second chances

At my last job, I dreaded Mondays because I never every got anything done. Typically, I had multiple morning meetings, and it was only after lunch that I could read and answer e-mail, as well as prioritize the week’s deadlines. Since I’ve been laid off, I’ve resented Mondays, mostly because I wasn’t reporting to the demands of an office, and, quite frankly, I found the demands of home rather oppressive.

Sometimes, I just have to write off Mondays, but this morning I had a bit of a revelation: Mondays aren’t so bad! Admittedly, getting out of bed was unbelievably painful, but once I was up, I began to look forward to, once again, having the house to myself. After I got the boys to school, I walked into a blessedly quiet home. Then I wallowed in the quiet, curled up on the sofa with a very large mug of coffee and read 100 pages of The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks.

I love the idea that Mondays can be about regrouping after a long weekend with family. Almost without exception, the house is a complete disaster. But, I can sweep the floors, tidy stacks of mail and magazines, sort through the paper output of two artistic boys, pick up errant toys, fold laundry and distribute the clothes piles for the boys to put in the drawers, and more. And I can do all of these tasks without anyone getting under foot or trailing behind me, undoing my good work. I can shop for groceries, drop off the dry cleaning, and run any other errand that the masses do on the weekend, crowding parking lots and stores. Monday is the only day of the week when I’m able to assemble dinner and slow cook something that’s ready to eat when John walks in the door.

Further indulging my me-time, I can get caught up on TV. Since the little boys aren’t allowed to watch TV on weeknights, they tend to gorge themselves on the weekend, which means that mama doesn’t get any TV. On Mondays, I can watch whatever shows are in my DVR queue. Also, I can finish those show I’ve fallen asleep watching with John so I’m ready for the coming week’s episode.

I'm glad to have a new appreciation for the most dreaded, most maligned day of the week. But now, the spinner bike and a few episodes of SATC, season five, beckon...

field trip wednesday: One on One Bike Studio

A few weeks ago, before John went back to work (yay!!!), we took a trip to Minneapolis. Our mission was twofold: to have lunch together and for John to introduce me to the inner circle of hell. We combined both action-items in a single stop: the One on One Bike Studio.

One on One is the hip North Loop bike shop (Washington Ave., in Minneapolis, cozied right up to SexWorld) that sells bicycles, clothing, and gear; exhibits bike-related art; and serves soup, sandwiches, and coffee. I just love this place, and I have reserved a spot in my heart for the sandwiches. They’re simple and homey, with just a few carefully chosen, high-quality ingredients, such as whole-grain loaf bread, corned beef, pepperjack cheese, hot-sweet mustard, which is what I had that day. Yes, I know. I could make that sandwich at home, except my sandwiches are never nearly as tasty.


Bellies happy, we descended into hell. And what I learned that day is hell isn’t that bad, especially if it's populated with…bike parts!!! Really, the One on One’s basement isn’t hell, it's a Junkyard*. It’s just that, from the descriptions, I always imagined the junkyard would be a nightmare. In fact, I’m here to confirm that One on One’s basement is a well-kept secret: a treasure chest of bikes and bike frames and bike parts that you cannot steal**, but can purchase for a steal.


And, so it was that I accompanied John to the Junkyard, as he looked for—and found—treasure. See:


*One on One's official term
**From One on One's 117 blog: Jan 5, 2009 - 7:59 pm: "Nothing brings in a new year like finding out that some dirtbag decided to put the parts in his pocket instead of paying for them. In the 7 years the junkyard has been open to the public, very, very few parts have been taken without paying. NOS Mavic 531 hubset gone out of the showcase."

souvenirs from a great day at the rink

doing

ice skating
This winter has been lousy for ice skating. The weather has either been too cold to tolerate being outdoors for long or too warm so that the rinks get slushy. Yesterday we found our sweet spot and met some friends at The Coliseum (State Fairgrounds) ice rink. I took a few laps, patiently willing my skating legs to return. Not only had they gone unused for a year, but I had practiced yoga before arriving at the rink and my quads were sore. Skating was a blast. The not-too-crowded rink had great music ("Lara's Theme," among others) and a good energy, with a bunch of kids and their parents, some of whom were awesome skaters. There was an older couple, sixties-ish, who were ice dancing. It was all so lovely, and I cannot wait to go skating again.

reading
Over the weekend, I finished reading Fire and Ice, the second book in the Warriors series. Although I had no objection to Simon reading these books, I resisted reading them aloud, which is what we wanted. But he asked so politely that I could hardly say no. I didn’t expect to enjoy the first two books quite as much as I have. The story follows Fireheart, a former kitty pet who trades the comforts of a litterbox and a bowl of kibble for fresh kill and life with a clan of cats. Against all odds, given his cushy former life, Fireheart becomes a warrior in the Thunder Clan, one of four that populate this series. Each story features shifting allegiances within the clan, as well as tales of survival in a cat-eat-cat world. Today we had an opportunity to start Forest of Secrets, third in the series.

I also finished reading Michael Ruhlman’s House and cried silent tears over his small victories as a homeowner, a husband, and a father.

listening
I’ve purchased a boatload of new music recently, which deserves its own post. But until I can get my act together, I’ve got to highly recommend The Supreme Genius of King Kahn and the Shrines, a kick-ass album of high-octane funk. It’s a bit brass-tastic. Also, I’m revisiting the twenty-plus-year old Marc et Robert from the avant French duo, Les Rita Mitsouko. Singles “Smoking” and “Hip Kit,” the latter a collaboration with The Sparks, still rock.

watching
Last night, I saw Confessions of a Shopaholic. I recommend avoiding it, even on DVD. Two pints of margaritas did nothing to improve this stinky movie, and I didn’t even have high hopes for it. But, I love going to the movies for the entertainment value. Now I’m watching the Sarah Connor Chronicles, which, in one hour, has a tighter, more interesting storyline and better actors than Confessions. I know it’s like comparing apples and oranges, but there you have it.

ipod shuffle

1. Sorrow (David Bowie)
2. Hungry Wolf (X)
3. The News (Carbon/Silicon)
4. Happy Jack (The Who)
5. Rock the Casbah (The Clash)
6. All Nighter (Elastica)
7. Peanuts (The Police)
8. City of Blinding Lights (U2)
9. Smog (Les Rita Mitsouko)
10. Dap Dip (Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings)
11. Video Killed the Radio Star (PotUSoA)
12. Don't Stop Me Now (Queen)

field trip Wednesday: Wabasha, MN, and Nelson, WI

This past weekend*, my mother-in-law and her husband visited from New Jersey. John and I were somewhat at a loss as to how we were going to entertain them. In the back of my mind, I knew we could always go to a museum, but I felt like doing something outdoors, especially since we were experiencing unseasonable warmth, coupled with sunshine. I’m not even sure how the idea made it through my brain’s thick gray matter, but there it was—the National Eagle Center in Wabasha, Minnesota, down river on the Mississippi.

When my mother, sister, and I took our October trip to Lake Pepin, Wabasha was on my long list of towns to visit, but neither my sis nor my mother were much interested in seeing eagles. I don’t think my in-laws would otherwise have been much interested either, but it seemed like a perfect kid-centric outing.

I drove the little boys. We listened to Bill Cosby’s I Began Life as a Child all the way to Wabasha, and all the way back to St. Paul, the boys laughing at the same jokes each time. The first half of the drive was pretty lackluster, the scenery dominated by endless expanses of farmland. I reminisced about the countless times I traveled to Red Wing in the 90s for St. Martin’s Press. Not once on those twenty-one trips did I ever venture beyond the St. James Hotel, which housed Red Wing Books—a travesty I corrected with promises for many returns.


Immediately outside of Red Wing, still on Highway 61 (the Great River Road), the bluffs that line the river appeared. Simon imagined that the limestone hills, with their rugged faces, were sleeping giants, as in the Beyond the Spiderwick Chronicles series, and that when they awoke, the giants would fight. Soon, we reached frozen Lake Pepin, an obvious widening in the Mississippi River. Two eagles, the first we would see that day, flew just over the tree line.

In Wabasha, we took Highway 60 across the river to Nelson, Wisconsin, where, without a street address, we found the Original Nelson Cheese Factory because Nelson is just that small. Located in a former creamery, the Nelson Cheese Factory, which no longer makes cheese, boasts a deli with a large cheese selection (including fresh cheese curds and string cheese), sausages, and imported crackers and cookies. Or, you can eat in, ordering food from a menu that features hot and cold sandwiches, soups and salads, and pizzas.

After filling our bellies with sandwiches and ice cream cones and shopping for souvenirs (spicy lamb sticks, lamb summer sausage, and skinny string cheese), we crossed the river again, through the Mississippi River Wildlife Refuge, back to Wabasha.


The National Eagle Center (NEC) sits right on the river. Prow windows cover a two-story expanse and allow grand views to nesting areas (above), where we saw—with the naked eye—a number of eagles in trees. Binoculars and telescopes gave us sharper focus on the magnificent birds. The NEC has three resident eagles (very top photo), each with damaged wings, which now are part of the center’s educational programs.

I look forward to spending more time around Lake Pepin, and I know we’ll make repeat visits to the National Eagle Center.


*Important note: the Wednesday field trip doesn’t need to have been taken on Wednesday, merely reported then, which I did not make clear in my introductory note.

field trip wednesday: france and 44th

For a year or so, on Wednesdays, I’ve posted random entries from wikipedia, a feature I borrowed (probably without blessing) from another blogger. And while I still like to spin the roulette wheel at wikipedia to learn interesting tidbits, and while it’s been a no-brainer way to blog, I’m looking for a new regular feature—something that will make at least one post a week easy and fun to approach. And so I am unveiling “Field Trip Wednesday” in which I report on little forays around the Twin Cities. This is certain to get me out of the house, as well as give me a midweek treat.

I truly needed a big treat today. My day started poorly. I felt lousy upon waking. Typically the boys take the bus to school, but only if I can get out of bed by 6:20. If I snooze, then I can sleep in ten-minute increments from an extra hour. I hate the drive but prefer not to rush the boys in the morning, especially Winston, who cannot be rushed for anything. Plus I love the extra time in the car with them.

As I was driving home [from taking the boys to school], I realized that I was feeling SAD. The sky is gray, the weather is fiercely cold, and the ground is dangerously icy. My environment is ugly and difficult to maneuver in. I’ve lost a favorite warm glove, but I can’t be bothered to replace it even though I’ll need gloves for another couple months. I’m tired of trying to fish my keys out of my pocket with the gloves on. I could cry. And I recognize that I’m SAD and PMSing so I needn’t worry that I’m finally having a big breakdown. I give myself permission to take care of myself. I decide to curl up on the couch, read a comforting book (House by Michael Ruhlman), caress my warm Thermos coffee pot, and wallow under a pile of blankets until I can face the music.

Pretty pleased with myself for writing a prescription that will get me through the day, I pull into the alley to face a Ford 350 coming my way. The truck, which is pulling a trailer, is trying to creep down the last 15 yards of the icy, steepish alley to the street, while I’m preparing to gun my car up, what are for me, the first 15 yards of the icy, steepish alley. And because the driver didn’t yield to me, I pulled over. I didn’t know I had driven into a snowbank until the truck had passed and I tried to go my merry way. Insert choice words here.

To make a long story less long, the transaction was witnessed by my neighbor Erin, who lives catty-corner across the street from where I was stuck. She came over with her contractor, who directed my tires and gave my car a push until I was free. Did I mention that it was 2 degrees? All this time spent fuming and spinning my wheels in the bitter cold snapped me right out of my funk. After expressing ample gratitude, I had one of those moments when everything crystallizes and it becomes clear that I needed to shop. Sure, I warmed up with coffee and read for a bit once I got home, but after I confirmed that there were no publishing jobs, I hopped in my car and headed to Eat Street—Jasmine Deli for aromatic and restorative beef pho and hot jasmine tea. Then, I drove to France and 44th.

Situated southwest of Minneapolis, France and 44th is a fairly underwhelming intersection, especially when compared to the snazzy shops and restaurants further south, at France and 50th, that define Edina. My destination was France 44 wine shop, which is the most notable business in the area. Although I have taken a number of wine classes here, I rarely schlep over when I need wine, especially when there are plenty of fine wine shops in St. Paul. In addition to an amazing wine and spirits collection, France 44 has an outstanding cheese counter, featuring many American artisan cheeses. The cheese shop even has a blog, which I urge you to visit. Mostly, I stocked up on wine for an impending in-law visit, purchasing a pinot noir to accompany arctic char for Friday night’s dinner, a few chardonnays for MIL’s “happy hour” spritzers, and a handful of Argentinian malbecs and Spanish crianzas to fill out our wine rack.

But, the intersection is also where you’ll find Russell + Hazel, the boutique dedicated to stylish organizational tools, such as binders, files, paper, post-it notes, and more. I love Russell + Hazel! Years ago, when the company debuted its products, you could buy them at gift shops like the Walker Art Center’s museum shop or the Bibelot Shop, but also at the grocery store. I remember buying my first notebook at Kowalski’s. Crazy, heh? Now R+H sells its wares online and at its stand-alone store at France and 44th. Among other little lovelies, I fondled a Lucite desk set, basically a tray with compartments for paperclips or rubberbands or any of the things that junk up your desk. In an effort to organize my paper clutter, particularly household records and manuals and business cards, I purchased two binders with colorful book-linen spines, metal-reinforced corners, fat rubberband to hold together, and dry-erase interior. I also selected loose-leaf paper with a slate blue rule, as well as pocket folders and tabbed index dividers to fill the binders. Plus, I bought a red file box for concealing unsightly paper piles on my desk. I’m excited to put my new organizing gear in action!

And while I was conducting my retail therapy, the sun emerged and the air warmed up just enough to help hope spring eternal.

25 random things about me (with bonuses if you've already read this on fb)

1. I own more books than I will ever be able to read in my lifetime, a fact that sometimes makes me sad.

2. Aside from kidsitting, my first job was as a lifeguard at the country club where my parents were members. The kids hated me because I would scoop the salamanders and frogs out of the pool before they arrived, thus robbing them of all their fun and forcing them to run on the wet deck, for lack of anything more exciting to do.

3. The last time I intentially tanned was the summer I was a lifeguard, and I still have the tanlines on my back to show for it.

4. Cream or milk in my coffee makes me gag, but I can only drink tea if it's white and sweet.

5. Secretly, I kind of enjoy being unencumbered by a job.

6. The first album I owned was Donnie and Marie Osmond's first record. It was a gift.

7. The last album I bought was the Black Keys' "Attack and Release." It wails.

8. The use of jargon is one of my hugest pet peeves. I agree that it can grant groups a common language, but mostly it's overused to the point where it loses all of its power.

9. During the 80s, I was certain the world would end in the poof of a mushroom cloud and had recurring dreams of nuclear annihilation.

10. Despite living in the upper midwest for my entire life, I'm a total wuss when it comes either temperature extreme. Can't stand the heat, can't stand the cold. And, I like to tell everyone I'm miserable in both.

11. I once walked barefoot across a bed of red hot coals.

12. I take sledding very seriously.

13. I once flew to Jacksonville, FL, but my luggage flew to Jackson Hole, WY.

14. All my best fantasies involve eating scrumptious food in exotic locales.

15. I am an unrepentant Francophile. I have spent more vacations in France than anywhere else. If I had my way, my next vacation would be spent there, too.

16. I am mildly addicted to the clean, bright flavors of Vietnamese food.

17. I prefer lime to lemon.

18. My biggest regret is drifting from cherished friends.

19. I can read music easily but have no ear for notes and cannot carry a tune.

20. It makes me cringe when I hear people use "reference" as a verb, when what they really mean is "refer."

21. I rode my bike across the state of Iowa, from west to east. In case you were wondering, Iowa is approximately 500 miles wide.

22. I am astonished and pleased by the thought of having spent almost half my life with my handsome husband.

23. I'm ultra nice, according to my son Winston, not ultra bossy, like kings and queens.

24. My favorite holiday is whichever one prominently features chocolate.

25. The sound of laughter is music to my ears. I was first drawn to John by his laugh, which I heard across a room before I ever saw his face.

Bonus things about me:
26. I live by former SMP colleague Jeff Cope's motto: "The only job I want is the one I already have."

27. I love the calm that aging brings but the creakiness, not so much.

28. Contrary to popular belief, given that I work in the publishing industry and devour books, I was not an English major.

29. Political science was my major, although I currently cannot listen to ANY political commentary without incurring a major headache.

30. When it comes to snacks, I'm more of a salty person.

31. Also, I swear a bluestreak, much to everyone's consternation.

catching up

Really, I thought I was going to be able to blog all last week, after sitting in class from 8a-4p with a chaser of parenting duties. What can I say—I am delusional. I had my last class for the Mini Masters yesterday and rewarded myself with a fun evening with Caryl and lots of book talk. After volunteering in Winston’s classroom this morning, I decided to spend the rest of the day decompressing. I need some reflective time to process my new learning, as well as to recall the details of two whirlwind weeks leading up to this very moment in time.

But, most important, I wanted to reconnect with my handsome husband, who has done major dad duty. And, I missed my feller. So we made a lunch date for ourselves at the Khyber Pass*, an awesome Afghani restaurant in St. Paul. Before we went to lunch, however, we watched an episode of Classic Album on VH1 Classic. And, so it came to pass that we were sitting on the couch in the den, minding our own business, in utter awe over the genius of Daniel Langlois, oh and the members of U2 (Joshua Tree was the featured album). Occasionally, I’d get lost in my own reverie about 1987 and about seeing U2 in Dublin, when one after another, our cell phones started ringing. John answered his cell: the school nurse. Never a good thing.

The nurse reported that Winston had a small accident—got hit in the head with an icy snowball (apparently his “little friend” was in quite a bit of trouble—can't wait to hear who it was). Win was fine. No need for us to pick him up. John and the nurse chatted for a while. From my end, I could hear John laughing. A lot. After he hung up the phone, John related the following:

Winston to the nurse: Can I tell you something?
Nurse: Sure. What is it sweetie?
Winston: My dad is the hottest person my mom has ever met.

[Yes, my eyes are bugging out in horror as I’m trying to imagine in what context I’ve ever said this in front of him. Bracing myself now for the follow up.]

Winston: Yeah, he sweats a lot.

Apparently the nursing staff got quite a chuckle and just had to call us. I’m glad they did, cuz it’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time and I'd forgotten how much I like to laugh hard.

*I’d like to wax rhapsodic about the lunch buffet at Khyber Pass, which, in my opinion, far exceeds any other local lunch buffet. For one, all of the food tastes fresher, by far, as well as being hearty and warming. Today’s buffet held a couple dals, a chicken curry, curried potatoes, eggplant, meatballs, to name a few highlights. But, I mostly go for the hummus. One day I will summon the courage to ask Amil for the recipe.

knitting

Despite resolving to blog more regularly in the new year, I’ve become more scarce. Mind you, I’m still attached to the internets by a tungsten umbilical cord, but I just haven’t had the energy to string together a thought. I lay all the blame at January’s feet.

Cruel mistress, January. She sets us up with the promise of new beginnings, then pulls the rug out from under us by presenting SAD-inducing gray skies and bitterly cold weather. This winter, I’m giving in to self-preservation by hibernating, and one of my all-time favorite winter activities is knitting.

You may remember, from way back in October, that I started a sweater for John. I had hoped to finish by the end of 2008 so that I could get back to a few unfinished projects. Alas, I hit a bit of a snag.

Mind you, the pattern I’m following is extremely straightforward, with one stitch and very little shaping. No cables. No patterns. No color changes. I knit the sweater front, shaping the armholes and the neck. Then, using virtually identical instructions, I knit the sweater back, shaping the armholes and the neck.

Most patterns that I have knit then instruct the knitter to make each sleeve. When the sleeves are finished, you typically knit the neck on circular needles. Then, with the same yarn, you sew all the pieces together. I’m lousy at finish work. Actually, I’m probably better than average at it, but I’m never satisfied. Rather than stressing over perfection, I schlep pieces to my local yarn shop. For a very reasonable fee ($20, last time I used it), the store sends the sweater to a pro-knitter, who blocks the pieces and puts them all together. I was going to do this with John’s sweater, until the pattern had different plans for me. After the front and back are knitted, you then sew the shoulders—hence, the snag.

I was deep in the procrastination—two entire months—when I met Penelope, my sister-in-law Caroline’s stepmother. In addition to being an accomplished knitter, Penelope has owned a yarn shop and designs patterns. She gave me tips and encouragement so I could tackle the shoulders. When I returned from Princeton, I sat down, with great determination, and stitched those shoulders together. With newfound confidence, I faced the next new-to-me technique—picking up stitches from a bound edge—which I did around the armholes so that I could knit the sleeves. Yes, the sleeves are being knit right into the sweater as opposed to sewing them in as separate pieces.

At this point, with one sleeve attached, the sweater is an awful lot to juggle. I imagine the kids’ version will be much, much less cumbersome. I hope. That said, I have a quarter of sleeve two finished. The end of this sweater is in sight!!

So, sadly, everything else—blogging, job searching (wink), housekeeping, child rearing (wink wink)—has taken a back seat…but the meditative qualities of knitting make it all worthwhile. Oh, and it's fun, too.

i'm back. again.

Finally, we’re done celebrating Christmas. This past weekend, John and I took the boys to So Dak to visit my parents. When we left St. Paul on Friday, we had heard that the roads were questionable—icy in spots—but thought we’d give driving a shot. Even though the roads were fine, the conditions were stressful. Blowing snow alternating with flat light resulted in eyestrain that quickly turned to fatigue. Normally John does all the driving so that I may serve as a human audio book (for this trip, Nemesis, a post-Cold War thriller with a comet as weapon, by Bill Napier), but we took turns driving. On my turn, I marveled at how the colorless sky was connected to snow-covered fields by a graphite line on the horizon, making the world a study in grayscale.

The time with my family went better than I had hoped. It’s always anyone’s guess how it will go. My mother tends to go w-a-y overboard with her hospitality. I know she’s trying to make our stay extra special but she stresses herself out, gets crabby, and fails to spend any meaningful time with the boys.



Everyone tolerated each other as best they could given that we were housebound by weather. My parents’ house is on a lake, on the prairie. A complete lack of shelterbelts means that you feel all the wind, which is refreshing during the punishing heat of summer but lethal during the bitter cold of winter. Brutal. The boys wanted to sled so John and I took them to the highest point around my parents’ house and let them rip. As they were oblivious to frostbite-provoking cold, we had to drag them inside.

On Saturday afternoon, we took the boys to sled on St. Ann’s hill, the highest point in Watertown. It occurred to me that I had never sledded here as a kid. During my sledding days, my family lived across the street from a golf course so we had plenty of places to sled, but none were as impressive as St. Ann’s hill. It is a really big hill, ending—impressively, dangerously—at active railroad tracks. Even as an adult, I was tempted to take a run, but alas, gravity held me firmly on my feet. Needless to say, the boys had a blast.

Then we went downtown. Typically a depressing endeavor, the downtown business district is a fragment of its former “glory.” A shopping mall, Walmart, and a handful of big box stores on the edge of town, not to mention a citizenry seemingly unwilling to support its businesses, have turned it into a ghost town. Those establishments the remain are pathetic, maintained with little care for their appearance. Most seem to be on the verge of closing.

One bright ray: the Goss Opera House and Gallery. I remember hearing about this theater, on the upper floor of the building at the corner of Kemp and Maple, when I was a kid, in the late 1970s, around the time of the state’s centennial celebration. Then, the Town Players, a local theater group, was trying to raise money to renovate the historic theater to serve as their home. Undoubtedly, the project was ambitious and nothing came of the group's plans. Ironically, a recent transplant, with d-e-e-p pockets, purchased the building, turning the lower level (formerly a Rexall Drugs, plus a few more businesses in both directions, Maple-side and Kemp-side) into art galleries, shops (toys, a Life Is Good boutique), a private book collection cum bookstore, and an enormous coffeehouse. I have to say, the exposed brick, high tin ceilings, and arched passages between spaces reminded me of Stillwater. It’s incredibly cool, and I hope Watertown will support it. We didn't get a chance to see the King Tut (replicas) exhibit—maybe a compelling reason to visit again, soon.


John took these photos with his phone. Another saving grace is Lake Kampeska’s surrounding natural beauty, especially in the winter. My parents’ house is nestled into lovely corner of the lake, with water on one side, slough on another, and a county park on a third side.

I'm back

Winter break is over. Done. Put a fork in it—I am so ready to start my New Year. I know I'm a little slow to embrace the new year, but if I've learned anything in 40 plus years, it's that I only set myself up for failure if I wake up on January 1 expecting change to have happened overnight. Besides, we still haven't unpacked from our trip, which sort of makes me feel like I still have a foot firmly planted in last year.

Isn't that the perfect segue to notes about winter break? We spent most of it in Princeton, NJ, which is where my mother-in-law lives. When we arrived, there was snow on the ground. Sure, Princeton gets snow, but it's usually associated with a storm, and the snow often melts soon after it lands. I, for one, enjoy Princeton's maritime climate at Christmas—40 degrees and humid is a balm when you're arriving from 0 degrees, a desert-dry environment, and piles of snow (beneath which is a layer of unforgiving ice).

In addition to the kind NJ weather, I like visiting my mother-in-law. She and her husband love to cook so we always eat well (rack of lamb, prime rib, and more), and she maintains an amazing wine cellar so we're always in good spirits (wink).

This year, John and I took the boys to New York City for a day. Although we had wanted to take the train, which the boys would have enjoyed, we drove. Six hours of member-validated parking at the Met and a round-trip cab ride across Central Park to the Natural History Museum cost significantly less than four round-trip train tickets. I'll be honest, driving in NYC sucked. Fortunately John was off his meds and drove with New Yorker-style aggression. (I'm joking about the "off his meds" but I am really proud of how he navigated thick traffic.)

Of course, the museums were awesome! We parked at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, wound our way through Greek/Roman statues, temple ruins, amphora, and other artifacts, to the cafeteria where we had a quick and unnoteworthy lunch. Then we cruised the Met's famed Christmas tree on our way to the main entrance, where we hopped a cab to the American Museum of Natural History. The boys had been agog in the Met—Simon was excited to identify Hercules, who appeared in a statue, and Winston was into the displays of coins. They couldn't believe we were leaving the museum, which was very gratifying, but Mama had a date with natural history.


Of course, the dinosaur models in the lobby of the Natural History Museum took the boys' breath away! And, from there, the wonders never ceased. The museum is vast, and we were only able to hit the high points—the elephant, the giant clam, and the whale—but we took occasional detours and we lingered everywhere we landed. I could go on and on about all the amazing things I saw. When we did our post mortem, each of us offering up our favorite thing in the museum, I narrowed my selection to the biodiversity wall, the vast array of animals and bugs and their nearest relations. Also, I loved the panoramas in the African mammals and the North American mammals halls. They have such a lovely old-timey feel, despite all that is NPC about this sort of big game collecting.


In addition to NYC, the boys spent loads of time rolling around with their cousin Dodi, who is almost six years old. Cousin Scarlett (below), on the other hand, is two and a half. Does anyone remember two-and-a-half? Scarlett is very precocious and very very verbal and very energetic. To be in a room with Scarlett required a flak jacket, ear plugs, and a quick wit. Also, 409. Because, in her wake, Scarlett left a smear of yogurtbananamucusgrahamcrackertears on every surface she touched. Maybe even every surface in a 100-foot radius. She endeared herself to me, though, as one morning I came to breakfast grumpy (for having slept little and poorly). Scarlett, who was already squirreling around with her daddy, poked her head out and said, "Good morning, Jenny." Now, no one is allowed to call me Jenny, and still I couldn't help but feel my cold Grinch heart melting.


Also while in Princeton, we were treated to a wonderful performance of Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol that had amazing stage sets. I did a bit of cooking, making the largest batch of homemade macaroni and cheese, with two pounds of pasta and two pounds of cheese and half a gallon of milk, for a potluck dinner party. Generally speaking, I'm not comfortable cooking for more than six people. Eight people, tops. And, I made the potato rolls, the sponge takes a few hours to make. Each year I vow to start earlier, yet it never happens until the boys are in bed and the kitchen clears, so some time around 11 p.m.

Now we're home. The boys inaugerated their new downhill skis at Afton Alps, giving me a much deserved quiet day. We've celebrated the New Year's with an impromptu gathering. It's the same every year—no one steps up to host until New Year's Eve. Still we manage to have fun and stay up ridiculously late (3 a.m., listening to music with handsome husband) and need two days to recover. We've played endless rounds of "Dragonology," a silly board game that the boys LOVE. We've been sledding, mostly on a sheet of ice, but exhilirating and fun, nonetheless. I left the sledding hill in shame (ha!), having plowed into an unattended sled and causing another group of sledders to scramble out of my way. That'll learn those kids who lay at the bottom of the hill when their run has ended.

After I dropped the boys at their bus stop this morning, I took a walk. A short walk, and a cold walk (didn't look at the temp, didn't want to know), but a good walk during which I tried not to think about my frozen quads, instead listening to the lyrics of Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros (Global Go Go). I had the foresight to make a pot of coffee before I left the house so when I returned from my walk I poured myself a cup and curled up on the couch for an hour with Suzanne Collins' The Hunger Games. Such a civilized start to the day. With a belly full of oatmeal, I'm diving into reconnecting with my internets world and renewing my job search.

Now I'm ready to take on the year!

happy merry to all!

It’s Merry Chaos here in Princeton. Has a year gone by already? The weather is gorgeously warm, which is such a treat after the brutal winter storms and their aftermath that we've encountered at home and here on the East Coast. The sky is a beautiful blue color. And, my kids have each declared this to be the Best. Christmas. Ever! Surrounded by family, I couldn't agree more.

No matter where you are and what you believe, I hope that your day is filled with peace and glad tidings!

my son, the novelist

Short on my own original material today, I'm "publishing" a story that Simon wrote. He's been working on it for his writer's journal, dictating a portion each night this week. The writer in me is in awe because he so unselfconsciously told his story. I could see his wheels turning as he tried different plotlines, delighted with the possibilities inherent in creativity. I found it inspiring!

Simon did not give me permission to print this, but I'm so proud of him that I want to share. Besides, John, all puffed up with parental pride, has been sending it to friends. Earlier today, we had lunch with friend Steve, who said, "Hey, this sounds like a [Hollywood] treatment." So, Hollywood, if you're reading, you can contact his agent (me) via e-mail.

The New Invaders

Como-Tech is in Argentina. The scientists at Como-Tech build robots. Scientists start making little robots to be servants in people's houses. If a robber breaks into a house, the robots turn big, and scares them off.

But the scientists miscalculated and made the robots think that all humans were threatening them, so the robots attacked the humans.

Because the robots were destroying the planet, and most of its living beings, scientists started tests to make Mars into a planet that people could go to.

The scientists got a rock from Mars and put a seed in the rock and sent the rock back to Mars. As the plants grow and grow and grow, they eat carbon dioxide and give off oxygen.

Back in Argentina
The robots are starting their own civilization.

Back in Costa Rica
The scientists from Como-Tech [CT] flee to Costa Rica. The CT scientists need to continue their tests for making Mars a paradise like Earth. They need a new laboratory to do their tests at. They went to Costa Rica because their friends work at a laboratory there named Secret-Test [ST]. The CT scientists want to use their friends' laboratory. The scientists at Secret-Test are trying to make birds talk like parrots do. Because of the new danger they stop their work and help Como-Tech.

One of the CT scientists says that they need 100 gallons of water that can be dropped into a small valley on Mars and see if the white faced monkeys can swim and breath and live on Mars for 1 day.

One of the ST scientists asked “how are you going to do it?” CT scientist says, “We will need a rocket. Once it touches something, it blows up and the water comes spilling out.” One of the CT scientists says “Do you have a white faced monkey that is trained to go to outer space?” Then one of the ST scientists says, “yes”. Then one of the CT scientists says, “O.K. Let's get to work.” It takes them two days to make the rocket and one day to add all the details to it.

Back in Argentina
The robots are spreading around. When they see Como-Tech Laboratory they look around inside. Robot 708 spots small little robots and turned one on. The little robot got super angry because it thought the robot 708 was a robber. The little robot turned big and tried to scare 708.

Back in Costa Rica
CT scientists look at Mars from a conservatory. They see the plants and water but where is the monkey? Then they see a black blur running around. They look closer at the picture. The blur was the monkey. The CT scientists were successful.

The big rocket was done too. Then one of the scientists from Secret Test says “How will we get people's attention?” “We will send raffle tickets to the Galapagos Islands” answered one of the CT scientists, “and all of the people who get the raffle tickets will win and will come to Costa Rica. On the bottom of the raffle tickets it will say, 'When you see the biggest rock, turn West, and you will find a test base. There, you will find a rocket and bring some seeds of corn and some animals.'”

“We will start making some of the raffle tickets today” said one of the CT scientists.
“How many of them will we make?” asked one of the ST scientists.
“79.”

Back to the Robots.
The little robot was number 78. When he saw a person he thought it was evil and started attacking her. Now he was like the other big robots. Then they went to turn on more and more and more robots. The other little robots started walking around. The numbers of the robots that were just turned on were 87, 110, 900, 3000, 79, 56, 17, 43, and 700.

Back in Costa Rica
4 days later, the people who won the raffle tickets came with some crops and some animals. “Come to the rocket ship now, the robots might be swimming here already.” said a Pearl Kite, one of the tested birds. Only 60 of the 79 raffle ticket winners came.

They blasted off to Mars and safely landed. One of the farmers from the Galapagos Islands kept the monkey as a pet.

~ The End ?~

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 my first article from the animal kingdom! The Chat is kind of cute, as far as birds go.

Cercomela is a genus of small passerine bird of the Old World flycatcher familychats. Muscicapidae. It comprises nine species of

Overview

These are typically birds of open dry habitats such as open scrub, stony or rocky areas and short grassland. The Familiar and Indian Chats are often found near human habitation.

This is a mainly African group, although the Blackstart’s range also extends just into the Middle East, and the Indian Chat is a south Asian species.

The typical Cercomela plumage is fairly plain grey or brown upperparts and paler underparts. The tail pattern is often distinctive, and may be useful in distinguishing the African species. The long legs and feet are black and the bill is short and straight. The sexes are similar in plumage.

These are terrestrial birds, most nesting on or near the ground, and laying up to four eggs in a cup nest; a few Cercomela species use rock crevices or walls as nest sites.

These birds are insectivores, and forage on the ground for their prey.

Most species have vocalisations including typical chat "chak-chak" or similar calls.

Most Cercomela chats are common within their ranges, but insufficient data exists to determine the status of the Sombre Chat in Ethiopia.

Species in taxonomic order

• Sickle-winged Chat, Cercomela sinuata
• Karoo Chat, Cercomela schlegelii
• Tractrac Chat, Cercomela tractrac
• Familiar Chat, Cercomela familiaris
• Brown-tailed Chat, Cercomela scotocerca
• Indian Chat, Cercomela fusca
• Sombre Chat, Cercomela dubia
• Blackstart, Cercomela melanura
• Moorland Chat, Cercomela sordida

out of juice

If you hadn't heard, we're experiencing an extreme cold snap in the Midwest. Some might say, "Get over it, it's Minnesota winter," but I beg to say that -11, independent of wind chill, is beyond winter. Temps like that are felt regularly only at the Poles.

Last night I had a long conversation with my friend Krista, who lives on an island in Washington state, in a cabin/cottage heated mostly by a wood-burning stove. Unlike Seattle, where Krista usually lives, Whidbey gets epic snowfalls that isolate homeowners, downing powerlines and freezing pipes, so she has needed to bring in water, flashlights and candles, and firewood. Just in case. At some point, Krista complained about the temperatures and about how she was so cold. Naturally, I inquired about how cold was cold, then offered the only natural response when she said, "28 degrees." I laughed like a crazy person. We'd all be wearing shorts if it was 28 degrees here.

It's so cold in Minnesota that my car wouldn't start this morning. And, yes, the car had been in the garage overnight. For half the day, I worried that the battery was dead, owing to someone (Winston) having left a door open. But truth is the cold was just too much for my nearly nine-year-old car to handle. Thank goodness we have another, more reliable, car 'cause nothing gives me a greater sense of panic than car problems.

Like my car, I'm out of juice. Most of my energy has been sapped just trying to stay warm. I try to remain optimistic, secure in the knowledge that in less that a week, I'll be in balmy New Jersey. Until then, the following may help:

~ a good night sleep
i.e., more than five hours
~ citrus
Have you tried this year's crop of sweet, juicy clementines from Spain yet?
~ holiday cheer
Over the next few days I plan to shelf job hunting for the year so that I might ring out the next few weeks with baking and general tinkering in the kitchen, writing holiday cards, and making resolutions.

You know, stuff that does the spirit good!

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.

If you are a foreign film buff, you may be interested in Cinema of Ukraine.

Cinema of Ukraine are motion-pictures created within the nation of Ukraine or by Ukrainian filmmakers abroad.

One of the largest film production studios in Ukraine is the Dovzhenko Film Studios, located in Kiev {Kyiv), Ukraine. Cinergia is a major Ukrainian film distributor; it is the local distributor of films by Warner Bros., New Line CinemaMiramax Films. and

Notable films

Main article: List of Ukrainian films

• 1926 Ягодка любви / Love's Berries, directed by Alexander Dovzhenko (silent film)
• 1928 Арсенал / Arsenal, directed by Alexander Dovzhenko (silent film)
• 1928 Звенигора / Zvenigora, directed by Alexander Dovzhenko (silent film)
• 1929 Человек с киноаппартом / Man with a Movie Camera, directed by Dziga Vertov (documentary film)
• 1930 Земля / Earth, directed by Alexander Dovzhenko (silent film)
• 1932 Иван / Ivan, directed by Alexander Dovzhenko (silent film)
• 1935 Аэроград / Aerograd, directed by Alexander Dovzhenko (sci-fi)
• 1936 Наталка Полтавка / Natalka Poltavka, directed by Ivan Kavaleridze
• 1939 Щорс / Shchors, directed by Alexander Dovzhenko (documentary film)
• 1964 Тіні забутих предків / Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors, directed by Sergei Parajanov
• 1972 Білий птах з чорною ознакою / White Bird with Black Mark, directed by Yuriy Illyenko
• 1991 Голод-33 / Famine-33, directed by Oles Yanchuk
• 2003 Мамай / Mamay, directed by Oles Sanin
• 2005 Дрібний Дощ / Drizzle, directed by Heorhiy Deliyev
• 2006 Aurora (film), directed by Oksana Bairak

dear santa

A few nights ago, Winston composed a letter to Santa. It's pretty sweet.

You can see a sample of his writing here. Don't read it too closely, or you're apt to get a migraine. There is, for example, no punctuation, and he often writes his Bs as Ds. Scroll down for the translation.

Dear Santa,
I have been nice this year. If you want, I will be nicer. [N.B.: don't you love that?]

I have helped people and I have made everybody's days better. It's fun helping people.

I know that if I be a bad boy, I will get a bag of charcoal. But I am not going to get one this year. I am totally not going to this year. A mean kid would get it but I am not going to get one.

I am glad that you are here to think about the kins [sic]. I want a lot of toys. I like Santa.

Sincerely, from Winston

Since Winston wrote and wrote to fill an 8.5x11 sheet of paper with his letter, we bought him a notebook that he can use to journal. I think it's pretty funny that he got so caught up in writing the letter that he forgot to make his list.

I truly hope Winston gets what he wants from Santa this year!

or I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house down

After John and I put the boys to bed last night, we holed up in the den to watch TV, as we are wont to do after a full day. The den is one of the most amazing rooms in our house. For one, it's nearly 700 square feet, which makes it large enough to accommodate exercise equipment and a place for John to work on his bikes, as well as give us ample room for a sofa, two armchairs, and a large-screen TV. Two, its location is somewhat unique—essentially, the room is the basement of our three-car attached garage.

So, we were sitting in the den, minding our own business (probably watching a crime drama), when we heard banging and thumping. Initially I thought that one of the boys was up—Simon, in particular, is prone to insomnia, and just earlier this week sleepwalked—so I waited to hear the toilet flush or the pitter-patter of little feet as they rounded the corner into the den. Nothing. More banging and thumping, which now sounded insistent and close. John and I pried ourselves off the couch to investigate.

The noise became louder as we neared the entry door that separates the house and garage. My first thought was that we had an animal—a very large animal from the sounds of it—in the garage. John peered through the window in the door and could see, at the top of the garage stairway, the steel entry door (that leads from the outside into the garage) bowing and flexing like something out of Videodrome. Clearly someone was trying to break into the garage.

John yelled for the intruder to get away, then pulled on shoes and coat to investigate while I called the police. The entire time John was outside, I wished that he had a baseball bat or somesuch so he could defend himself if attacked. I realize that the intruder was probably a kid, most likely looking for a car stereo to steal. I whispered to myself, Please, take everything in our garage.

At least that's what I tell myself because, heaven forbid, he should be a serial killer, playing into my well-developed neurosis. Living with mid-sized children offers many opportunities for someone to enter our house because they never close or lock the doors. And it drives me crazy!!*

On the occasion that someone was actually trying to break into our house, however, I had locked the door. Earlier that day I had been thinking that it was about time I got into the habit of locking the door. And, of course, now I'll never leave it unlocked—even when we're at home.

John didn't see anyone outside. The police drove through our alley to serve as a warning.

And by the light of morning, on the door's exterior, the area around the lock is clearly damaged, while on the interior, the door is bowed around the lock. The near-intruder was very determined, though I'm glad to say that he was unsuccessful.


I'm still a little creeped out, especially as it feeds into my very active imagination, but I'm definitely feeling lucky that we were awake and scared off the near-intruder before s/he (equal opportunity) got into our garage or house.

*Mea culpa—I rarely lock the entry door between the garage and house because I'm always schlepping in groceries or piles of library books, and I will be the first to admit that it's easier to open the unlocked door than it is to set everything down and fumble for the key.

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.

These Argentinean hooligans make British hooligans look like Boys Scouts.

Los Borrachos del Tablon is the major hooligan group of the Club Atletico River Plate. They are considered the most violent and feared hooligan group in Argentina ^[1].

Their rule of terror in Argentina began in 1996, when in a fight against Independiente fans, they killed one of them, and injured two ^[2]. Later, in a summer game between River and Boca, they were able to break the hurdles dividing them from the Boca Juniors fans (La Doce), injuring many of them, and killing one ^[3]. The worst killing happened on Highway 9, when they killed two Newell's Old Boys fans, and injured hundreds ^[4]. Finally, when eliminated by Sao Paulo in the 2005 Copa Libertadores they beat up the police outside the stadium ^[5], and did the same when eliminated by Libertad in Paraguay, although this time inside the stadium ^[6] During the 2006 World Cup, Los Borrachos del Tablon were the representatives of the Argentine fans, and minor disturbances made the German police rebuke their entrance to the stadiums. After a falling out between the two leaders (Alan Schlenker and Adrian Rousseau), there have been serious fights between groups loyal to the different leaders. The most serious one occurred on February 11, 2007, in what has been dubbed "The Battle of the Mud Huts," since it happened on that recreational section of the Estadio Monumental Antonio Vespucio Liberti, and which caused Argentine courts to suspend the stadium for three games. On May 6, 2007, the two groups fought again, this time just outside the stadium, with two people suffering serious knife-wounds, and many others lesser injuries ^[7].