Last year I started to tinker with the idea of taking up cross-country skiing. It seems like a good winter sport to get me out of the house and enjoy the winter scenery. Baylor Park actually rents skis for $5/day, so I couldn't ask for a more affordable way to test out the sport and see if it's for me. But I never "got around to it" last winter.
*shrug* There's always next year.
Today is December 29th, and there is no snow in Minnesota. Oh, we got about 3 inches on Thanksgiving, but that all melted in less than a week. Since then the daytime temperatures have been consistently above 40*F, with a few 50* days last week. This is a Minnesota winter?? This is a stark contrast to last year when we had at least 2 feet of snow by now, and near record snowfalls by the time winter was said and done. There was a dusting of snow on my birthday, so that was nice because my birthday never feels like my birthday if there is no snow. But there has been nary a flake since.
Which brings me to my dilemma. This year I am even more interested in taking up cross-country skiing, and there are some really good deals on skis through Craigslist, but with this unusually snow-less winter, it appears I have missed my chance.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
lest we should forget
Today is the 10th anniversary of the September 11 attacks. Everyone can remember exactly where they were on that day. I decided I should write down my memories of that day for posterity and all that, but I never dreamed of how difficult it would actually be. I wasn't in New York City or Washington D.C., or even watching the news, so why should I find this a trying task?
Perhaps that in recent days leading up to today news footage has resurfaced - which I have been watching - the memorial in New York has opened to the public, authorities have been tirelessly working to prevent another attack that has been been threatened on the anniversary. In short, all the emotions of that day are in the forefront of the collective mind of America.
Like countless others, I remember where I was on September 11, 2001. I had graduated from Crown College in May of that year, had gotten a job at Halla Nursery right out of college and the world was before me. It was about 7:45am on a beautiful Tuesday morning (in the years after my memory said it was a Wednesday but the recent news about the anniversary corrected me) and I was just parking my car at work. I was listening to the KS95 Morning Show and just before I turned off the car the djs said that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center in New York.
Wow, I thought, that's awful. And, just like the djs, I conjectured that it was a disoriented Cessna, that the pilot and his passenger were certainly dead and also a few people in the office. The same thing had happened [decades before at the Sears Tower] in Chicago. So sad. Well, I had to get to work, turned off the car and went to clock in.
I was the cashier in the garden center that day. Mornings are always slow and the normal amount of customers filtered in. I remember one lady, as she was checking out, asked if I had heard what happened. I, somewhat unconcernedly, said that I had heard that a plane (or did I say Cessna?) had run into the World Trade Center. The lady looked at me and said another one hit the other tower.
"Another one?!" I said in disbelief. She repeated that a second plane had hit the other tower.
I continued to look at her puzzled. I said something about how this didn't seem like a coincidence and that it was all very weird. I believe she agreed and went out of the store. I wish I could remember if she was the one who told me that it was in fact not a Cessna but a full size passenger jet. Perhaps she was. I remember that she seemed excited instead of panicked or concerned. Recalling the memory even now it seemed an eager excited. Don't misunderstand me; I believe it was an excitement that comes with being the first to share very important news with someone. I think she, like the rest of the country, wasn't fully aware of what these events truly meant.
After she went out, I was left in the store alone, quite puzzled with new thoughts headed into a new direction: What are the chances that another plane would accidentally hit the building next to one that was already clearly damaged? And besides, how do you miss buildings as large as the World Trade Center? (oh, how eerily ironic those thoughts would turn out to be...) Was this on purpose?
Not much later, Anna, one of the managers, came into the store. She seemed flustered and rushed. She told me a plane crashed into the Pentagon.
"The Pentagon?!" I said, not really understanding. "What's going on?" I asked her. It was then that I realized that something was seriously wrong. My mind was floundering in uncharted waters. Anna didn't have an answer for me - no one did yet - but asked me to change the road sign and handed me a piece of paper with the new thing the sign was to say: Pray for our nation.
I had changed the sign many times before and it was a task that I rather enjoyed. Sometimes the plastic letters didn't stick to the suction cup at the end of the pole and it required a few tries, but it didn't happen all that often and, more often than not, I had no troubles at all. Not that day. The letters wouldn't stick to the suction cup. The letters would fall off the pole as I lifted it up. Then the letters I had managed to slide into the tracks started falling like they were being pried off. I had this bizarre feeling that I was being prevented from putting up that sentence. Prevented by something evil. Before I had a chance to think or even knew what I was doing, I said out loud and forcefully, "Stop it!" I don't know who I thought I was addressing or how I knew that was what I needed to do. All I know is that after that every letter stuck to the pole on the first try and stayed on the sign....
I don't know how much time elapsed. No more customers came to the store. No one was on the roads. No one was calling to ask if we had such-and-such plant. It was strange. I was alone in the garden center listening to the looped mus-ak. I felt oddly isolated. I wanted to know what was going on.
My co-worker, Adam, came into the store to tell me one of the World Trade Center towers fell. "Fell?!" I said stupidly, my imagination flashing a picture of all 100 stories of the tower tipping over like a tree. Ridiculous. "What do you mean 'fell' "? He repeated that the tower collapsed to the ground. I stared. It was such a wild and outlandish proclamation that I didn't believe him. I physically couldn't believe him. It was like someone declaring 2 plus 2 isn't 4, but 17 and explaining how it has always been 17. Adam asserted again that yes, the World Trade Center fell. But how? I mean, of course it was terribly damaged, but it's made of concrete, steel....the elevator shafts and stairwells.... how could its entire support system fail? And besides, the planes would have had to hit at the base of the buildings for one to fall, my logic told me; but they hit high on the buildings. No, this wasn't possible.
Adam and I went back to whatever we had been working on (although I don't know how much "work" there was to do - there hadn't been a single customer for hours). At some point I went to the office - lunch? bathroom break? The designers and other managers were sort of gathered together; Craig, one of the designers, was telling them something. He said the other tower had fallen. He had been somewhere with a TV (information!) and described how the towers collapsed, straight down, and how he could hardly believe it. Adam was telling the truth. I stood with the group, listening to Craig's report with the same amazement and incredulity as the others.
I tore myself away and returned to the garden center. I had had enough. There was something tragic, horrific happening, something that affected our country to the core, something that had cruelly plunged us into a new reality. I wanted, craved information. I knew there was a radio stashed in the storage room in the back of the store. Although we weren't supposed to have the radio out, I didn't care; this was different. I don't remember tuning or searching for a news station. Coverage of what was happening seemed to be the only thing on the entire airwaves.
The news anchors were going over the events that had already happened in New York and Washington, discussing various hypotheses of who did this, why, what America would do to find them, etc. Then I finally heard news when it happened: there were reports of yet another plane that had crashed in rural Pennsylvania about 45 minutes southwest of Pittsburgh. I suddenly got cold. Not because of the revelation that there was yet another plane with yet another target, but because of where the plane crashed. One of my friends from college was from a town that was about 45 minutes southwest of Pittsburgh. He was still in Minnesota so I knew he was safe, but what about his family? I listened intently for more details of where the plane went down. The details were slow to come in, there was just too much going on to keep up with everything. I couldn't stand it anymore, pulled out my cell phone and made a personal call to my friend on company time. He had heard of the fourth plane, had called his family, they were all safe. He was clearly agitated and wanted to call his family again, so we cut our call short. At least there was some good news in all of this.
I kept the radio on. My other co-workers would stop in every now and again to listen and stay up-to-date. It was nice to have their brief company - costumers had stopped coming long, long ago and the store was lonely, especially with the grim nature of the news now filling the store.
Finally my shift ended. I was rooming with some college friends in Eden Prairie, but instead of going there, I went to my dad's house in Chaska; his TV - the source of information - was closer. On my way I called my sister Amy. She was at Concordia University in St. Paul and most likely had been watching the news most of the day. I asked her what more she knew, which wasn't much more than what I had already learned. But she described in more detail the footage of the actual events. And she told me that people were jumping from the top of the towers. "What?" The 2 plus 2 is 17 feeling. "How...(horror)...why would they jump?" Either that or burn alive. Dear God. I didn't want to believe her.
I was still on the phone with her when I got to my dad's. I didn't hang up when I turned on the TV. That was my first sight of the horrors of the reality of what everyone else had been watching for hours and hours. The emotions started to kick in. This was real. This was here. It looked like war. The news station was replaying footage taken after both towers had been hit but before they fell. The camera was a fair distance away from the towers, but there was enough detail to see papers and fluttering down. Then I saw it. "Oh my God, that was a person! That was a person!" Among the debris and fluttering papers raining down from the highest floors of the World Trade Center, was the unmistakable form of a human. Falling. Doomed.
I don't remember when I hung up with Amy. I don't remember how long I stayed at my dad's watching the news. I do remember watching the footage of the towers collapsing, like an accordion, and being... gone. I remember watching footage of the second plane hitting the tower, how there was a half-second where it surreally disappeared into the building, then exploded in a spectacular ball of flame. I remember seeing the footage of the airplane-shaped hole in the Pennsylvania field, I could see the outline of the wings, but there was no airplane. I remember learning of the incredible bravery and self-sacrifice of the passengers of that plane, United 93. I remember how quiet the outside was. No airplanes. Everything was grounded. I never realized how often I heard airplanes and never thought anything of them. Now their absence was deafening. But I know I heard one of the military bombers flying high and fast over our country. No one believes that I could hear one since they fly so high. I know there is no way I could have seen one. But I know I heard an airplane when there were supposed to be none.
I remember seeing more American flags flying proudly than I had ever seen before.
And now, just like when I asked my mom where she was when John F. Kennedy was shot, I will be able to answer my kids when they ask where I was on 9-11, and explain to them how reality changed.
Perhaps that in recent days leading up to today news footage has resurfaced - which I have been watching - the memorial in New York has opened to the public, authorities have been tirelessly working to prevent another attack that has been been threatened on the anniversary. In short, all the emotions of that day are in the forefront of the collective mind of America.
Like countless others, I remember where I was on September 11, 2001. I had graduated from Crown College in May of that year, had gotten a job at Halla Nursery right out of college and the world was before me. It was about 7:45am on a beautiful Tuesday morning (in the years after my memory said it was a Wednesday but the recent news about the anniversary corrected me) and I was just parking my car at work. I was listening to the KS95 Morning Show and just before I turned off the car the djs said that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center in New York.
Wow, I thought, that's awful. And, just like the djs, I conjectured that it was a disoriented Cessna, that the pilot and his passenger were certainly dead and also a few people in the office. The same thing had happened [decades before at the Sears Tower] in Chicago. So sad. Well, I had to get to work, turned off the car and went to clock in.
I was the cashier in the garden center that day. Mornings are always slow and the normal amount of customers filtered in. I remember one lady, as she was checking out, asked if I had heard what happened. I, somewhat unconcernedly, said that I had heard that a plane (or did I say Cessna?) had run into the World Trade Center. The lady looked at me and said another one hit the other tower.
"Another one?!" I said in disbelief. She repeated that a second plane had hit the other tower.
I continued to look at her puzzled. I said something about how this didn't seem like a coincidence and that it was all very weird. I believe she agreed and went out of the store. I wish I could remember if she was the one who told me that it was in fact not a Cessna but a full size passenger jet. Perhaps she was. I remember that she seemed excited instead of panicked or concerned. Recalling the memory even now it seemed an eager excited. Don't misunderstand me; I believe it was an excitement that comes with being the first to share very important news with someone. I think she, like the rest of the country, wasn't fully aware of what these events truly meant.
After she went out, I was left in the store alone, quite puzzled with new thoughts headed into a new direction: What are the chances that another plane would accidentally hit the building next to one that was already clearly damaged? And besides, how do you miss buildings as large as the World Trade Center? (oh, how eerily ironic those thoughts would turn out to be...) Was this on purpose?
Not much later, Anna, one of the managers, came into the store. She seemed flustered and rushed. She told me a plane crashed into the Pentagon.
"The Pentagon?!" I said, not really understanding. "What's going on?" I asked her. It was then that I realized that something was seriously wrong. My mind was floundering in uncharted waters. Anna didn't have an answer for me - no one did yet - but asked me to change the road sign and handed me a piece of paper with the new thing the sign was to say: Pray for our nation.
I had changed the sign many times before and it was a task that I rather enjoyed. Sometimes the plastic letters didn't stick to the suction cup at the end of the pole and it required a few tries, but it didn't happen all that often and, more often than not, I had no troubles at all. Not that day. The letters wouldn't stick to the suction cup. The letters would fall off the pole as I lifted it up. Then the letters I had managed to slide into the tracks started falling like they were being pried off. I had this bizarre feeling that I was being prevented from putting up that sentence. Prevented by something evil. Before I had a chance to think or even knew what I was doing, I said out loud and forcefully, "Stop it!" I don't know who I thought I was addressing or how I knew that was what I needed to do. All I know is that after that every letter stuck to the pole on the first try and stayed on the sign....
I don't know how much time elapsed. No more customers came to the store. No one was on the roads. No one was calling to ask if we had such-and-such plant. It was strange. I was alone in the garden center listening to the looped mus-ak. I felt oddly isolated. I wanted to know what was going on.
My co-worker, Adam, came into the store to tell me one of the World Trade Center towers fell. "Fell?!" I said stupidly, my imagination flashing a picture of all 100 stories of the tower tipping over like a tree. Ridiculous. "What do you mean 'fell' "? He repeated that the tower collapsed to the ground. I stared. It was such a wild and outlandish proclamation that I didn't believe him. I physically couldn't believe him. It was like someone declaring 2 plus 2 isn't 4, but 17 and explaining how it has always been 17. Adam asserted again that yes, the World Trade Center fell. But how? I mean, of course it was terribly damaged, but it's made of concrete, steel....the elevator shafts and stairwells.... how could its entire support system fail? And besides, the planes would have had to hit at the base of the buildings for one to fall, my logic told me; but they hit high on the buildings. No, this wasn't possible.
Adam and I went back to whatever we had been working on (although I don't know how much "work" there was to do - there hadn't been a single customer for hours). At some point I went to the office - lunch? bathroom break? The designers and other managers were sort of gathered together; Craig, one of the designers, was telling them something. He said the other tower had fallen. He had been somewhere with a TV (information!) and described how the towers collapsed, straight down, and how he could hardly believe it. Adam was telling the truth. I stood with the group, listening to Craig's report with the same amazement and incredulity as the others.
I tore myself away and returned to the garden center. I had had enough. There was something tragic, horrific happening, something that affected our country to the core, something that had cruelly plunged us into a new reality. I wanted, craved information. I knew there was a radio stashed in the storage room in the back of the store. Although we weren't supposed to have the radio out, I didn't care; this was different. I don't remember tuning or searching for a news station. Coverage of what was happening seemed to be the only thing on the entire airwaves.
The news anchors were going over the events that had already happened in New York and Washington, discussing various hypotheses of who did this, why, what America would do to find them, etc. Then I finally heard news when it happened: there were reports of yet another plane that had crashed in rural Pennsylvania about 45 minutes southwest of Pittsburgh. I suddenly got cold. Not because of the revelation that there was yet another plane with yet another target, but because of where the plane crashed. One of my friends from college was from a town that was about 45 minutes southwest of Pittsburgh. He was still in Minnesota so I knew he was safe, but what about his family? I listened intently for more details of where the plane went down. The details were slow to come in, there was just too much going on to keep up with everything. I couldn't stand it anymore, pulled out my cell phone and made a personal call to my friend on company time. He had heard of the fourth plane, had called his family, they were all safe. He was clearly agitated and wanted to call his family again, so we cut our call short. At least there was some good news in all of this.
I kept the radio on. My other co-workers would stop in every now and again to listen and stay up-to-date. It was nice to have their brief company - costumers had stopped coming long, long ago and the store was lonely, especially with the grim nature of the news now filling the store.
Finally my shift ended. I was rooming with some college friends in Eden Prairie, but instead of going there, I went to my dad's house in Chaska; his TV - the source of information - was closer. On my way I called my sister Amy. She was at Concordia University in St. Paul and most likely had been watching the news most of the day. I asked her what more she knew, which wasn't much more than what I had already learned. But she described in more detail the footage of the actual events. And she told me that people were jumping from the top of the towers. "What?" The 2 plus 2 is 17 feeling. "How...(horror)...why would they jump?" Either that or burn alive. Dear God. I didn't want to believe her.
I was still on the phone with her when I got to my dad's. I didn't hang up when I turned on the TV. That was my first sight of the horrors of the reality of what everyone else had been watching for hours and hours. The emotions started to kick in. This was real. This was here. It looked like war. The news station was replaying footage taken after both towers had been hit but before they fell. The camera was a fair distance away from the towers, but there was enough detail to see papers and fluttering down. Then I saw it. "Oh my God, that was a person! That was a person!" Among the debris and fluttering papers raining down from the highest floors of the World Trade Center, was the unmistakable form of a human. Falling. Doomed.
I don't remember when I hung up with Amy. I don't remember how long I stayed at my dad's watching the news. I do remember watching the footage of the towers collapsing, like an accordion, and being... gone. I remember watching footage of the second plane hitting the tower, how there was a half-second where it surreally disappeared into the building, then exploded in a spectacular ball of flame. I remember seeing the footage of the airplane-shaped hole in the Pennsylvania field, I could see the outline of the wings, but there was no airplane. I remember learning of the incredible bravery and self-sacrifice of the passengers of that plane, United 93. I remember how quiet the outside was. No airplanes. Everything was grounded. I never realized how often I heard airplanes and never thought anything of them. Now their absence was deafening. But I know I heard one of the military bombers flying high and fast over our country. No one believes that I could hear one since they fly so high. I know there is no way I could have seen one. But I know I heard an airplane when there were supposed to be none.
I remember seeing more American flags flying proudly than I had ever seen before.
And now, just like when I asked my mom where she was when John F. Kennedy was shot, I will be able to answer my kids when they ask where I was on 9-11, and explain to them how reality changed.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Da Cheeseblarg Scavenger Hunt
Earlier this year I stumbled upon a blog called I'd like cheese on my entire family. Back in September, JRose, the author, challenged her followers to a scavenger hunt. I actually forgot I had started this post, so here are my photos:
1. a cat in a window
2. bare feet in grass
3. bacon!
4. a squeaker
5. three people holding cards
6. cheese on an entire family
7. someone wearing a hat
8. a bird, not in a tree
9. the color red, only the color red
10. me holding a sign referring to Da Cheeseblarg
11. the cutest chocolate you can find
12. velcro
13. an upside-down book
14. something JRose writes about all the time but did not put on the list:
- a llama!!
15. ice cream
16. a chance
17. something nerdy
18. a yellow flower
19. a crack in the sidewalk
20. the inside of a grocery store
21. a person wearing a barrette
life on hold
In 2004 I packed up my apartment and moved back to my dad's house while I went back to school. All my possessions were packed up in boxes and squirreled away in various locations at home or in a storage unit.
At about the same time (although we hadn't met yet), Luke purchased a home with a friend from school. It was an older home so they decided to fix up a few things. Those few things quickly turned into many major things. They basically rebuilt the house from the inside. The renovation finally made the house inhabitable. Luke packed up his things and showed up at his parents' door, cat in hand.
Fast forward to 2007. Luke & I moved into his parents' basement until we were able to afford a house. I moved my stored possessions from my dad's basement to my new in-laws' basement and to a closer and more affordable storage unit.
Today we are still in Luke's parents' basement (paying rent of course). I am working full-time and Luke is completing his degree at the U with full credit loads each semester. Most of my possessions are still in the same boxes I put then into seven years ago. The only space in the house I can truly call my own is our bedroom. We have the use of the entire house, but it's my in-laws' house first and foremost.
It has been four years since Luke & I got married, and we've never had our own home in which to establish our own household away from the observance of others and independent from others' already established routines. Our lives must conform to the lives of others.
In many ways I don't feel like an independently functioning adult right now. In an odd way, I feel that going to work etc is just me playing Grown-Up; when I come home the make-believe ends and I return to the authority/guidance of parents. These feelings only feed the growing sense that I'm going about life all wrong, or worse yet, that I really don't know what I'm doing.
It has been seven years since I had my own place, since I've seen the majority of my possessions, since I've been able to organize, decorate etc the way I want to, since I've not worried about being in someone's way. Now I don't start projects I once enjoyed because I'm too afraid I'll be in the way and encroach on my in-laws' space or disrupt their routines.
I feel like I have put all my hobbies, interests, plans, dreams.... in storage too.....
....and I'm beginning to forget what is in the boxes.
At about the same time (although we hadn't met yet), Luke purchased a home with a friend from school. It was an older home so they decided to fix up a few things. Those few things quickly turned into many major things. They basically rebuilt the house from the inside. The renovation finally made the house inhabitable. Luke packed up his things and showed up at his parents' door, cat in hand.
Fast forward to 2007. Luke & I moved into his parents' basement until we were able to afford a house. I moved my stored possessions from my dad's basement to my new in-laws' basement and to a closer and more affordable storage unit.
Today we are still in Luke's parents' basement (paying rent of course). I am working full-time and Luke is completing his degree at the U with full credit loads each semester. Most of my possessions are still in the same boxes I put then into seven years ago. The only space in the house I can truly call my own is our bedroom. We have the use of the entire house, but it's my in-laws' house first and foremost.
It has been four years since Luke & I got married, and we've never had our own home in which to establish our own household away from the observance of others and independent from others' already established routines. Our lives must conform to the lives of others.
In many ways I don't feel like an independently functioning adult right now. In an odd way, I feel that going to work etc is just me playing Grown-Up; when I come home the make-believe ends and I return to the authority/guidance of parents. These feelings only feed the growing sense that I'm going about life all wrong, or worse yet, that I really don't know what I'm doing.
It has been seven years since I had my own place, since I've seen the majority of my possessions, since I've been able to organize, decorate etc the way I want to, since I've not worried about being in someone's way. Now I don't start projects I once enjoyed because I'm too afraid I'll be in the way and encroach on my in-laws' space or disrupt their routines.
I feel like I have put all my hobbies, interests, plans, dreams.... in storage too.....
....and I'm beginning to forget what is in the boxes.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Red Wing Weekend
Luke and I just got back from a belated-anniversary trip to Red Wing, MN. It was a low-key weekend, which is nice.
We drove around the Historic Residential District and admired the amazing houses, some of which where very elaborate. We even stumbled upon a Frank Lloyd Wright home.
The Pottery Place is the old Red Wing Pottery factory turned into an antique and whimsical shop mall. The historical integrity of the building is preserved very well, and we checked out the ruins of a "drive-thru" kiln in the middle of the parking lot. We ambled around one floor of the three-story antique shop - which was enough antiquing for us! But we did come away with two books (antique) and a movie (not antique).
Across the road from the Pottery Place is a little cafe called Smokey Row Cafe and Jenny Lind Bakery. It's a little unassuming place in a lack-luster strip mall and we almost didn't go there. I'm sure glad we did. It was like walking into a 1950s cafe. The tables were either green, blue, yellow or pink Formica and had the classic silver band around the side. Local artwork was displayed on the walls. There was a rack full of fresh bakery goods made right there in the kitchen. The staff was very friendly, and the whole atmosphere made us feel right at home. Luke had a regular cup o' joe and I tried a Sweet Jenny - espresso with honey and cardamom....yummy!
Continuing with food, the next time you're in Red Wing, make sure you eat at Liberty's. We had breakfast there and it was great. Make sure you order something with pancakes. I had the Mini Liberty breakfast and Luke had the regular Liberty. We each had a choice of toast or pancakes. I had toast (marble rye) and Luke got the pancakes. My toast was good, especially with jam, but when Luke gave me a bite of the pancakes I regretted choosing the toast. The best pancakes I have tasted in a long time.
Later that same day we went to Liberty's for supper. I had the cod fish sandwich. Perfection. Oh, try dipping the potato wedges in the house dressing - a surprising taste combination that will make you want more.
What trip to Red Wing would be complete without a hike around Barn Bluff? Luke has been into rock climbing for years and I decided to give it a try. There are many climbing routes on the north side of the bluff in a wide range of difficulty levels. My first attempt was on a relatively easy route. Let's just say I got started. I still have some things to work through....
I think my favorite trail on Barn Bluff is the North Trail. Being on the, well, north side of the bluff it is in shade most of the time and is therefore a haven for shade plants and wildflowers. The steep hills were blanketed in ferns, moss, meadow rue, bug-bane, violets, bloodroot, wild ginger, columbine and I don't know what else. In the past I have always come to Barn Bluff in the fall to enjoy the autumn colors; this was my first trip in the spring and I must say the lush greenery is just as lovely. Just watch out for the poison ivy at the beginning of the South Trail.
We drove around the Historic Residential District and admired the amazing houses, some of which where very elaborate. We even stumbled upon a Frank Lloyd Wright home.
The Pottery Place is the old Red Wing Pottery factory turned into an antique and whimsical shop mall. The historical integrity of the building is preserved very well, and we checked out the ruins of a "drive-thru" kiln in the middle of the parking lot. We ambled around one floor of the three-story antique shop - which was enough antiquing for us! But we did come away with two books (antique) and a movie (not antique).
Across the road from the Pottery Place is a little cafe called Smokey Row Cafe and Jenny Lind Bakery. It's a little unassuming place in a lack-luster strip mall and we almost didn't go there. I'm sure glad we did. It was like walking into a 1950s cafe. The tables were either green, blue, yellow or pink Formica and had the classic silver band around the side. Local artwork was displayed on the walls. There was a rack full of fresh bakery goods made right there in the kitchen. The staff was very friendly, and the whole atmosphere made us feel right at home. Luke had a regular cup o' joe and I tried a Sweet Jenny - espresso with honey and cardamom....yummy!
Continuing with food, the next time you're in Red Wing, make sure you eat at Liberty's. We had breakfast there and it was great. Make sure you order something with pancakes. I had the Mini Liberty breakfast and Luke had the regular Liberty. We each had a choice of toast or pancakes. I had toast (marble rye) and Luke got the pancakes. My toast was good, especially with jam, but when Luke gave me a bite of the pancakes I regretted choosing the toast. The best pancakes I have tasted in a long time.
Later that same day we went to Liberty's for supper. I had the cod fish sandwich. Perfection. Oh, try dipping the potato wedges in the house dressing - a surprising taste combination that will make you want more.
What trip to Red Wing would be complete without a hike around Barn Bluff? Luke has been into rock climbing for years and I decided to give it a try. There are many climbing routes on the north side of the bluff in a wide range of difficulty levels. My first attempt was on a relatively easy route. Let's just say I got started. I still have some things to work through....
I think my favorite trail on Barn Bluff is the North Trail. Being on the, well, north side of the bluff it is in shade most of the time and is therefore a haven for shade plants and wildflowers. The steep hills were blanketed in ferns, moss, meadow rue, bug-bane, violets, bloodroot, wild ginger, columbine and I don't know what else. In the past I have always come to Barn Bluff in the fall to enjoy the autumn colors; this was my first trip in the spring and I must say the lush greenery is just as lovely. Just watch out for the poison ivy at the beginning of the South Trail.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
sometimes you just need a llama
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Pinky?"
"I think so, Brain, but how are we going to find ten llamas on such short notice?"
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
wait.....something is a little backward here
I love shopping. I love looking at the new fashions and hoping they'll look good on me. I love trying on clothes. I love the hunting for just the right thing, and I especially love the thrill of finding the perfect thing.
But it's best if I shop alone. Because I take foooooreveeeerrr! I deliberate when looking at the racks. I deliberate when I try things on. I deliberate whether the similar article at another store is actually better than the one at this store. I have actually gone between three or four different stores at opposite ends of the mall three times comparing clothes. And end up buying nothing.
And if I find something that is almost perfect, I will deliberate if I truly will wear it, agonize over whether I can truly afford it, analyze how I look in it, and end up fixating on whatever drawback there may be. Then I will put everything back after spending several hours picking and choosing the clothes. And end up buying nothing.
But I can still say I had a fun day shopping. Go figure.
Anyway, I recently purchased a business suit in the hopes of landing a receptionist position (or something similar). Gray and pink are a classic color combo, so I picked out a gray suit jacket and skirt, and a muted pink dress shirt. Luke was with, so I felt like I needed to make a quick decision because I didn't want to make him bored or frustrated if I went about my normal shopping deliberation. It was at the end of a long day, so I was tired, hungry and, at the time, hot. (Von Maur keeps their store very hot - I don't understand why...it's not good for a pleasant shopping experience, if you ask me...it only made me want to get out of the store).
The suit skirt fit great, but I wasn't crazy about the shoulder pads in the jacket. Now, they weren't the 80s I'm-a-linebacker-and-have-to-turn-sideways-to-get-through-the-door shoulder pads, but they were more than I liked and I felt like my shoulders were at my ears. The dress shirt was frustrating. I am apparently too busty for a small (how did that happen?!) and not busty enough for a medium. So the result was the bust of the shirt was too low, and left a gap that created too much of a, uh, view. But the necessary alterations weren't possible.
I was very skeptical that the shirt would work, but Luke and the sales lady (naturally) said I looked great and professional, and I was tired, hungry, hot, and didn't want to make Luke wait any longer, so we purchased the suit. Well, nothing came of any of my job interviews so now I have this expensive suit that I may never wear.
Today, after months of deliberating and trying it on several times at home, I brought the entire suit, in its nice blue Von Maur garment bag, back to Von Maur with the plan to return the shirt and perhaps find one that fit better, and try it on with the skirt and jacket. The store was the same uncomfortable hot. As I was searching the racks, I discovered that carrying around the Von Maur garment bag was a signal to all the sales people that I was already a satisfied customer today, and they didn't bother me. A nice bonus.
Apparently suits are a fall thing, or at least, long sleeve dress shirts are a fall thing, because the selection was very slim and I couldn't find anything that worked. So I left. Without returning anything.
Now here's the backward thing. I stopped in JCPenney before going to Von Maur and ended up buying a cute cami and a blousey shirt. Granted, both were on super sale to begin with, and I had a coupon so I didn't pay anything near full price, but wasn't the whole point of this trip to return something?
But it's best if I shop alone. Because I take foooooreveeeerrr! I deliberate when looking at the racks. I deliberate when I try things on. I deliberate whether the similar article at another store is actually better than the one at this store. I have actually gone between three or four different stores at opposite ends of the mall three times comparing clothes. And end up buying nothing.
And if I find something that is almost perfect, I will deliberate if I truly will wear it, agonize over whether I can truly afford it, analyze how I look in it, and end up fixating on whatever drawback there may be. Then I will put everything back after spending several hours picking and choosing the clothes. And end up buying nothing.
But I can still say I had a fun day shopping. Go figure.
Anyway, I recently purchased a business suit in the hopes of landing a receptionist position (or something similar). Gray and pink are a classic color combo, so I picked out a gray suit jacket and skirt, and a muted pink dress shirt. Luke was with, so I felt like I needed to make a quick decision because I didn't want to make him bored or frustrated if I went about my normal shopping deliberation. It was at the end of a long day, so I was tired, hungry and, at the time, hot. (Von Maur keeps their store very hot - I don't understand why...it's not good for a pleasant shopping experience, if you ask me...it only made me want to get out of the store).
The suit skirt fit great, but I wasn't crazy about the shoulder pads in the jacket. Now, they weren't the 80s I'm-a-linebacker-and-have-to-turn-sideways-to-get-through-the-door shoulder pads, but they were more than I liked and I felt like my shoulders were at my ears. The dress shirt was frustrating. I am apparently too busty for a small (how did that happen?!) and not busty enough for a medium. So the result was the bust of the shirt was too low, and left a gap that created too much of a, uh, view. But the necessary alterations weren't possible.
I was very skeptical that the shirt would work, but Luke and the sales lady (naturally) said I looked great and professional, and I was tired, hungry, hot, and didn't want to make Luke wait any longer, so we purchased the suit. Well, nothing came of any of my job interviews so now I have this expensive suit that I may never wear.
Today, after months of deliberating and trying it on several times at home, I brought the entire suit, in its nice blue Von Maur garment bag, back to Von Maur with the plan to return the shirt and perhaps find one that fit better, and try it on with the skirt and jacket. The store was the same uncomfortable hot. As I was searching the racks, I discovered that carrying around the Von Maur garment bag was a signal to all the sales people that I was already a satisfied customer today, and they didn't bother me. A nice bonus.
Apparently suits are a fall thing, or at least, long sleeve dress shirts are a fall thing, because the selection was very slim and I couldn't find anything that worked. So I left. Without returning anything.
Now here's the backward thing. I stopped in JCPenney before going to Von Maur and ended up buying a cute cami and a blousey shirt. Granted, both were on super sale to begin with, and I had a coupon so I didn't pay anything near full price, but wasn't the whole point of this trip to return something?
Friday, April 22, 2011
Prepare for Lots of Random
I decided to add a blog for less plant related things. I just can't figure out how to have a separate profile description for this one. Blogger put up the same one I have for Yes, I Talk to Plants which is more suited for plant geeks. Maybe I'll have to modify it.
This blog will be a range of topics from books, movies, trips/vacations, random things found on the internet, randomer thoughts, and whatever else I feel inclined to share. I'm still not satisfied with the title. The trouble is I can never remember fun things I or other people have said in order to use them as a really cool blog title. I always end up with something that seems like I'm trying too hard. Maybe I should take ginseng to boost my memory or something.
Slightly off-topic but not because it's random: Apparently "randomer" isn't a word. I like it and I think it fits well in my sentence, but spell check's red squiggly line is yelling at me. It suggests "ransomer".
Well that's ironically appropriate; sometimes I feel like my thoughts are held for ransom.
This blog will be a range of topics from books, movies, trips/vacations, random things found on the internet, randomer thoughts, and whatever else I feel inclined to share. I'm still not satisfied with the title. The trouble is I can never remember fun things I or other people have said in order to use them as a really cool blog title. I always end up with something that seems like I'm trying too hard. Maybe I should take ginseng to boost my memory or something.
Slightly off-topic but not because it's random: Apparently "randomer" isn't a word. I like it and I think it fits well in my sentence, but spell check's red squiggly line is yelling at me. It suggests "ransomer".
Well that's ironically appropriate; sometimes I feel like my thoughts are held for ransom.
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