girl at large

Spuds and Duds

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The kids cos-playing Republicans at the hotel.

I really try too hard. I try to do too much, too fast, too everything. But damn it, someone has to give this sorry-ass-ragtag-dysfunctional family a nice Thanksgiving!

My siblings aren’t speaking to me, and that’s all I can say about that. So, it’s us and Mom for the holiday. (Thanksgiving is my side, Christmas is Paul’s famiglia. Marital code 3471.2)

Thinking about last year, another too-much-too-soon fatigue fest, I decided to stay closer to home and go full luxury.

KOHLER. The American Club. Ooooooooooohhhhhh. Oooo la la. Or should I say “uh oh”?

I should have known when we walked through a gaggle of investment bros in Patagonia vests in the lobby…what was I thinking? Ok, so it’s a bit stuffy and outdated, but it will be comfortable and relaxing…

Our room’s power went out. And got fixed. And went out. And got fixed. And went out again. I have a powered medical device I need to use twice a day. This was not good. But no other rooms near the kids and Grandma were available until the next day.

Our four spa appointments, tediously made three weeks before on an online platform as complicated as a tax form, were lost. I had meticulously planned for three pedicures at the same time, and then a facial for myself alone. Nothing, not in the system. And no openings at all.

Ok, let’s try the pool. It was quite nice actually, and we LOVED the free shuttle van. I have to install a sauna in our basement now.

We were a bit frazzled, and my side effects were in full revenge-mode, even after a nice swim. So, we were hoping for a special, delicious, wonderful Thanksgiving meal to save the holiday. I had made reservations for the Wisconsin Room Thanksgiving by recommendation of Kohler staff —we wanted to have a sit down meal where we could all chat comfortably, even with hearing loss (vs the Thanksgiving Grand Buffet option). It was something to look forward to. It’s The American Club, it’s fancy schmancy, it’s KOHLER. 

The food was served in…pans? Like…pans. Not sizzling fajita pans (still the height of exciting and fancy in my 12 year old memory), not elegant oval au gratin pans, not a hot cast iron skillet (would have loved a Hot Brown), not even ramekins…pans. Like roasting pans. Think mini lasagnas. Also, actual lasagnas would have been great.

 

 

 

 

The pans had high sides, making it impossible to properly cut the food. We hacked vertically at the filets, glancing around at other tables to see if we were missing something. Like plates. 

The pans were cold so the steak was also cold. I have a dodgy right arm and Mom is 80, so the strange pans were even more awkward for us, but I can’t imagine anyone being able to satisfactorily slice their green beens in those silly things. 

They served the boring side dishes family style, which was hilarious—-still no plates! The mashed potatoes, sprouts and stuffing had to go in the PANS. I’m a snob. At a white tablecloth restaurant, for a meal that outrageously expensive, I want my food on a plate.

It’s KOHLER. They literally make PORCELAIN.

Island Time

 

 

 

 

 

 

Madeline Island was so beautiful. My paintings, however, were not. It was a glorious week all to myself, surrounded by magnificent views of prairie, woodlands, lagoons, bluffs, and mighty Lake Superior. The instructor was also superior, ahem, Mr. Superior. And that’s all I’ll say about that.

So, the instruction wasn’t a good fit for me, but the classmates, food and painting locations were perfection. Though I didn’t produce any work to brag about, I did rekindle some dormant skills—

Painting from life

Value studies

Bullshit detecting

I’m beginning to really enjoy this Watercolor-Menapause-Yoga Pant-No BS phase of life.

I’m So Sick of This

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cancer blew up my life, sepsis has blown up our summer. We’ve had to cancel two of our little summer adventure trips, reschedule our beloved Shaker Village trip, and I missed my painting retreat on Madeline Island.

The Madeline Island art school was kind enough to let me roll over about half the cost to another session, so I’m going at the end of the month. But it’s not the same teacher or focus. It’s a bummer.

The summer weekend trips have given me so much escape…I would guess most people can see the “bucket list” drive I’ve had for them. More than once I’ve pushed myself too hard to make a drive, or to do too many activities. There’s a frenzy behind the fun.

I wanted another summer of making memories and getting out in beautiful landscapes…me walking behind the kids as they run on a beach or explore a new park, thinking of my death. Thinking of my absence in their lives and desperately trying to fill the time with fun and novel places. Hoping they remember us as an intact unit. Hoping they remember me.

This  “Phase 2” of my cancer has been really hard. In some ways harder than Phase 1. Phase 2 started when they found the cancer cells in my ovaries in September. In a day, everything changed. I went from holy cow I think I might be ok for a long time and only having to take 1 cancer drug (with no side effects!) to crap this thing is never going away and all the chemo and complications since. My therapist said I haven’t even processed that yet. She’s right.

I’m pissed. This is so unfair. I did everything I was supposed to do, I suffered stoically through it all. And I STILL am the loser.

Stage 4 is a strange thing. It’s death and yet we keep living. It’s invisible yet we are being slowly murdered. The treatment saves your life but alters your life beyond recognition. How can I be grateful for that? I’m not. I’m really really pissed.

I want my summer back. I want my life back.

Pick Two

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s been almost a week since we returned from our epic Nebraska road trip, but I’m not yet feeling back at home. We returned Tuesday evening and went right back to work and school, and for me, Chemo on Thursday.

I’m having a hard time with this treatment, physically and emotionally. Steeling myself for bad side effects when the initial chemo had an end date was easier. This chemo has no end date, except when it fails me and the cancer spreads, which, hopefully, isn’t for a long time, as in years. So, we HOPE for YEARS of this…

Here, have some steroids with your chemo to protect your GI tract and prevent shock. Don’t worry, after four days of insane hyperactivity you will crash into exhaustion and nausea. Also diarrhea.

Nauseous? Take this. It might make you drowsy. DON’T OPERATE MACHINERY UNTIL YOU KNOW. 

This medication is for your heart, very important, but it causes blurry vision.

This medication, for something else entirely, can also cause drowsiness and blurry vision. Which one is the culprit? Who knows?!

This medication causes dehydration. STAY HYDRATED AT ALL TIMES DURING CHEMO.

But not too hydrated, because you know, diarrhea.

This is another medication for the nausea that won’t get better, it will most certainly make you drowsy.

Here are some progressives for your computer work. They could help or they could make your vision and headaches worse.

Here is an anti diarrheal. Oops, constipation!

This one should help more with the diarrhea but it causes dizziness. Good luck with the nausea. 

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE TIRED AND CAN’T SEE? 

 

Can I just go back to where I could sleep in and only had to focus my vision on prairies?

Wanna Try That Again?

I’m helping Mom complete an online health questionnaire, an important one for an upcoming appointment. It’s long, it covers a lot, and it’s challenging to do even without vision loss. I’m reading from the screen…

Me: “Ok, Mom here are the social support questions. Answer either True, Mostly True, Somewhat True, False, Mostly False, or Somewhat False—‘I have someone I trust to help solve my problems.”

Mom: “False”

Me: “Really, are you sure about that?”

Mom: “Totally, I don’t trust anyone to solve my problems”

Me: “No one? You have no one to help with your problems?”

Mom: “Not that I can think of”

Me, laugh yelling: “MOM I’M LITERALLY RIGHT HERE HELPING SOLVE YOUR PROBLEM!”

My favorite part was Paulie snorting from the other room.

Wonderful, Lovely Disaster

I haven’t hit upon a charming story to tell about our First Born Spring Break Road Trip. It was fun…but it wasn’t. The weather was crummy, and I was sooooooo tired, but that wasn’t the problem. It just wasn’t…the same. Some parts of the journey felt as heavy as the cloud cover; the buoyancy of the past trips was missing.

Two years have passed since our last Spring Break Road Trip. Two terrible, roller coaster, frightening, serotonin-sucking years. I’ve changed, I’m still changing. Mom is slowing down. Felix is no longer content to be toted around odd museums and yarn stores, he wants to DO KID STUFF.

My sister saved the trip. I would have curled up into a whimpering ball if it weren’t for the distractions of her personal Memphis tours, warm home and lovely meals. And thank heavens for their trampoline.

As Felix launched himself in it, I saw, right in front of me, in his rare genuine grin, how desperately we need some lightness. Some relief, some perspective on our troubles.

Tonight, when I bemoaned my day as a disaster, and called myself a total disaster, Felix said “You're a wonderful, lovely disaster”. He hugged me tight…

…then, his thin arms still around me, he asked for more iPad time. Kids, they bounce back. 

The Cheese is Free (for now)

Cheesy triumph pose, Bayfield Wisconsin 2021

It’s cliche and cheesy, the breast cancer survivor photo. This one was taken after I made it up a steep walk through a root-covered woodland park in Bayfield this September. I was celebrating using my last squeeze of strength that day, and most satisfyingly, having surprised my family. They thought I was resting on a bench waiting for their return. I thought I was resting on a bench waiting for their return! But after they disappeared into the leafy ravine, I willed myself to get up and try.

I was only five months out from the double mastectomy surgery, about two months out from the end of radiation. I had extreme radiation-related fatigue (intense!], trouble breathing, and was not even half way through fourteen rounds of Chemo Lite™️. It was a little dirt path, more closely resembling a shortcut trampled into the vegetation than a trail. It was not designed to be hiked. I, too, am not designed for hiking. But I did; I gathered my strength and slowly made it through. 
     
In all it’s corny, cheesy, arms up glory this shot is also a fitting image for today’s news.

Yesterday’s PET scan shows No Evidence of Disease. No lesions, no spread, no enlarged lymph nodes…there is no detectable cancer activity. NED—No Evidence of Disease the doctors say. Sometimes called remission.

I call it the top of a very long, very tough climb.

Creativity

It’s cold and miserable outside, and I’m forced to work from home again (thanks a lot unvaccinated virus mutating hosts). To battle the predictable winter blues, I’ve done a few zoom watercolor classes and some paint sketches of our trip. It’s pleasant to doodle in my front sunroom, though I can’t decide which I prefer—the cold chill of the single pane windows behind me, or the annoying crinkling sound of the wind against the plastic wrapped windows in front of me. Either way, only the images I create have any warmth. 

Speaking of creative outlets—-this morning, Charlie appeared at the end of our bed with these expressive black lines on his face, hands, legs and feet. 

“Charlie, what happened?”

”I fell!” 

“Over and over again?” “Against a marker?”

Yep. From what I can decipher, he fell and happened to get marker on himself once. Then he laid down with different parts of his body against the open marker on the floor and MOVED HIS BODY to make the marks. 

The View From Here

Fairhope, Alabama 

It’s been a strange holiday season. The new variant has scrambled plans; we didn’t feel comfortable doing inside family gatherings while my body is still processing chemo for another three rounds. But after two years of practice with masks and the kids finally fully vaccinated, we can navigate a road trip and outdoor public spaces. I feel a nagging discomfort about those choices—-will we have a break through infection any way? When people say they understand, are they just being nice? What risks are we taking that we didn’t see? What time with extended family and friends have we lost that we will regret?

Is there a German word for fear of future regret?

I struggle with regret; neglecting the signs of cancer haunts me daily. When I think of dying younger than I intended, I regret the anxiety that ruled so much of my life already lived. The anxiety that kept me from traveling, the anxiety that kept me working overtime for free, the anxiety that kept me banging my head against brick walls, the anxiety that told me I’d never be a real artist, the fear that kept me from saying what I really felt/wanted/needed. Most of my regrets come not from mistakes I made in my choices or because of my shortcomings, but from staying silent, eating my thoughts and not saying simply Yes or more often, No.

I’ve said No this year more than ever before, and each time the internal suffering was so absent I didn’t even recognize the sensation. The anxiety groove in my brain had nothing to play, and I sat in the unfamiliar feeling of relief. And no one yelled at me. The terrible consequences of saying No were…imaginary. 

I’m not cured, not of cancer nor of anxiety. But it seems possible now, that maybe, I’ll be able to live with both. As I photograph my little family, I had seen them moving forward without me in the photos and in my mind. But I have put myself in the frame again, ever so cautiously saying Yes.

The Dork Bucket List

Earlier this week a colleague said they would soon be turning forty. I said congratulations, oh your forties are going to be great! He shook his head and raised his eyebrows, incredulous…what? 

I always knew I’d enjoy being any age but 20. I recall my thirties being the decade of anger, but a good motivating anger. I felt confident that I would hit my stride in my forties. I’ve also been fortyish for quite a long time…

At 16 I stole my parents car to go to Chicago to visit the museums.

When I was 28 I really really wanted to go on a cruise of Norway that featured tours of ancient mills and tapestry museums, guided by a textile historian. 

When I lived in France, I took painting classes at a holiday destination designed for retirees, which I adored.

When I was 35, I couldn’t get the coastal weekend place I really really wanted because it was a 65+ community.

These were also my peak crochet years.

It’s not a secret that my mortality is on my mind, that this summer’s weekend adventures are bittersweet and often booked with a frantic sense of doom. Restricted by covid, treatment schedules and reality, my travel bucket list no longer includes Denmark, Japan, South Africa, Spain or even Canada. It’s now the Wisconsin bucket list. 

This weekend’s adventure was in beautiful Bayfield. We ended our visit with a walk around town. As we turned a sunny corner, right there in front of me was an unexpected reminder that I’ve always wanted to visit every standing Carnegie Library…a physical reminder of all the dorky things I want yet to do.

All I really want is to be middle aged for a really really long time.

Holding On To The Feeling

 

We have the Adirondack chairs, we have the greenery...can we hang on to the peaceful feeling? Our trip to Kentucky’s Shaker Village was four satisfying days of gorgeous scenery, fresh air, birdsong and heavenly biscuits.

How can just one day back to treatment (daily radiation) and work frazzle me so quickly?! Deep breaths I remind myself, wistfully looking at my six hundred photos of rolling green hills, gravel pathways and spring light. Tonight I resolved to capture some of that feeling at home...

”Let’s eat healthier like we did on the trip” I say.

“Sure, you make us honey peanut butter and fan the apples out fancy just like the restaurant!” the kids say...

 

ps. Also, Charlie is back to being mostly naked.

Inauguration Hot Take

The monochromatic outfits we all loved have to be inspired by The Crown, don’t make fun of the Queen ever again.

Men need better dress up clothes. Get some interesting coats dudes.

Bernie is in front of me at the post office every time. Every event needs a mascot.

I didn’t know it was Gaga because I had on only audio at that moment, I thought it sounded weird. I am clearly not musical.

The whole of my creative life will not add up to one tenth the impact of one line of Amanda Gorman’s poem.

I was on the Ohio turnpike (excellent waysides!) when I heard the American Carnage speech; I’ll always remember the camaraderie with other carloads of women’s marchers headed to DC as we listened.

I was not ready to love Garth, but there it is, I do.

I really really want a hard copy of this week’s Scholastic.

The leadership of one person does make a difference. The integrity and dedication of a team of many competent people makes a difference.

We have a lot of work yet to do. 

Scary New World, Same Idiots

I went out beyond my house yesterday for the first time in many weeks. My exciting adventures out into the world have never before had such a modest destination. How did it feel? What thrilling things did I experience? First, I have forgotten how to drive. And Brown Deer Road is still uuuuuuugly.

When the governor relaxed some restrictions for retail businesses last week, I was extremely nervous. I felt pushed to move faster than I could be ready for, it moved the timeline up by two weeks. But I was coming around, with every preparation it got easier to imagine a store being open. And now finally having help (PPP funding means my furloughed coworkers are back!), I felt a bit better that it could be done safely. I was beginning to see the path.

Then, wham, the court knocked down the Stay At Home order, and people got stupid. 

Driving out to the shop I saw many groups of clustered people, very few masks, stores open, clumps of people waiting in unspaced lines and inside small stores, non-family groups walking...a city-wide rush to be alive. All made worse by a sunny day.

Driving down three commercial strips I could see many examples of good Covid and bad Covid practices in action, sometimes right next to each other.

Crowds of people waiting inside closed doors at the Jimmy Johns? Not good. A cluttered second hand junk stop with no clear shopping path? Not good. Groups of friends outside catching up and loving on a neighbors puppy dog? Nice, but not good. The lake must be the new destination for lesbian couples because no way dozens of pairs of walking ladies are all each related.

You know why I get upset when I see someone out without a mask? Because even though yes, you probably don’t need it on a solitary walk, I don’t know your plans.

I don’t know when I might turn a corner and my solitary walk bumps face first into your solitary walk. I don’t know if you have a mask in your pocket and just needed a break. I don’t know if you aren’t wearing one because you forgot it, or because you don’t care about the risks to yourself and others. No mask leaves so many questions.
Wearing a mask says you’ve taken the time, the effort to be safer. It takes effort to get one or make one, it takes priveledge in many cases. A mask is a sign that you’re taking this seriously and I can trust you. And if you are privileged, helllloooo my white lady neighbors...who the fuck do you think you are not to wear one? Oh right, that says exactly who you are.

Back to my drive...from the road I could see that Traders Joes has it right, with spots marked outside where folks were waiting 6’ apart (actually looked like maybe 8’). I felt confident that I could go there and be as safe as possible. (If I ever dared into a grocery store again. I have got the online ordering & random night time delivery thing down, love it, might never go back).  The risks are too high, the chances too random to allow myself to feel anything but secure.

But that’s just my concern for myself and my family. What about the employees? The staff that have to be there to serve and corral the reckless? Try to manage customers and sanitation when the company didn’t get them enough equipment or instructions? Who do you think you are to put your need for a sandwich above their health and safety? Who are these corporations that have opened without proper training, supplies, and support? I won’t be a part of that. If my destination doesn’t do it right, I’m not going.

As you can see, I even like my parking socially distanced.

 

Sounds About Right

 (photo cred Vivi)

Me: “You said ‘Aldi’s’ little while ago, now there’s an Aldi ad in my feed. I’ve never had an Aldi ad before.”

Mom: “So what?”

Me: “It’s listening, I swear the devices are listening”

Mom: “What? Ooh, that’s spooky....”

Also Mom: holds up iPad, “SEX!”

The Sun Shines On Us All

At the beach this evening, resting my sore feet in the cool sand, I could see this scene to my right and to my left. Families, friends, kids, grandparents, daters and skaters and aunties and babies. On the walk down the bluff, I heard three languages. I spotted interracial couples and families, more than one hijab, differently abled folks, seniors, lgbtq folks, and even a lone hold out cigarette smoker. Clumps of families in every conceivable configuration dotted the beach. Hand holders, shouters and strollers shared the boardwalk. 

When the world seems upside down, when the newsfeed is unbearable, when the political divisions feel like looming civil war, remind me to go to the beach. To the beach where everyone is bonded,  where the array of humanity is beautifully broad, where everyone is there to capture the same thing—good selfie light.

First Burning Bras, Now This

“Nice Hawaiian shirt Mom”

“Thanks, I wore it so if we’re on the news, you know, I can stand out and spot myself”.

Um, kinda not the point of being here at this march for immigrant families Mom, but ok. I thought that was the end of the topic when Paulie, beloved but daring son-in-law, chimed in:

“An old lady in a flowered shirt at a protest, yeah, that’ll really stand out!”

Brunch Market

Paulie and Viv are at the races all day, I already have two loads of laundry done and the sun is shining. Time to go to the farmers market, just Charlie and me. Or, because he has a boppie and is totally ignorable four feet ahead of me in the double stroller, mentally just me. Ahhh.

The Shorewood Farmers Market is packed. Packed with strollers, coffee drinkers, shoppers, a band. A band? A full honest god electric set up band. And there's the Shasta trailer selling waffles, the other trailer selling egg breakfasts, and new this year a vintage Ford truck retrofitted with taps to serve small batch brews. It is, of course, clad with horizontal reclaimed wood boards. A Tommy Haverford lookalike inspects the boulangerie's mobile wood fired oven, at least four booths have locally roasted coffee. Is someone roasting beans right here? There's Kambucha, empanadas, gluten-free ready to bake dough...it's endless, and not much of it is produce. There are more vehicles than veggie vendors, you wouldn't be crazy for thinking it's a food truck lot. If I didn't have the experience to know where to find the egg lady, and that a cartoon of her fresh brown eggs was worth elbowing through all that overpriced spandex for, I would have turned around.

Don't get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoy this outing, especially the chocolate croissants. But let's call this what it really is: Portland 2005.

 

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Perspective

Time in the car with my girls, Mom and Viv, is my favorite. I certainly miss the days of road tripping alone, the window rolled down, sun on the windshield, rolling through the green summer countryside blasting NPR. But I have embraced my passengers. I always learn something.

Driving back from Patsy and Charlie's lovely family wedding in Door County--

Me: "It was so great to meet that woman whose sister babysat me back in Columbia, that's amazing that they remember! Awww, they said to say hi to Pumpkin, I always loved that I'm your Pumpkin mom." (Warm fuzzy memory of little kid me being held close to my mom, her calling me Pumpkin when I needed a cuddle)

"God, were you orange."

What?

What?

"Wait, wasn't I called Pumpkin because I was cute, it wasn't a cutesie loving nickname like honey bunny? Wait, WHY was I called Pumpkin?"

"You had jaundice! You were orange as a pumpkin!"

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Cleverer and Cleverer

Settling in to our room: "The hotel TV might not cooperate, and your iPad is fragile, so I'll watch cartoons on your phone."

Cooperate.

 

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And That's How

As Charlie says, suited up and strapped in, let's "rocknroll!"

Paulie likes to have all the things, ALL the things for any activity. Going for a walk might turn into a picnic so of course an umbrella and a bag of sandwhiches is standard. Going anywhere at all, indoors or out, requires a huge fleece blanket because you never know when you're going to get cold, sleepy or just need comfort.

A weekend away with the kids requires an enormous amount of stuff, which we bring in the larger car we bought for the purpose of bringing stuff, and yet here we are Sunday morning with Charlie in the last diaper. Which is a swim diaper. From last year. Paulie, where is your duct tape?

Vivi is taller this spring, and as always, a helper. I assigned her to do "the sweep" this morning as we packed up. "Did you check every closet, room and drawer?" "Yes". "Did you get everything, nothing left behind?"

"Yep, all I found was that book" (and now somewhere in my car of stuff is Gideon's bible)

 

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Pat Translator

Mom has always had a language all her own, usually more accurate and descriptive then the "correct" version. Like Mark Twain and Yogi Berra, her brilliance is both profound and hilarious. The conversations during our annual Spring Break road trip were no exception.

"You know that place we were just at in Texas or wherever." (We went to Arkansas, not Texas)

"We're Americans, if we forget anything we can just buy it."

"I can't believe how it changed. Oh, that's different. Why is that there? That wasn't there before"...(She hasn't been to St Louis in fifty years)

"I'm just so glad that I'm not like those old people in denial, still driving and and not admitting when it's time to quit or time to move into assisted living. I'm not like that, I'll never be like that, I won't be that stubborn."

You need hearing aids. "No I don't."

"Do you still write on that blog? large girl or something?"  

You mean girlatlarge.com?

"Yes, that one you did about being fat, I thought it was so great that you were ok with it"

What? It's Girl At Large, not Large Girl!  It's a reference to being out in the world! traveling! being adventurous! Not about being fat! (And yes, the links you read on Facebook are that very same blog.)

Oh Mom. What a trip.

 

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Snootypants vs Smartypants

Grandma: "Corndog? No, I've never had a corndog. That's "Fair" food, I don't go to the Fair".

Viv: "Do you like hot dogs?"

Grandma: "Yes."

"Do you like bread?"

Yes.

"Do you like corn?"

Yes.

"Hmm. I think you like corn dogs."

 

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America's Seedy Underbelly is Your Neighbor Larry

(bumper sticker says ‘I choose the obnoxious prick over the corrupt bitch’)

Really? Who raised you? If you're daring enough to put this out there (there was also a huge Trump banner inside the garage, right next to a Jesus poster), I give you credit for speaking your mind. Also, you're evil. And not Christian.

I enjoy proof of well-to-do Trumpers; the "poor white men" narrative has always irked me because I KNOW there were just as many silent Republicans in those upper tax brackets who put him in office.

I love America. Trumpers don't own patriotism, or family values, or loving America. We spent the week driving its highways and byways, like any good country song. Everywhere we went there were faces and voices of every stripe and persuasion, for the most part all friendly. Traveling with family may bring out the worst in you inside the minivan, but out at the pumps, we are all alright. And trapped in a snowstorm in the quickimart, we are all one.

Be better to each other. Especially you, "Christian" a-hole.

 

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Summertime

We grabbed one last weekend of summer at Elkhart Lake this weekend, 50 percent of which was spent loading and unloading crap from cars. Like all parenting, half was hell and the other half was amazing. Viv donned water wings and after an hour let me float her about four feet in to the pool. Charlie, dunked in a round floaty for the very first time, took to the water (both in the swimming pool and the huge bathtub) like a duck. Mama might have her new swim partner!

After a season of stress and a newsfeed full of violence, grasping for a little old fashioned summer for my family is a necessity. I'll take my sheetcake with an ice cream cone please.

Or as Viv says, "I love hotels, they bring everything we need!"

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New World on Order

I can order any item I want---from baby formula to a winter coat, and it arrives at my door the next day. I can read hundreds of magazines, newspapers and journals (enjoying Science!); all of them are now literally at my finger tips. The world enters my home, my work, my life. I can listen to any radio program, when I want, where I want. On demand, it's all on demand. We are takers.

A week ago today Mom and I were on the Washington Mall, in a sea of pink pussy hats. It felt wonderful to be relaxed, not on guard, not defensive. Everywhere I looked, every eye I caught, every whoop and wave was affirming. "I'm not crazy, I'm not overreacting, this situation truly isn't normal." And most profoundly: "I am not alone."

We are not alone. The world is in our handbags, but we are not in the world. The world is a big, beautiful, messy, human place. I want to be a part of it. America, be a part of it.

 

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That Would Be A Surprise

I planned a little diversion for Paulie and myself today. I was so pleased with myself for sneaking in some time to look across a table into each others eyes instead of our iPads, when I would hold his hand instead of a baby bottle. And it's Christmas; how nice! He had the day off, I only had to work til noon. The kids were at daycare til 5. I picked him up at 12:30, and started to drive to the east side.

He was fidgety, nervous and kept asking what I was doing, where we were going. He got more nervous as we headed down Downer Avenue in the direction of Columbia St Mary's hospital. But a block before, I pulled up to my surprise destination---a cheerful corner coffee shop and bookstore. Paulie was visibly relieved, but why?

He explained:

"I couldn't figure out what you were up to. You were so specific about meeting at exactly 12:30 I thought, it must be an appointment. What has she asked me to do that I haven't done? Why keep me in the dark? And then I thought...

...Oh no, she's taking me to get a vasectomy."

 

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After My Own Heart

After a long, chilly spring weekend out in the grassy fields at the race track, Viv said:

"I want to go back to the city, watch tv, eat chips and be comfortable!"

 

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Back to Berea

We have returned from our annual spring break road trip. Our final destination was Berea, Kentucky so there was less road than last year when we drove all the way to Ashville, NC. The weather provided less spring too this year too. But what sunshine there was we enjoyed and the flowering trees were a treat.

The first stop was quaint Nashville, Indiana (Brown County) with a day trip to the Midwest modern architctural gem Columbus, Indiana.Then on to Berea for three days in our favorite Kentucky art town with another day trip into Lexington. On the way back, we spent a night in the gorgeous West Baden Springs hotel in French Lick, Indiana. At each destination we stayed at wonderful, historic hotels and took historical architecture tours--Columbus's midcentury modern tour (65 incredible buildings!), Henry Clays restored estate Ashland, and lastly the West Baden Springs famous dome hotel.

Funny, on all three tours there was not a single other child.

When I asked a Viv which tour was her favorite, she gave the bus tour of Columbus her enthusiastic endorsement. It's too soon to tell if she's developed my same affection for modern design; I suspect it was more about the...wheels on the bus.

 

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Charming

After a day of walking in quaint Nashville, Indiana:

Me: "Did you notice there was a good mix of tourists in town? Kids, seniors, quite a few gay families too, that's nice".

Mom: "Well, there are a lot of fudge shops"!

 

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Alone Time

Believe it or not, I'm glad to have this goofball back home.

Favorite Strangers

Spring came early this year, or so it felt as we were on the road heading south. The trees along the side of the road were nearly green when we made it to Berea, KY. Asheville, NC was our trip destination, but Berea became our favorite stop that we had made along the way.

The Boone Tavern Hotel (http://www.boonetavernhotel.com/) was perfect...historic, warm, comfortable. Though our room faced a rooftop, we didn't notice because we were outside in the cobblestone courtyard among the daffodils or on the front porch rockers watching Berea college students go by. The people of the hotel and the town were friendly.

At breakfast in the restored and sunny dining room, another traveling family stopped to chat at our table with my charming toddler. When they asked "his name", I had to do the apologetic

"Her name is Vivienne".

Strangers immediate response: "That's ok, it will grow out!"

My startled reply: "It's on purpose, I prefer her hair short"

She carries on: "...It could be worse, when my youngest got ahold of the scissors..."

Me again, literally head in hands: "No, I PAID to have it done"

Have a good day!

 

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Just Like Versailles

Just like Versailles, our favorite time at Biltmore was the gardens, not the house. And like every trip of my childhood, the warm sunny cobblestone courtyard with coffee and croissant was where we spent most of our time. I can't recall how many museums and chateaus we never did enter...well, because we didn't! But I do remember the legs of wrought iron cafe chairs, the color of espresso foam, little white cups and tired feet and conversations with my brilliant mother in the sunshine.

 

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Next Time, California

Paulie surprised me yesterday with Thanksgiving "mood boards", big prints of our last holiday in sunny Palm Springs.

Me: "When did you make these?"

Paul: "In my spare time".

Me: "Spare time? You're married to me...you don't have any spare time!"

 

 

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Not Exactly Clear on the Concept

Kate: "I have an idea, let's get away for a weekend to a nice hotel just the two of us. We don't have to go far, just a nice hotel so we can have a little relaxation alone together".

Paul: "That's a great idea , it would be so nice to just sit and watch some tv".

 

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Just Grand

Tom and Linda's wedding was wonderful---relaxed, beautiful and with just enough unexpected snow to make it more memorable.

When Mom left Palm Springs, we took bets on how long it would take Tom to find a woman to replace her. We didn't guess that the next one would be The One! It didn't take long, they even beat our record. Paul and I were June to April--married. Tom and Linda were August to April--married.

I love seeing my brother in love; he's so happy, she's so normal. Whew.

 

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The Organic Generation

At the Domes for the winter farmers market today...apparently you HAVE to have a baby to get in!

Free range coffee, twenty dollar chicken, cruelty-free cookies, stroller envy, gender neutral names, ironic onesies, smart phones taking pictures of other smart phones... the place was packed, bumper to bumper strollers...I had no idea there were so many mini-hipsters in town!

It's Not A Holiday Without Pat

Mom's crowning comment this Thanksgiving, in keeping with the tradition of totally inappropriate and hilarious Pat moments: "Did you ever make a sex tape Kate?"

Final Fall Weekend

It's our last weekend of the year in the Tin Can, the camp site closes for the season this week. We won't be able to finish the second coat of interior paint, but I did manage to strip and wax the floor today. The floor still needs to be replaced, but a good scrubbing and re-waxing really helped---it greatly improved Viv's scooting speed too!

This afternoon's thunderstorms shortened our trip to The Farm, but lengthened our naps.

I hope next year to take a full week off and really enjoy a proper vacation up here; it just went too fast this year.

Tomorrow we winterize (antifreeze! I'm still wary) and pack the wagon for the return of all the vulnerable supplies.

I'm going to miss the cozy camper, reading by the campfire and watching the big rigs come and go. Most of all, I'm going to miss the omelets at the Town Hall Bakery.

 

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Tin Can Progress

 

It seems that everywhere I go, renovation takes place. This past Sunday in Door County was rainy; a welcome excuse not to work on the Tin Can. We drove up and down the peninsula instead, stopping for coffee and road side stands and second hand stores. A set of blue green melamine dishes and a wood stump table were our finds of the day, both perfect fits for our little camp site.

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Summer Suffering in Shorewood

Paul was out of town for work all week, leaving me alone with baby. He worried if I'd be able to manage on my own, I worried if four days would be enough alone time for me!

It was so pleasant to get ready in the morning without tripping over each other. The nights, however, were another story. A heat wave is not kind to 90 year old bungalows without air conditioning. We had installed one tiny window unit it in the hallway, in the only window large enough for an air conditioner, as far away from the only usable bedroom as possible. But it's two BTU's struggled to keep the attic rooms below 85 degrees.

Viv didn't complain, but she was a sweaty miserable little thing. The worst was the heat rash from the car seat straps. Because, like everything in our lives right now, the car too is in need of repair. The A/C is out in the only car that the car seat fits in. We raced to daycare each morning as early as possible, and after work I took whatever circuitous route home that would keep the car in motion, hoping the bit of wind might keep us both from frying. The only hotter and more uncomfortable I've ever been was during the deadly heat wave in the south of France in 2003.

The day Paul returned, he suffered through only one sweaty night before figuring out how to rip out a window sash to move the air conditioner in the bedroom. That same day, the weather broke with a cool breeze temps in the low seventies. Of course it did.

 

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Big Day at the Zoo

My Little Sister Nevaeh moves to Texas in less than two weeks. Today was our last "Big" outing: a long overdue trip to the zoo.

We've made plans to keep in touch, but she didn't think much of my idea that letter writing will improve her penmanship.

I'm more than a little heart broken to see her go.

I'm not usually the type, but I have always had a feeling that the universe gave me Paul and then Vivienne because I first took a chance on the BBBS program and became Nevaehs Big Sister.

I just wish that if the universe were to be good to me again, it will take care of her and turn things around for her and her family.

Jun 15, 2013

Fathers Day part 1 going great! I surprised him with a drop off at the cousins for drinks with his boys and friends --without wife and baby. Stay out late Paulie! Live a little! And let me enjoy the whole bed to myself a little longer.

Part 2 tomorrow---sex and pancakes and auto cross. Not necessarily in that order.

The Things We Say

A few memorable quotes from my trip to Palm Springs. Can you guess who said what?

1) "So why did you have to go to the Internet to find a woman?".       A) Tom  

2) "That's what she said".                                                              B) Paul

3) "I usually just lick it and stick it back in".                                    C) Mom

4) "I'm so dehydrated my pee looks like orange juice".                     D) Everyone, every day, all day

He Fits Right In. That's What She Said!

Being recruited to do renovation demo, a kitchen plumbing mishap,long drives in a rental car, the worst of the worst embarrassing family stories....The Boy has sailed through the first Mikkelsen family holiday with flying colors. And Mom is in top form. But she may have met her match: Mom, as he was mopping up the water on the floor from the backed up trap:"Has she had you down on all fours yet?" Paul: "Not in the kitchen"

Family Traditions

The boy wants to know if my family photographs every meal.

Sometimes It Is The Destination

I'm returning to the Deluxe Hotel in Portland, Oregon tonight for my friend Meg's wedding.

I stayed at the Deluxe my very last night in Portland, two years ago.
I had packed up the house, the truck had left, the apartment was empty
but it was too late and I was too tired to start the drive. So I
treated myself to one last night in my favorite place. They allow dogs
too so Miss Ruby was all cuddled up in the down comforter right away.
I sent out messages to my friends that I would be at the Driftwood
Lounge in the lobby for one last beverage. I expected maybe one or two
to come. They ALL came. It was a lovely night. Meg walked me up to my
room for one last Ruby kiss, then teared up when she said goodbye to
me----she's a tough cookie, not a crier. I will always remember how
touched I was.

I was excited to be moving on, but sad to have failed at yet another
business, another town. I was sad to leave the best, most "Kate"
apartment I'd ever had. I was happy to be returning to family, but
questioning whether I could really stand all the "Wisconsin" things
that I don't like about Wisconsin. I had hopes that I'd be able to
make my dream come true by compromising on the job (it was most
definitely not my dream job) and moving close to family who could
support me. I was planning on having a family someway, some
how---probably on my own. That would never be possible in pdx, so
there I was on my way back to moo town. But that was a stretch too,
the only thing I really knew was that there was no future for me in
Portland. And I wanted to be home.

I had a ten day drive adventure ahead of me, then a whole new life
with a new job I had no idea how to do, a new town I didn't know. I
had no idea what was waiting for me at my destination.

Turns out it was everything I could have ever wished for. And then some. I am a lucky, lucky girl.

Fruit or Fritter?

I dropped in at Dad's on the way back from a last-minute work appointment in Menasha earlier this week. My timing was excellent---they were going to have dinner at Cedar Lodge.

Cedar Lodge does what it does very well. Which is to say, it stuffs you to the gills with red meat and ridiculous extras while it wraps you in cedar-paneled Midwestern warmth. Ordering takes awhile.

Fruit or Fritter?

Lettuce Salad or Cottage Cheese?

Lettuce Salad---House, Ceasar or Bacon Spinach?

French Onion or cold Strawberry soup?

Potato, Rice or Vegetable? 

Potato---Baked, Mashed, Hash Browns or American Fries?

Baked Potato---once or twice?

It was the longest conversation I've ever had that started with "I'll have the tuna". 

Anthropologists Should Go To Summer Festivals

The people-watching at Summerfest was fascinating, sometimes it was also center stage. We were off in a shady secluded corner so the baby could nurse (dappled sunlight, wholesome families) when a woman stumbled over and threw up--big, classic liquid vomit arch. How she remained standing on those hight heel sandals, I don't know. Well, actually, the standing didn't last long. She then passed out in her friends lap. It was 2:30 in the afternoon.

The faithful friend dutifully rubbed the "sick" lady's (remember the presence of children) back, supported her floppy head, and was rather stoic in the face of stares and whispered giggles. With a straight back, she took her free arm, reached over the tanned backside of buddy into a tiny purse, pulled out a lip gloss and applied. 'Atta girl!

Middle of Somewhere

Despite the restrictive pinch of the Bible belt, the repetitive nature of rows of corn, and the vast distances traveled to obtain fresh produce; I enjoyed my visit to Nebraska.

Smarties in the kitchen drawer, a stray cat in the sawdust of the wood shop, the card playing buddies with lollies in their front shirt pockets, the rose water aunties and main street one-finger steering wheel waves...Edgar is brimming with childhood memories. Before Starbucks and credit card debt, doc martins and divorce, eating disorders and vitamin D deficiencies. 

I roll my eyes and make the usual jokes about Jesus and overalls and pick up trucks. But I wouldn't tease if I didn't love. That little town is dying. One of my great-great aunts arrived there by covered wagon with her parents. I said "..I understand the coming, it's the staying I don't get...". It got a laugh, as intended. But as the fields turned to strip malls and parking lots on the way to the airport, I understood a little about the staying.  

Kindness Stings

A few of my favorite gems from the family gathering last week in Edgar, Nebraska:

"But she's so pretty! I just can't imagine why she's still single" (Yes, I was standing right there).

"So are you bunking with Stella since you're single?" (Stella is my 5 year old niece).

"You seem really comfortable with who you are. You know, you seem ok with it". (That started out good...)

Replies to the "No" after "Do you have kids?" and/or "Are you married?":

    -"Don't worry, Jesus must have other plans for you".

    -Silence. More silence.

    -"But you're so pretty!" (Well, if I'm pretty enough to be married, but not, I must be a total bitch.)

    -Pained look, then silence.

    -"That's ok". (I hope so--what, is someone rounding up the childless for an internment camp? Are there cocktails?)