Occupy This
I'm not very often at a loss for words. But at least in this case, my friend Jason says this much better than I could have.
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November Starts the Holiday Season
First snow today! Beatrix was very excited, but seems to have somewhat inherited my attitude towards snow — it looks pretty and all, but once you get all bundled up and head out for a walk it's still kind of cold and a PITA. Some cocoa cheered her right up, though, and it really is pretty.
Somehow (likely on Twitter?), I had heard that Linder's was doing a holiday lighting festival tonight, so we headed down there after dinner. The greenhouses are lit up so that they really do look magical, and they are filled with Christmas items. It was a completely child-oriented event, and within minutes of walking in Beatrix had received a candy cane and flower seeds from Mrs. Claus, a balloon, and a chocolate chip cookie (she insists, by the way, that chocolate chip cookies are perfectly good Christmas cookies if you draw a tree on with icing. I can't say I disagree. We stood in line for a hayride with Santa, and a large family even let us go ahead of them when there was little room l…
Somehow (likely on Twitter?), I had heard that Linder's was doing a holiday lighting festival tonight, so we headed down there after dinner. The greenhouses are lit up so that they really do look magical, and they are filled with Christmas items. It was a completely child-oriented event, and within minutes of walking in Beatrix had received a candy cane and flower seeds from Mrs. Claus, a balloon, and a chocolate chip cookie (she insists, by the way, that chocolate chip cookies are perfectly good Christmas cookies if you draw a tree on with icing. I can't say I disagree. We stood in line for a hayride with Santa, and a large family even let us go ahead of them when there was little room l…
Pizza Lu-Sigh
Like many Americans, pizza is my go-to comfort food. And I have had a love affair with Pizza Luce since my days at Jeune Lune, where pizza from the original location was on heavy rotation — hey, I even served Luce pizza to Kevin Bacon! So, nearing the end of a long week, what better dinner solution than meeting our good friend Leah from A Taste of My Minnesota, and her darling daughters, for some pizza?
Oops.
The evening started simply enough — the waitress forgot to mention it was Happy Hour, but we did solve that and get some drinks, the three girls colored and played with chopsticks, the table next to us, seated at the same time we did, received their pizza quickly and it smelled great. The girls' food came, and our artichoke dip, and we were told the pizza would be soon. And then, nothing.
About 40 minutes in, as the girls were getting squirrely, we asked on the ETA on the pizza. We were told it was "in the oven" (well, I suppose that's good), and it would be out in…
Oops.
The evening started simply enough — the waitress forgot to mention it was Happy Hour, but we did solve that and get some drinks, the three girls colored and played with chopsticks, the table next to us, seated at the same time we did, received their pizza quickly and it smelled great. The girls' food came, and our artichoke dip, and we were told the pizza would be soon. And then, nothing.
About 40 minutes in, as the girls were getting squirrely, we asked on the ETA on the pizza. We were told it was "in the oven" (well, I suppose that's good), and it would be out in…
Refugee Furniture
I saw this dresser several weeks back, in someone's trash behind the Holly Tot Lot, and fell immediately in love with it. Much to Patrick's dismay, I returned later that night with a flashlight and a drill, disassembled it, and brought it home.
But something happened to Patrick when he carried it inside after several days of it taking up too much space in the garage. He saw what I had originally appreciated — this is not a piece of mass market furniture. It's extremely old, handcrafted from oak that was likely hand-milled. The carving on it is slightly primitive, again done by hand. It's kind of battered, and in some disrepair. As Patrick worked on re-assembling the piece, tightening the pieces and getting everything back together, he fell in love with it too.
I ordered some new hardware from the super-super-sale section of Anthropologie, and this morning Patrick put the hardware on and Beatrix and I polished the wood. I'm thrilled to say that the piece looks even be…
But something happened to Patrick when he carried it inside after several days of it taking up too much space in the garage. He saw what I had originally appreciated — this is not a piece of mass market furniture. It's extremely old, handcrafted from oak that was likely hand-milled. The carving on it is slightly primitive, again done by hand. It's kind of battered, and in some disrepair. As Patrick worked on re-assembling the piece, tightening the pieces and getting everything back together, he fell in love with it too.
I ordered some new hardware from the super-super-sale section of Anthropologie, and this morning Patrick put the hardware on and Beatrix and I polished the wood. I'm thrilled to say that the piece looks even be…
Five Years
I'm having (a lot of a) struggle already, as we move into the holiday season that marks five years since my mother's death on Christmas Day, 2006.
In some ways, it feels stupid, self-indulgent even. Five years is just a number. It doesn't, in itself, mean any more or any less than any other number.
But we humans tend to mark time in landmarks, and there have been a lot of landmarks. Patrick and I have been married for five years (this past June). Five years is twice as long as my mom lived after the diagnosis. Five years is as old as Beatrix's friends Alex and Kelsey. Five years is half the lifespan of my favorite wine shop. And five years is that many Christmases, and birthdays, and Mother's Days, and amazing Beatrix moments, and so many other things.
My mother never got to meet my dog, or two of my cats, or most of all, her granddaughter. She never got to see her nephew get married in Norway, or meet his son. She never got to support any of the theatres I currently …
In some ways, it feels stupid, self-indulgent even. Five years is just a number. It doesn't, in itself, mean any more or any less than any other number.
But we humans tend to mark time in landmarks, and there have been a lot of landmarks. Patrick and I have been married for five years (this past June). Five years is twice as long as my mom lived after the diagnosis. Five years is as old as Beatrix's friends Alex and Kelsey. Five years is half the lifespan of my favorite wine shop. And five years is that many Christmases, and birthdays, and Mother's Days, and amazing Beatrix moments, and so many other things.
My mother never got to meet my dog, or two of my cats, or most of all, her granddaughter. She never got to see her nephew get married in Norway, or meet his son. She never got to support any of the theatres I currently …