JournēOn

A lighter version of me

2012-02-05T22:34:00.002-06:00

I've been trying to focus on the lighter version of me. No, not my weight, just my whole, well...self. It's so easy to get bogged down in the worries, ponderings, wishes, hopes, disappointments, frustrations, and general downer side of things. There's a lot of pressure not to to air these parts of ourselves as well so at times I think I linger in rawness just to spite people who think the purpose of life is to be happy.

I know, I know, that sounds a little harsh. I don't mean it to. It's not that I'm adverse to happiness, I love it. I seek it. I hope for it. I'm lucky enough to say I even find it quite a bit. But I don't think it's my purpose in life. I think my purpose in life is to leave things a little better than I found them (don't look at my kitchen right now). I think my purpose in life is to be a true and honest and caring wife, mom, sister, daughter, friend, neighbor, etc.

In some ways being relived of the need to be happy all the time makes life feel a little less stressful. It allows me bad days, fat days, tired days, non days, and quiet still days. All this said, however, I need to be careful to take a little extra time now and again to sit with the lighter side of life. The slow mornings with PJ's on till noon. The automatic setting on my coffee machine. A Modern Family episode. A date night with my husband. Aasta telling Jenna she loves her. Jeans that fit. You know, the really good stuff.

I feel like I have had some rough spots as of late and I want to give the crap it's due and I also want to remind myself to take some deep calming breaths now and again and get over it. So I'm spending a moment with the lighter version of me. The one that is about to crawl into bed and read a book with the word "hedgehog" in the title donning my granny glasses and some kick ass velour pants!

Irony?

2012-01-10T17:53:00.000-06:00

My daughter is not what I would call a "champion sleeper." At some point between 1AM and 5AM we hear the pitter patter of tiny footsteps as she makes her way to our room. She usually crawls in with us where she remains until morning. Occasionally I wake up and put her back in her room but most nights I don't even realize she's made the transition until I wake up with her feet in my face.

The only real down side to this process is that I tend to be the one who winds up with the least amount of space in the bed. Aasta somehow manages to either rotate so she is perpendicular to Mike and I or nuzzles up against me pushing me ever closer to the end of the bed. As a result, I end up sleeping on my left arm to keep it from dangling off the bed.

Needless to say this isn't tenable over the long term.

Solution? Buy a bigger bed.

So we did.

Our King arrived a few days ago and wouldn't you know it, since then Aasta has decided to sleep through the night in her own bed... *sigh*

To blog or not to blog, that is the question...

2011-12-20T13:00:00.002-06:00

I have a question for all of you. Or maybe I have a whole bunch-o-questions.

I need to get some feedback. What does one write about in a blog? I have used this blog primarily as a platform for my random thoughts about life, my occasional vents about parenting, and a way to espouse my general wisdom, or lack thereof.

I've intentionally steered clear of topics like politics, religion (mostly), and other "hot topics." But I'm beginning to feel like I haven't been altogether myself here. After all, I have very strong opinions about, well...ok, about everything. But I've honestly been wary of branching out of what I consider to be relatively safe topics.

The thing is even my safe topics have received some pushback. Granted, not a lot, but what's that saying, "it takes seven compliments to negate one negative comment."? I would argue it takes 477, but that's just me.

So I've become skiddish, even disheartened by this whole blogging thing.

So I'm bringing it out into the open. How much do you share and how much don't you share? In a day and age where we can actually subscribe to a video blog called Drunk Cooking do we worry about how we are perceived? Do we share who we really are and risk making people who know us uncomfortable or do we stay safe and try to make everything sound like it's "ok."

Why do you read blogs in the first place? What are you looking for?

I feel like I need to know.

Elf on a shelf?

2011-12-15T14:35:00.003-06:00

What, pray tell, is an elf on a shelf?

Don't make fun of me. I was out to dinner once with a couple and they mentioned a band that I didn't know about so I asked who they were. Both of the individuals droped jaw and stared at me for a very long time then said, "Only, perhaps, one of the most up and coming bands of the decade." I responded, "does it happen after seven, because if it does, I'm sleeping."

I still can't remember the name of the band but everyone keeps talking about an elf on a shelf, even how they use it to bribe their children into good behavior. (Maybe they haven't heard of M & M's)

Help me out people, bring me into the loop, I'm floundering out here!!

Advent

2011-12-14T09:11:00.000-06:00

Our church sends out e-votional's over lent. I've always loved Henri Nouwen and this is a reminder why. He writes,

To wait open-endedly is an enormously radical attitude toward life. So is to trust that something will happen to us that is far beyond our own imaginings. So, too, is giving up control over our future and letting God define our life, trusting that God molds us according to God’s love and not according to our fear. The spiritual life is a life in which we wait, actively present to the moment, trusting that new things will happen to us, new things that are far beyond our own imagination, fantasy, or prediction. That, indeed, is a very radical stance toward life in a world preoccupied with control.”

Toys

2011-12-04T18:54:00.000-06:00

I have struggled a bit with toys. Kids tend to have a lot of them so by default so do their parents. The best part about toys is that children love them. The hard part about toys is that some of them are great but only in limited quantity, i.e., the toy key chain I gave Aasta that has six different sounds...all of them loud and fairly annoying.

I love this blog by a Geek Dad from Wired Magazine. I have to agree with Jonathan but would like to also add 6.) A big tub of tupperware and 7.) A cat or other animal to chase around.

There is little better than watching my child get lost for hours with something I was going to recycle on Thursday.

The Aliens (hypothetically of course) are coming!!!

2011-11-30T21:31:00.000-06:00

Mike and I were sitting enjoying a slow cup of coffee this morning when we heard the impending sounds of an imminent Alien invasion. Hold on, I have to back up.

First of all I don't believe in Aliens. Not because I don't think they exist but because I have enough issues with humanity and don't at this point have the emotional capacity to include extra-terrestrial beings. So when I say "Aliens" I'm speaking hypothetically at all times.

That said, however, I have seen Close Encounters of the Third Kind (CE3rdK) and I know an Alien invasion when I hear one.

So this morning Mike and I were sitting enjoying a slow cup of coffee when we heard the impending sounds of an alien invasion. What does this sound like? It sounds like the note sequence played on CE3rdK when the military is trying to communicate with the space ship, that's how. I thought everyone knew this.

It went on for about 20 minutes which prompted me to call the non-emergency police line to ask them if they had heard of the invasion, which they hadn't, but seemed relieved to be informed. This was followed up by my call being forwarded to the dispatcher. Apparently the cops chased them away because the sounds stopped. Or so I thought.

I just heard them again! I'm going to put water glasses all over my house, put on my tin foil hat, break out the keyboard, and wait.

P.S. If you don't know what I'm talking about rent CE3rdK and Signs. Both really good flicks about hypothetical Aliens. I personally prefer the alien depiction in the first movie best but one can never be too prepared. *Grin* On another note I can't believe I just posted a blog about Aliens (hypothecially, of course).

An unfinished post

2011-11-30T17:08:00.000-06:00

Some of you may have already read my "parent etiquette" post which is fine. I do, however, want to let people know that it wasn't completed which is why if you have gone looking for it it isn't there. This is more of an FYI than anything. Many of my posts go through multiple revisions as I process my own thoughts, feelings, and junk, as well as my considerations of how others may perceive what is written. In this case I accidentally posted then removed it. So if something seems weird, that's why.

I'm so thankful for all of you who do check in on this blog. You are my constants.

2:30 AM

2011-11-25T06:28:00.000-06:00

What do you do at 2:30 in the morning when you can't sleep?

Ok, so now it's actually 6:15 in the morning and I still haven't slept so let me recap...

I woke up at 2:30 because my daughter came into my room and needed some late night cuddling. Hands down the most pleasant part of my last 3 and a half hours. Then I laid awake and wondered if one of my friends called during the blissful chaos that was Thanksgiving day. This led to a rabbit trail of thoughts from trying to fine tune a talk I'm giving in March to wondering if I left my shoes in the basement.

When I was a teenager railing against what seemed like a ridiculous curfew, my dad used to say, "nothing good happens after midnight." It used to drive me crazy but more and more I'm inclined to agree. Only today I think I'd say, "nothing particularly useful happens between 2:30AM and 6:30AM." At one point I actually considered getting up and going shopping, you know, Black Friday and all, but I guess that just proves the previous point is true.

So I finished a book, tried going back to sleep twice, and ended up here...blogging, yet again further proof.

I hope everyone else is sleeping. If not and you're shopping I hope you found some really sweet deals because you're crazy.

Laziest of days

2011-11-17T12:03:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was one of those days when I felt like I had all kinds of time with which I should be inspiringly productive. Instead it took me three hours to go for a walk and two hours to figure out lunch and another two hours to actually make bath time happen.

Do you ever have days when you don't do crap? I have a lot of work to do so that isn't the problem. My house is far from clean so it's not like I was sitting back enjoying my dizzyingly clean home. Nope, the house is a wreck, I have work that's late, I'm pretty sure all my clean underwear have been chilling (literally) in the dryer for at least a week, and there are two rakes that have been laying in my yard since last weekend holding the last vestiges of leaves I raked up six days ago.

On the plus side I started teaching Aasta how to do push-ups only to find out she prefers to sit on my back while I do them. I made, perhaps, the most amazing peanut butter sandwich ever created. Oh, you want the recipe? Here it is. Take a piece of bread and put it on the counter. Leave it there for at least 45 min while you stand in the office watching your daughter throw all of your pictures around. Go back to the kitchen and act surprised to see the lonely piece of bread still sitting there. Take out the peanut butter and unscrew the lid. Run to your daughters bed room to find out why you heard the sound of paper tearing. Resign defeat that she has now officially mutilated the really cute pop-up book she got when she was born. Pick up all the random pieces of paper, throw her dirty clothes down the laundry shoot, change her diaper, collapse in the chair in her room and wait for her to get hungry enough to look up from her puzzle to say, "Mommy? Food?"

Then go back to the kitchen, slab a little peanut butter on the bread and serve at room temperature. AMAZING! I think there's something to the slow cooking that makes it particularly tasty.
If you want, you can get really fancy and serve it with a sippy cup of milk but understand that this could take an additional hour.

Hope someone did more than I did.

People who are cool.

2011-11-12T13:36:00.002-06:00

I know a lot of really amazing, sensational, brilliant, and generally stupendous people. I'm lucky like that.

One of these particularly bravo individuals is my friend and neighbor Shaina. I have mentioned her website Food for My Family in the past. Well she has just finished a cookbook and it is, of course, fabulous. I have had the privilege of trying a great many of these desserts. Some because she used my oven to make them. Others because she was being her normal generous self. And yet others because she needed her jars cleaned out so she could make more fabulous desserts. Needless to say you should pre-order it today on Amazon.

Baby clothing rant take 2!

2011-11-05T08:21:00.001-05:00

Shoes.
Today my beef is with kids shoes. Trying to find a decent, non-over-plasticated pair of fairly cute but not over-the-top frilly shoes for my daughter has been nearly impossible. It seems the only kinds of shoes designed for little girls are pink and puke brown with purple flowers or Mary Janes. Seriously. Mary Janes. There are only a few select anyones who look cute in Mary Janes. Kids included.

That and the fact that a fairly nice pair of kids shoes are often upwards of $40. I don't even like to pay $40 for my shoes. It's why I'll spend years looking for the right pair of boots (ok so that's really because I'm mind blurringly indecisive and obsessed with the perfect combination of form AND function but that's an aside).

So after nearly months of searching for a pair of shoes with which she can run, get muddy, play in dirt, scrape along pavement, and pee on, what does my daughter wear 98% of the time? Camouflage rain boots people! Camouflage rain boots!

Hope

2011-11-03T12:51:00.000-05:00

When I was a youth director back in the day I was trying to explain Lent to my kids. During youth group one night I highlighted the idea of "giving things up for Lent" and what that meant. Most of the kids were pretty receptive but I had one young man who really had a hard time taking anything seriously. I'll call him Bill.

After detailing the historical, theological, spiritual and emotional motivations for giving up something for Lent we had a brief and fairly meaningful discussion through which Bill remained mostly quiet. I had no visions of grandeur when it came to him taking an idea home with him.

To my surprise, a few days later Bill knocked on my office door and asked if he could chat for a bit. I said, "sure" so he came in and took a seat. From there he began to talk to me, very seriously, about how he had been "internalizing" our conversation from the other night about Lent and that after much soul searching and deliberation he had come to the conclusion that he was feeling "spiritually called" to seriously consider giving something up for Lent. Surprised I responded, "Wow, Bill. That's pretty cool. What are you thinking about giving up for Lent?" Bill closed his eyes, lowered his head and paused for a long moment.

I was thinking to myself, "Wow, it seems like there is something pretty intense going on here."

After a significant pause Bill looked up at me and said calmly, "Hope, Sara. I'm giving up Hope." At this the impish grin returned to his face and he winked at me then got up and left my office.

Today I am feeling intoxicatingly hopeful. Call it a temporary mental snafu or an optimistic bent on life, whatever you will, but today I can't help but be excited. I'm trying really hard not to follow this up with a lightly sarcastic jab about how this surely means I'm about to get some bad news. I won't do it...today is hopeful.

So here's to throwing a little hope into the universe and hoping it sticks.
Are you hoping for anything in particular these days?

A getaway

2011-10-13T11:23:00.000-05:00

Let's be honest. Sometimes there is nothing better than simply getting away. A couple weekends ago Mike and I packed up the car and headed to the North Shore. In quintessential Sara Larson fashion no plans or reservations were made, we just took off.

It was a short, but life-giving trip. It felt good to have the ground beneath my feet. To see the colors changing. To simply be in the presence of The Lake. I think my heart took on a little more relaxed beat and my breathing felt more intentional.

Here's to getting away.

Self-Esteem

2011-10-04T12:37:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking a lot about self-esteem lately. Probably because I feel like I've been struggling with my own. I used to feel super self-confident. Of course I was also able to avoid a lot of the things I wasn't good at.

I read a book a while back called the Self-Esteem Trap by Polly Young-Eisendrath. In the book she addresses our culture's pervasive belief that "every child, teen and adult should be special, a winner, with the potential to be great" and how this "expectation is founded on the illusion that everyone has an extraordinary potential for creativity or genius or achievement that needs only to be unlocked in order for greatness to happen." The caution she offers is that by believing we can be good, even great at anything and everything, we set ourselves up to be disappointed. When I read the book I spent most of my time thinking about how other people in my life fit that description but honestly didn't pay a lot of attention to how I, in my own way, have a skewed view of self-esteem.

I was always told that I was special (not discounting special as good) and that I could, with hard work and belief in myself, do anything I wanted. As much as these are beautiful and helpful things to hear it wasn't exactly true. True I am special, this is just fact *grin*. And granted, I'm good at a fair chunk of stuff so no complaints there. But I'm aslo pretty bad at a lot of things i.e., drawing, stress management, self-discipline, keeping my house clean, getting the laundry out of the wash before it starts to stink, ironing in a timely fashion, staying calm when I'm tired, math, recalling basic scientific concepts like say...gravity, remembering anything, celebrating anyones birthdays, being rational after 9PM, etc.

I try not to, but I end up comparing myself to others which is about as helpful as using mosquito netting as a rain-fly. Is nagging negative self-esteem a curse of reality? I mean let's face it, someone else will always be better at (pick a flavor) than me.

I want to shut off the voice in the back of my brain that tries to convince me I'm not ok just being who I am and where I am at any given moment. I want to trust that on the days I feel crappy about my contributions to society, I will be more impressive another day. I want to understand that who I am in the world isn't as important as who I am. I want to believe that my gifts will be revealed and that my faults and shortcomings won't really do that much damage.

So how do I find a way to ease myself into remembering that self-esteem is actually more about knowing what I'm good at AND bad at, heck even the stuff I'm simply mediocre at, and being okay with all of it? How do you find confidence in yourself so that your thoughts don't turn into self-berating bitch sessions?

How about you?

Dreams are so weird sometimes

2011-09-27T16:10:00.002-05:00

I have this recurring CIA operative theme in my dreams. A couple of nights ago I was a CIA operative with Jason Statham and we were trying to navigate a mansion the size of Connecticut in order to complete some unknown objective.

The highlight of my dream was when we were being chased, after having exited a room filled with toxic snails that made us giddy, of course, and found ourselves on a balcony-like precipice. Our only options were to try and climb down a steep and perilous cliff or to leap on to a ten-story high grandfather clock conveniently tilted at about a 35 degree angle. I wanted to climb but Agent Statham would have none of it. He picked me up and threw me across the chasm onto the clock then leapt directly behind me and we both slid safely to the bottom carefully dodging the very ominous second hand.

Once we reached the bottom we had to part ways. Statham informed me that I should meet with my handlers in order to receive follow-up instructions. The meeting was arranged and with utmost discretion I convened with my super-secret handlers, the Gustafsons. During our meeting we discussed details of the case, including how many coats of paint Loren had to put on their new house and how much Cynthia loves chickens. Throughout the conversation Loren pet a very large grey cat that reminded me of Dr. Evil in Austin Powers.

Then I woke up and only then did it all seem weird

Car names

2011-09-19T15:08:00.000-05:00

I have always been into naming my stuff but I'm very particular, especially about the names I give my cars. For example, my first car was light grey Buick Skylark (yeah baby!) boxy and small. It had been my parents but later became mine. It had some bruises and a lot of miles but my favorite feature was that in it's last year or so, if you drove over 65-70 mph it would just quit. All the lights would come on and the car would go dead as a doornail and I'd have to pull off to the side of the road. The trick was to wait about 45 seconds, tap it twice on the dashboard and ask, "have a nice nap?" She would fire up again without fail. (I only know this because it's what I did the first time it happened and I never wanted to jinx it so I just did it every time.) She became fondly known as "Cadaver." Eventually she blew up whilst driving into my parents driveway.

My second car, and hands down my least favorite, was a Chrysler something-or-other. It was a piece of crap and I hated it. I got it because, well, it was my parents and later it became mine. The only name this car deserved was "That Car" so that's what it was called. Blech.

My third car, and to date still my favorite, was an awesome little blue honda civic station wagon. You'll see that history will show that I really love station wagons, and blue cars. And even though my friend Jason H once called them grocery getters I forgave him because as we all know station wagons are really oops-I-forgot-to-tell-you-I-was-coming-so-I'll-just-sleep-in-my-car-and-camp-ready wonder trucks! So my third car was super sweet and got about 40mpg. (Which on a side note is my beef with hybrid cars. If they could make a car that, on regular gasoline in 1992, got 40 mpg I should be able to get a hybrid that gets at least 80. I'm just saying). So this car was my first not-my-parents car car and I love it. I named him Otis Smoot. Why you ask? Because the dude I bought it from was name Otis Smoot and it just seemed to fit. That's why.

On a sad note I got hosed by a woman eating a sandwich on I94 in the Twin Cities who, instead of eating said sandwich AND watching the road just ate her sandwich then rammed into a parked Utility truck going 65 miles per hour subsequently flipping horizontally in the air and taking the entire right side of Otis with her. I tried to put a band aid on Otis (I made it out of construction paper and packing tape)but ended up having to cash her out as totalled.

My fourth car is my favorite car to speak ill of. I was stupid, bought it on impulse, did ZERO research, and that it was a dud from the beginning is really just part of what makes it a great story. I bought it from a guy at Little Brothers Subaru near Columbia Falls, MT who was really excited to tell me what an amazing Christian guy he was by providing many details about his selfless service. It was a light blue Subaru Impreza (you guessed it) station wagon and named it Lloyd. I may have been attempting to channel the mojo that was Otis Smoot but like many efforts to bring back the dead, it backfired HUGE!

After driving it from the dealer to camp I was asked to run back into Kalispell to pick up a few things for the Wilderness Program. I parked the car, picked up the goods, went back to the car and...it was dead. Deader than dead. It wasn't the battery, there was a juice for the radio and lights but it wouldn't do anything. I had it towed to a garage and was told it was, well, a cadre of different things. The repair was going to total almost as much as I had paid for it so I figured I should call the dude at Little Bros and let him know he sold me a used lemon. He told me it wasn't his responsibility to take care of cars he's already sold. I tried to argue that considering it was merely hours before that I had purchased the car he might want to do the right thing and realize he sold me a dud. In a nut shell he told me tough luck and to buzz off (those were not his exact words *grin*). Real selfless there bucko. Anyhoo.

I kept the piece-o-junk for about a year which made great story telling for the kids in my youth group who were always excited to hear what had fallen off Lloyd since I'd seen them last. My buddies Doug and Josh wrote a song about how I changed the cars name from Lloyd to "The Bitch." I eventually sold it on consignment and was forced to flee the scene when one fateful evening I was departing the video rental store only to hear Lloyd coming from the distance. When it pulled up in front of me I almost wet my pants and fainted but opted to run away instead.

So after Lloyd/Bitch the story gets a little dull because I married a nice guy who hadn't bought pieces of crap for cars. Or station wagons for that matter. For a couple of years I lived blissfully sans car drama. However, about six years ago Mike and I bought a nice little black VW station wagon *sigh* but have never really been able to come up with a name for it. Until recently.

The VW is one of those amazing little cars that has (as my friend Doug likes to say about his really small dog) a very BIG personality. I can fit anything in my little car. I once went to look at a couch from Craigslist and upon seeing it and realizing it was the greatest couch of all time I told the lady I'd buy it. She asked me if I was going to come back and bring a truck to which I replied, "No, it's going in my car." She laughed at me until I drug out the montage that is my own little stash MacGyver gear and realized I was serious. After making the final adjustments she asked me to take a picture and send it to her because her husband would never believe some girl drove away with it in a Volkswagon Jetta. BOOYEAH!

I heart MacGyver

It's been six years and the lil treasure never fails me. It's like that bag Hermoine carries around in the last Harry Potter series, it's the size of a purse but it holds a circus tent! As a result I've finally decided on a name. "Hogwarts" nickname "The Hog."

My last lil' snipped (thanks for sticking with me) was my pre-mid-life-crisis purchase. A Blue 1974 International Scout II named "Stella". She came with the name and after trying "Beulah" on for size for a couple of weeks she became once again firmly identified as Stella. I drove her from Colorado to MN. When I left CO she had twelve hoses attached. When I arrived in MN she had four. She was a beast and I loved her. She was also grossly impractical and after I got pregnant I sold her to a super nice guy from Omaha, who I think painted her black.

I think everyone should name their cars. Do you?

An early morning root canal

2011-09-14T15:49:00.000-05:00

Name ten things you don't want to do first thing in the morning...

My list (not in any particular order) includes:
1. Cook Dinner
2. Watch the news
3. Have a conversation with a member of the Latter Day Saints
4. Clean up cat vomit (or any vomit for that matter).
5. Be giddy (unless I'm leaving for a vacation but even then I usually find the most I can muster is a squinty eyed excitement).
6. Vaccum
7. Listen to House Music
8. Eat lettuce or any variation of it including Radacchio, Spinach, Romaine, Mixed Greens, etc.
9. Take a hip hop dance class
10. Have a root canal...GAH! I was right. Avoid again at all cost!

But now that that's over I'm having a pretty good day.

How's your day going?

What's in a name?

2011-09-02T08:39:00.000-05:00

In an attempt to get a ton of work done I prepared a pile-o-fun for Aasta and sat down to meet some long over-do commitments. This has been a bit of a theme for the past month. Needless to say I keep trying but I still don't think I've accomplished jack. In the past few weeks, Aasta has become quite proficient at saying my new name, "mama." So in case you think any remnant of Sara remains, take care, she no longer exists. In her place is a woman who, despite her diligent efforts, has morphed into simply, "mama!"

Which reminds me, a few months ago when Aasta was just starting to say her first intelligible words I was so excited for her to say mommy. I'm not anymore. I mean I like it, especially between 8AM and say around 3ish. But after that I kind of feel like banging my head against a wall.

Let's try an experiment. I'm going to set a timer for two minutes and see how many times she says "mama." Go!... 32 times. Oye!

Broken

2011-09-01T13:18:00.000-05:00

I went to pick up my car at our friends house this morning only to find out that the car had been broken into in the middle of the night. There was nothing of real consequence in the car and the thieves were kind enough to not break my window or anything (I actually think I left the car unlocked, thankfully). It seems it was a quick job and it appeared they went through every car on the street.

Inconveniently enough they did steal the ash tray/ coin collector with all my change in the car. I keep a healthy number of quarters in there for emergency parking. Of course they couldn't leave the tray and take the change, apparently they needed to take the tray too. The only real stinker is that the key to my car rack was in the change tray. Which is kind of funny because car racks are expensive and worth a pretty penny yet they took the key and left the rack.

Even though nothing important was stolen and I'm only out about five dollars in quarters, I feel strangely violated. As I was driving home I couldn't help but think of some slimy person's mojo all over the car. I think I'm going to open all the windows and smudge the whole interior with sage.

What's so broken that someone would steal my change? Who's life is so broken that they would spend an entire night ransacking people's cars for, what?...quarters and an occasional ipod? I hate broken.

Five AM Musings

2011-08-27T07:44:00.001-05:00

I suppose that like anyone I wrestle with questions about what I have and have not accomplished. Throughout my life I have had visions of grandeur about how I would change the world, be a famous expeditioner, fight poverty, fix the ails of the world, you know small stuff. These days those visions of grandeur are primarily reserved for lively discussions among my closest friends in my own kitchen over glasses of wine and Trader Joe's cheese.

It is sometimes an odd thing to navigate ones own expectations of life with ones own realities. And it seems as humans we are adept at creating our own exaggerated dramas. I've never had a penchant for extreme drama and tend to prefer keeping some of my most extreme wonderings to myself. Yet at times I really do wish I were much more astounding than is, perhaps, realistic. When I've had too much time inside my own head I wonder if I should be working harder, earning more money, speaking at more events, leading more trips, yada yada yada.

I woke up at five this morning and although I was initially quite perturbed I finally resigned myself to wakefulness and crawled out of bed. I brewed a pot of Kona coffee, straight from Hawaii (no I haven't been there recently but conveniently had a very generous guest). I then wandered into my disheveled living room where the floor is strewn with picture albums, Aasta's toys, some unidentifiable crumbs, a discarded water bottle, an emptied wipe box and a vast expanse of dried up baby wipes, an empty cereal box (ah the crumb source), and other randoms. And instead of picking things up I opened my windows and cuddled into my favorite chair with a good book.

A couple of hours have since passed. I've had at least three cups of amazing coffee while lost in a story of a Korean immigrant's life in Hawaii. (The relation between morning java and said novel not entirely lost on me.) I just went in to peek on Mike and Aasta who are both still sound asleep, tripped on a toy farm set, and was reminded of how spectacular my life is.

My house is a disaster. I'm making far less money than I had anticipated making by my mid thirties. I'm definitely not as famous as the 18 year-old version of me expected. I'm not as in shape as I planned. I'm still going grey, though until I wash my hair again I can blame at least some of it on the white primer from my most recent painting project. I drive a station wagon, aka grocery getter, which I have recently decided to name "Hogwarts" because I can to fit the most absurd things in this car. And I haven't solved the whole issue of poverty.

However, I have a healthy and beautiful family. I have a husband who is hot, patient, gentle, kind, and rife with integrity (my current favorite virtue). I get to see my brother, sister-in-law and three beautiful nieces at least once a week which has catapulted my bliss levels off the charts. I pick a bushel of cucumbers every four days out of my overflowing garden. My backyard is often filled with neighbor kids playing on our hammock and swing. And I live on a street packed full of people I get to call friends.

So even though I'm sure I'll complain again about how much I'm not doing and what my life doesn't look like, at the end of the day, I'm really quite happy with how things have turned out.

WAHOOOOOO!!!!

2011-08-26T14:06:00.000-05:00

I'm at 51 followers! All my whining and complaining worked. YEAH ME! I'm so popular it hurts!

Thanks everyone for signing up. Now I just have to get my hands on some kind of cool giveaway. Hmmm...maybe some Crappola? I'll keep you posted.

Gender Identification and Chopsticks

2011-08-24T13:47:00.000-05:00

My daughter gets called a boy all the time and she'll only try new food if it's given to her via chopsticks.

That my daughter is constantly called a boy is annoying because the extent to which we gender identify our children is ridiculous. Girls in pink, boys in blue...really? Ladies, how many of you have entire wardrobes that consist of strictly pink lacy clothing. Guys, how many of you have an entire closet full of only blue shirts? Ok, so my husband does but he's the exception to the rule. And, I'll have you know he recently wore purple, GO MIKE! None of us do. So why do we do it to kids.

I went to Buffalo Wild Wings when Aasta was about nine months old. They asked me if I wanted a kids menu. I said, "Sure!" Then the hostess asked if I wanted a boy or girl kid menu to which I responded, "what's the difference?" She said, "the girls one is movie stars and the boys one is trucks and cars." It's a freakin kids meal! Put some baloons on it and call it good. I took the trucks one on principle.

I went to meet Mike for lunch at work one day and because I didn't want to have to explain why a short haired blond child could also be a girl I put Aasta in a pink hoodie sweatshirt. As I was waiting for Mike to come down the elevator one of the security guys said, "What's his name?" I said, "Her name is Aasta." He said, "Oh, I just saw the blue shoes." COME ON!

I've tried every color, white, green, orange, yellow, brown, teal, light blue, red, and unless she's wearing strictly pink, it seems the default assumption is that she's a boy. I understand that she probably won't be damaged by this. I was, after all, called a boy until about eighth grade. Of course that's because I wanted people to think I was a boy and it took until I turned about twenty-five to truly embrace girl-ish-ness and I turned out relatively normal.

So if anyone has a theory about this I'd love to hear about it. Or just other rants.

Second topic. My daughter will only eat new food when presented to her with chopsticks. Actually, that's all I have to say on the matter. I just think it's funny. And kind of cool.

In desperate need of inspiration

2011-08-22T14:49:00.000-05:00

So I've written ten new posts since I posted my last one and feel like the heat from January fried my brain and every creative, thoughtful, or insightful thought in my head.

How do you get inspired?

Morning Coffee on your Patio...

2011-07-26T09:20:00.000-05:00

I woke up this morning at 6AM which would usually put me in a foul mood but today there was no chance of that. The sun still hadn't peaked over the horizon but everything was kind of golden and morning-ish. I brewed a pot of coffee, put a dish in the dishwasher, and parked myself outside on my crappy folding chair next to my rusted out patio table.

So this may seem random but sometimes I get hung up on really lame things like my deck being stained by years of fall leaves being frozen to the concrete. Or how no matter how many times I scrub it my front steps look like a patio reject project from an Intro to Masonry Class. Or how no matter what I do my garage always looks like a Costco visit gone wrong. My tendency to fixate on the imperfections in my home often deters me from just enjoying what actually is a pretty nice place. I think it's easier sometimes not to appreciate what we have then to enjoy what we have for what it is.

In a similar vein, my friend Shaina just posted a great blog about entertaining in small spaces where she aptly talked about not letting the size of your space deter you from blissing out with friends and family (see here, foodformyfamily). So, in the spirit of home-lovin, this morning I would like to add to the bloggosphere a call for people to: Have Morning Coffee on your Patio Even if It's Made of shitty Concrete and your Patio Furniture Looks Like it Came Out of A Dumpster.

Here's to slow mornings, hot coffee, great conversation, and getting over myself.

Costa Rica Details

2011-07-13T11:52:00.008-05:00

I promised more information regarding the Costa Rica event.

Scythe no more...

2011-06-23T11:27:00.000-05:00

I just spent the morning clearing cocklebur and burning weed from around my mom's bunk house. I've been using an old school Scythe and have to admit that I feel pretty bad ass.

The last time I really invested in scything was in 1996 in Montana. For some reason, I think the program directors thought I liked to be masochistic, two of us on staff were dubbed the scythe-ers for the meadow. The camp I was working at didn't have a big mower so my friend Tess and I were sent up the hill every Friday each with a scythe in hand where we mostly chased butterflies and occasionally cut the shoulder high grass.

So I'm back at it. My arms ache. I can't really close my hands fully. My forearms are burning and my shoulders feel like they are detached from my body...basically I'm in heaven.

Relatively local awesomeness.

2011-06-09T11:35:00.001-05:00

I was buying groceries a couple weeks ago for my girlfriends who were coming to town and I couldn't pass this up.

It's actually really good stuff and it's made in Ely.

Here's their website:

http://crapola.us/

There's a tie for product favorites. Favorite number one is their tag line "Makes even weird people regular." Favorite number two is the tab on the website that says, "even chickens like it."

Tough Chicks

2011-06-07T14:04:00.000-05:00

I posted a while back about the Triple L Farm Reclamation Act but this photo was just uploaded onto my computer so I had to put it in here. I LOVE this picture. It's me and my sister-in-law, Annika. I just think we both look really tough. I also can rant for a bit about how much I love driving big vehicles.

I know it's not really socially acceptable to love big vehicles but since my primary mode of transportation is a weeny little VW station wagon, or a bike I don't feel too guilty about it. I'm pretty sure this affair is due to the fact that I grew up on a farm and learned to drive on tractors, mowers, and well...ok, so golf carts, but other than that short stint with the golf cart that ended when I somehow managed to drive it into a rope swing and basically lynched the thing, I grew up with bigger vehicles. Needless to say, whenever I get to drive something big and bulky I kind of turn into a giddy fourteen-year-old, a buff and tough one who likes trucks more than boys, but annoyingly pubescent all the same.

And then I painted a room.

2011-05-27T09:03:00.000-05:00

I was alone in my house last night for the first time in roughly three years. The CRAZY thing is that I'm not exaggerating. Between roommates, house-guests, and a baby, I literally haven't been alone in my house for an entire day and night in three years. So that's that.

This weekend all my college roommates are coming to town so once the house was mine I took to the broom and dust mop and started cleaning. Now I typically live by the motto, "I would have cleaned for you but then I wouldn't have invited you over." But having so much space and time I decided cleaning could be cathartic. So I set to it.

And then I painted a room.

Here's how it happened. (The visual this should give you into how my brain works could be a little frightening) I was folding a sheet and decided to put it right on the bed instead so I headed to the guest room. When I walked through the door I noticed the huge black slash on the front of the door (applied by a previous tenant) that has been bugging me for quite a few years. There and then I went to the utility room and grabbed the can of white paint. I found a clean paint brush, grabbed a towel, and painted over the offending mark.

I washed out the brush, cleaned off the paint can, hammered the lid back on and noticed I hadn't put away the winter boots that were sitting in the middle of the utility room floor. So I organized the utility room. Then remembered I never put on the sheet.

So I headed to the guest room and noticed immediately that the white paint didn't match the door. I'd grabbed the wrong can. CRAP! After staring at the door grumbling for about three minutes it was determined that I shall not be bested by this door. I grabbed the paint brush, paint, a roller, and a tray and set to painting the whole side of the door. Upon completion I looked into the basement living room area and stared at the door that goes into the well. I've always hated that door. It sticks out and it doesn't go anywhere. So I painted that door too.

Realizing this could quickly spiral out of control I washed out the paint brush, tray, and roller. Re-sealed the paint can and put it back in it's proper place on the shelf. While looking at the shelf I noticed I had a whole gallon of paint left over from painting the basement bedroom. Curious I grabbed the can, shook the living daylights out of it, opened it up and decided to paint a test strip on the basement living room wall to see if I liked it. I did.

Figuring I could at least finish trimming around the north wall I began at the ceiling and worked my way around along the floor trim. I finished it so quickly I decided I'd just do the south wall while I had everything out. The whole time I was saying to myself...now keep this under control. You can roll the walls on Monday.

So I ordered a pizza and sat down on the couch to eat a lovely piece of Sarpinos pizza and a diet Coke. I flipped on the television and decided I should probably get around to watching the royal wedding...I know, it was almost a month ago. I don't have a lot of free time.

While partaking in the deliciousness that is pizza and watching the bizarre phenomenon that is royal-wedding-fashion, i.e. what the sam hell is on those ladies heads, I kept looking at the walls and thinking to myself, "it would probably only take me an hour to just finish up the room.

So I painted the room.

This morning as I was pouring myself my morning cup-o-joe I realized I never did make the bed. *sigh*

Costa Rica Surfing

2011-05-24T10:55:00.000-05:00

For years I have dreamed of going to Costa Rica to learn how to surf. When I was somewhere between 16-18 I said I wanted to figure out a way to get paid to backpack, and I figured that out so now it's time to make this happen. February 2012, I will be offering a trip for women (sorry dudes) to Costa Rica to raft the Pacuare River, play in some Hot Springs, practice Yoga, and learn to surf. Who's coming with me?

My new favorite Restaurant

2011-05-20T08:44:00.001-05:00

My Godmother Lill introduced me to a new restaurant in the Linden Hills Neighborhood called Tilia. It was also featured in this month's Minnesota Monthly (you have to subscribe to see that article but I've included another review from a MM reviewer). It's the perfect blend of simplicity, depth, and quality that I always want when I am lucky enough to go out. This place feels rustic and romantic, the kind of place you could go with girlfriends for lunch, on a romantic date with your partner, or just out with friends for a beer or glass of wine. I'm unabashedly plugging this place...I like it that much.

I also think it's important to give yourself little indulgences once in a while. Whether it's dinner out, a massage, a long walk around a lake, or a pleasure drive some place new. So here's to you. Step out. Do something fun. Hopefully I'll see you out and about!

A day by the river

2011-05-19T11:35:00.000-05:00

I just got back from a short work/pleasure trip to Colorado. Tickets were cheap and it was the perfect time to get out of MN for a couple days to take care of some business and to spend a little quality time with my cousin.

On Monday morning after an amazingly yummy breakfast at Snooze in Ft Collins the sky looked ominous but we decided to head up the Poudre River anyway. It was a good decision because in spite of being rather chilly the sun came out and we cozied into our regular spot at a bend in the river.

The river was high but not crazy. Some rafters were training for the summer season. We even spied a few kayakers (that I eyed jealously).

Aasta had a blast. She spent her time trying to figure out how to walk on the rocky terrain and throwing rocks in the river. She and Chris spent a good twenty minutes throwing dried pine needles into the river and waving goodbye to each one. Aasta even got to bury her nose in the thick heady scent of the Ponderosa Pine. She got a little sap on her nose but thanks to a peanut butter covered sweet potato pancake later in the day that vanished without any scrubbing.

Needless to say it was a perfect day.

Adventure, Theology, and Wood ticks!

2011-05-18T15:19:00.002-05:00

I co-teach a class at Luther Seminary every year on Adventure Education and Theology. The class is coming up in a couple weeks and I'm getting really excited.

I found this picture from a previous course so I had to post it here. I co-teach with Paul Hill http://thoughtsfrompaulhill.com/ which is an amazing opportunity in and of itself. But what I love most about this course is engaging the students in what I like to call "body learning." We talk a lot during the course about brain development and theological development. But the "other" thing that happens during the course is that students engage their bodies in the learning process. They touch, move, bump, trip, and even fall (safely of course) into what it means to think and talk about fear, safety, and faith. It's AWESOME!

I just wanted to share my excitement with you. I'm hoping for warm weather and limited exposure to ticks. But even if it's cold and there are lots of bugs you'll probably find me, somewhere in the woods, doing a little happy dance.

I have issues...

2011-05-13T11:50:00.000-05:00

For those of you who know me best you are probably keenly aware that I have some control and authority issues. They aren't severe (I hope) but they exist all the same. The biggest thing for me is that I really don't like being told what to do...by anyone...for any reason. It's a little absurd. Case in point. I was coming up to a four-way stop the other day and stopped in perfect timing with a car on my left. Now as everyone should know when you meet a car at a four way stop and you both stop at the same time the car to the right has the right of way. Immediately upon stopping, however, the woman in the car to my left gave me a very curt "wave on" as a means to instruct me to go first. Generally speaking, this is no big deal. Right? Exactly. I, however, turned it into a forty-five minute personal tirade (all of which took place silently in my own head, thankfully) that raised my blood pressure to border-line spontaneous combustion. I mean come on! I KNEW I had the right of way. I was perfectly aware of the basic rules of engagement for vehicular etiquette. I didn't need some petty, pompous, snide, caddy, self-righteous, judgmental woman to wave ME on. I'm a driving genius for crying out loud!! After I calmed down, ate a very large chunk of chocolate chip cookie dough, then sat in my kitchen and chuckled to myself. I have issues.

Now I'm begging

2011-05-11T14:25:00.000-05:00

Ok, so I'm going to do it. I'm going to beg. My goal last year was to try and get up to fifty followers and I added one. That's right. One. I went from 31 to 32 (this is when you start to feel sorry for me, so much so that you rush to my site and immediately click on the link that says "follow" then fill in the blanks). You may wonder why I want you to follow me and the answer is simple. It boosts my ego. My ego took a nose dive recently and though it's on the upswing I'm unabashedly attempting to find alternative methods to help me feel good about myself. That, and I'm trying to get more traffic to the site to pursue other blogging endeavors. So there you have it. I'm on my hands and knees and would take a picture but it's just me and the cat so you're out of luck. Just words on a page folks. If I have to resort to groveling I will...

Manual Labor

2011-05-02T21:54:00.007-05:00

Having grown up on a farm there is little on this earth that gives me more satisfaction than a long day of hard physical labor. This past week a bunch of my family gathered at my parents farm to help get the ol' homestead whipped into shape. A veritable Spring cleaning if you will. We dubbed the effort the Triple L Farm Reclamation Act and were pleased as punch to have so many able bodied favorites show up to put their own personal twist on the farm clean-up. The picture above is of my gorgeous sister-in-law (a trait, apparently, among my sister's in law). We were donning our super-sweet bandanas in an effort to keep out the cockleburs, aka kookaburras (courtesy of my niece). It kept the little velcro inspirations out of our locks and made us look tough!

I was in heaven. I was outside from 9 or 10AM until dinner and even later a couple nights. My bro and I got to work side by side. I bumped my elbows on barn doors, started and extinguished a grass fire, tripped on abandoned fencing, scratched my arms and torso on trees and branches, exhausted my hands and forearms running a chain saw, bruised my legs (literally) from toes to hips, and grinned almost the entire time. My back hurts, my shoulders are sore, my legs are tight, and my hands still ache when I try to make a fist but I feel renewed, returned to myself, at home once again in this body of mine. I wonder if we all might benefit from getting off our phones, computers, ipads, ipods, iphones, Blackberrys, smart phones, droids, Kindles, and other back-lit devices and out into dust and dirt and trees and mud. It seems to have almost saved me. From what, I can't tell you, but I can say with certainty that I am filled to the point of bursting with something that feels a lot like bliss.

Mom in the garden

Jedd and my nieces chillin' on the flatbead trailer.

My super hot hubby driving the skid loader.

Inevitably

2011-04-25T11:37:00.004-05:00

From a previous week...

I was so organized today. I woke up, drank my coffee while reading the most recent publication of The Week, picked up Aasta's room, cleaned the kitchen, went out to the garden and turned some soil, took Aasta for a ride in her wagon, and prepared to run errands before heading out of town. And all of this by 9:30 AM. It's mornings like this that inevitably mean I'm in for a profound reminder that I'm never this productive.

After packing Aasta's diaper bag with the usual, extra clothes, diapers, wipes, snacks and a drink I zipped up the bag and set it by the door waiting for my departure. Then I got Aasta dressed. The timing would be perfect I would get loaded up, get in the car, and get to Costco with just enough time to pick up my groceries and get home to meet the gentleman giving me an estimate on some hair-brained home improvement ideas. After making the final touches on my shopping list I tucked it into my pocket and went to grab Aasta to take her to the car. Enter stage left, colossal poop.

Deep breath, change diaper and pants, take toxic waste to outside garbage pail and check! I'm ready. I walk back into the house, grab Aasta and load the car. I'm a few minutes behind now but I can make up the time with a super quick run through Costco. I get in the car, take a deep breath so as not to run over any small ladies or even smaller dogs while backing out of my driveway. I turn on NPR which guarantees Aasta won't fall asleep so I can time her nap perfectly, of course. I arrive at Costco feeling quite proud of myself, take Aasta out of the car seat, load her into the shopping cart and head toward the entrance. As I'm about to walk through the front door (where they inanely check your Costco card even though you can't buy anything without one. A personal pet peeve of mine thanks to my neighbor Ole) I stop cold. I forgot Aasta's diaper bag on the buffet in the front hall which wouldn't be a big deal if it didn't also contain my wallet. What calm I've been able to manufacture is now quickly deteriorating into sheer and utter rage.

I turn the cart around, walk back to the car, load Aasta back into the car, back the car out (still aware of my surroundings though becoming decidedly less concerned about little dogs) and head back home. In my frustration I turn on a CD to calm myself and within two minutes Aasta has fallen asleep in the back seat. So now I'm home. It's only 11 and I've resorted to eating chocolate covered pretzel's and drinking the remaining pot of coffee while Aasta finishes what is sure to be a painfully short nap.

Like I said, I'm never that productive.

Taking Flight

2011-04-13T09:42:00.002-05:00

Aasta has been doing this little number for some time now. What I love about it is that it looks like she's about to take off. I remember trying to imagine ways that I could fly when I was little. Aside from some of my brother's brighter ideas, like a "sweet bike jump" I stayed earth-locked.

A couple days ago I was flying to Dallas and sat next to two girlfriends on their way to Jamaica for a girls weekend. They were both giddy and couldn't stop talking the whole flight. The highlight for me, however, was during takeoff. As the plane began to accelerate the woman in the middle seat, closest to me, reached over and grabbed her girlfriends hand and said, "Lord, this is my favorite part. Hold on now...(as the nose of the plane began to rise) that's it, here it comes...(the wheels left the tarmac and we were airborne) and that my friend is what we call a miracle! Fat ladies flying, who ever heard of such a thing!"

I too was on my way to a girlfriend weekend. One of our traditions when we gather together is what we fondly refer to as "circle time." It's our time to really connect, to listen, and to speak our deepest truths and needs. After listening to each other for a little while I was, as I always am with these ladies, left breathless by the profound honesty and beauty in my midst. During a pause in the conversation I couldn't help but think that as I listen to these women speak I feel like I can fly.

What makes you take flight?

Robin

2011-04-04T15:12:00.003-05:00

It was icky and rainy this morning and I was gloomy, cranky, and all around pissed off to see snowflakes flying. I had an early morning errand so was out and about in the muck. As I was pulling into the driveway I kept thinking I heard a bird and assumed it was coming from the radio. But when I opened my door and stepped out of the car i heard it again. Just above my driveway in our beautiful maple sat the fatest red-breasted Robin I have ever seen. Spring has sprung. I am happy.

Beauty

2011-03-29T14:08:00.005-05:00

I was just leading a women's retreat a couple weekends ago and have to share this brief experience from one of my sessions that continues to resonate. I think all women can understand that there are times when we do not feel beautiful. It's easy, unfortunately, not to feel attractive and to feel most days like your body simply does not adequately compare to what you perceive as beautiful. We talked a lot about beauty on this retreat and as is usually the case the topic seemed particularly difficult for the women when they were asked to talk about their own beauty. It was easy for them to talk about their kids, friends, sisters, moms, or the proverbial "other women" who are beautiful but opening up about their own experiences feeling beautiful seemed almost too difficult..

One woman, however, spoke so frankly about feeling beautiful I still find myself referencing her story a couple weeks later and smiling. I had asked the group of roughly eighty women to recall a time when they remembered feeling beautiful. A few women mentioned their wedding days, others talked about giving birth to their children, then one woman said clearly, "Yesterday." We all turned and looked to her. She repeated, "Yesterday. Yesterday I woke up later than my husband and as I was getting dressed he walked in with a cup of coffee. I was standing in the room, completely naked and he walked right up to me, wrapped me in his arms and said, 'You are so beautiful.' So I felt beautiful yesterday." I found out later that they were high-school sweethearts who had been married over forty years.

Snail Mail

2011-03-02T13:56:00.002-06:00

My girlfriend Julie sent me a snail mail letter this week. It made my day. I miss letters, stamps, envelopes, and handwriting. I've been working on my response and am realizing how out of practice I am in writing letters. I'm so used to typing whether via e-mail, my blog, or text messages. When I put a pen in my hand I have to take a moment and remember how the process works. There's something about the weight of a perfect pen, the clarity of a crisp white piece of paper, and the process of deeply considering my words before putting pen to paper. It feels a little holy. Almost like an artistic expression. I wish snail mail would make a comeback. I don't mind getting e-mails, and I really don't like facebook but appreciate that it has connected me to a few precious friends, but what I really want is more letters with less than perfect handwriting and words crossed out. I want to touch what others have touched and feel closer to them as a result. Maybe we can create a snail mail revolution. I better go by a bunch of forever stamps just in case.

Surprises

2011-02-24T16:08:00.004-06:00

I have a brother. He's awesome. I could list how he's awesome but it would take a long time so instead I will share briefly that he often surprises me.

If you were to meet him your first thought might be something akin to, "there's an honest and decent guy with a good head on his shoulders who seems to be able to fix and build anything." He's not flamboyant and doesn't really attract attention but more than anyone would ever guess, he is full of surprises.

When we were growing up he was the brain and I was the brute force. We would often build forts out of hay bales in the loft of the barn. No matter the endeavor we always began most fort building efforts separately. In this case I would start by heaving a few conveniently placed bales on top of one another until inevitably the whole thing would either collapse or look just plain repulsive. Eventually I'd meander over and help Jedd build his fort. With Jedd everything was precise and calculated. Every bale had a place and every inch of space was accounted for. When construction was finished I would step back in amazement at our 3-4 bedroom hay-bale-condominium with elaborate halls, tunnels, and secret passages. Every time I was surprised by his uncanny ability to turn everything into a masterpiece.

Today he surprised me again but this time with a poem. I know, a poem! I didn't know he wrote poems. I didn't even know he thought about poems. I wouldn't have even assumed he would be willing to acknowledge "poem." But today what he wrote struck me silent, stopped me fast, and lingered with me all day long. Even now, decades away from hay bales and forts, he continues create masterpieces.

I intentionally didn't share his poem, I'm sorry about that. As stunning as it is, I still feel strongly that it is his poem to share.

A warming trend

2011-01-27T15:33:00.002-06:00

Say what you will or wont about climate change, all I can say is that it isn't 100 degrees below zero today and that makes me happy. I took Aasta out cross-country skiing and actually enjoyed it. About a week ago I tried to take her for a walk to Rainbow Foods (sum total of 5ish blocks) and ended up turning around by Wally's house (100ft). It was so cold that the tip of my nose actually started to zing. Yep, zing. If you don't know what that feels like I'm not sure how to explain it...actually if you've ever had your teeth whitened the feeling is similar...sort of a painful high-pitched twinge-o-yuck. I had Aasta so layered she couldn't put her arms down further that a 45 degree angle. There was no suffocation-less way that I couldn't really cover her face so I turned around and came home.

Today though it's a balmy 20ish degrees and I'm in heaven. My neighbor Julie stopped to say hi with her teeny little heel-biter, aka a "dog" and asked if this was a sign of spring. Since Winter Solstice was just Dec 21st, I'm not sure I'm that optimistic but I will say that Paul Huttner told me via MPR this morning that we start getting three more minutes of sun per day now. Yippee!!! "This is my island in the sun!"

Getting Old

2011-01-20T21:29:00.003-06:00

Getting old isn't something I mind, on a macro level. On a micro level, however, I'm a little peeved at the fact that I just looked in the mirror and had too many gray hairs to pluck. I'm also annoyed that no matter how many kinds of lotion I use I still look a little bit like I sat next to a smoker for most of the afternoon. My knee caps sank yesterday too. I recall as a kid looking at my aunts legs and thinking I'd never let my legs look that old, until this morning when I looked in the mirror and *BAM* they looked that old. Finally, I smiled at myself in an attempt to use positive motivational techniques I learned from a four year old on youtube.com then realized that when I stopped smiling the wrinkles on the corners of my eyes didn't go away.

So enough of that. Apparently I do give a stink about getting old on a micro level. But from a broader perspective getting older has it's advantages...people don't question my experience as much (perhaps with the exception of those who think I'm younger, God Bless 'em!). I am also less concerned about what the meaning of life is. Granted I still don't have the answer to that grand question but find it generally less relevant as long as I'm doing something with my time. I'm as bothered as ever by grand socio-political absurdities but generally speaking realize I can make a difference on my block and among my family and friends and am, at least for today, content with that. And generally speaking, I don't mind the wrinkles. I think they say something about me because they arch up and not down.

Perhaps the most poignant part about getting older is that I notice that there is something much more finite about me than I ever payed attention to before. That I won't always have really tight elastic-y skin seems drastically irrelevant when I put it in the context of hoping I can be a decent mom and a borderline rational wife or even more, that I can leave a story worth telling...even if it needs some strategically placed bravado here and there. Just to keep it interesting.

Shoveling

2011-01-07T13:00:00.002-06:00

My neighbor (sorry Kali) got stuck in her driveway this morning. It could happen to anyone with all the snow we have piled up around here. I mean, it probably wouldn't happen to me because I love driving in reverse (another story) but I'm just saying. Anyhoo she stopped over to see if I could help her so I made her watch the babe while I donned hat, mits, ridiculously huge boots, and a puffy down jacket. As I was shoveling out her car I decided there is little more gratifying than shoveling snow. It's a great work out. You can see progress immediately. And it provides you with a disillusioned but blissful sense of power. Mike wants to get a snow blower. I would prefer to shovel.

Lovies for Freedom!

2011-01-04T16:17:00.004-06:00

Apparently it's common for an infant, sometime around the age of one, to choose a "thing," a "lovie" something they carry with them, sleep with, cuddle with, etc. Aasta hasn't chosen anything yet, I don't think. But this morning she picked up the pocket size copy of the Declaration of Independence Mike got for Christmas and carried it around with her all morning. What do I do if my daughter bonds with the US Constitution? I may have wet my pants a little just thinking about it.

Christmas Spirit

2010-12-21T20:59:00.015-06:00

Normally when the holidays arrive I feel like most people drift nicely into a mostly-universal sense that this time of year it's time to play nice. Be it left over lingering psychosis from the whole naughty and nice thing or a deeper sense that for a couple weeks a year it's nice to have everyone be nice, the general holiday kindness thing has always been one of my favorite aspects of this season. I can forgo the gifts, I start sweating just thinking about it.

This year I had a particularly unique experience of "christmas spirit" whilst shopping with my beloved at a cute little store called Patina. For those who haven't been imagine a much more happy version of Bibelot. For those who don't know Bibelot (there's no "T" sound) it's like a high-quality version of what Spencers gifts wanted to be. Needless to say the majority of the clientele are generally friendly and look like your run of the mill folks much like you might find in the audience at A Prairie Home Companion.

I was pa-rousing the basement portion of the shop while Mike and Aasta were milling about elsewhere. Of particular interest to me was a shelf filled with all-things-Minnesota-for-baby. I was about to step in to take a closer look when I was abruptly shoved backwards by a robust young woman wearing a mustard wool coat. Shocked, I chuckled a bit thinking it must have been an accident, right up until she turned to glare at me with a look that can only be described as, "You wanna go bitch!?" Baffled, I turned to my right and headed toward the jewelry section of the store while silently pondering, "what the...?!!" As I was walking away her boyfriend appeared and attempted to convey with great urgency that it was time for them to leave. A few deep breaths and a couple chuckles later, in order to put a little more distance between me and "Mustard," I slowly meandered into the gaudy purse gallery whereupon I was greeted quite forcefully again by my nemeses. This time she put herself directly in my path with her back to me then turned with her every-so-familiar look of, "bring it!" Without even acknowledging her existence I side stepped her and cleverly picked up a very feathery hair barrett, then turned and made my way toward the picture frames. Mind you this whole time all of this feels very surreal because I'm simultaneously being hunted while listening to the Concordia Choir sing "Holy Night" while surrounded by thousands of little plaques saying things like "Dance like no one is watching." Thinking this is either really "blanked" up or that I'm being punked, except for that one minor detail, I'm not famous and Ashton Kutcher has no idea who I am, I decide it's safe to go look at that Minnesota children's book again. I do a quick look over my shoulder and coast clear I reach for the book. Mustard's back. She bumps into me hard enough that I am forced to move a quick step to my left whereupon I'm greeted by a mediocre-ly maniacal look of "I'll take you right here right now." Tempted to sucker punch her but being generally non-violent I simply grin and slowly make my way upstairs to find my child and husband, purchase a few unnecessary but quaint gifts, and wait for Ashton to come tearing out from behind the cash registers.

Light and dirt

2010-12-07T08:32:00.002-06:00

We've had a few days of mostly cloudy and gray weather but this morning the sky is blue and the sun is shining. It never fails to surprise me how good the sun feels, whether its 9 degrees of 90. Today I had a long list of to-do's. My plan was to get up early with Aasta, bring her to her nanny, go to yoga, finish laundry, and complete the cleaning rampage I've been on for two days. But today she decided to sleep in so I'm sipping coffee, listening to Joss Stone, and enjoying the sunrise. We've had snow recently so the trees are blanketed with white and it's cold enough that you can see it in the way the air moves when cars go by. These days are better spent sipping coffee than cleaning anyway. So here's to cheap coffee creamer and dust bunnies! PROST!

Irreverent

2010-11-09T15:22:00.003-06:00

I'm leading a retreat in Idaho for a Lutheran camp this winter. The program director just asked me to define what I mean when I refer to myself as "deeply irreverent". This is what I said.

Ha! I love this question. I have had such a vastly bizarre faith journey. My life settles gently yet firmly on a trust that God holds all things in God's unique way, meaning I have no assumptions that I have God figured out in any way. The massiveness of what Christ symbolizes for me reveals, I believe, only a fraction of the audacity of God's ability to always move toward us. Because I know I have nothing figured out I also have an occasionally vulgar sense of humor about what I imagine God's perspectives of us might be. My irreverence comes from a deep and embodied distrust in anyone or anything claiming to be "right". I also swear a little too much...*grin* but I try to keep it in check most of the time. I think irreverence means being able to say simply, "here's my best guess...if you can't see that we're all just trying our best to figure all this stuff out maybe you should take off your stone casting outfit and go shopping."

The first hour...

2010-11-04T11:30:00.009-05:00

When people call they usually ask me, "what's new?" I find this question oddly unnerving. Not only because I used to always have something new to talk about but because what I now consider new is coma inducing uninteresting. Don't get me wrong, it's amazing to me and Mike, and to those who check our video and picture website multiple times a day *ahem*...Me'Me' *HUGE GRIN* but not really beyond that. As a demonstration, I would like to offer to you the first hour of my life, most days.

I wake demure and rested to the early morning yelps of my wee one , or caked in drool with my hair plastered to the right side of my face donning YouTube worthy bags under my eyes, you pick. I then take Aasta into the kitchen where I fumble about making a pot of coffee baffled by the pile of dishes I thought I did ten times the day before sitting in my sink. Desperation brewing completed I then scrounge about the kitchen to find Aasta something healthy and filling for breakfast, enter a hand full of cheerios followed by a half-eaten tub of yogurt. I sit in the chair next to her as she devours said breakfast of champions and stare blankly out the window at my neighbor who has something to do on his back porch every morning, rain, shine, snow, sleet, or tornado and wonder how many times he's replanted that fern. The coffee maker beeps waking me out of my glazed state ushering in the first blissful part of the day, my first sip of coffee.

Things improve exponentially from here. I usually chat it up with Aasta who responds to everything I say with a cheeky grin and a spit accompanied "DAH!" We speak the same language. This is the first 20 minutes.

Next I clean Aasta off (people who say babies don't like to have their faces wiped off haven't discovered the art of what I like to call full-immersion-dining whereby one makes sure their kid is so covered in what they just ate you get to hose them down after every meal. After a couple full-body wipe down's Aasta is elated when I only have to wipe off her face.) Then I put her down and let her walk all over the house emptying anything be it box, bag, purse, trash can, or kleenex box, onto the floor. See pictures.

Ok, Ok so the second picture doesn't look too bad but what you can't see is that there are Cheerios mashed into everything, milk poured on the high chair, bananas mashed into the chairs, and the entire contents of my tupperware cupboard strewn the length of the kitchen. I then walk around, return items into their appropriate containers, or a space under the rug, and try to squeeze in some work here and there. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my first hour. There are days I'm not entertained by this process but honestly, who can stay upset at this...

potluck

2010-10-24T12:57:00.004-05:00

We just returned from a church potluck. (That's my church, up there.) It's been years, I think, since I last attended a potluck. They're a Minnesota Lutheran staple so it seems borderline sacrilegious that I've had such a long hiatus. I've always loved them, growing up they were a frequent staple of our midwestern diet. To this day I still like Jello, not matter what color or how many different kinds of fruit you put in it. But more than the food, I love the community that manifests in the midst. This morning I sat at a table with two of my oldest dearest friends and their kids and couldn't help but take a deep blissful breath and feel like I had just ever-so-gently stepped into real life. As I looked about at the round crappy church tables, the mostly bent and out of shape folding chairs, and the excessively outdated decor of our church basement I realized I had come home...in a way I haven't felt since being a kid. In was in the midst of screaming kids, wrinkly grey haired women, men with really bad cardigans straight out of Mr. Rogers closet, and the friendliest faces I've ever seen and I couldn't imagine anywhere I'd rather be.

It smells like mini donuts!

2010-10-18T11:39:00.004-05:00

We went to an apple farm yesterday. It was a perfect fall day and we took lots of pictures of Aasta playing in the pumpkins. The farm had an amazing gift/retail store as well where they offered a cadre of amazing applishiousness. From almost anywhere on the farm you could smell the sweet fragrance of apple pie, turnovers, and donuts being made.
As we were checking out a woman behind us asked the cashier point blank, "Where are the mini donuts?" To which the cashier replied, "We've never had mini donuts." The woman, obviously not satisfied with this answer says, "My son smelled mini donuts, are they up here or back in the store?" Another woman listening in piped in and said, "Did you see the regular donuts? They are back in the store." The first woman then responded, "No, I'm looking for the mini donuts. My son said he smelled mini donuts. What is he smelling if it's not mini donuts?" To which I responded, "Umm, maybe the donuts?"
Unless of course mini donuts smell differently, then we've all been played for fools and I want my mini donuts.

My front lawn

2010-10-14T15:15:00.005-05:00

The tree in my front lawn has shed almost all of her leaves this past week. I'm sad to see them go but also excited to have the sun back in my living room. Mike decided to do a little photo shoot of peanut before we mowed and bagged all the leaves away.

I have grown to love my front lawn more and more the longer I live here. In the first warm days of spring our neighbors often congregate on the mushy grass and stand in t-shirts and flip flops in an effort to shed the long days of winter.

All summer long we stop and chat under the shade of my great big tree.

Then fall comes and again we gather each time the sun peaks out and threatens to be the last sweet day before the snow flies. It reminds me of what people used to do when everyone had a front porch. Since we only have a concrete stoop, only recently relieved of it's hideous astro turf covering, the front lawn becomes the default front porch but I'm okay with it. It means soft earth, prickly grass, and crunching leaves in between my toes.

Deep Breaths

2010-10-07T13:55:00.000-05:00

Inhale...Exhale.
I realize it's easy to forget to breathe. Not completely forget, just not really be aware of breathing. I teeter these days always between wide ranges of emotions. I slip over to frustrated and angry much to often. Today is no exception. It's not a bad day, I'm not even really in a bad mood. I just flip to frustrated and pissy in the blink of an eye. I blame a lot of things of lack of sleep and I know that's part of it. But I'm beginning to wonder if there isn't something else going on. Have I lost touch with something? Have I forgotten something? I don't remember being this way.

I just spent an hour taking a lot of really deep breaths. I spent that hour thinking a lot about my anger and my hasty bitchiness. I have no answers, but I spent a lot of time breathing about it. That felt good. It felt good just to make it a full bodied experience. I think I need more than an hour though because as I was driving home I may have slipped some profanities at a guy who was driving in a matter not conducive to long-term survival. So I'm home again and breathing.

Does anyone else ever feel like they've changed so much they don't recognize themselves some days?

Worst Days

2010-10-02T13:54:00.002-05:00

I've had quite a few pretty good days in a row but today is one of those worst days. Which is unfortunate because it is absolutely breathtakingly beautiful outside. I think the sleep deprivation has finally caught up with me. It's one of those days when no matter how much I want to feel really great I can't seem to muster the oomspa to do so. I just spent two hours with my hands in the dirt planting bulbs hoping to bury these dark, musty, cloudy, and sinking feelings. I find a little bit of comfort knowing that having buried the shadowy side of my today spring will reveal the bright, light, color filled side of things.

My Tree

2010-09-23T22:23:00.001-05:00

In front of my house is a huge maple tree. It's beautiful. I would argue the best tree on the block. I think most of my neighbors would agree, except for that random couple who hates trees, and dogs, but that's another story.

The first fall we were in our house the tree was really overgrown so much so that the lowest branches were easily within arms length all the way around the tree. That year the tree turned the most gasp inducing shade of gold. People would stop and take pictures in front of it. When the sun hit it just right the whole house danced in a full spectrum of the deepest yellows.

Our tree hasn't turned that gold since but has traversed shades of orange, brown, and burnt-tuscan-dew-on-a-winter-morn. This year it's teasing me with reds. The tip of the tree has turned and the color is slowly working its way down to the lower leaves. I'm hoping it gets so red it looks on fire, I may be a little disappointed. Then again, it's just nice to have a big ol' tree in my front yard that likes to mix things up a bit.

Self Care

2010-09-15T14:24:00.000-05:00

I like taking care of myself even thought I'm not fantastic about doing so. Still, this month I'm practicing what I've coined "gratuitous self care." It means that no matter how over the top blissful or self differentiated it is, I'm doing it. I started by going to yoga yesterday. I purchased a groupon for a month of unlimited Yoga at Core Power Yoga. It was too great of a deal to pass up and provided a perfect launch for my month of self yumminess. That said, my hour of yoga yesterday felt like an embodied fairy godmother, I came away feeling rested, cleansed, and a released from some of the nagging voices in my head.

I just got home from leading a retreat in Colorado that was really fun. I was at Rainbow Trail Lutheran Camp for my first retreat since having Aasta. It felt symbolic that my last retreat was there a year ago. That said, since I'm still nursing, Aasta was with me. Having her along made it challenging to really engage in the retreat the way I'm used to. Still I thought it was a decent return to the fray. That is until I read two annoyingly critical evaluations that were far from helpful. The stinker is that even though all of the other evaluations were very positive those two have been ruminating about in my head, and not in a good way.

Hence over the top self care...I've dedicated my work to trying to help women have the courage and tenacity to tell the ugly voices to shove it only to find I still blow goats at doing it myself. So I'm digging into the trenches to figure out how to practice what I preach.

A Thursday Resolution cont...

2010-09-07T09:45:00.000-05:00

I'm over half way through my resolution and have to state for the record that this has been a refreshing change. I've actually done pretty well with this. I haven't got a perfect track record but I've done better than expected. It's been fun trying at least. That said here are a couple observations...

I am what I think about myself. It feels a little cliche but it's stinking true. So many times I've heard "attitude is everything" and scoffed at the thought that maybe if I just thought better about myself I'd feel better...shockingly I'm finding it to be the case. I don't know if I'm willing to apply this to everything yet but I may consider expanding the parameters of positive thinking just to see where it takes me. Last night I was reading about how luck finds people who expect to be lucky...can't hurt to give that a whirl too!

The external messages I see in the commercial world around me are primarily useless and influence how I feel more than is reasonable. I don't watch a lot of television, I love movies, and I only read cheap smut magazines on the plane so generally speaking, my life isn't inundated with ridiculous size 00 women who are on baby food diets or super shake meal plans that require a maximum of 900 calories a day (both of which are apparently new fad diets). Still I can't believe how many times I see what are overwhelmingly unrealistic and unhelpful visual "expectations" of how I'm supposed to look, feel, and move. My newest beef is with magazines like Whole Living which I would expect to shun the cultural norms and actually practice what they preach. That's another topic altogether. Trying to figure out how to filter the remaining onslaught remains a present challenge.

Women are too hard on each other. Of all people to be critical toward one another one would think women would at least have learned by now that we should be each others biggest fans. I know, I know, competition...blech! What am I competing against. I'm not on the Bachelor for crying out loud...*sigh*, again, another topic entirely. If it's too much of a stretch to be each others fans then can we at least just stop ripping on one another. Give it up. If you have time to tear into another woman because you're either jealous of her or she annoys the daylights out of you it might be time to find another hobby to consume your time like knitting, or kickboxing, or...I don't know, juggling. An aside, I'm super judgmental and critical so I'm adding daily yoga and yogurt eating to my routine.

I'm going to see how this resolution goes but I may consider extending it another week...time will tell.

A Thursday Resolution

2010-09-02T13:57:00.000-05:00

Recently I realized how often I am exceedingly self-depricating. Today being Thursday I decided there is no better time to begin a new resolution. This resolution is for one week. For this next week, I'm going to try my best not to slam, degrade, defame, insult, crap-on, or otherwise be mean to myself. In the past couple weeks I have been struck by how common-place it is for women to say the most horrible things about themselves...and then I noticed that I do it too. What the hell? I don't hate myself. I'm not fat. I'm not ugly. I'm not repulsive. I don't look bad in my pants. Even if I have a little belly who gives a flying monkey. My hair isn't too straight or too curly. I have a few gray hairs, big whoop, I'm not 22. I'm not lame. I'm not stupid. I'm not a whole lot of terrible things so why would I say I am. Plus, even if I'm having one of those days where I feel in any way like any of the above listed it doesn't help me or anyone else to say so. Truth is, it's demeaning and, I'm speaking for women here, we need to knock it off.

For one week I'm not going to and I'm going to see how it goes because I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggonnit, people like me! And now he's our Senator! WOOT! (oh, and If you don't like him keep it to yourself, I don't want to hear about it!)

A little context here, this rant has been prompted because I have a little girl and I think about the things I want her to hear spoken by me and all the amazing women in her life. She shouldn't hear talented, beautiful, smart, witty, funny, kind, and loving women saying crap about themselves that isn't true just because we've somehow decided this kind of (Pardon me) Bullshit lingo makes us seem somehow socially humble enough to warrant any kind of praise or compliment because then she'll learn that she's supposed to think that way to. And that's just stupid.

Here's to a week of saying,"enough already."

Mom

2010-08-29T21:08:00.000-05:00

My mom was here this weekend and left this afternoon. I'm sad to have her gone. My mom and I have always had what I would call a positive and healthy relationship. I respect her oodles, she loves me and tolerates all the worst parts about me...so much so she maybe even finds them a bit endearing. Needless to say I luck out in this relationship. She came for the weekend to partake in the great Minnesota Gathering, aka the State Fair. Mike, baby, Mom and I headed out on Friday for some blatant over eating and people watching. We ate, and, well...we ate. I guess that's pretty much all I do at the fair. But it tastes good so no apologies from me.

Unfortunately the lil squirt was sick. She has been all week. This one was a doozie though. We have had runny nose, sneezing, wheezing, fever, aches, explosive boogers, booger bubbles, and a really wretched cough. It's been an awesome week. Back to my mom. Whilst the wee was ill I noticed how desperately she wanted to be with me, almost every minute of the day and night and I couldn't help but remember what it was like to be little and sick. Stink, what it's like to be old and sick. Truth is, no one does sick better than mom. They hold you just right, rub all the right spots, say all the right things, and look at you in just the right way... you know, the look that says,"I know you are desperately miserable right now and that's ok, mama's here." So having my mom come when my little one was sick felt kind of special. Almost like she came to take care of me too.

I could write a thousand posts about my mom. I guess that means I won't run out of stuff to write about. For now though, thanks for coming to see us mom. We miss you already.

Hi's and Low's

2010-08-25T15:12:00.000-05:00

When I was a youth director, one of my favorite things to do with the kids I worked with was Hi's and Low's. We'd share something good that had happened and something not so good. Someone told me once that I should reconsider using this format every week because it assumed something negative had to happen to everyone and that this lent to kids feeling like they had to "come up with" a negative experience. I considered it, then decided to ask the kids what they thought. Their response, in a nutshell, was this, "we're in Junior High and High School, we don't need to 'come up with' anything." I continued to do Hi's and Low's every time we gathered and listened in as the realness of life poured out of the kids mouths. It was a holy time, perhaps one of the things I miss most about that work.

I experienced some Hi's and Low's this past week. I spent the past seven days in my favorite place, Montana. A bunch camp counselors who worked together in the early days of the 21st century gathered back at Flathead Lutheran Bible Camp for a reunion. I also had a chance to spend some time at my friends cabin on Lake Five, one of my all time favorite places on the globe. My Hi is that I was reunited with the rare, beautiful, stunning, delightful, and impressive people who I call friends and was also able to see my fabulous brother and his amazing family. I found myself in a state of blissed-out-ness so frequently that I was actually brought to tears on a couple of occasions. My Low was that while in this blissed out state of giddy reunionitis, I was also keenly aware of the distance traveled in the past ten years and the changes wrought with such passing of time. This is not to say this "low" is in any way me saying I am not happy now, or that I'm not pleased with where I stand today. Instead it was a intense shock to see how quickly ones life can be altered and that in the shifting and moving there is also a need for some real, true, and difficult grieving.

I am not who I once was, a fairly naive and almost annoyingly optimistic goof-ball. I am still mildly naive, but mostly because I now choose to be. I am no longer annoyingly optimistic, though not fully pessimistic I consider myself now to be a reformed optimist. I am still a goof-ball but on the rare occasions I am well rested enough for that side of me to reveal herself she feels slightly awkward and a bit more self conscious.

I don't have to look hard these days to discover hi's, nor do I have to dig trenches to unearth a low but acknowledging both still feels as right and good as it did when I was in a room full of pubescent teenagers. Until later...

Strength of Will

2010-08-13T08:03:00.002-05:00

This morning I am embroiled in what is sure to be one of many battles of wits between my daughter and I. They are keenly tiring but I believe well worth the effort. I hope I can raise a strong, independent, sure-footed woman but in order to do that I think I may have to teach her the art of appropriate stubbornness and well-placed obstinence. I have blatant stubbornness and often ill-placed obstinence down so now I'm going to have to figure out how to instill a little graceful give and take. My husband readily informs me (usually while smiling) that I am the most stubborn person he has ever met. This serves me well when renting cars and trying to get free upgrades on airline tickets but not always so well when navigating the art of disagreement with ones loved ones...I'm a work in progress.

That said, the screaming just ceased and lil' half shell is back to sleep. So in this battle of wits I guess I won, no...that feels wrong. It wasn't a contest, per se, more a test at to see who, this morning at 7AM, was in charge.

That'd be me *grin*

Chipmunk

2010-08-04T16:19:00.000-05:00

I haven't yet told you about our resident chipmunk. Months ago when my buddy Steve was living here...actually this was almost a year ago, our dear furry feline, Trygve, decided to surprise Steve with a little chipmunk present whilst Steve was watching TV in our basement. For hours Steve chased the chipmunk and Trygve around the basement working himself into quite a lather. (Steve, feel free to correct any of my tellings). Finally he was able to quarantine the little bugger in his bedroom while he formalized a new strategy. In the meantime I came home and Steve, very nervously, informed me there was a chipmunk in his bedroom. To which I responded, "oh." Later when Steve went to check on the status of said in house rodent, he opened his door to find the thing splayed Superman style on his window screen. A strategically placed paper bag and a final attack landed the little varmint back on our back porch.

Fast forward to last week. Mike and I had just come home from Colorado sleep deprived and parched. It was early morning and Aasta and I were out cold so Mike got up to do some work before work. While in the office our little snookims Trygve came waltzing into the kitchen with Chip... or Dale firmly in his maw. Seconds later, right as Mike looked up, Trygve launched the lil' monster into the living room. Mike then spent the better part of an hour chasing the chipmunk and Trygve around the living room until Trygve decided he was no longer interested, and after expounding a few well placed expletives in Trygve's direction, lost sight of the chipmunk, gave up, and finished his work. When he re-entered the militarized zone he finally found it in the curtains whereby it ran up the curtain, onto the curtain rod and over to the other side of the room. Trygve, reignited eventually chased it out the door.

Fast forward to this past Monday. I was up early with Aasta enjoying the early morning calm that comes with being awake before almost everyone else. Trygve wanted to go outside so I obligingly opened our sun room door and let him out. Usually I close the screen after I let him out (see above). This morning I forgot to close it right away but wasn't too worried as it usually takes him at least an hour to wake up enough to do more than stretch. So I was playing on the floor in the sun room with Aasta when out of the corner of my eye I notice Trygve squatting under the dining room table. Thinking nothing of it I lean back to grab one of the toys Aasta was reaching for as a flying chipmunk sails from floor to the bottom of the table, smacks against the bottom the table and lands kung foo style on his hind feet bleets a shrill screech at Trygve who in response one hands him across the floor and into the wall. Yelling for Mike I grabbed Aasta off the floor in order to get her as far away as possible from quite possibly the stupidest chipmunk in recent history. The chipmunk eventually made his way, though in no particular hurry, back out the door where he strategically ran up his no exit escape route, the rain gutter. There Trygve proudly perched for the remainder of the morning.

We are considering naming him Godot.

A working theory.

2010-08-02T15:07:00.000-05:00

Toy? Humbug!

So I've had a working theory for a while now that goes something like this: Toys seem silly. That's it really. To test this theory I often put Aasta down with a bunch of toys just to see how well she'll respond. Today I gave her an entire basket of toys which has been sitting here for about half an hour. What has Aasta been playing with, you ask? Well, she's been playing with my pick of the week card from Starbucks and my nanny schedule on a random piece of paper. Oh, wait for it...she's moving toward the toys now...Ah! Nope! The diaper cream it is!!!
Toys, silly really.

Raw honesty

2010-07-27T11:43:00.001-05:00

I just read my sister-in-law's blog where she wrote the most stunningly vivid and honest account of her days that I have ever read. She inspired me to write again, as it's been a wee bit of a long time.

It's hard to be honest, especially on the dog days. I look back at this year and wonder where the time has gone but each day, at times, drags on like a stuck clock. Is is really almost August? Is summer really waning? Didn't I just wake up to the first signs of spring a week ago? Well, if there is any indication of that reality it's my back lawn that looks like it hasn't been mowed in months, in spite of the fact that the greatest neighbor ever (sup Shawn!) mowed our lawn while we were out of town. So here I sit, in the heat of summer, having thought that by now I would have adjusted to being a new mom only to find that I'm as discombobulated as I was in December.

I think or at least I hope, we're beyond feeling like we're supposed to only say wonderful and amazing things about being a mom. I know some people still feel like there is nothing in the world they would rather do and granted, I wouldn't take it back for anything, but sometimes I would like to be able to simply unload the dishwasher in one setting instead of it taking me a week. I would like to be able to put things away in my house and not have it look like babies-r-us threw up in my living room a half hour later. I would like to feel free again, to move and travel, and pursue my own passions.

My brother and SIL are expecting baby number three and it's good to hear that even years into mommyhood the struggles don't go away. Contrary to popular belief I think it's easier to know and have permission to feel the crappy than to think we're supposed to always be happy. Not that I'm opposed to happy, I just think there are more honest emotions most of the time.

So that said, I have our dear Jenna here swimming with my daughter in the baby pool so I'm going to go empty the dishwasher, and maybe even shower...or stare at the wall for a while...uninterrupted. Peace out!

Particular Things Take 2

2010-06-25T09:36:00.001-05:00

Running to get some eggs yesterday I ran quickly to our local Rainbow. While I was meandering about the produce aisle I thought I heard organ music, the kind you hear at a baseball game. I thought little of it imagining it was a Twins add over the radio. On my way past the bread, I heard it again and looked around to see if anyone else noticed. No one seemed phased so I continued toward the dairy section. Only minutes later as I was passing the cold cuts section I swore I heard an organ again so I looked at a the lady approaching me to see if there was any glimmer of this recognition of oddity in her expression and found none whereupon I decided my mind was either playing tricks on me or I had officially passed into the netherworld of the stadium psychophrenia. I picked up my eggs, went and stared longingly at the Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream, exercised self-control and walked past making my way to the check out counter.

I quickly decided self-control is something reserved for people who get sleep, don't have to walk for two and a half hours to get their babies to nap, and don't hear random organ music while buying eggs, turned heel and picked up a pint of Half Baked Ice Cream (it seemed fitting) then returned to my place in the Self Check-out Aisle. That's when I heard it again...organ music. I looked everywhere and couldn't figure out where it was coming from but sure as I was holding 1200 calories in my left hand there was organ music coming from someplace.

I checked out, baffled at my inability to find the source of the tunes and exited the store only to walk directly into a 6ft 4in gray haired grinning man pounding away on an organ! He was smiling so contagiously I couldn't even remember my initial reaction which was, "WEIRD!" At that moment, I decided I love my neighborhood even more than I previously thought. Let's be real, when was the last time you went to buy eggs and were serenaded by an organ?

Particular things

2010-06-22T21:43:00.000-05:00

A couple of days ago I was driving close to home about to approach an intersection. I slowed gradually to a stop and looked off to my left. There I saw to young men's heads bounding in rhythmic time while staying equi-distant from one another over a hedge. It appeared as if they were kind of floating except their heads would disappear behind the hedge then magically reappear at the exact same time slightly closer to the intersection. Needless to say I had to wait and see what was going on. I waited only another few moments when two young men, probably in their late teens, appeared each on their own skateboard carrying a patio screen door. As they continued on their way I grinned and thought it a slightly strange sight but nothing so bizarre as to warrant a blog post. Until...

...three days later I was coming from the other direction and saw the same two guys with the same screen traveling back the other direction. Odd...I thought. But then reason took over and I decided it made perfect sense. These two guys probably did their mom a favor skating the screen to our local ACE hardware for repair. Three days later the repair was complete and they were thoughtfully skating it home. Only...

...later that same evening, I was returning home from an emergency diaper run when I saw the same to guys with the same screen door traveling in a completely different direction on a completely different street. Now that's just plain interesting.

4 AM

2010-06-16T05:40:00.000-05:00

I woke up this morning at 4 AM to the sound of birds outside my bedroom window. Often times when I wake to the sounds of fowl its because there are a couple gregarious and obnoxious crows fighting over my neighbor Wally's squirrel food stash. This morning, however, the morning chorus was filled with Robins, Finch, a Cardinal, a Blue Jay, and Morning Doves. Having been raining for days and days, there was a thick fog over everything which made the song sound like it was coming out of some great abyss. It was haunting, but lovely and I decided to lay awake and listen for a bit. As much as I love sleeping, this has been a magnificent morning. Now back to sleep...

Rainwalking

2010-06-08T12:31:00.000-05:00

It has been raining here since last night, a constant quiet, heavy, soaking rain. On the way home from the airport this morning I was relishing in the silence from my backseat with Aasta sound asleep when I noticed a young woman in a bright yellow rain coat trompsing down the sidewalk. Her arms swung wide and she bounced with every step splashing water all around her. As I drove closer I couldn't help but be mesmerized by her every step. She was traipsing through the rain as if the sky was the brightest blue she had ever seen. Her face was lit up and her head was dripping wet with a smile that could have lit up the Rockefeller Plaza Christmas tree. I've never seen her before and may never again but today she made my day.

Adventures in Sweating

2010-05-24T19:02:00.001-05:00

I have this thing where no matter how hot it gets I won't complain. I used to love cold weather but I don't as much anymore. I still love snow, and big sweaters, and boots but I don't like frigid cold where no matter what I do my hands feel like icicles and my feet turn blue. Because I live in MN where in our own twisted and maniacal way we like to define ourselves by how inhumanly cold it can get here, I have sworn to never complain when it is hot. Like today...it's 95 degrees outside. But I'm not going to complain. As a matter of fact, I kind of dig it. I went out this morning to take Aasta for a long walk (so she would nap) and I absolutely reveled in the heat. Granted, at that point it was only about 80 but it still felt amazing. Then I came home and played in my garden and blissfully dripped until Aasta woke up about two hours later.

I don't know if this is going to be a theme for the summer. It is still only May and I like to think there are a couple really cold days still in store for us just so I can appreciate the heat much deeper into Summer. However, even if this is a scorching hot summer and the lot of us are pining for October weather in July, I'll throw on my sun hat, a sundress, and some flip flops and set out for more gooey goodness in the great sweltering outdoors.

Stuff I think I said but never spoke out loud.

2010-05-13T10:23:00.000-05:00

I do this very strange thing where I will be having a conversation (usually with my hubby) and think I have said something but really I've only thought I said it then I get mad or frustrated when I perceive that the other person wasn't listening. It's a most bizarre trait...

It happened just last night. Mike asked me, "Are you going to eat the leftover Chinese?" I heard him and I responded with, "I'm not going to eat it." Only I didn't say it, I just kept staring at the Tupperware basket looking for a bowl to put our spaghetti leftovers in. The best part is that Shawn, our neighbor, was standing right next to me as I didn't say it. So, when Mike said, "I guess she's just ignoring me." I said (audibly this time) "I'm not ignoring you, I said I wasn't going to eat them." Mike and I then proceeded to "argue" over whether or not I actually responded or just though I responded. Shawn just stared at me like I was nuts!

So add excessive sleep deprivation into the equation and there are about fifty conversations I think I've had but apparently have never spoken out loud. It makes for a very confusing existence...particularly when I'm relaying what I thought was a exceedingly intriguing portion of a conversation to the person I thought I had talked to and they have no idea what I'm talking about.

For all of you who will probably be the recipients of said non-communication, I apologize in advance and promise that I had made some very intellectual points and that I was very, very, funny.

Dancing

2010-05-05T12:07:00.000-05:00

I love dancing...and wish I hadn't spent so many years thinking I didn't like dancing. I was missing dancing lately then along came Aasta and suddenly I find myself dancing again. I just put her down for a nap to the Wailin' Jenny's. It took about three songs but I couldn't help but feel a little blissful, even as she was whining, rubbing her eyes, and tugging at her ears. Halfway through the third song I looked down and she was fast asleep with one finger in her ear and another hand in her mouth. SUCCESS!!!

But I kept dancing anyway.

When did it change?

2010-05-03T20:05:00.000-05:00

In talking with a friend today I came to the realization that we seem to have forgotten how to be people of wholeness, or maybe I'm just longing for a little integrity. I'm no saint, ask anyone who knows me well. So keep in mind, I'm not talking about this as anyone who has arrived, simply someone plugging along in the journey like everyone else. But has anyone else noticed that we don't seem equipped to effectively, gracefully, and gently encounter one another in the midst of really difficult and painful stuff. Think about it, we loose someone and our work tells us to feel free to take a week off, maybe two, but then sort of expects us to come back ready to hit the ground running. When in reality, we're barely able to peel ourselves off the ground. Or someone does something that hurts our feelings and we try and make amends, only to watch the relationship seep into a tenuous and uncomfortable one, if we're left with any semblance of a relationship at all.

When did we forget how to navigate the ugly and uncomfortable stuff of life together?

I consider myself fortunate in many ways. I have the kind of friends seen only in movies (even if they are often overtly cute, cheesy and goofy movies like the kind you find on the Hallmark channel). When the excrement hits the proverbial fan, I reach out to the people who I love, and who love me most and they come, each in their own way. They sit, eat, cry, or just be with me. But this doesn't seem to be the norm. I feel like I keep hearing people narrate their lives as if their worlds are supposed to be squeaky, polished, and bacteria free. Did we somehow buy into the illusion that we're supposed to have "perfect" and "happy" lives?

Life's messy, isn't it?

I keep hoping I'll hear more stories about strife and difference that end well. I keep hoping we can be the kind of deeply honest and real people that muddle through the most painful and goopy parts of life with a few well timed tears, perhaps some deep sighs and temple rubs, but in the end shaking hands, hell...maybe even with a hug.

Cute

2010-05-02T16:57:00.001-05:00

So it's been a little while since I last posted a picture of my little Aasta but I am in baby-loving mode. I now have five dear friends expecting little packages, one of which is my sister-in-law *shout out to the ever-gorgeous Annika!!* So, today is cute day at Journeon post-it-central.

Hey, on a side note, if you read this and aren't a follower, I'd love if you signed up. I'm trying to get 50 followers by the end of this year.

An Enlightened Persona

2010-04-19T14:35:00.000-05:00

If you read the previous post you saw that I'm trying on a new persona in which I don't swear so much. I would like to give you a little background information into my foul mouthed history. First of all, I never used to swear, ever. Then I went to Seminary and, well... now I swear...a lot. Not that I'm linking the two. I'm pretty sure the seminary brochure doesn't say anything like "Come explore your spiritual calling and develop a mouth like a sailor!" But it should. I digress...

I never used to swear, then suddenly while pursuing deep and introspective theological reflection, I did. My mom recently pointed this out to me while we were on a walk. Now my mom may be one of the sweetest souls I've yet encountered on this planet but that said, she doesn't mince words when she feels pretty strongly about something. "You're crass," she said to me after I let an expletive fly. I couldn't help but agree after considering it for a moment.

The question is, what do I do about it? I figure I'm on a kick to be wholly better, I'm working out, I'm trying to eat healthier (ignore that Oreo cookie I just accidentally consumed, ok ok I ate two!). The way I see it, I may just as well try to stop swearing so much. So far I'm not doing so well. I know this because the only days I'm successful are days where I don't talk to anyone...which doesn't bode well for the other days when I open my mouth.

So I'm throwing this out there into the great wide yonder...any suggestions on how I can be a better person, or maybe just stop swearing?!

A Royal Heiny Handling

2010-04-16T09:14:00.000-05:00

I've been working with a personal trainer for the past two weeks and yesterday I received what I am formally calling a Royal Heiny Handling. That's right, I got my ass kicked. I would have just said that at first but I'm trying on a new persona where I don't swear as much. That's a topic for another post. Anyhoo...after having Aasta I knew I would need a little extra motivation to get into shape. Hence the personal trainer. A title which, by the way, is grossly misleading. A personal trainer sounds like a personal motivational speaker which would be beneficial but hardly adequate for what I just went through.

This whole concept of being in shape in an interesting one. I know there is a theory among some that what really matters is on the inside. Now I don't disagree entirely, just mostly. It's true, integrity, compassion, and generosity are traits that I hope are a point of focus as we meander through our lives. But our bodies matter too. And I think that as women, when we feel good in our skin, not just pretty or attractive but really at home in our bodies, a lot of other things fall into place. (*Disclaimer* I'm in no way saying this isn't true for men, I just have no idea.)

This is also a far cry from attempting to somehow have a body you just don't have. For example, I have a nice figure but if I tried to look like Cameron Diaz, I'd be in for a long slow and steady disappointment. There is something profoundly empowering in trusting your body. Feeling its strength, and capability and knowing that you can count on it to get you through a myriad of life's challenges and adventures. So, in the wake of this recent imperial tush trashing, I'm sore as can be but I am excited to regain my strength...after I figure out how to bend down far enough to pick up my daughter.

Perfect Morning

2010-04-14T10:09:00.000-05:00

Today is a perfect morning. The kind when you wake up and the sun is just at the height where all the shadows seem to be straight out of a National Geographic magazine. It's about 65 degrees outside, the perfect temperature and I'm in no hurry.

I wish every week there could at least be one perfect morning. I wouldn't want them all the time or I would forget they are perfect. Spring is in full bloom, the leaves aren't out yet but everything is budding. The grass is greening, and my back yard smells thick and earthy. I walked outside for a bit, barefoot, and just rubbed my feet in the grass. Now, thanks to the rain yesterday, my feet are a little muddy and my shower has been perfectly negated for the rest of the day.

I think today I'll try and lay a blanket down on my bumpy back yard and remember what it feels like to look at clouds.

Touche'

2010-02-23T15:03:00.001-06:00

I often try to make myself sound like an expert. I'm really not an expert in anything, save perhaps the most effective way to make eating a Twizzler last an inordinately long time. One thing I used to think I knew a lot about is how important it is for mothers to claim their own identity in the thicket of parenting children. This philosophy was, I believe, legitimately born out of my experiences in working with women, many of whom speak very candidly about how they feel they lost themselves a little bit while raising a family.

That said, I was certain that once I became a mother I wouldn't need any coaxing to remain a fiercely independent woman with a unrelenting desire to seek her own passions and branch out on her own. I believed I would be able to gracefully balance my own professional life while navigating motherhood with ease and poise. I was convinced I would be able to confidently leave my child in the competent hands of another while fearlessly exiting and dashing into the varied facets of my ever-expanding web of influence.

So I'm slightly embarrassed to admit, but I just dropped Aasta off with her nanny (for only three hours) where I proceeded to hover at the door explaining to a child care expert how to give my daughter a bottle, showed her the diaper bag six times, explained that the spit-up on my daughters chin is simply her way of smiling more uniquely than other children, demonstrated and interpreted what every single facial expression means and the most effective response, walked out the door only to turn around and walk back in just to make sure I had fully explained how to give my daughter a bottle, then got into my car put the car in drive and bawled like a baby.

Touche'

Little Griefs

2010-02-19T11:23:00.001-06:00

Grief is something I have never fully understood, nor do I care to. Ten years ago my family started a journey with my father when he was diagnosed with Alzheimers. If there is one thing that sets Alzheimers apart from any other kind of loss I've experienced it's that the disease causes a million little griefs along the way. There are only a few marked big griefs and those are painful and soul wrenching, but it's the little griefs that I recall most vividly. Like when dad was no longer able to drive, or when he would forget that I was coming home, or forget that I was leaving, or not remember when I was last home, when he would forget the seasons, and started wearing two pairs of pants at once, or stopped loving his baths.

I guess all of life is always marked by little griefs some just sad, others paradoxically linked to little celebrations. Like when you realize your baby will never again fit into those newborn clothes, or when you recognize a point in your life where you feel like you grew up a little bit, when you sense some of your idealism has disappeared, when you find out your happiness is really your responsibility not your friends, parents, children, or spouses, and when you understand that losing someone you love is not an isolated incident.

I got a phone call from my mom today that my dad has had a small heart attack. He's resting comfortably but today is another little grief. Another day when I more completely understand that this journey will not get easier. A day when this little grief is added to the others.

Love Notes

2010-02-17T09:42:00.000-06:00

I woke up this morning with a serious bone to pick with daylight. Then I walked into my office, cup of coffee in hand, grudge on my shoulder because I wanted to still be sleeping and encountered a post-it note in front of my computer. The note was hastily but lovingly scratched by my hubby on his way to work. And I decided there and then that love notes are a sure-fire way to make a cranky catatonic semi-crazy frump queen feel like a princess.

Visions and Dreams

2010-02-15T13:05:00.000-06:00

It has been nine weeks since giving birth, eleven months since learning I'm going to give birth and thirty-five months since determining that the concept of giving birth seemed like a good idea. Now what?

I keep thinking I'm supposed to have this grand plan that will make the rest of my life make sense and guide it ever gracefully into place. But I have no grand plan, just some elusive but tantalizing visions and some very long standing dreams.

I'm an adventurer at heart. I don't feel completely settled unless I'm moving, preferably through the wilderness somewhere. I'm not a hard core adventurer either, just one who prefers ambling through wilderness over concrete and pavement. So how do I now be who I am and be all of the things this new role offers and demands of me?

For example, some of my life long dreams include: Trekking in Mongolia, sailing the Greek Islands, and parts of the Caribbean, learning to surf in Costa Rica, biking through Ireland and Scotland, hiking the entire length of the Superior Hiking Trail, taking a month long trip in the Boundary Waters, living someplace warm, teaching at a Folk School in Norway, spending a season helping my cousins at their apple orchard in Norway, kayaking the Norwegian Fjords, ice climbing in Ouray Colorado, Rafting down the Snake River in Idaho and the Colorado...to mention a few.

Some of my visions include things like building a fort in my backyard with Aasta, dancing naked under moonlight, dancing with my husband in my living room, dancing with my girlfriends...anywhere, watching my daughter discover chocolate, ice cream, and rain puddles, watching my husband love on our daughter, more kids, camping in my backyard, playing "mission impossible" with my kids while trying to move undetected to my neighbors back yards, entire days in the woods, nights by lakes and rivers, naps in the sun...and such

At the core of me I know I would be doing Aasta a disservice if I didn't chase these things. But I think I'm going to have to re-learn how. What are your dreams and visions? How do you chase them and if you don't when are you going to start?

Aasta

2010-02-12T08:56:00.005-06:00

So as many of you know I became a mom recently. I decided it's high time I do a quick introduction on my page. Aasta is now two months old, technically nine weeks but who's counting. She's been pretty darn fun to have around.

Motherhood is a bit of a tectonic plate shift for me. The adjustments are slow and the rewards are indescribably amazing.

I will continue to give you little glimpses of her as we continue on this crazy adventure together. Hands down this is by far the most amazing journey yet.

Sporadicus

2010-01-12T15:49:00.001-06:00

As usual, too much time has passed since my last post. Some may say "Sara, relax! You just gave birth to your first baby." But alas, no, this is no excuse...ok, maybe it's a little bit of a good excuse.

As a tribute to my new status as mom-of-gorgeous-spawn, I have decided my new name is Sporadicus. There are a couple of reasons for this new prestigious title. The first is the new found sporadic nature of my every moments existence. The second is the sporadic nature in which I have come to realize my new found existence. And the third is the my sporadic capacity to deal with my newly acquired lot in life.

I love being a mom, sometimes. I love being able to be home to take care of my lil' legume, sometimes. I love sitting here in my office listening to her coo and watching her drool but don't ask me how I feel about the perpetual cooing, oh, and snoring, at three in the morning. So even the loves of my life feel sporadic. I keep hoping this is normal. But then again, I just looked down and discovered my shirts are on backwards and have been all day so screw normal...my capacity to effectively get dressed in the morning seems to be questionable. Of course I'm still waiting to answer the door after having forgotten to pull down my shirt from breastfeeding but I'm confident this too shall come to pass.

Still there's something blissfull in all this randomness...I sleep at all hours of the day. I eat whenever I feel like it. I wear really funky clothing combinations trying to find anything that will fit over my buxom chest and my still ever-shrinking waistline. I stare at my daughter for hours and don't feel like I've missed a thing. Sporadicus it is...I think I'll make a cape.

Extremes and Balance

2009-11-23T09:51:00.002-06:00

So lately I've been more than a little disturbed by the levels of extremes I see in the world around me. There doesn't seem to be a whole lot of middle ground, or gray area, just extremes on every side. I just read a great op-ed piece in the New York Times by Thomas Friedman who also pointed this out. I wonder what's happening that people seem inclined to want to see the world in black and white. I've never cared much for opposite extremes myself. The edges of ideas always feel slight and narrow whereas the convoluted and oft confusing space in between feels deep, vast, and perhaps even overwhelming but at least it isn't shallow. Here in the real muck of middle lives the possibility that I could learn something more or discover something different and as a result, maybe even change the way I see the world. Now I don't think I'm delusional, I don't think everyone should agree, in fact quite the opposite. I think we should disagree, we should see things from different perspectives, we should understand that we don't understand. But we don't do that with any real integrity when we haul our ego's out to the edges of issues and ideas. As a result, I'm a little obsessed with the idea of balance, not that it's achieved but that its sought after...that we may actually be patient, intelligent, and conscientious enough to keep digging through the quagmire that is complexity and obscurity to find, at a minimum, something real.

Sleep...it's overrated.

2009-10-27T08:42:00.007-05:00

So sleep. It's overrated. I used to be one of those people who was convinced I needed eight hours of sleep each night to function. I would stand, well rested and alert on my pretty little soap box and preach about the benefits of ample sleep to anyone who would listen. Sleep, I argued was the key ingredient to mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual health.

But now I'm pregnant and I've decided that sleep is overrated. I mean mental health...ha! Who really needs to feel sane, I mean come on, sanity...it's overrated. I haven't slept through the night in two weeks and I'm doing great. Sure, I left my keys at the checkout counters at Target, Home Depot, Ace Hardware, Mavericks, Babies R Us, and the Post Office. Oh, and I left my purse in the cart at Rainbow Foods. I also forgot to bring my purse to dinner with a girlfriend, then left my coat at the restaurant. I also read the same book twice and didn't realize it until the last chapter. Someone asked when I was due the other day and I told them my birth date, which was this previous weekend, and it took me an inordinately long time to understand why they were looking at me funny. I also spent an entire day with my sweat pants on backwards and took a bath with body lotion instead of bubbles. Oh, and at my own 3 AM feeding the other night I poured orange juice on my cereal. But lets be real here, who hasn't done that before?

And physical health? Posh! I used to have to work out for at least an hour to feel like I was really getting the kind of exercise I needed. Since entering the throes of sleepless nights I have discovered that sometimes you're just damn lucky to get make it to the kitchen.

Emotional health, well...all I have to say about that is that there is strong scientific evidence showing both the mental and physical benefits of crying. Given I break down in tears at least once every other day I'm pretty sure I'm well on my way to attaining enlightenment.

And finally spiritual health. Let me put it this way, since weaving my way into the realms of sleeplessness I've discovered that prayer is something one can do for a very very long time. The way I see it, if the rapture happens between 3AM and 7AM, I should be good to go.

So I'm relishing this new life with little sleep. It keeps things interesting. And after all, this is only temporary right? The lil' pixie stick will be here in no time and then, then I'll finally be able to get some rest.

First Signs of Fall

2009-09-09T08:48:00.003-05:00

I went outside on my back porch this morning with my cup of coffee in hand and recognized, for the first time, that distinct shift in the air that ushers in the coming of fall. As an experiment, I walked around to the front of my house to look up into the crown of our Maple tree where confirmation lie, the uppermost patch of the tree had in fact begun to turn deep shades of red and bright orange. I guess this means summer is almost over.

I'm not sure whether to feel grief for summers passing or elation at the coming of autumn. Fall is, by far, my favorite season, but for eight months of the year, I pine for summer, for lush green, sweaty heat, and brats on the grill. I guess I'll do both, grieve and celebrate. Which come to think of it is how I am spending most of my days lately.

For those who perhaps don't know, I'm expecting my first baby at the end of November. With this expectation comes a flood of emotions. I am always, all at once, excited to start this new phase of life and simultaneously terrified. I'm not really worried about being a good mom, I have enough mentors to keep me in line and to teach me along the way. But I'm afraid of the changes, both to my body, and to my everyday life. Knowing these changes will include the obvious positives that come with having a baby coupled with the awareness that for 34 years my life has really been able to be mostly about me.

This fall will be a deep time, a full time, a harrowing time. As the trees start turning I hope to pay attention to the turning inside me and to trust that everything always changes and that I'm going to be able to figure it out as I go.

So I grieve and celebrate...so many things...all at once.

Humidification

2009-06-28T09:21:00.003-05:00

So I'm running a camp in Northern Minnesota these days. Sorry I've been MIA but I am delighted to say there isn't even a semblance of modern technology up there. With the exception, of course, of the genetically modified mosquitoes that I have come to fondly refer to as the North Woods Teradactyl Municipality.

I'm home for the weekend and decided I would write in and touch base. After leaving the cooling effects of Lake Superior I was struck by the shift in weather as I drove further and further south. The air seemed to ebb ever thicker the closer to The Cities I drove. With the heat the comfort level in my vehicle plummeted and I debated closing my windows and turning on the AC. It was then that I recalled, only a couple months earlier, bitching profusely about how sick and tired I was of being cold. With that recollection at the forefront of my mind, I opted to slap on another layer of sunscreen, open my sunroof, crank my music and drip all the way home.

As I molted ever closer towards my house I couldn't help but ponder how easy it is to be comfortable...all the time. I can always adjust the temperature in my house or my car. I can, for the most part, expect to be blasted by gusts of cold air every time I enter a store once the thermometer peeks it's little head over 70 degrees. Heck, I can even control the humidity level in my house. I don't ever have to be uncomfortable.

Except sometimes I really like it. Sometimes I really enjoy being hot and sticky and dirty. Sometimes I relish the feeling of being in a space that's foreign and unfamiliar. I live for moments when I'm at the mercy of the natural world (albeit often with DEET in hand). I love when the dew point hits 70% and the only thing I can do is stand in my back yard and let a little pool collect in my Crocs while holding a sprinkler in one hand and a tall glass of iced tea in the other.

I guess that's why I live where I do and for that matter, why I do what I do..so that once in a while I can let humidification take over so I able to accept the fact that I'm really not in control of much of anything.

Limbo

2009-05-05T20:31:00.002-05:00

So I used to be REALLY good at doing the limbo. I won all of the limbo contests at my high school dances, I won a couple in college. Heck, I won one about three years ago in Switzerland. But that's not the kind of limbo I'm talking about.

Do you ever feel like you're hanging out waiting for the next thing to happen? I feel like I've been in perpetual limbo for a very long time. Whether it's holding out to plan my trip schedule until we find out where Mike (hubby) will be working, wondering if I'm pregnant, waiting for business contacts to call back, trying to finish grad-school (twice), I feel like I'm often just on the cusp of figuring out what's next when something else gets thrown in the mix that requires me to wait a little longer or put off a plan. I used to love limbo, when I was younger. Limbo meant change, and change meant there was no grass growing beneath these feet. Now limbo still means change, and change still means no grass grows beneath my feet. The difference is now I have a yard, and I like my grass, and quite frankly we've spent a lot of money trying to get the grass to grow beneath our feet.

I wonder when it shifted? I wonder when I started craving a calm and relatively settled life? I wonder if I'll ever have a calm and settled life? Limbo is hard, there's not answers, or time tables, or definitive anythings. It's kind of like sitting through Waiting for Godot, you don't recall when it started and have no idea if it's ever going to end. Limbo can also be liberating. I realize I'm not really beholden to any assumed practices or expectations. I get to make choices about what really matters and why.

But all the same, limbo champion that I once was. I'm ready for calm and settled, at least temporarily.

Fat Days

2009-04-23T12:09:00.003-05:00

Today is a fat day. One of those days where nothing I put on feels good or looks good. I've put on my fat pants, my fat shirt, my fat skirt and all for NOTHING! Gah. Why do we have to have fat days? And why, pray tell, when we have fat days does it seem that the only thing that feels good is to eat Oreos and watch movies? I think it's a conspiracy. There's some infinite thought thread in the universe that latches on to me when I wake up in a fat day and insidiously drives my every desire toward Doritos, chocolate chip cookies, and milkshakes. That and heiniously sad chick-flick movies that make me cry, which, odly enough, is twice as likely on a fat day.

I'm going back to bed.

Amazing Women

2009-04-22T19:05:00.003-05:00

One thing you may have gathered from me by now is my distinct passion for working with women, particularly in ways that enhance our lives together. Sometimes in my work I encounter a bit of trepidation because people think I may be anti-male. It seems an unfair correlation in my own mind to think that maybe because I work with women that I don't like men. Let me be clear. I love men. I have been one of those extremely fortunate women who has been surrounded by men who not only respect women but also honor and appreciate and cherish women. So I'm saying this because on occasion I hear the voice of someone profound and I am forced to take a step back and ponder their presence.

I've never been a connoisseur of poetry but at a retreat about two years ago I heard this poem, read aloud by the author, and was awestruck. It's called Hurricane Voices. I prefaced the poem with the comments above about men because I want to be certain that the profundity of this poem is not that men have done bad things, truly, we all have things to answer for. What struck me about this poem is the drawing together of women as sisters. I think in our own history women have perhaps been cruelest to one another. This is a voice that says it's time for that to stop. It's time to come together and take back our own voices and join them together to do something amazing. The author is Nadine Wolf Budbill she is a powerful and inspiring woman who is making her own profound changes in the world, you can see what I mean at www.girlsmovemountains.org With her permission I share her poem with you.

HURRICANE VOICES by nadine wolf budbill

audre lorde said: your silence will not protect you
so we are mending the pathways between lungs, throat, mouth, voice

sonia sanchez said: we need your hurricane voices
so we speak syllables of sound pounding harder than rage-full fists
gonna take this hurricane voice
these tornado words
gonna take this room full of girls
sisters united
this is not the time for silence

we must speak
when boys dominate sports fields, public spaces, and classrooms
when videos games, tv, movies and magazines make women into sexual objects
use women’s bodies to sell products
when you are harassed, whistled at, stared at
when a girl or woman you know is raped
when you are sad and angry
when you are inspired
when our country promotes violence to solve problems
and you know there’s gotta be a better way
when you think you have the answer
when you think you might be wrong
when every 7 seconds a woman is beaten by her partner or boyfriend
when men create weapons of mass destruction, chemical and biological weapons
when god is always called he and it was all eve’s fault
when racism divides us, privileging some at the expense of others
when you know deep down that things just aren’t right

we must speak louder than the pages of cosmo and seventeen
louder than budweiser ads and maybeline
take your body back
rip it from the hands of corporate executives gettin’ rich off our own self hate
listen to your sisters’ stories
they are more your own than you know
say i got your back girl
rather than talkin’ behind them
grow gardens of wild flowers in your mind
plant seeds of rebellion in your throat
sow visions of justice in your heart
fill your lungs with the capacity to breathe life back into your wounded places
set a fire of action in your belly
tie comfortable shoes onto your feet
infuse your legs with the power to run, kick and dance
wipe the clouds of other people’s perceptions from your eyes
so that you may see your own truth
feed your soul daily with doses of your own love

so we speak syllables of sound
pounding harder than rage-full fists
gonna take this hurricane voice
these tornado words
gonna take this room full of girls
sisters united
this is not the time for silence
because your silence will not protect you

and sometimes actions are louder than words
you don’t need to open your mouth to make the biggest sound
and sometimes our voices are screams articulated
through poetry or sports or music or movement
and sometimes it is a statement shot through loud music with the tv on during math class, in the cafeteria or at the dinner table

we need your hurricane voices
it’s gonna take the power of this room full of girls
with rebellion in your throats
justice in your hearts
fire in your bellies
and the strength of your own love in your soul

Enough said.

Three lives

2009-04-15T21:13:00.004-05:00

I've been joking that I have three lives lately. I just wrote an article about it actually. I won't bore you with the whole article but in a nutshell, I feel like I have three separate lives. I actually have three different suitcases for each one. In my first life I'm a pretty typical Norwegian Lutheran Minnesotan. I wear mukluks, blue jeans, and Mr. Rogers style wool cardigans. I shop for groceries, work from home, bake cookies and muffins, run to Costco, meet friends for coffee, visit my neighbors, do laundry, avoid ironing, etc. It's a pretty normal life.

In my second life I'm an East Coast Jet-setter. My amazing husband works in New Jersey during the week and in an effort to see him more than just eight days a month I will, on occasion, fly out to Jersey and stay for a week or two. In this life, I wear a lot of black, I actually iron my clothes, wear shoes with heels, run into New York City for the afternoon, visit the Metropolitan Art Museum, eat coffee across from Meredith Viera and Matt Lauer, and never cook.

In my third life I'm a wilderness guide. I run my own trips or work for a company in Boulder Colorado. I wear Chaco's, or hiking boots, lounge in polypropylene and wool, know what anoraks are, care about wicking and waterproof, carry heavy loads, hike for miles, canoe for miles, and generally don't shower more than once in a 5-7 day period.

Sometimes I feel like I'm developing a personality disorder. Sometimes I feel like I have a really cool life. Sometimes I just get tired of going through security at the airport. Sometimes I just try to pretend I don't have three lives and create the illusion of having a routine in my life. But really I don't think I'm that different from anybody else. This world is nuts. We're all doing fifty things at once and wondering why we feel like the years keep passing by faster and faster. Do you ever wonder if it would just be easier to just unplug the computer, shut off the cell phone, disconnect the pagers and iphones and smart phones and blackberry's and twitter accounts? (P.S. I don't have any idea why people like twitter). Maybe it's unrealistic. Maybe it's why of all my lives I kind of like the third one best. Or maybe there's something to trying to find a way to be all of our "people" with a little more ease and grace. Either way, I feel a fourth personality coming on and I think I'm going to go to bed before she takes root.

Fear and Trembling

2009-04-13T21:05:00.003-05:00

I had a lot of time to think today. It has been, for me, a rough couple of years. Not for lack of wonderful and amazing, there's been a lot of that too. But the past two years in particular have held for me a unique string of challenges. As a result of these challenges, I've spent a lot of time pondering what it means to spend time being afraid. I'm kind of a natural worrier in that I don't have to work at it at all, I worry about everything. I've never considered myself to be a fearful person but in some ways, worry and fear are really the same thing in different outfits. I worry about my husband traveling, if I will meet deadlines for my work, if I will ever graduate from seminary, if our job situations will hold, if my mom will be ok, if my dad will be ok, if my brother and sister-in-law will be ok, if my nieces will make it through Jr. High relatively unscathed, when my husband and I will have children, whether my business will be successful, and so on.

I have a theory about fear. I think it eats away at us and when it comes down to it, is probably the source of a lot of the bad in the world. Some say the source of the worlds ugliness is people's desire for power or wealth, but I think even those two mega motivators are often driven more out of fear of not having them than the desire for them. This is just a theory though. However, in the wake of these past couple years I'm starting to wonder what I'm so worried about. I have experienced some things I didn't think I would ever be able to handle. And not only have I survived them but I think I'm doing ok. Granted, there often exists a need for an obligitory melt-down, or rage-fest. Both of which usually cluminate in a bubble bath and going to bed at 8.

I guess what I'm starting to say is that I'm look into going worry light. I'm not sure how this will play out pragmatically or if I'll even get close. But I've come to see that for all my worrying, I think I've discovered a strength inside me that I would like to learn to trust more, and maybe even relish. I'll consider that for now.

What to do instead of getting bored.

2009-04-09T22:01:00.004-05:00

I was pretty young when I came up to my mom, who was doing something in the kitchen, and said,"I'm bored." I'm pretty sure she threatened me with a cadre of options to ease my boredom but what I really remember was her saying, "well that's your own fault."

The other day I was sitting in my house with a list three miles long of stuff I'm behind on when I was struck by a similar feeling, I was bored! (Albeit in a passively-procrastinating-kind-of-way). I don't really believe in boredom, I think my mom's comment stuck. So I decided to make a list of things to do instead of getting bored. I thought I'd share it. I'd love other ideas to add to my list.

1.) Write a list about something
2.) Write letters to old friends, because let's face it...the technological age is great but there's nothing like a letter.
3.) Lift Weights, or children if you have them. I tried lifting my cat Trygve, he wasn't a huge fan, still, you get my drift.
4.) Re-ignite old "cool" sayings like "you get my drift."
5.) Go kayaking
6.) Play my guitar
7.) Paint a room in my house
8.) Journal
9.) Write a book.
10.) Plan a really crazy trip, right down to confirming the payment on your credit cart. Unless you can afford it then just go for it. And for those of us who really can't afford it, please make sure you don't hit the "ACCEPT" button. But if you do, I'm sure you'll have a fabulous time.
11.) Learn how to surf. Yes I live in Minnesota. But lets face it, if I could, I wouldn't be bored.
12.) Take a long walk wearing Lederhosen with bright socks. Or if you don't have lederhosen just pull your socks up over your jeans. It looks just as good.
13.) Visit my neighbors Wally or Bernice who are in their eighties and live alone.
14.) Put on a lot of clothes and lay out on the back porch pretending it's summer and you're hot.
15.) Take dance lessons.

I think that's enough for now. If you have any ideas, I'd love to hear them!
Live loud!

2009-04-08T20:19:00.002-05:00

I took this picture on vacation this year in Mexico. We were at a small lagoon, near Akumal. We went early in the morning to avoid crowds and because, as much as I am sorely sad to admit, fish freak me out and I didn't want to embarrass my husband or his parents. (I scream like a little girl when they come close to me.) Don't judge me.

So we went early, we enjoyed the lagoon but while we were there I noticed that the gardens surrounding the lagoon were "littered" with these breathtaking sculptures. I couldn't find any information on the artist but this one was my favorite. She took my breath away. We came back later in the evening to take pictures and I disappeared into a trance as I padded my way through thick underbrush in search of the next surprising and delectable figure. I can still feel the heavy water laden air on my skin, and smell the salt in my hair. The sun set as I wandered, and the air slinked into chilly without me even being aware. As we drove home that night I couldn't help but wonder what little part of me I left there, and what little space in me would always feel different as a result of that visit. I don't have an answer yet but I do have this picture.

French Fries

2009-04-07T19:32:00.003-05:00

So I just went to this fabulous Turkish restaurant and had a very delectable falafel sandwich. Along with this amazing treat I was given a small order of french fries and I realized just how much I love french fries. Now I realize they're bad for me and that I should really only eat them in small and infrequent doses. However, it seems a shame to miss out on such a perfect food. I'll give up chocolate and ice cream, no problem, but don't take away my french fries. Speaking of "giving up" something...

Lent just ended. For those of you who don't know, during Lent it is often customary for people to "give up" something they desire, or crave. It's supposed to be a spiritual practice or exercise and I think for many people it is. I've never been very good at it. For example, one time I gave up Twizzlers (another favorite) for Lent. I was living in Bet Hanina, outside the old city of Jerusalem. We had offered a challenge to our friends at home to attempt to break a record for the highest volume of twizzlers sent overseas. (Never mind that there is no such record nor did we ever have proof that said record existed, we were just sick of Menthol flavored suckers). So here I am, living in the one city where I really should be able to have a "holy" experience during the Lenten season...it being, of course the place Jesus did his thing, and what was I doing? I was obsessing over Twizzlers. I admit, I ate a few, but I didn't enjoy them...ok I did, but I did feel guilty about it.

After that experience I gave up "giving up" things for Lent but not because I think it's a bad idea. I'm just excessively not good at it. But this doesn't mean I don't experience Lent either. I do, it's one of my favorite "seasons" of the church year. It's an introspective time. A time to huddle in close and consider things. It's a time to wonder about what's coming and to think about what it means for there to be a colossal shift on the horizon. Regardless of your religious persuasion, I'd recommend a lenten-type season. A time on the tail of winter to be deeply intentional about something. So what does this have to do with french fries? I guess nothing...but that doesn't mean I don't still love them.

My first reconnaissance.

2009-04-06T17:44:00.003-05:00

This is it. My first blog. What fun.

I'm co-authoring a paper about women in the wilderness and how as women, we have historically had a very different relationship to nature than our male counterparts. Let me start by saying I know a lot of men who view nature as I do, and a lot of women who view nature as "men" do. I grew up on a farm, in the middle of nowhere, MN. I spent my days, at least the one's that weren't 30 degrees below zero pa-rousing the grove, building sad little forts, envying my brothers much cooler forts, and getting generally muddy. As a result, I love dirt, ground, earth. There's something about the scent of freshly turned soil that catapults me into a distant life where fascinating was the spring thaw and it's permission to sail little bark boats through the culverts, and the unadulterated pleasure of helping my mother plant tomatoes and cucumbers in our garden, and waking up the first morning having slept with the windows open and feeling showered in ozone. As an older woman now I crave these moments of connection with nature. I don't need to go on a grand adventure to experience them either.

I called myself a nomad, but I own a house and a volkswagon station wagon. I'm not a true nomad, at least in the quintessential sense but I am by my own right. I adventure, sometimes from the view from my living room couch. I travel while I'm taking a bubble bath after a particularly chilly day. I go on excursions, sometimes only to my garden. What is it about this earth touching, feeling, digging, turning, being? Do we as women see the world differently of just some of us? Do we experience nature in ways distinctive from our male counterparts? Are we somehow meant to know the difference between concrete and soil and to know that the latter heals us? I hope so. You tell me.