qwingk

spring has sprung

2008-04-20T08:40:00.000-07:00

and i'm happy

Life is good, yes?

2008-04-19T11:30:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, I had the marvelous opportunity to see Rusalka for the first time.

I have loved this ancient story for many years and fell in love with it all over again when I heard Renee Fleming sing 'O Silver Moon' for the first time not long ago. I was a more than a bit curious to see if the MN Opera could pull off such a complex tale of longing and betrayal, but I was pleasantly surprised with the show.

The set design and costuming were fantastically creative using a gray, modern approach to the human world and explosion of color for the magical rusalki. A terrific way to separate the mysterious allure of the ocean depths with the blase world above. The SPCO played beautifully, although I found myself unable to delineate Dvorak's separation, musically, of the two worlds as I have while listening to the opera at home. Kelly Kaduce sang beautifully. Unfortunately, her emotion and lyrical ability fell far short of Fleming's masterful work. But, to come even close is an amazing talent. Brava to Kaduce for a lovely performance!

For now, I'm still turning over in my head what Jaroslav Kvapil might have been trying to say with the libretto. Was he telling us not to reach beyond our social strata in matters of love for fear of the devastating ripple effect that might tear the involved families apart? There are obvious similarities to Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. But, honestly, I don't think this is the place to start getting too philosophical...what the heck do I know anyway? So I'll just shut up and let you listen to what I can easily call my own, personal, heaven on earth.

Renee Fleming, O Silver Moon

Roots as deep as skyscrapers

2008-04-07T09:04:00.000-07:00

Just got back from a week long trip to my hometown...Chicago!

Arriving in the windy city makes me feel complete. Whole. Happy. I have so many good memories and so many bloody awful ones. And, somehow, the mix works out and I never want to leave. The hustle invigorates me. The bustle produces a giant shout, "I'm home! Look, everyone! I'm home!" Of course, no one notices, which is ever so comforting. And then, I feel weepy. I'm just a tourist. I'm not really home. Just visiting. Ever feel that way? Like there's a slice of beauty and everafter yumminess that you just can't quite grab hold of?

And yet, as Hemingway, a Chicago native himself, once said, "It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end."

And he is right. And I hope, one day, to go home. Really go home. But it won't be today, or tomorrow, or next week. But I'll get there. And my path, however winding, will make it all the more worthwhile.

Goodness, me! It's been a long time!

2008-03-29T08:47:00.000-07:00

Sorry..life has moved into the insane, 'Oh, my gosh! What have I done!' stage.

I recently signed on as Girl Scout Leader for my daughter and a few of her school friends. It's been a blast, but preparations keep me pretty swamped.

So far, we've visited The Mill City Museum

saw a production of Raven and Zomo at the Guthrie

visited Japan via family day at MIA

Not to mention, violin and gymnastics...Yikes! What happened to my free time?

But, no worries. I don't need sleep, right?

I'm just preparing for this fall, at which time I'll be a part time law student and full time chemist. Good gracious.

Here's me...

2008-03-27T17:24:00.000-07:00

more later...

Alrighty, then

2008-02-23T21:20:00.000-08:00

I've about had it with this middle of the road fluffy stuff. I need to vent. I've been reminded of the radical, quick with the verbiage girl that I once was and it's about time that I payed her a visit.

My perspective is shifting back to thoughts of literature, politics, law, and music...and I'm getting tired of overhearing crap conversation about crap TV, crap music, crap food, and crapcrapcrap. There's a reason why our culture is consistently fed worthless, mind-numbing garbage...it's because we tune in, people! Don't tell me about the latest sitcom on the CBS reality-tv lineup directly after you've derided your neighbors for not recycling. Please. You are just as guilty. So, until I hear you tell me that you've killed your TV, ended your subscription to USWeekly, and stopped buying 'organic' food packaged in some foreign country...back off.

The Birth of Venus

2008-02-23T18:15:00.000-08:00

‘Despite my sins, you should know that I am not a bad man, Alessandra,’ he said after a while.
‘What about in the eyes of God? You don’t fear the burning sands and storms of fire?’
‘As we said, at least in hell there will be a memory of pleasure.’” (155, The Birth of Venus)

Questions of who

2008-01-20T07:56:00.000-08:00

Elusive shadow of my substance, stay,
Bewitching image that I want too well.
Illusion fair for whom in joy I die,
Fiction sweet for whom in pain I dwell.

If to the magnet of your gracious charms
My breast obedient as steel is drawn,
Why do you entice my enamored arms
If you would but escape me then in scorn?

Yet you must not think in your tyranny
That you quite succeed in vanquishing me:
For although you mock the tenuous ties
That ever will your phantom form despise,
What matter if my arms and breast you flee
If I keep you prisoner in my fantasy?

Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz
(c. 1650-1695)

Fun in our bodies!

2008-01-18T17:09:00.000-08:00

Conversation during nightly story time:

Gillian: Did you know, Daddy, that we have a horn in our butt that makes the toot sound?

Nathan: Whah?

Gillian: Yeah! And, I know that our heart and lungs are really squishy!

I miss the old times.

2008-01-09T17:30:00.000-08:00

Let me start by informing everyone how much I love movies. A lot. And we never see them in the theater. Ever. Ever. There are so many reasons for this, but the biggest one is: $$$$$

Why spend all that dough when, with patience, you can see it in the comfort of your own home? Exactly. So, we nearly never go.

BUT! The other day I thought I'd treat Gilly to a movie. We were excited to get out of house and see something in a 'moodie-teater', as Gilly used to call it.

We arrived ten minutes early. [Isn't that how you do it? Huh? It used to be! The only way to get good seats was to arrive early and sit quietly in the semi-darkness until the previews started all the while whispering in hushed voices about what was about to unfold before you. Someone would inevitably 'shush' you and you'd roll your eyes and giggle. Right?]

No. Gilly and I did not walk into a quiet theater room. We did not get shushed after whispering. We had no opportunity to roll our eyes at our fellow neighbors. We did, however, walk into a barrage of loud commercials advertising inappropriate television shows and various soft drinks. How utterly annoying! I mean, come on! Don't we get enough of this crap already? Now, we're paying them to chuck this junk at us? Seriously! This is one of the main reasons we got rid of our TV shows in the first place! Cripes!

In about six months, when we go see another movie, I'll be sure we come in late. Grrr.

Don't step in it!

2008-01-02T16:52:00.000-08:00

Ummmm. I've blown a gasket. For real this time. See that disgusting ooze on the floor? That's my lifeblood. I'm leaking cheap chocolate products, butter, and eggnog. HELP! Grab the Christmas stockings and make a tourniquet!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

2007-12-31T09:58:00.001-08:00

We're visiting my brother and his fabulous family.
Need a funny? My sister-in-law Fran has got one:

Fran- Have you heard the joke about the skunk?

Me- No.

Fran- Nevermind. It stinks.

Wishes

2007-12-15T09:03:00.000-08:00

When I was a little girl, growing up in Chicago, we had a number of Christmas traditions. We would visit The Museum of Science and Industry to see Christmas Around the World and pick out a new holiday ornament, view the holiday window display at Marshall Field's on State Street, and watch the lighting of the great Christmas tree in Daley Plaza.

But, honestly, the tradition that holds a special place in my heart was going to see a production of Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker. I remember sitting in the balcony, peering down at the orchestra pit, feeling the magic of the season and watching the story unfold. I was mesmerized.

So, this year, I realized that Gillian, my little baby, is growing up. She's old enough now to sit quietly in the theatre, use her manners when needed, and understand a story told entirely by music, dance, and emotion.

Last night was the night. Her first step into mini-adulthood. We saw The Nutcracker.

Earlier in the week, she considered her clothing options, picked out a 'grown-up' skirt, and, last night, asked for 'fancy' hair. My heart hurt to see this maturity, but I was so proud. We arrived at the theatre, she was on fire with excitement. We found our seats, in the balcony, and she peered down at the orchestra pit. Memories.

Then, she noticed a little boy sitting directly behind us. He, too, was 'fancied' up with a little tie and jacket. Gillian made goo-goo eyes at him until the production began. And at the Intermission. And after every curtain call. And,yes, she was completely captured by the story, held by the fight of the Mouse King with the Nutcracker, in awe of the Waltz of the Flowers and the Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy. She swayed to the music, clapped, and shouted 'Bravo!' whenever she could...all the while looking sideways at that adorable little boy.

Now, I am a mess of emotion. My little girl is growing up. She's beginning to have complex feelings about life...and she's asking thoughtful questions about love. I am proud, and scared, and unsure of this new territory. It's a beautiful thing when you see the wheels turning in your child's head. But I am a bit lost.

I haven't asked for anything this year, but I realize now that there is something I need. My Christmas wish is for the strength and wisdom to guide her down a path that will help her become the confident, caring person that I know lives inside her soul.
I hope someone's listening.

Seriously, people.

2007-12-10T09:38:00.000-08:00

This can't go on.

Nathan just emailed to update me on the morning routine. See copy below:

Violin, yes. Spelling words, yes. Big breakfast with chocolate ice cream for dessert? Check.

Check a load of this: While Gilly ate breakfast, I asked if I could go pick out an outfit for her. She said yes, but specifically pointed out that she had no clothes behind Mama's in the closet, so I don't need to look there. HAHAHA. I am the finder of hidden things! I should be an investigator. That's it. I'm dropping out to pursue a new career.

Nuts about and to you,
Nathan

P.S. I am going to put the whup on today's exam

Remember where the punching bag was hidden, folks?

Yeah, it's not anymore.

GRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

FYI: See previous two posts below for the lead up...

Never tell a secret to a seven year old. Ever.

2007-12-09T16:33:00.001-08:00

Scene one-

6:00pm
Nathan and Gilly are crashed out on the couch. I'm taking a nap.

Gillian:
I know what your present is! Want me to tell you?

Nathan:
No! I like surprises!

Gillian:
Come on...I can't hold it in! How 'bout I just tell you what color it is? Huh?

Nathan:
(exasperated sigh)
Okay. Good. Tell me what color it is.

Gillian:
It's black!
(pause)
I know some other things that are black!
(pause)

Nathan:
(no response)

Gillian:
A punching bag is black! But you're not getting one. I'm just telling you about other things that are black.

Scene two-

Cancelled.

Shhhhh! This is a secret!

2007-12-08T11:47:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I cam home from work just exhausted. We had plans to babysit for the neighbors, so, Nathan wanted to run some errands before the cutie pie arrived.

No problem.

After he left, I noticed that he hadn't gotten the mail yet.

Kay. I went out to get it.

Guess what was sitting on the porch?

Nathan's Christmas present!

I had totally forgotten it was coming. Thank goodness he hadn't gone out there yet because this

was sitting out in plain view. Not in a cardboard box with a mailing address stuck to it, but in the Everlast box covered in pictures proclaiming exactly what was contained therein. Sheesh!

I'm standing on the snow covered porch, in my socks, trying to figure out how I am going to get an 80lb. boxing bag into the house before he arrives home. AND where the heck am I going to hide an 80lb box that is nearly as tall as I am?

The snow is melting under my feet and Gilly comes out to investigate. She yelps an excited, "Daddy is going to LOVE that!!" Yes. I know. For those of you who aren't aware, Nathan used to wrestle in high school and college and was pretty darn good. We've got a box full of medals to prove it. When we moved to Madison, WI a few years back, he took up Ultimate Fighting (boxing/wrestling) and loved it. He knows a few local guys who compete (UFC) and has been hoping to train at home so he'll feel more confident training with them...plus it's just darn fun.

Alright, so Gilly and I figure that we can tilt it and push it up the stairs. We huff and puff, make unattractive noises, turn red with effort and, finally get it to the top of the stairs. Then what, right?

There's no way I am wrapping this monstrous thing. We've still got a couple of weeks until Christmas. It's not going in my closet and we've no time to push it down the stairs into the basement. Gilly's room it is!

We shove it across the floor and into her room. She's got a pretty deep closet, so I position it in the back. Totally visible! I grab some long dresses from my closet and hang them in front of it. Sweet. It's disguised. As long as he doesn't wonder what my clothes are doing in her closet, we should be safe. He's a man, right? He won't even notice.

Nathan gets home with about 3 minutes to spare. Gilly and I look at each other knowingly. We've got a great secret...

Now, how are we going to get it back out for Christmas day?

P.S. Let's hope he doesn't suddenly decide to start reading my blog.

Ahna, you knew this was coming.

2007-12-04T18:37:00.000-08:00

I have to take a minute and thank my favorite neighbors:

THANKS TO THE BUNGALOGANs!!!!!!!!!!

Why, do you ask?

Here's why:

Fine. I'll clarify.

Today we had a GIANT snowstorm. Many flakes. Many idiot drivers. Many. As in, lots.

Guess which highway they took? I94E.

Guess which one I had to take? I94E.

Guess how long it took me to get home?

No, really. Guess. (Normally, I am home in twenty minutes. I leave at 3pmish.)

Come on. Take a crack at it.

An hour you say?

Nope.

One hour and a half?

Nope.

Two hours??!

Nope. Try two and a half.

Now, since we're playing this fun guessing game, try to figure out what time Gilly's bus comes home.

Fine. I'll just tell you. 4pm or so.

Was Nathan home? Why, no, of course not!

Did I make it home in time? Why, no, of course not!

Okay, let's up the stakes a bit...

Realizing that I wouldn't make it home in time, I called my good friends, the Bungalogans and asked if they would be so kind as to pick my sweet child up at the bus stop.

Being the wonderful folks that they are, they agreed.

Ahh. All's better now.

But wait! There's more!

Guess what arrived at 5:30pm? Ding, Ding! You're correct! Gillian's bus!!

Was Gillian on the bus?

Negative!

Did the Bungalogans panic a bit? Heavens, I hope so! Did they figure out where Gillian was?

Heck yes!

Now, who came home in time to learn of the new situation?

Right again! I did!

After spending 2 1/2 hours in the dang car moving at under 10 miles an hour entire way, I arrived home to learn that I would need to get back in the car and spend another few hours driving to Gilly's school (normally a 20 minute drive in the opposite direction)because she did not get on the bus. She went to Girl Scouts instead.

Now, picture me near tears at this news. Because, yes, that is how I felt. Like weeping frustrated, horrible tears.

And what did the male half of my wonderful, understanding friends say?

He said,

"Relax. I'll go get her."

And what did the female half of my wonderful, understanding friends say?

She said,

"Sit down. I'll get you a glass of wine."

And what time did my poor, starving child get home?

7:30pm!!

Rick made it back with an in tact, although weepy, seven year old girl and two large pizzas.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

We ate delicious pizza and watched Rudolph.

I've gotta say, somebody had an eye out when we found this house.

Somebody knew that we'd need those Bungalogan's and that they'd be there for us.

So, thanks guys. We love and appreciate you more than you'll ever know!

Uhhhh...

2007-12-04T06:22:00.000-08:00

I got nothing you guys.

Shall we wax poetic on the meaning of nothing?

Nope.

That'd be ridiculous.

I'll try again later.

And now, for The Odes of Horace

2007-11-29T16:24:00.000-08:00

I'm feeling a little weepy this evening and needed a good image for my brain. This has been one of my favorites for the winter season. A fitting reminder that, though things may look bleak, there is always cheer to be had. I nearly added it to my Christmas letter last season...

Book 1, chapter nine

Behold how tall Soracte looms, and how white!
No longer can the laboring forests hold
Their snowy burden; streams are frozen,
Locked in the grip of the piercing coldness.

Dispel the chill air, piling the great logs high
Upon the hearth; unstintingly now bring forth
And pour the mellow, four-year vintage,
O Thaliarchus, from Sabine wine jar.

Leave to the gods the rest, for when they have stilled
The warring winds that battle upon the sea
The cypress is no longer shaken,
No longer vexed are the aged ash trees.

Whate'er tomorrow holds, shun to question now,
And what the day will bring, what of chance or gain,
Set down to profit; now in boyhood
Spurn not sweet loves or the youthful dances,

While from your bloom cantankerous age stands off.
Now 'neath the falling dusk, at the trysting hour
Again, again through field and courtyard
Let the soft whispers be still repeated.

Curious?

Learn a bit more here.

Are we there yet?

2007-11-26T13:50:00.000-08:00

So, it took me a little while, but I made it back. I've been naughty and haven't updated in a while....SO sorry. I didn't fall off a cliff. I swear. I'm just a little slow lately. But, guess what? It's officially Christmas season! YAY!

Thanksgiving went off without a hitch. We spent a handful of days thoroughly enjoying ourselves with Nathan's family. The children got away with numerous sweets in place of healthy snacks, the adults enjoyed numerous cocktails and festive conversation. Okay, we really talked politics and history...but that is just as good!

The turkey was stuffed, cooked, and chowed. Delicious. I love this season. We had the good fortune of visiting with old friends...Nathan clobbered us all at Risk. We were not surprised. Although, next year, I don't think he'll be allowed to play. Some of us would like to win too. Haha.

Speaking of good cheer, on Sunday we hunted, killed and hauled our Christmas tree home. Gillian, the little sweetie that she is, wanted to know whether or not the tree was hurt when Nathan was sawing it's poor little trunk in half.

[I've got to make a plug here. Hidden Ponds Christmas Tree Farm is simply perfect. They had peacocks to see, acres of trees, hot apple cider, goats, a kids playground...ahhh. That's the spirit! Not to mention that all their kids work at the farm as a college savings program. How can you not love that?]

Being the good Mama that I am, I reassured her that, in fact, all Christmas trees are just dying to be cut down and taken home for their once in a lifetime chance at decoration. Okay, I put it a little sweeter than that. Of course, then we had to discuss whether or not the Christmas tree fairies that protect the tree are offended at our brutality. Again, I assured her that all was well. The Christmas tree fairies have been protecting the trees for this very purpose and are overjoyed at their release from duty.

There's nothing quite as fun as hunting the tree. That is, of course, excepting the fabulous tradition of decking the thing out in all the tinsel, ribbon, garland, and multitude of ridiculous things on hand which we, of course, must partake in. Gilly especially. I've yet to see that girl more excited than when Nathan dug out the box of Christmas chotskys. Good gracious! Little boxes flew everywhere while she searched for her favorite ornaments. Sadly, in all the blessed hubbub, we lost one to the fairies of death. Broken. Poor little green, twisty, feathery ornament thingy. Gilly was very sad. But only for a minute. She quickly recovered and it was on to the next funny shaped thing-a-ma-bob.

So, when she determined that the tree was done (a.k.a. there was nothing left that might, in any way, be capable of hanging) we had some cocoa and admired the thing. Bliss.

H is for Holidays

2007-11-13T16:53:00.000-08:00

I am SO pumped. Really. I mean it. The holiday season is here and I am feeling it. LOADS.

Last year, I think we bought our Christmas tree a day or two before the big day.

This year, I was thinking about whether the tree farms would be open on November 1st. Not kidding. I have completely bypassed Thanksgiving and moved right on into Christmas. In fact, those Thanksgiving pictures posted at the right were just my way of pretending that I didn't really want to post a picture of Ebenezer standing in the twilight in the company of Jacob Marley. I'm not gonna lie, I've got the image saved on my desktop for when it is 'appropriate' to post. I am such a dork.

I have, thus far, successfully pushed away the urge to purchase mass quantities of tinsel and paint everything red. But I don't know how much longer I can hold out. The desire is beginning to creep into my daily life. Just this afternoon, I was staring out the window at work and noticed a few snowflakes.

"It's SNOWING!" I hollered at anyone who would listen.

"Look!"

Mostly, I got rolled eyes. Well deserved, as there were about four flakes whirling around in the air. Not snow, perse, but I have a very vivid imagination when needed.
Later, I daydreamed about what Christmas Tree crafts Gilly and I ought to do this year. We, of course, will make snowflakes for the windows, but what else? Hmmm.....

And, guess who's got every weekend in December scheduled for one Christmas activity after another?

You guessed.

That was a hard one.

Me.

So far, we're seeing Madeline's Christmas at a local children's theatre, the National Lutheran Choir at the Basilica of Saint Mary, The Nutcracker at the O'Shaughnessy, A Christmas Carol at the Guthrie, breakfast with the elves at the Swedish Museum...let's see...anything else I can fit in?

And you know there's going to be sledding, skating, and hot cocoa in our future. Just as soon as the snow cooperates. Heck, if it doesn't, I might do it anyway. I'll look a little ridiculous, but that's not new, right?

OhMiGosh. I've got it bad. I'm sitting on the couch, as we speak, thinking how nice it would be if I had a cozy red blankie to snuggle and a pillow with sparkles. Meanwhile, Gillian keeps running in here to ask me what I might like 'if' someone were to make me breakfast in bed for a 'present' and then running back to the kitchen to report the answer to Nathan. I can hear them discussing...too cute.

FRAN!

2007-11-08T12:50:00.000-08:00

...Check your mail!
xoxo

...a little late.

2007-11-06T16:30:00.000-08:00

I love this card. My sweet sister-in-law sent this last year.

I stink.
This is SO after the fact, but, whatever.

September conversation in the household:

Nathan: Hey! Gilly! What do you want to be this Halloween?

Gilly: Athena (goddess of wisdom, for those not greek), Daddy! You be Zeus and I can spring out of your head with a spear! Mama! Do you have a spear?

Mama: Uhhhh...No?

Gilly: Where can we get one?

Mama: Uhhh...nowhere? Use your finger!

Gilly: Mama, you're going to be Hera (known well for her terrible temper and ugly, jealous rages). Kay?

Mama: Uhhhh. No?

P.S. Sorry I've been so slow to update! I'll explain why tomorrow...

if you listen

2007-10-30T19:33:00.000-07:00

you can hear, birds sing and flowers grow. if you listen you can hear, my love for you just grow.

Elizabeth Mitchell sings a song, on Gillian and my favorite album of late, that makes me tear up every time. On the way home from Madison was no exception.

We love singing along to music in the car. Gilly gets a sort of ga-ga look in her eye when the CD changer finishes one of my albums (usually some old school Marley circa Catch a Fire, Wagner, or a kid friendly Beck album...anyone else love Guero?!...all of which she will happily sing along with), and, surprisingly, starts Elizabeth's Little Bird .

On Sunday, we sang through most of the album, and, when we arrived at 'if you listen' (I first heard this song, sung by Francoise Hardy, in high school. Mitchell does a fantastic rendition), Gillian commented, "I've been singing this all week in my head!"

My goodness, that's nice to hear! Me too!

So, we both sang along. Me choking down tears (it's the lyrics, man! They just GET me!) and her singing to the fairies that we passed on the road.

If you've got an interest in folk that's a little bit salty, pick up this album. Your kids will thank you for it. So will I.

We don't live there anymore

2007-10-30T15:52:00.000-07:00

We spent this past weekend in Madison, WI visiting my family. I love that town. It has a strange way of making me feel beserk and at home all at the same time. Go figure. I suppose I'll add that to my list of bizarro life situations.

So, I thought I'd share some goofy pictures of the girls...Fran, these are from the last time you visited us. Take note. Gillian had no front teeth. She does now. I think it's time to come back up here. Heehee.

Yikes! Sorry about that...

Ummm...I suppose this is what happens when you take your girls to Libby Lu. Good gracious...what were we thinking?

Anyhoo...we miss you guys. It's time for a visit.

Strike a pose. Duh-duhduh.

Feeling a bit 'blah' today

2007-10-26T12:40:00.000-07:00

So, I've moved into the gray zone. So there.

But, don't worry. This is what I came home for.

I mean...uh...this is what I came home for.

Soon, I 'll feel more like this.

P.S.
Joy, this one

is for you. Stay tuned for more...

Pumpkin Patch!

2007-10-22T15:02:00.001-07:00

Last weekend, we thought it would be fun to take the girls to the pumpkin patch.

I found what I thought would be a fantastic location: pony rides, apples, pumpkins, petting zoo, hay ride...and FREE!

We loaded up five girls (one of whom was feeling mighty crabby) and three adults (one of whom was feeling rather sniffly) and proceeded...to get lost.

Great.

My directions neglected to inform me that there were two highways numbered 51. Old highway 51 and new highway 51. I love Mapquest. Thanks.

Luckily, we happened upon a sweet truck driver who pointed us in the right direction.

We were on our way...after a mighty long and confusing hour in the car.

We arrived at an over-peopled, over-priced, apple and pumpkin plucked disappointment.

Oh well.

The girls had fun and I got some pretty cute pictures!

There's always next year...

Ten weird things...

2007-10-19T09:52:00.000-07:00

My friend JJM tagged me by email the other day.

THE GAME:
"Here's how you play, once you've been tagged. You have to write a blog with 10 weird, random things, facts or habits about yourself. At the end you choose 10 people to be tagged, listing their names and why you chose them to be tagged. Don't forget to leave them a comment "You're It!" and to read your blog. You can't tag the person who tagged you."

This should be easy as I am a confirmed, complete and utter, nuttball. Ask anyone...

1. I love my Birkies. A lot. Really, I'll show you.

That's seven years of love, baby!

These puppies have trekked through a month of mud and slime in the Amazon, filthy cobblestones in Quito, crystal clear water in the BWCA, cloud forest in the mountains of Ecaudor, and the cigarette lined streets of Paris. And survived.

They've walked in the footsteps of Diane de Poitiers at Château de Chenonceau past Leonardo Da Vinci at Château de Chambord. And they marveled at it all.

They've been to Cape Breton Island where they saw a moose. A BIG moose. And they didn't run away.

They brought home a wrinkled, new baby. And helped carry her around for years.

They've been all over the world with me. And I refuse to give them up. So, maybe they're a little smelly. Okay, very smelly, but they're my buddies. I love my buddies. All of them, whether or not they stink. So there.

2. I'm a curious beast. Don't be mad if I keep asking you questions. About everything. Yes, everything. Please, don't hold back. I'm totally fascinated by all of you!!

3. We didn't own a television for a few years. One of Nathan's friends from work heard about it and took pity on him. He was sent home with a TV, much to my chagrin. Luckily, it had no antenna, so, we didn't get any reception for television braodcasts. Phew! It's creeping up on five years now, sans the TV shows. Life is good. (Don't get us wrong...We LOVEloveLOVE movies and watch planty of them!!)

4. I have got one hell of a deep bellybutton. Not kidding. It's like Lake Superior in there!

5. Yes, my hair is that curly. Yes, it grows that way. No, it's not that hard to take care of. No, you cannot do the boingy thing with my curls. Now go away.

6. I have two feet...of different sizes. And, I passed it on to Gilly. Poor girl.

7. The doctor who deliverd Gillian was named Dr. Faust. Not kidding. That should have sparked some concerns.

8. You only think I've got fashion sense. What I've really got is a uniform with mighty good accessories. That's right. Summer = T-shirts and khakis of varying colors. Fall, Spring, Winter = Sweaters and khakis of varying colors. Sprinkle in some jeans. Add wool socks, or take them off. Done.

9. I love non-fiction best.

10. It takes me HOURS to fall asleep. I mean it. HOURS! My brain cannot shut up. I think I might do something about it one day. Suggestions? (No guns, please)

Now, I'm passing the tag on my favorite, lovely, blogging ladies:

Ahna
Johanna
Kalurah
Galadriel
Heather
Shandy
Kelly
sew succulent

Can't wait to hear about all your weirdness!

YIKES!

2007-10-17T19:11:00.000-07:00

Look what I found when I opened my Apple Photobooth today!!

WHO IS THAT??!!

...and what has she done with my baby?!

That looks like a slightly-know-it-all-ish-in-your-face-rocker-chick
-jamming-with-the-hip-fashion-girl.

How did she get in here? I thought I sprinkled the magic-pre-teenager-attitude-repellent all over the doorknobs! Crap!

Guess who got into my shoes.

She's such a creative little bug, though, isn't she? I believe that's a chocolate chip cookie in her hand. It helps to eat cookies when making art. Had I gone to art school, I'm sure that would have come up in Drawing I or something. Maybe this growing up thing won't be too bad.

I'm sure I'm kidding myself.

This is me...

2007-10-12T14:28:00.001-07:00

Here's a postcard my sweet and thoughtful older sister sent me years and years ago.

Anybody else wish they were writing clever things while sipping fancy coffee in a fashionable Paris bistro circa 1959?

I'm going to take a nap now and dream about it.

Wake me up when...wait.

Don't wake me up!

639 more minutes until my alarm goes off..

2007-10-09T15:49:00.000-07:00

Today I read an article that made me think. (Yes, I do that sometimes.)

It was written by a man who, on his relentless quest for efficiency and mastery of time, almost missed a beautiful snippet of life.

That is, the sweetness. The little things. The tiny love notes your children leave for you all over the house. The smiles from strangers. The time when someone backed off and let you merge onto the highway. And you waved to say 'thanks.'

And how fleeting it all is. But how precious.

And, yes, we're all in a hurry. We're all just trying to get it done so we can move on. Get home. Hurry up and get supper on. And brush the kids teeth. And get to bed.

And yet, we have to remember the little things. We have to remember to be here. In the moment. Right now.

I promise to do it if you do.

So, dear readers, tell me about how you take it all in.

How do you cherish all those minutes in the day?

Now, go remind someone else of it...and, maybe, we'll become masters of our time as well.

We can always use a lift, so how about this one...

2007-10-05T19:02:00.000-07:00

The Orange

Wendy Cope

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange-
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave-
They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange, it made me so happy.
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. a walk in the park.
This is peace and contentment. It's new.

The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all the jobs on my list
And I enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I'm glad I exist.

lovelovelove

2007-10-04T16:13:00.000-07:00

I know I just did this...but it's Nathan's birthday and I love him tons...so, he deserves a tribute!

So, here are a few of the reasons for which I love this man:

He gave Gilly all those adorable baby genes...

How could I not with a face like this?

He still hasn't figured out where the potty is...

He's got such a fabulous amount of facial hair...maybe because he started shaving so early.

He rocks!

He's got the same ridiculous sense of humor as I do!

He manages to get in the craziest predicaments!

Yes, that's him stuck in a hole. And he and his brother in the fireplace!

He's such a strong, handsome, daddyman!

He's a wrestler...and that's SO hot!

He knew VW's were cool way before the rest of us!

He's such a smarty pants. He was elected to write his high school graduation speech and, due to his notorious procrastination skills, he somehow managed to write it two hours before commencement. Jeez!

He's so cute!

He fathered this beautiful girl...

And without him, we would not be such a fabulous unit!

We lovelovelove you! Hurry up and finish law school so we'll see you more often!

It's her first...

2007-10-03T14:38:00.000-07:00

You guessed it! Gillian's got her first crush. She is head over heels. She came home from school the other day with stars in her eyes.

So cute.

I have since been inundated with questions surrounding any love I might have had in grade school. Or after. Or at anytime in my life.

Gillian:

"Who was your first love, Mama? Did he love you? Did you feel funny?"

Glazed look in her eyes and multiple *sighs* as she hugs her pillow.

So I tell her about my first love. Funnily enough, it happened in second grade. His name was David and he had red hair and freckles. We were going to get married. FOR REAL! But, alas, his parents were missionaries at our Lutheran school and he moved away to Africa that summer. *sigh*

"What about Daddy? What did you think when you saw him? Did he love you? Tell me!"

Well, actually, it was kinda love at first sight. But we pretended not to notice. For about three years or so. Yes, we were dating during the time, but we didn't like each other or anything. We were very noncommital.

"Noncommital?"

Story for another time. Who do you love, Gilly?

At which point she rolls hers eyes and tells me she doesn't love anyone...but she might kinda like Theo. A little. But just as a friend. And, yes, he sits next to her at lunch. And chases her at recess. And pulls her hair. But they don't love each other because boys are stinky.

Phew! That was a close one!

Little girl love is adorable and terrifying all at the same time.

Sweetness peaking in...

2007-10-01T13:53:00.000-07:00

Gillian can sometimes be quite a little stinker. She learned long ago that the best way to get what she wants is to have a solid argument. She will debate the validity of her choices and, for the most part, it is hard to come up with an acceptable counter to her proposals. Hilarious, I know. (Sort of.)

Lately, she has decided that it is in everyone's best interest if she sleeps in our bed at night. Now, for one thing, I have no idea why all of a sudden this is so important. Has her growing brain suddenly realized that our bed is bigger and more comfortable or has her imagination taken giant leaps of monster realizing steps? Maybe she gets lonely over there and thinks that it isn't fair that we sleep in one room and she's all by herself. No idea. But the sad fact is, I simply can't let this one slide. Even though I kinda want to. Even though, okay, I sometimes let her. Even though I know that it's just a phase and that soon enough she'll hate us and won't give us any kisses and I'll never have the chance to hear her little cutie pie self begging to sleep with us again.

So, the other night, she was negotiating for the family bed. Giving the puppy dog eyes, breaking it down into,

"Mama, why not? There's enough room for all of us! I promise not to kick you. I won't snore! I've got my own pillow!"

And I'm,

"Because, I'm soooooooo tired! I just need to go to sleep! I know you have a pillow, and you won't kick or snore but I just need you to go sleep in your own bed!"

And then she pulls the,

"But my bed is so hard! Yours is soft! I can't sleep on that terrible rock! (and at this point she shakes her body as if to show me how uncomfortable it is)."

Can I just say here that the drama is really outstanding when she is working her argument. It's heart and soul!

Finally, she pulls out the real kicker. The one that, when I'm particularly vulnerable to her wiley ways, can sometimes work.

"Mama, if you don't let me sleep with you guys, I won't give you any smooches or hugs for TWO WHOLE DAYS! I MEAN IT!"

I hold my ground. She stomps off to her room.

About five minutes later, I walk down the hall to the rest room and hear her say, in a sniffly and weepy little voice,

"Mama?"

I stick my head into her room and she continues,

"Mama? I'm SORRY!! (sobbing) I LOVE YOU! (more sobbing) I didn't mean to hurt your feelings! Of COURSE I'll give you smooches! AND hugs! And, and, and I'm SORRY!"

All this while smothering me with hugs and weepy smooches between teary eyes and a runny nose.

OhMiGosh, I love that girl.

Scram!

2007-09-26T14:01:00.000-07:00

Oh, what to do when you are young, girly, and forced to go outside?

Here are a few choices...

1. Remember that you and all your friends are fairies and that, (duh!), fairies live outside! Go find them in the 'secret' garden. (a.k.a. the neighbors front yard)

Sometimes they have parties in this circle garden...

Or climb up this fairy rope...

2. If fairies cannot be found, do not despair! Instead, make a throne for the King of the Garden (a.k.a. your little dog, Beans) out of firewood from the backyard!

Don't worry about the spelling...fairies are notoriously bad spellers...

3. To show off your work, beg your Mom to take a photograph of your fabulous creation. Ask her not to notice the bad spelling.

4. When your friends are called in for supper, search out a fairy dress in your atrociously messy room and ask your Mom to 'make fairy hair'.

5. Take lots of pictures.

6. Go to bed happy, knowing that you have done your fairy duty for the day.

lost

2007-09-25T16:27:00.000-07:00

Gillian, on finding her part and brushing her hair:

"It's like there were two clubs and some of them kept trying to join the wrong club. So I have to show them which way to go. See?"

Ahhhhh. So true. A lesson I am still learning. How is it that my seven year old can speak in parables?

Just when you thought it was safe...

2007-09-25T14:09:00.000-07:00

to hang out in your own house.

Whammo!

Something bizarro happens.

As in, a drunken stranger breaks into your neighbors house and you are completely unaware that anything strange has happened until the police show up, four squad cars worth, and shout at said stranger, with your spawn in full hearing range, "I've got a gun pointed right at you, so don't move!"

Ummmm. What?

So, said stranger breaks in, not to rob or pillage, but to play with the dogs.

Everything turns out okay. Other neighbors bring said victims muffins and scones to reassure them of the safety of the neighborhood.

I don't know if I should laugh at the ridiculousness of it all or move.

So, I post it.

Chin up! It's your day!

2007-09-22T09:42:00.000-07:00

September 22nd is a special day.

Some years ago today, my favorite woman in the world was born.

I love you, Iloveyou!, I love you, I love you.

Here are just a few of the reasons why:

You labored through the three of us.

We didn't actually look that cute. It was more like this.

Although not encouraged to, you cooked wonderful dinners for all of us. We frowned, and grumped, and Josh mashed his peas up in the napkin, and Leilani refused to eat the bananas and vomited when made to, and Dad wouldn't eat anything unless it was burned, and I...what did I do? Probably something awful.

You planned the best birthday parties ever. Even before it was cool.

You are beautiful and terribly smart. You somehow managed to attend college while all three of us us were screaming little kids.

You sewed us fabulous clothes. Including my favorite flowergirl dress. And when that got too small for me, I wore my big sister's. I wore it to my birthday party, and school pictures, and when I was older I chopped it up and made a skirt.

You took us to the mountains in Colorado on the train. The best week of my five-year-old life. We stayed in a cabin complete with medieval weapons hanging on the wall next to a mounted bobcat. For an evening of fun, you took pictures of Dad standing over us three, covered in fake blood (ketchup), holding the weapons. We never misbehaved again. Ha.

You love me. Even after everything.

You moved me to Iowa where I met these nutballs.

And where I made this one.

After falling in love with this one.

Who I finally married after three years of dating denial and seven years of living in sin.

And you walked me down the aisle.

And I thank you for everything you are to me. And have been. And will forever be. You are my inspiration, my mentor, my sounding board, my champion. I love you.

We all love you. Happy Birthday!

Love, us

Morning routine

2007-09-20T17:59:00.000-07:00

Nathan gets Gillian ready for school in the morning. That's a post in and of itself, and one day I'll get a picture of one of her 'fancy' outfits, but it is not the reason for today.

Today I come to you to discuss oatmeal and giraffes.

Let me explain.

Gillian is a very picky eater. Shocking. I know. She likes to describe things that are gross in terms that she and all of her little buddies will understand. Perfectly reasonable.

This morning, so my husband tells me, Gillian was walking past the neighbors house and caught a whiff of their breakfast.

Gillian: What is THAT?

Nathan: That's oatmeal.

Gillian: It smells like a giant giraffe farted!

Good Gracious. I hope they didn't hear that one!

I guess I won't be force feeding her oatmeal anytime soon. Ah, well. Do you suppose home made granola might smell like a rhinoceros butt?

Dirt Roads

2007-09-18T14:33:00.000-07:00

I grew up in Chicago. Four generations of my family grew up in Chicago. Both sides.

When my Great Grandmother was 15, she emigrated from Denmark. Alone. She had no family there yet, but word on the street was that there was a solid Danish community in Chicago, so, that is where she went. She found my Great Grandfather swiftly, settled down, and got to the business of child bearing.

My entire extended family found one another in the windy city.

Until me.

When I was 16, my Mother and Father decided that farm country would be a great change of scenery. Nevermind that I was right smack in the middle of my formative , panic inducing high school years. Nevermind that it was the middle of the school year. Nevermind that they had never lived in the country let alone a tiny country town. Population 6000. I think that would have been the size of my graduating class.

So, off we went to Charles City, Iowa. Me, in rainbow painted peeling combat boots, 13 earrings in one ear, a black leather jacket complete with my painted version of Piaf attached to the back with silver spikes and ATTITUDE. You can guess that my initial reception at the local high school was not well taken.

Then, there's my Mother. She's loud, and beautiful, and full of outspoken laughter. You do not miss her in a room. My Father discovered her stage presence one night when she was singing at Aerie Crown Theater in Chicago. Months later, after he had broken his leg in a motorcycle accident and was on crutches but still present at every concert, she finally noticed him. They've been together ever since.

But I digress. Back to the story at hand.

Well, my Mother, having grown up surrounded by the noise and the hustle and bustle of the city found the solitude of the country deafening. Her vivacious personality wasn't suited to the quiet life she had just landed herself in. Needless to say, she and my Father moved away after I graduated.

I stayed.

I had found something.

I found Nathan.

And Nicole.

And life.

And what it means to be a whole person.

And I am crying again (you must think I am such a sap) but I don't know if I would have liked who I had become if not for the country. For the nosy neighbors and practical reality and that greasy spoon where I drank too much coffee and smoked too many cigarettes and contemplated everything I would never know. I still don't.

So, here's to you Mom. Here's to you Nathan and Nicole. And that tiny little town named Charles City, Iowa.

This one's for you:

Manners

For a Child of 1918

Elizabeth Bishop

My grandfather said to me
as we sat on the wagon seat,
"Be sure to remember to always speak to everyone you meet."

We met a stranger on foot.
My grandfather's whip tapped his hat.
"Good day, sir. Good day. A fine day."
And I said it and bowed where I sat.

Then we overtook a boy we knew
with his big pet crow on his shoulder.
"Always offer everyone a ride;
don't forget that when you get older,"

my grandfather said. So Willy
climbed up with us, but the crow
gave a "Caw!" and flew off. I was worried.
How would he know where to go?

But he flew a little way at a time
from fence post to fence post, ahead;
and when Willy whistled he answered.
"A fine bird," my grandfather said,

"and he's well brought up. See, he answers
nicely when he's spoken to.
Man or beast, that's good manners.
Be sure that you both always do."

When automobiles went by,
the dust hid the people's faces,
but we shouted "Good day! Good day!
Fine day!" at the top of our voices.

When we cam to Hustler Hill,
he said that the mare was tired,
so we all got down and walked,
as our good manners required.

Blobfish...?!

2007-09-17T21:08:00.001-07:00

Gillian and I played a game before bed last night. We decided that we would see how many funny looking creatures we could find on the computer. Guess who won. Words cannot describe.

How can you get to sleep when your side hurts so much from laughing?

Who's it?

2007-09-17T14:46:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I loved tag when I was a kid. Heck, I still do. Who doesn't love a good chase?

Ahna tagged me, Galadriel tagged her.

It's on. My full name is Bethany Dawn Kois. Here goes:

D is for DaVinci.
Science + Art + Bethany = love.
Are there any other artists who actually took the time to measure the dimensions of a horse's leg? And how many spent so much time dissecting the female form? I don't know if I should be flattered or utterly offended. But, anyway, I adore DaVinci.

A is for Aardvark. Because...what in the hell?? How did that one happen? My Father has always had some bizarro fascination with them and somehow manages to be sure that everyone else is aware of it. Like the time when he thought it would be a great idea to buy my Mother a stuffed Aardvark for her birthday. Not something she required or even wanted. Not something that could, in any way, be confused with something that a Mother of three naughty children, one bunny (Avogadro), two cats (Begin and Sadat), and an obviously suicidal Husband (because, did he really think he would survive this??!) would ever even consider an acceptable gift IN ANY WAY. Can you guess her reaction? My sister, brother, and I went running from the house and left our Dad to fend for himself. Ummmm...Yeah. It was about like that. We have pictures to prove it.

W is for the Western World. Is it us or them? This has always been an area of great head scratching for me. Can anyone answer this? My Mother takes frequent trips to China for business and, on her first trip over, she brought home a map of the world that she humorously insisted had placed us on the wrong side. As in, Asia was on the left side of the map and we were on the right. It's posted on her wall I think. I've been meaning to request one.

N is for Neanderthal. I married one. Not kidding. It's a running joke in our happy little household. Come over for dinner and you'll quickly learn why. Nathan, when eating messy food will hold his left hand in a gorilla like pose just above the plate and will occasionally shake off the dripping food or thump the table with his middle two fingers. He has no idea that he is doing this. It's hilarious. I watched for years without saying a word, laughing uncontrollably in my mind, and then couldn't hold in the hilarity of the thing any longer and blurted out to Gilly that her Father was a neanderthal and should have died out like the others years ago. I suggested we call the Smithsonian and report him. I'll try to catch a picture of it one of these days.

So, that's it. Whew! Now I'll go read the others...

Humor on Sunday

2007-09-16T13:58:00.000-07:00

You like funny faces...you know you do.

So, take this

And this

And this

And all these

Now, get back to work!

And then she's gone

2007-09-16T08:28:00.000-07:00

Nathan and Gillian came home from the Saint Paul Public Library yesterday with a bevy of books.

I love that.

Not the inevitable late fees...but the beauty of having someone with very good taste bring home a bunch of books that I didn't have to search for. Mmmmmmm.

While reading a book of poems, I came across this one and cried. I thought of my baby, my little Gilly. I thought of Olivia and Nora and Big Girl Yaya. I thought of Alex and Anna. And finally, I thought of me. And I called my Mom.

Gillian and me, 2000

In the spirit of sharing:

HER DOOR

Mary Leader

for my daughter Sara Marie

There was a time her door was never closed.
Her music box played "Fur Elise" in plinks.
Her crib new-bought--I drew her sleeping there.

The little drawing sits beside my chair.
These days, she ornaments her hands with rings.
She's seventeen. Her door is one I knock.

There was a time I daily brushed her hair
By window light--I bathed her, in the sink
In sunny water, in the kitchen, there.

I've bought her several thousand things to wear,
And now this boy buys her silver rings.
He goes inside her room and shuts the door.

Those days, to rock her was a form of prayer.
She'd gaze at me, and blink, and I would sing
Of bees and horses, in the pasture, there.

The drawing sits as still as nap-time air--
Her curled-up hand--that precious line, her cheek...
Next year her door will stand, again, ajar
But she herself will not be living there.

I am not ready for this.

New to You

2007-09-16T07:38:00.000-07:00

I have to give credit where it is due, so, here's thanks to my neighbor, Ahna, for turning me on to the possibilities of blogging.

As a result of blowing hours of would-be Saturday evening family time reading hilarious and heartening passages on Iguana Banana, I've decided to re-evaluate my earlier view of bloggers as self-infatuated-nutballs to include other such describing words as: clever, interesting, funny, and fabulously entertaining. It matters not that I, too, am now a blogger. Haha.

So, while trying to come up with some funny name for this blog, I posed this question to my seven-year-old daughter, Gillian:

"Can you think of a word that describes us?"

To which she replied, not skipping a beat, "Qwingk!"

"Ummmmm. Okay. What does that mean?"

"Us, Mama! Queen, Princess, King! Duh!"

After which, in case my stupidity still lingered, she drew an illustration of her word. See above. I guess that's it then. Qwingk.