuff. Gods help us. Every drawer in his bedside table is stuffed with papers from school, including unfinished homework. Ditto the desk drawer. When I told Simon I thought he should keep pens and pencils and his calculator (or “calcliator” as he's want to say) in the desk drawer, his pained look suggested I was ripping his skin off.
Winston is not attached to anything. I could purge his room, and he wouldn’t know a thing was missing. Which is exactly what I plan to do as soon as school starts. In the meantime, he picked up every item from the floor and dresser surface, chucked into bins, and placed in the storage units provided for such. It took him ten minutes. No lie. Would that it was always this easy.
Then we went out for ice cream at Conny’s Creamy Cones (Dale and Maryland) and back-to-school haircuts. In addition to being fun, the day felt productive, too.
Up next: rewards are doled out
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Camp Mom: Day One
Simon and Winston’s last day of summer Discovery Club was on Friday. Typically, they would spend the last two weeks of August visiting their grandparents in SoDak or hanging with a nanny, but this summer, since I remain blissfully unencumbered by a job, the boys are attending Camp Mom. This rigorous, two-week session involves infinite fun for a six- and an eight-year-old boy and their mom. On the itinerary: eating, mini-golfing, swimming, movie-going, cooking, playing with friends and more!
We kicked off Day One with a little baking. The boys each did their part—one with the wet ingredients, the other with the dry ingredients—in measuring, mixing, and baking banana-chocolate chip muffins. The recipe (which follows) is an adaptation from one that we found on a bran flakes box—no lie! It has become a family favorite so much so that I’m not allowed to replace it with any other banana-chocolate chip muffin recipe. When I figure out how to effectively replace the sugar sweetener, this recipe was be uber-healthy instead of just a little healthy (there’s a good amount of fiber, easily consumed). This morning’s version was made with less than ripe bananas (touches of green) and turned out just as well as if the fruit had been overripe (quite frankly, black), which is typical. Also, we used silicone liners in the muffin tin to great effect—the muffins slid easily out of the liners, perfectly golden, and clean up was a breeze. A worthy, small investment.
For the most part, we hung around the house this morning, getting our bearings for the week and making plans (stay tuned!). The boys sorted their Pokemon card collections into families (I have no idea what this means), while I engaged in my usual morning online routine. Later, John came home for lunch and fixed us the most amazing BLTs, made with awesome ripe tomatoes from the St. Paul Farmers Market. Tomatoes are one of my very favorite parts of summer.
After lunch, the boys helped me run an errand at Target (we needed teeny, tiny, delicate halogen lightbulb tubes for the boys bath, which serves as their hall nightlight). Then we saw Star Wars: Clone Wars at AMC Roseville. The boys LOVED the movie. Although I’m a big fan of Star Wars—episodes four through six—the animated movie just wasn’t my thing. In fact, I’m somewhat amazed I was able to sit through the movie. It wasn’t horrible, but I did find the battle scenes somewhat mind-numbing and felt absolutely no attachment to the prequel characters. Did I mention that the boys loved it? Well they did, and if your kids like animation or Star Wars, chances are they’ll like the movie, too. And, it’s all about the kids, isn’t it? And the popcorn.
Camp Mom is off to a really good start.
Banana-Chocolate Chip Muffins
adapted from the Post Bran Flakes box
makes 12 muffins
1 cup flour
1/2 cup sugar
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
2 eggs
2 ripe bananas
1-1/2 cups bran flakes
1/3 cup chocolate chips
Heat oven to 350 degrees F.
In a large bowl, mix together flour, sugar, baking soda, and salt. In a small bowl, beat eggs with fork. On a plate, mash bananas. Stir bananas into eggs. Pour banana-egg mixture into dry ingredients and blend until moist, but do not overmix (some lumps are okay). Add bran flakes and chocolate chips, and stir until incorporated.
Fill muffin tins two-thirds full. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, until muffin tops are golden brown and toothpick inserted in muffin center comes out clean.
Monday, August 18, 2008
camping: personal history
Here is the time for true confessions: I have very limited camping experience. Growing up, it’s just not something that my family did, which I find odd. My father is a major-league outdoorsman, in the Ernest Hemingway sense of the term. He was an Eagle Scout, who attended national jamborees and portaged in the Boundary Waters. And despite my siblings’ requests to pitch a tent in the woods, the closest we ever came to camping was borrowing my grandfather’s RV for a month to drive through the American West. That multi-state extravaganza was pretty awesome, and I know I’m pretty lucky to have parents who would travel with kids in this way.
Also, there was the one time I attended Girl Scout camp at Memorial Park, sleeping in a heavy canvas tent with wooden poles. You know—the kind of tent wall you’re not supposed to touch in a rainstorm, because it will spring a leak. We did crafts and went on long hikes in the rain and raised the flag and told ghost stories around the campfire. I loved it!
Otherwise, the only real tent I’ve pitched with any regularity is the red, two-person number that John and I own. When we participate in RAGBRAI, we pedal our way across Iowa—with 10,000 other people—pitching our tent overnight on high school playing fields, county fairgrounds, and various parks along the route.
The tent and I have became friends. I’ve put it up by myself a number of times. I love the way the poles snap to attention when they’re unfolded. I like the tent’s features, such as the vestibule where we store items we want to stay dry but don’t want in our tent proper (e.g., shoes). I like the loft—a nylon shelf suspended inside the top of the tent that serves as a place to stash cell phones and to set up a flashlight to illuminate the tent’s interior at night.
And, the tent provides shelter for which I'm grateful. I am so not a sleep under the stars kinda gal. The first night of RAGBRAI 2005 delivered a doozy of a storm with high winds that pummeled our tent, flattening it against us as we endeavored sleep. I tried to imagine that I was on a Himalayan mountainside at high elevation to make the experience a little more romantic and a little less scary than the reality—we were in Tornado Alley. Even with our faithful tent, I felt totally exposed.
But, when we’re on RAGBRAI, because we’re not hauling food or stoves and fuel, we eat all our meals in restaurants. We don’t have campfires and marshmallow roasts because we’re not staying at campgrounds with fire pits. Cooking our meals over a campfire and making s'mores are two activities that will complete my camping ideal.
Also, on RAGBRAI, we don't sleep in the woods, which is a camping factor I'm preparing myself for.
Also, there was the one time I attended Girl Scout camp at Memorial Park, sleeping in a heavy canvas tent with wooden poles. You know—the kind of tent wall you’re not supposed to touch in a rainstorm, because it will spring a leak. We did crafts and went on long hikes in the rain and raised the flag and told ghost stories around the campfire. I loved it!
Otherwise, the only real tent I’ve pitched with any regularity is the red, two-person number that John and I own. When we participate in RAGBRAI, we pedal our way across Iowa—with 10,000 other people—pitching our tent overnight on high school playing fields, county fairgrounds, and various parks along the route.
The tent and I have became friends. I’ve put it up by myself a number of times. I love the way the poles snap to attention when they’re unfolded. I like the tent’s features, such as the vestibule where we store items we want to stay dry but don’t want in our tent proper (e.g., shoes). I like the loft—a nylon shelf suspended inside the top of the tent that serves as a place to stash cell phones and to set up a flashlight to illuminate the tent’s interior at night.
And, the tent provides shelter for which I'm grateful. I am so not a sleep under the stars kinda gal. The first night of RAGBRAI 2005 delivered a doozy of a storm with high winds that pummeled our tent, flattening it against us as we endeavored sleep. I tried to imagine that I was on a Himalayan mountainside at high elevation to make the experience a little more romantic and a little less scary than the reality—we were in Tornado Alley. Even with our faithful tent, I felt totally exposed.
But, when we’re on RAGBRAI, because we’re not hauling food or stoves and fuel, we eat all our meals in restaurants. We don’t have campfires and marshmallow roasts because we’re not staying at campgrounds with fire pits. Cooking our meals over a campfire and making s'mores are two activities that will complete my camping ideal.
Also, on RAGBRAI, we don't sleep in the woods, which is a camping factor I'm preparing myself for.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
wiki wednesday
It's time for Wiki Wednesday!
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
Oh, I do love a good abbey ruin!
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
Oh, I do love a good abbey ruin!
Walkenried Abbey (Kloster or Reichskloster Walkenried) was one of the most celebrated Cistercian abbeys of Germany, located in the village of WalkenriedOsterode in Lower Saxony, Germany. in the district of[edit] History
It was founded in 1127 by Countess Adelheid of Klettenberg as the third Cistercian monastery in German-speaking territory; the foundation was confirmed in 1137 by Pope Innocent II. The first monks came from Altfeld Abbey, also known as Kamp Abbey, in the Archdiocese of Cologne. In the time of the first abbot, Henry I (1127–28), two daughter houses were founded: Pforta (1132) and Sichem or Sittichenbach Abbey (1141) in the County of Mansfeld.
Walkenried grew rich and acquired lands as far away as the Rhine and Pomerania. The monks gave much attention to land clearance and development, especially mining and smelting, and also the construction of fishponds.
In the 15th century, the abbey began to decline, and the Peasants' War brought it to the verge of destruction. Around Easter, 1525, a mob of 800 peasants from the southern Harz region marched against Walkenried. Abbot Paulus (1520–36) and the monks fled, taking the archives with them. The abbey was plundered and the church tower torn down.
In 1542 the abbey was declared a "Reichsstift" (territorially independent). The next abbot, John VIII (1530–59), was very worldly and extravagant; in 1546 he and his monks became Lutherans. Thereupon Count Ernst of Hohnstein, as patron of the abbey, laid a complaint before Charles V. In 1548 the emperor ordered that everything in the abbey should be restored to its former condition, but his command was unheeded. After the count's death the entire County of Honstein became Lutheran, and in 1557, a Protestant school was opened at Walkenried. Four Protestant abbots directed the abbey until 1578, when the Count of Honstein appointed his son as administrator, after whose death Walkenried passed to the Duchy of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel.
During the Thirty Years' War the abbey was for a short time (1629–31) restored to the Cistercians. The Peace of Westphalia put an end to the existence of the Protestant monastery and the abbey was secularised. In 1668, the school was closed.
From that time the abbey was systematically quarried as a source of building stone until about 1900. The Gothic church, built during the years 1210–90, was greatly damaged by the destruction of the tower by the peasants in 1525; today only a few picturesque remains are still in existence. The library was also destroyed by the peasants, but the archives are preserved at Wolfenbüttel. Otherwise however the claustral buildings are generally well preserved. The chapter hall has served since 1570 as a Lutheran church.
camping: choosing a location
Once John and I had decided that this would be the summer we took the family camping, we had to figure out where we would camp. For our first trip, we plan to stay in-state, and if possible, within two hours of home. I didn’t necessarily want or need to stay near a larger town—too close to civilization. However, civilization’s Super 8 could save us if getting in touch with nature turns disastrous.
Of course, there’s the Boundary Waters in northern Minnesota, which is high on my list of places to visit. But even I know that choice is ambitious for a first outing.
Overwhelmed by the dearth of Minnesota state parks, we asked our friends for their favorite campsites. Friend Lisa recommended Whitewater, near Rochester. She claimed that the park’s location on a river bend kept mosquitoes at bay and raved about the fun and interesting, ranger-led night hike her family took. The DNR’s website backed up that claim about mosquitoes, which explains why the park had no weekend vacancies before Labor Day.
In fact, many of the state parks that appealed to me had few available campsites in the near future. According to the DNR, every park retains the majority of campsites to release on a first-come, first-served basis. However, I have no idea how easy, or likely, it is to get a spot in a popular park. Until I get into a good camping groove, I’m clinging to the security of finding our 12x14 patch of land on a map and making a reservation online.
Next stop for narrowing choices: the internets. The DNR website features a map of Minnesota, pinpointing each state park. Scanning the map, just a bit northeast of the Twin Cities, I noticed Interstate State Park, which our family refers to as Taylor’s Falls. We have hiked here often and are somewhat familiar with the area. Interstate became a candidate for the comfort level. The park also traverses the St. Croix River into Wisconsin, so we could head east for a little variety. Or, we could go up-river, where three other state parks beckoned, each about an hour’s drive from St. Paul.
One of these parks is Wild River, which appealed to me on many levels:
~ proximity—it’s within a 1-2 hour drive from home
~ availability—plenty of campsites to choose from
~ recreation—answers the question of "what do you do once you’ve pitched your tent?" Wild River has 38 miles of hiking trails, a sandy beach, and, in celebration of Minnesota’s sesquicentennial, a treasure hunt–style geocache. And, if it's all that, this state park looks like it would be a great place to snowshoe or cross-country ski in the winter.
I was able to make a reservation online, for a largish processing fee ($8.50), which ensures we have a place to pitch our tent at the end of the day.
Of course, there’s the Boundary Waters in northern Minnesota, which is high on my list of places to visit. But even I know that choice is ambitious for a first outing.
Overwhelmed by the dearth of Minnesota state parks, we asked our friends for their favorite campsites. Friend Lisa recommended Whitewater, near Rochester. She claimed that the park’s location on a river bend kept mosquitoes at bay and raved about the fun and interesting, ranger-led night hike her family took. The DNR’s website backed up that claim about mosquitoes, which explains why the park had no weekend vacancies before Labor Day.
In fact, many of the state parks that appealed to me had few available campsites in the near future. According to the DNR, every park retains the majority of campsites to release on a first-come, first-served basis. However, I have no idea how easy, or likely, it is to get a spot in a popular park. Until I get into a good camping groove, I’m clinging to the security of finding our 12x14 patch of land on a map and making a reservation online.
Next stop for narrowing choices: the internets. The DNR website features a map of Minnesota, pinpointing each state park. Scanning the map, just a bit northeast of the Twin Cities, I noticed Interstate State Park, which our family refers to as Taylor’s Falls. We have hiked here often and are somewhat familiar with the area. Interstate became a candidate for the comfort level. The park also traverses the St. Croix River into Wisconsin, so we could head east for a little variety. Or, we could go up-river, where three other state parks beckoned, each about an hour’s drive from St. Paul.
One of these parks is Wild River, which appealed to me on many levels:
~ proximity—it’s within a 1-2 hour drive from home
~ availability—plenty of campsites to choose from
~ recreation—answers the question of "what do you do once you’ve pitched your tent?" Wild River has 38 miles of hiking trails, a sandy beach, and, in celebration of Minnesota’s sesquicentennial, a treasure hunt–style geocache. And, if it's all that, this state park looks like it would be a great place to snowshoe or cross-country ski in the winter.
I was able to make a reservation online, for a largish processing fee ($8.50), which ensures we have a place to pitch our tent at the end of the day.
Monday, August 11, 2008
decorating
Even though our children are no longer babies or toddlers, it is nigh on impossible to undertake home projects. When John and I are knee-deep in some construction, the boys will find a way to infiltrate our workspace or demand our attention. My rational brain says, "They just want to see what's going on," but they never simply ask if they can watch us work. We'll even give the boys carte blanche to gorge themselves on television while we're trying to get something done, and still we're rarely allowed to proceed.
We're trying to get the boys involved. Let them hold tools, whack a nail with the hammer, and the like. Sure there are fewer interruptions that way, but it takes forever to finish projects. For example, a project that would take the average person an hour to finish, might have us tied up for an afternoon; an afternoon project would take us a weekend; a weekend project—no dice!
Currently, we are in the midst of rearranging the studio (our living room), a multiple weekend project that involves rehanging framed art, moving bookcases (emptied of books), building furniture, bundling cables and cords, and cleaning up all the little styrofoam pieces and broken-down boxes. Thus far, we have rehung the art, moved the bookcase, and built a desk. The putting-it-all-back-together and clean-up stages are upon us. Once we're finished, I'll endeavor a before-and-after slideshow.
Until then, you'll have to admire the new paint job in the kitchen.
(above: the best before photo in my possession, that's my brother, Jeff; below: after)
Years ago, while at the neighborhood paint store, I bought a can of blackboard paint, even though I had no idea what I would do with it. The can sat on a shelf until, one day, I had the inspiration to use it on a load-bearing column in our kitchen—the perfect place for the grocery list, for writing notes, for the children to doodle. I told John about my plan. He taped a border to define the paint area, and for at least two years, the blue tape has taunted and mocked our inability to execute a twenty minute—thirty minutes, tops—project.
On Sunday, after a twenty-five mile bike ride, my pal Bonnie, said, "Say, what are you doing at 2:15 today?" This felt like a trick questions so I stuttered, "Uh, stuff." "Oh, well, I was going to see if you're available to paint a blackboard," she said. Oh, well, in that case, I'm totally available.
Bonnie mixed the paint, poured it in the tray—yes, we've had all the gear for years—and started painting. The boys were drawn to this precise, tight spot in the kitchen like flies on a puddle of honey. Natch. After Winston kicked over the tray and we got the paint cleaned off the floor, we installed them on stools so they could watch, which proved fortuitous. When the painting became awkward for the adults, we had the boys step in and take a few turns rolling on paint, which they loved. The first coat looked streaky and awful, not very promising, and, even though the paint would dry in thirty minutes, you're required to wait four hours before applying another coat. Then Winston, accidentally, placed his hand on the wall. He happily covered his handprint. Bonnie and I cracked a couple Shiners and chit-chatted for awhile.
Four hours and change later, I rolled on the second coat of paint, enduring the wet-dog scent the first coat was still off-gassing. And, thirty minutes later, the moment of truth was revealed—no need for a third coat. The second application had dried to a rich, matte black. Even without its blackboard function, the color is a stunning contrast to the sage green paint and knotty pine paneling that adorns the kitchen. In a few days we'll get to write on the wall, and I'm pretty excited!
I've spent some time looking through notebooks for the list where I'd written "paint blackboard" so that I might cross the item off, but it doesn't look like I've written it down anywhere. Not even a "encourage John to paint blackboard." Finishing this paint job, still, gave me a sense of accomplishment. Look out Martha...
We're trying to get the boys involved. Let them hold tools, whack a nail with the hammer, and the like. Sure there are fewer interruptions that way, but it takes forever to finish projects. For example, a project that would take the average person an hour to finish, might have us tied up for an afternoon; an afternoon project would take us a weekend; a weekend project—no dice!
Currently, we are in the midst of rearranging the studio (our living room), a multiple weekend project that involves rehanging framed art, moving bookcases (emptied of books), building furniture, bundling cables and cords, and cleaning up all the little styrofoam pieces and broken-down boxes. Thus far, we have rehung the art, moved the bookcase, and built a desk. The putting-it-all-back-together and clean-up stages are upon us. Once we're finished, I'll endeavor a before-and-after slideshow.
Until then, you'll have to admire the new paint job in the kitchen.
(above: the best before photo in my possession, that's my brother, Jeff; below: after)
Years ago, while at the neighborhood paint store, I bought a can of blackboard paint, even though I had no idea what I would do with it. The can sat on a shelf until, one day, I had the inspiration to use it on a load-bearing column in our kitchen—the perfect place for the grocery list, for writing notes, for the children to doodle. I told John about my plan. He taped a border to define the paint area, and for at least two years, the blue tape has taunted and mocked our inability to execute a twenty minute—thirty minutes, tops—project.
On Sunday, after a twenty-five mile bike ride, my pal Bonnie, said, "Say, what are you doing at 2:15 today?" This felt like a trick questions so I stuttered, "Uh, stuff." "Oh, well, I was going to see if you're available to paint a blackboard," she said. Oh, well, in that case, I'm totally available.
Bonnie mixed the paint, poured it in the tray—yes, we've had all the gear for years—and started painting. The boys were drawn to this precise, tight spot in the kitchen like flies on a puddle of honey. Natch. After Winston kicked over the tray and we got the paint cleaned off the floor, we installed them on stools so they could watch, which proved fortuitous. When the painting became awkward for the adults, we had the boys step in and take a few turns rolling on paint, which they loved. The first coat looked streaky and awful, not very promising, and, even though the paint would dry in thirty minutes, you're required to wait four hours before applying another coat. Then Winston, accidentally, placed his hand on the wall. He happily covered his handprint. Bonnie and I cracked a couple Shiners and chit-chatted for awhile.
Four hours and change later, I rolled on the second coat of paint, enduring the wet-dog scent the first coat was still off-gassing. And, thirty minutes later, the moment of truth was revealed—no need for a third coat. The second application had dried to a rich, matte black. Even without its blackboard function, the color is a stunning contrast to the sage green paint and knotty pine paneling that adorns the kitchen. In a few days we'll get to write on the wall, and I'm pretty excited!
I've spent some time looking through notebooks for the list where I'd written "paint blackboard" so that I might cross the item off, but it doesn't look like I've written it down anywhere. Not even a "encourage John to paint blackboard." Finishing this paint job, still, gave me a sense of accomplishment. Look out Martha...
Thursday, August 07, 2008
we're going camping!
The family Shepard, who, for years and years and years, have talked about going camping, finally are going camping. We've collected tons of gear—stoves, sleeping bags and pads, headlamps, and cooking equipment. We've subscribed to Backpacker magazine and Outside, and we've scrupulously ripped out articles we've found intriguing. We even have a special camping cookbook.
Yesterday I made a reservation online with the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources, securing a site at White River State Park.
Can you tell I'm really excited?!?
More details will follow. For now, I'm putting out a call for tips on camping, especially with kids—just leave 'em in the comment box.
Yesterday I made a reservation online with the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources, securing a site at White River State Park.
Can you tell I'm really excited?!?
More details will follow. For now, I'm putting out a call for tips on camping, especially with kids—just leave 'em in the comment box.
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