Chris Matthews

  

     This week MM2 and I took advantage of the wonderful lecture series that Westminster Presbyterian offers and listened to Chris Matthews, host of msnbc's Hardball, talk about politics and his new book, Jack Kennedy: Elusive Hero.  Sure, it was a book hocking tour, but Matthews is a celebrity and the price was good:  free.  The old church was gorgeous with its balconies, red carpet and stained glass windows.

    As a bonus, one of Westminster's choirs serenaded us for 20 minutes with Christmas songs and they were terrific.
     Sometimes when I watch Chris on his show I'm frustrated because he often gets so excited he doesn't let his interviewees finish their points. So a forum where he gets to speak all by himself is a perfect venue for him.  He was fascinating.  He talked about influential political figures he had known and worked for from Jimmy Carter to Ronald Reagan.  He shared some family "secrets" like how his grandma still liked her highballs even though his grandpa didn't drink.  So to keep peace the family would call the highballs they were serving grandma her "tea."  Some other highlights:

• Jackie Kennedy was 12 years younger than Jack.
• Matthews' opinion was that Jack was a womanizer because he was looking for the love he never got from Rose.  I think it's because his father was a philanderer and because all of the Kennedy children yearned for their father's recognition. Jack simply followed in his role model's footsteps.
• They used to call Strom Thurmond "Sperm" Thurmond.  (Thurmond fathered his first legitimate child when he was 68 and had three more after that.)
• Congress had to figure out how to pass Kennedy's Civil Rights bill when the Dixiecrats didn't want anything to do with it.  Matthews compared today's Tea Party with that group and said the Tea Party politicians somehow wrongly think it's weak or bad to compromise.  The problem with both groups is that they are like headless nails:  once they get into Congress, you can't get them out:)
• Jack Kennedy was a true hero.  During the PT109 episode, he actually put a wounded man on his back and swam 4 miles, despite having had back trouble his whole life.
• A true leader is one you don't watch and evaluate like a teacher does with a student.  A leader is someone you automatically want to follow without question.
• Obama's strength is oration, but he needs to do a better job of leading.
• He needs to ask the American people to do something, like we were asked during World War II to grow victory gardens, conserve on products, donate rubber to the cause, etc.

     All in all it was a very inspiring, informative and entertaining speech.  And not once did I hear a pause or an "ahhhh."  He was very fluent and frankly fired out so many good ideas that I felt dizzy.
     The experience was capped with an excellent late lunch at Cravings, a little Woodbury restaurant where we used a Groupon and saved a heap of money.  Oh, and I got to have a holiday Rasberritini at 2:00 in the afternoon.
     This retirement gig is a keeper.

Thanksgiving, Birthday and Cookie Baking

     I've been so busy getting ready for Thanksgiving and Abby and Teddy's homecoming from Boston, that I haven't posted anything.  But I took some pictures:

     This visit was a Thanksgiving, 23rd birthday party and cookie baking combo.  My 86-year-old mom still made the turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, gravy and stuffing as well as her own cranberry sauce cooked from scratch.  Did I mention the pumpkin pie too?  I brought Abby's favorite dessert, chocolate mocha cheesecake, and a new salad I stole from Jan Hall's recipe file.  It had carmelized almonds, greens and lots of other goodies.  The dressing base was lime juice, olive oil and honey.  Our group included Abby and me, my mom and her sister, my two sisters, brother-in-law and one of my nieces.  Oh, and all four of our dogs were in attendance.  One has socialization problems so doggie fisticuffs are always a strong possibility.  Luckily his kennel came with him so while his anxiety level may have been up (his anti-anxiety meds hadn't kicked in yet), ours was in check.
     The same crew minus two of the dogs, one aunt and one sister, showed up at my house the next day for our annual cookie baking session.  We always make sugar cutouts and Mom brings her molasses cookie dough, which we also cut out.  Since diets seem to have taken over our lives, the cookie numbers have declined.  This meant we were finished by 11:00 and had an early lunch.  Mom struggled with the two steps to my house, but she made it and we were all ecstatic that she came yet another year.

     We've been cookie baking together like this since Abby was a baby and I had to juggle cutting out cookies and nursing.  Then the girls grew into toddlerhood.  The sessions grew in length as more sprinkles ended up on the floor than on the cookies, and more guidance was needed.  Through the years boyfriends came too, and the sessions became quite short despite the huge number of cookies because we had so many capable hands.  This year there were no boyfriends and one niece was in Washington, so the group only numbered five.  But the memories are still endless.
     Yes, it's a lot of family and cooking crammed into two days, but I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Tai Chi for Me?

     One of the monthly meetings I attend is for retired teachers from my school district.  The real draw for me is the good food, of course.  I've never liked sitting through meetings for any reason unless it involves food or money, so this group works for me.  Aside from the requisite meeting and excellent lunch, there's always some form of entertainment.  Since this month's good food involved a full-blown turkey dinner, it made sense that our entertainment was provided by a personal trainer.  She turned out to be a very welcome ending to the load of carbs I'd just downed.
     When I visited China a few years ago, I viewed something that has always stuck with me.  We were walking through a park on an early Beijing morning and came upon a huge group of senior citizens doing tai chi in unison to music.

What I think makes it such an unforgettable memory is that they all looked so calm and at peace as they progresesd through their routine, each movement slow, balanced and artful.  "I want to do that," I thought, and then shelved the idea away forever.

Until last week, that is, when Su Ying, a personal trainer, pilates and tai chi instructor, came to our meeting.

     Since many of us in the turkey-guzzling group were very senior citizens, she gave us some excellent tips on how to stand from a sitting position, how to strengthen necessary muscles that don't get used correctly or enough and how to be safe while engaging in these movements.
     She introduced us to some of the basic tai chi movements, explaining how each helps to improve muscle strength and balance, and as a result helps our core.  She demonstrated a short routine, and once again I was struck by the calmness that seems to accompany this ancient practice.  She was totally in tune with her body and comfortable in her being.  Once again I thought, "I want that."  I've actually written it on my bucket list this time, and intend to look into it. 
     But first I have to figure out why my hip has been hurting more than usual.  I'm hoping it wasn't the tai chi because I really want to be part of a group like this:

I wonder if we get food afterwards.    
   

Mystery on the Walking Path

     While I was on my morning walk not minding the 30 mph winds and near-freezing temps because the sun was out, it started to snow.  It was quite pretty and actually put a smile on my face.  There I was walking in the first snow of the season, temporarily forgetting about all of the leaves that I need to rake.  I don't usually see snow when I'm walking, but I do see this sort of thing:

  

Or this:

Or this:

Today I saw this:

     Very odd, especially since it wasn't on private property.  How did an old boot end up in the middle of a suburban walking path?  Had a dog dragged it there?  Had a hobo made an awkward jump from a train (what train?), and as a result is now wandering around with one boot?  Had someone been looking for the perfect spot to surreptitiously dispose of an unwanted boot and found it?  But then why not the other one too?  Had the woman who lives nearby finally had it with her husband's refusal to get rid of his old boots just tossed one with all of her might, and is she now waiting for a chance to do the same thing with the other?

      These are the metaphysical questions that plague a retiree's soul.

MS

     During my last job I was fortunate to work with a number of dedicated, professional teachers.  One of these teachers, Kathy, was the epitome of what makes a life-changing teacher.  She worked endless hours at school and at home on English lesson plans and correcting papers.  She devoted any leftover time coaching the same kids she taught during the school day.  Every year seniors selected a favorite, respected staff member to deliver the commencement speech at their graduation ceremony.  Of course, Kathy was chosen I believe more than once. 
     Kathy's husband, Dick, also loved working with high school kids and devoted an enormous amount of time helping Kathy coach tennis and Nordic skiing, and after he retired, tutoring kids in math.  Since they never had children of their own, they spent more time than the average parent volunteering.  They loved traveling too, enjoying many trips together and with friends.  If there were any airline bonus points they couldn't use, Kathy would turn them over to me so that I could buy magazines with them for the kids at our high school.
 

Dick retired before Kathy, and both were looking forward to continued travel and volunteering with kids together after Kathy's retirement.  Unfortunately, Dick was diagnosed was mesothelioma which he evidently contracted decades before during a summer college job.  He died not long after the diagnosis.  Around the same time Kathy was told she had multiple sclerosis.  The illness took a quick toll on her body and at Dick's memorial gathering in 2009 she was already in a wheelchair.  It was unbearable seeing this formerly vibrant, bright, energetic, healthy woman so sad and incapacitated.  No words were available to relay the needed comfort.  They just didn't exist.
     I knew that her friends from the English department visited her, but I hadn't yet joined them. When I retired, I was anxious to reconnect with Kathy.  So last week a former colleague and I met her for lunch at Boutwells Landing, the senior assisted living residence in Oak Park Heights where Kathy lives.  The facility was beautiful and even had a Perkins-style dining area.  We ordered our lunches from a staff member, but it felt more like a restaurant with a server waiting on us.  The food was good, and of course Kathy insisted on paying the tab.  After dessert we followed Kathy to her apartment which was very pleasant as well.
     Kathy now can only move her left hand which she uses to control the motorized wheelchair she needs to get around.  She was able to turn her head and speak, both with effort, and could carry on a conversation.  I'm not sure if it's a blessing or a curse, but while this disease has left her body helpless, it doesn't seem to have affected her mind.  We talked about all the usual things 3 women talk about: kids, families, politics, movies, friends, trips and books.  Kathy told us about two of the other residents also afflicted with MS who had had a successful operation to alleviate some of the symptoms.  One had taken her first steps in twelve years.  This fact brought Kathy to tears because she has undergone the same surgery 3 times with no results.  One of the surgeries helped her right hand for awhile, but the hand ended up to reverting to its pre-surgery state.  She can scoot around her apartment unaided, but has to call someone to get out of her chair for any reason:  to go to the bathroom, take a shower, sit on the couch or sit at her desk.  How does one comfort a friend who faces these unimaginable events?  I still don't have the words.
     Because of her generous and persistent spirit, Kathy has now taken it upon herself to proofread papers for a young Somali man employed by Boutwells who is going to school.  I can only aspire to such generosity.  For now I'm trying to appreciate what I have.  So when I get antsy, bored or ornery for some superficial reason, I try to take a moment to remember how absolutely lucky I am.  After all, my legs are still able to make the trek from that horribly inconvenient parking spot into the store.  My hand can scratch an irritating mosquito bite.  My waist can bend to re-tie shoe laces that have come undone for the 15th time.  My body can get me up from the couch to answer a call from yet another annoying phone solicitor, or get me out of bed before I really want to because the dog has to pee.  It's not easy to remind myself what true inconvenience, annoyance and hardship can be, but I am trying because the old adage is so true:  If you don't have your health, you don't have anything.

Frankie's Still Got It

   The last two days have been fun-filled.  On Wednesday we celebrated Jan's birthday by going over to Deb & Dan's and having a scrumptious dinner.  She served a roast beef from Costco.  It comes in a plastic sack.  You microwave it for 10 minutes and voila, you have roast beef that tastes just like your mom makes, or my mom anyway, with gravy to boot!  It was great.  She also had philly-sour cream mashed potatoes, tequila berry salad, corn and Boston cream pie for dessert.  After dinner we all went to the back yard and sat around a bonfire.  Splendid night.

     Last night, thanks to Dan, we had Savoy pizza and then went to Mystic Lake Casino to see Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons.  Frankie is still the original, but the Four Seasons are now 20-something bucks who do a bang up job of harmonizing and dancing behind Frankie.  I've seen him in person before but again was stunned at his height.  Even with Cuban heels, the top of his head barely grazed the chins of the new Seasons. It says online that he's 5' 5", which would make the Seasons about 6' 8".  Not sure I'm buying it.  It's amazing that this tiny 78-year-old man who could have just jumped off the top of a wedding cake can still belt out that wonderful falsetto exactly like he did nearly 50 years ago while barely moving his lips.  He's not too mobile on stage...oh, once in awhile he'll bust a 30 degree bend, or raise his left hand from its comfortable limp-wrist position, but he doesn't need to be too animated.  The boys move enough for three Frankies.  Frankie is the Man.  He's calm.  He's in control.  He oozes class and suavity.  Further, there's practically an entire orchestra behind him and the boys.  It includes a local horn section from whatever town he's playing, his own guitarists, saxophonist, drummer and keyboardist who also happens to be his music director of 33 years.  All of them provide 90 non-stop minutes of hits.  Not just music, but every single song is a big hit we all remember.  No wonder Jersey Boys won a Tony.  The music is timeless.

     The highlight for me, however, of this wonderful evening was when they sang Groovin' recorded by the Young Rascals in 1967.  I was singing along in my mind when Frankie and the boys crooned, "...you and me endlessly....groovin' on a Sunday afternoon."  For 44 years I've thought it was, "...you and me AND LESLIE...groovin' on a Sunday afternoon."  Talk about a revelation.  I've been wondering all of this time who Leslie was and what Leslie had to do with the song.  Was Leslie a fictional character or a real life friend of the lyracist or a band member?  Was there some secret message in the song for Leslie?  No longer do I have to ponder these questions....wait for it......endlessly.

Shingles and Sauerkraut

     I just realized I hadn't blogged (can't believe that's a verb now and I'm using it) for a whole week and thought, "Oh, ya, that's right.  I've been really busy."  So I looked at the calendar to see what I've been doing as I can't readily call these things to mind anymore, and guess what?  Not so much.  Apparently it just feels like I've been overly busy because I'm operating on RP (retired pace) these days.

     I had some friends over for dinner Friday which meant cleaning the house on Wednesday, grocery shopping and cooking on Thursday and finishing cooking on Friday.  There are 3 days right there.  During the 48 hours it took for me to prepare the meal:  sauerkraut & pork chops, garlic beef au jus, chive mashed potatoes, squash, tomatoes with pesto, Thai broccoli slaw salad and chocolate mousse, I was reminded of my childhood.  My mom would work a full day, come home and prepare vegetables, fruit and roast beef with mashed potatoes and gravy in a matter of hours.  Oh, I forgot dessert.  There was always dessert.  I now am in awe of her juggling and cooking skills, which doesn't make up for all the years I took her abilities and energy for granted, thinking all moms just did that.  I can't believe what she could accomplish effortlessly in such a short amount of time.  It takes me FOREVER to do anything food related besides eat it.  I repeatedly forget this fact and estimate, "Oh, dinner will be ready by 6:00," when I know that if I think it's going to be 6:00, it's really going to be 6:30.  I did not inherit my mom's ability to coordinate food prep end time.  But I did inherit her ability to enjoy the food!

     Another part of this busy week was spent getting my shingles and flu shots.  If you're 60 or older, I'm told you need a shingles shot.  I've known people who have had shingles and I do not want them.  One go-around with chicken pox was plenty, and since shingles are simply another name for those relentlessly itchy, stinging, nasty little poxes hanging around on your nerve endings just waiting for an opportunity to erupt, I jumped at the chance for a shot.  I had to show up for my appointment 15 minutes early so that I could visit the Allina business office and sign a form promising I'd pay for the shingles vaccination if for some reason my insurance didn't cover it.  Luckily for me, I'm covered, and will NOT be getting shingles thankyouverymuch.

   On the same day I visited the Apple store for a one to one session on why my external hard drive wasn't working when I tried to back up.

     The tech fiddled with it for 45 minutes and decided it was a faulty hard drive.  This made me feel pretty darn good as I thought I was once again in computer idiot mode when I couldn't get it to work.  Unfortunately, the Apple store wouldn't replace it.  I had to phone the hard drive company.  When I called I was told these sorts of issues were handled online.  So I hung up, found the correct spot on the website despite the incorrect directions from the person on the phone and started chatting online with another tech telling her there's no need to go through everything as I had already spent 45 minutes with an expert the day before.  I merely wanted to know how to replace it and make sure the info on the old one was destroyed.  She, of course, wanted to trouble shoot.  "OOOOOKKKKKKK," I sighed gritting my teeth....more wasted time.  So what if I have all the time in the world?  I didn't want to spend it trouble shooting my broken hard drive. I connected the hard drive to my computer, and of course, it worked.  Since I have a 3 year warranty on it, I decided to keep it for awhile to see if it REALLY works.  Maybe the connection was just loose.  And how long did all of that take?  The Apple store trip involved 2 hours and the session with the hard drive company another 1-1/2 hrs.  That's an entire afternoon.  Practically.
    Another day this week I visited a former colleague who has MS and I also attended a wedding where I reconnected with a cousin I hadn't seen for nearly 30 years, but I'm just too busy to write more right now.  I have to eat lunch.

Weekday Breakfasts and Lunches Out

   Yesterday MM2 and I went on a short excursion and drove south to Pepin, Wisconsin.  Originally we had scheduled the trip so that we could enjoy the leaves, but what with the wind and rain lately, most of them were gone.  It was still a very pleasant day and the highlight was having lunch at one of my all-time favorite restaurants, The Harbor View.  I've been making the 1-1/2 hour trip to this spot for 30 years now and the food is always impeccable.  I had a mere half chicken, broccoli and potatoes, and MM2 had lasagna -- just a light lunch.  I noticed that most of the patrons had white, gray or dyed hair.  This was because it was 1:00 on a Thursday when most working stiffs are busy making the world turn and when we retired slugs get to do whatever we damn well please.

     On the way back we stopped at a place called The Point in a suburb of St. Paul to have pie and were amazed to walk into what seemed like a small town cafe where the farmers meet after morning chores for coffee.  There was a circle of men talking loudly about golf, politics and women.  If they had had accents, I would have thought I was in Deliverance, except these guys weren't talking about pigs squealing and other nasty things.  They were just commiserating over coffee.  Although they were a tad boisterous, it struck me as pretty fine that these good ole' boys had in reality formed a sort of support group that met over pie instead of beers and a bump.
     Last week MM2 and I went to a place along the Mississippi River for breakfast where I had memorable huevos rancheros made with a corn tortilla, black beans, sausage, poached eggs, cheese and sour cream. They were served with field greens and Gouda hash browns. This was the best breakfast I'd had in years.  The Wilde (as in Oscar) Roast is in an area called St. Anthony Main where in my wanton youth I spent many a margarita sipping night at GuadalaHarry's or feasting on great pasta at Prachna on Main.  I hadn't been in the area for years and was sad that so many of the places I knew were no longer there.  However, the Wilde Roast is a top notch replacement for whatever was in that spot before.  I can't remember because I'm old now.

  

October Boating in Minnesota

     I love that I can say yes to last minute invitations now.  For example, a month ago I had scheduled a couple of appointments for yesterday.  Two days ago my good friend asked if MM2 and I would like to join her, her SO and another friend for a day of boating on Lake Minnetonka.   We immediately said, "Yes!" and cancelled our previous appointments.  Off we went to this instead:

 And this:

Otis the Wonder Dog came with too and proceeded to dive into the water from the boat.  Luckily he was promptly rescued.  He was left a bit dazed, however:

We were all relieved when he soon regained his boat persona, Otis in Charge:

When the paparazzi showed up, he resorted to his windblown look as it often works well on women:

Unfortunately, shortly thereafter a herd of seagulls started to surround us due to the mysterious appearance of airborne cheese popcorn flying from our boat :

They startled Captain Dan as they began their attack:

  Don't you just love campy photos?

     It was a fabulously memorable day and reminded me of the importance of:

• good friends who are generous beyond imagination
  
• endless laughing with same good friends
  
• spectacularly rare 80 degree October days 
• Lake Minnetonka on a Wednesday during the day when it's unbelievably boat-free
• Lakeside towns where you can dock a boat and walk around window shopping and eating ice cream cones
• leaves that look like fireworks
  
• boats with CD players that provide sixties music
• people my age who still relish this music
• seagulls who like eating popcorn and posing for pictures
  
• patio lunches and dinners of hamburgers, french fries with Bearnaise sauce, squash soup, Guinness, shrimp, crab and scallop salad, chicken wings, pork chops, martinis, pasta and Cabernet
• dogs that fall in the water and bark at birds
• the freedom that retirement offers

61

     I turned 61 this week.  The birthday day itself was pleasant albeit uneventful, but I did celebrate by treating myself to a Bruegger's bagel with honey-walnut cream cheese.  Better than a birthday cake!  Then instead of going straight home, I drove east through farmland and enjoyed the stunningly beautiful fall day.
     The next day, however, was the annual party at my mom's.  My mom is 86 and still cooks Sunday dinner for my 2 sisters and me.  Can you imagine?  On our birthdays she always makes our favorite meal.  Mine, of course, is turkey dinner complete with stuffing, mashed spuds and gravy.  She came through again, walker and all, bless her heart.  There were leftovers so I got 2 more days of birthday dinner to boot.  My sister got my favorite dessert, French silk pie, and I was happy happy!  I also got fabulous presents including a coffee pod holder for my new single serving Keurig coffee maker, a mandolin for julienne veggie cutting, money, wine, and one of these:

Just what every 61 year old dreams about:  not your average, run of the mill heating pad, oh no.  Mine is a deluxe, extra long little number!  Now I can drink a perfect cup of coffee while relaxing with my new extra long heating pad or sip a glass of Malbec while relaxing with my new extra long heating pad or julienne slice jicama while relaxing with my new extra long heating pad.  The opportunities are endless.

Apple Picking Sweet Sixteens

     Fall is my favorite season for all of the obvious reasons: cooler temps, gorgeous leaves, corn mazes, radiantly blue skies, it's my birthday, etc.   But one of the highlights of fall has always been picking apples at Afton Apple Orchard.  When my daughter and nieces were young, we started the tradition and ended up going nearly every year until they graduated from high school.  Girlfriends and boyfriends would join us, as well as my mom, ex-husband, sisters and brother-in-law.
     There's a huge smiling red plywood apple with an eye cut out so our faces could be the "apple's eye" for pics, or the kids could stand next to the gigantic ruler to see how tall they'd gotten since the last visit.  I think this was our last visit before college encroached:

      There's one picture of my daughter and nieces standing next to this 6 foot yellow ruler.  They were in that wonderful middle school stage when makeup and clothes didn't matter yet because getting out of the house fast was the most important goal.  The picture still sits on my dresser.  There's just something so innocent about the girls with their hair pulled back in uncombed ponytails or blown around carelessly, their huge, proud smiles sporting as much silver as the grill on a 1959 Cadillac, funny fitting pants and tops that are too short, long, big or small.  I cherish those years.
     The actual apple picking took maybe 20-30 minutes but what fun teaching the girls how to find the best ones, and of course, reminding them not too eat too many apples while picking. More than once there would be complaints of ailing stomachs on the way back.  I secretly hope that if grand kids start to come along, I can share apple picking with them as well.
     Part of the experience included riding a tractor-pulled wagon full of straw bales that everyone used as seats.  It would pull us around the entire orchard stopping at the Cortlands, the Macintoshes, the Paula Reds, and finally, the Sweet Sixteens, where we would get off.  The secret hint of cherries in this variety made it my fave years ago, and it still is.  As the years went on and the hay bales got too challenging to tackle, my mom stayed home.  Then the girls were in college, so my sisters and I no longer made the annual trip to the orchard.  I continue to go every fall around late September, but I no longer do this:

Instead I choose a beautiful day to drive to Afton Orchard, where I walk directly up to their apple store.  I am completely oblivious to the hay wagon, giant plywood apple and ruler and hundreds of trees bending with the weight of luscious apples.  I open the doors, walk to the shelves marked "Firsts" and find the best bag of already-picked Sweet Sixteens. Then I drive home.

Think I'll eat one of these babies right now.

Manual Labor

     This week I decided to paint the garage door, a tall square column by my front door and 2 metal lawn chairs.  I've been in my house nearly 20 years and have painted the door and post once, so I guess I shouldn't complain, but I'm going to.  Wednesday I spent a few hours scraping, sanding, bleaching and rinsing.  Oh, and unscrewing my house numbers, flag holder and welcome sign holder - in other words, doing the prep work.  I know some would find this all rewarding, but I thought it was a pain.  The next day I started painting at 10:30 and finished at 4:30.  I put on 2 coats of paint and ended up painting the vinyl trim and the bottom of my storm door which has erupted with some mysterious holes.  I have no idea if it's kosher to put latex exterior paint on vinyl, but I didn't care.  Unfortunately the bottom of the door is spanky white now in contrast to the dirty white of the rest of the door, but before I paint the entire door, I'm going to see how the painted part puts up with winter.  The metal chairs were white and had begun sporting rusty spots as a result of a few straight line wind episodes hurling them across the yard.  I painted them gray.
        When I was younger I enjoyed this kind of work and felt really accomplished when I'd complete a job like this.  True, everything looks much better (except the door, but it's in experiment mode.)  My biggest reward, in contrast to past painting projects, was when I remembered I won't be painting my family room and guest bathroom myself because for the second time in my life I have hired a painter to do the job.  I had been feeling somewhat guilty for spending the money even though I had a Groupon to cover part of it, but that's over.  This 60-year-old bod is no longer friends with manual labor.  Not fun.  No no no.

  
This is not a picture of me.  This is a picture of how I'd like to be when I paint. 

 I did get to celebrate completion of the task by having a great dinner at my mom's (she's 86 and still cooks dinners for us.)  Both of my nieces were there, which is a treat as one goes to school in Iowa and the other lives in Washington.  If only my baby could have been there too, but she was busy in Cambridge.  I guess I shouldn't call her a baby anymore since she is almost 23 now, but you know how moms are.  We NEVER let go.

Another Good Thing About Retirement

     Yesterday was another banner retirement day.
     After morning exercises, feeding K-Man, "walking" him and going on my  own 3 mile walk, I spent some time going through cupboards, cleaning them, throwing things away and organizing.  This has pretty much been the routine for the last few weeks, so I'm getting in the groove.  So is K-Man.  Instead of waking me up at 6 or 7 every morning, he comes up to my room at 8ish now. Shih Tzus aren't known for being quick on the uptake, so this is quite an accomplishment in only a few weeks.  I still wake up early, but I have the luxury of reading in bed for awhile.  Talk about a treat....
     Early in the afternoon I went to my mom's house as she was having a sump pump put in to try to take care of a water problem she's had for years.  We're keeping our fingers crossed that this will work and that another more drastic and expensive step won't have to be taken.
     Then I got to meet my friend MMM at a local spot called Sunsets. 

      They have a great happy hour.  Wine is only $3.50 a glass and generous appetizer servings are $4-$5.  We split a huge quesadilla and equally gigantic plate of chicken flatbread with feta cheese, black olives, peppers, tomatoes and, of course, chicken.  We each got out of there paying only $14 including the tip!  Poor MMM had put in a full day of work and run errands before we met.

  I put in a leisurely day of exercise, organizing, visiting and eating.  Talk about relaxing.
  This slowed down pace is just one more good thing about retirement.

More House Purging

     I'm on a roll.  When the Animal Ark guy said that they'll pick up any furniture "they think they can sell," I started getting nervous.  The pieces are in good shape, but there are some spots where varnish is missing so I decided to try my Mom's sage advice and use a product called Old English Scratch Cover.  It's a furniture polish that is tinted to match your furniture, so I got some for dark furniture at Home Depot.  It's a miracle product.  The bad spots on the furniture look so much better.  They haven't completely disappeared, but almost. Then I started to go crazy with the light version I borrowed from my Mom and began sprucing up my furniture, I mean the stuff that's staying!  Low and behold, those water marks I've been looking at for years are gone.  Let me restate:  Miracles took place.

     I became quite philosophical during the two hours I spent getting my furniture respectable enough for the "free guys" to pick it up.  I remembered about 40 years ago getting really excited when a $5 ratty old piece of furniture spoke to me at a garage sale saying, "Buy me.  I'll look beautiful once you've sanded, stained and varnished me."  I guess those days are long gone.  Now buyers want everything used looking like new, no matter what the price tag.  The same holds true for houses.  Remember those fixer-uppers where the previous owner didn't do a thing to ready the place for the market, and instead the new buyer would look at the good deal and think about how he/she could work magic and make it look gorgeous for a little more money?  Now houses need to be ready to go.  You HAVE to paint, replace the carpeting, put new counters in and get those old sinks out before you can even put it on the market.  You even have to hire a stager now.  Well I decided if that's the new game in town, I'm going to do the upgrading at least a year before I sell my house so I can enjoy the newness for awhile.
     I need to sign off as my daughter just called from Cambridge and wants to Skype so I can see her new house.  She's living in a house with 3 other 20-somethings and I haven't seen it yet.  Can't wait!

House Purging

     Friday was an unusually gorgeous fall day, so my friend T-Man and I walked from his place to a local Keys Cafe for breakfast.  The eggs and french toast were very much appreciated and the 3 mile walk very pleasant.  Once again, I was grateful for the terrific walking paths at our disposal so that we didn't need to take our lives in our hands by walking on a busy street.
     My daughter says it's A-OK to have the Animal Ark folks pick up her old dresser and night stand, so there is now a total of 11 pieces of old furniture that will make the big exodus next week.  I've been busy emptying drawers, condensing files, tossing, tossing, tossing.  The items that are keepers are here only temporarily as I'm setting them aside for a huge garage sale our city has every May.  By June my house will be wonderfully purged.
     Part of my lawn was horribly dried up and bare, so today I raked out the dead grass, added some good soil, scattered grass seed and put the dead grass on top to hold moisture in a little better.  I hope it works.  I hope it can look like this again next spring: 

    
     I had the television on for awhile, but every news station is commemorating 9/11 and it made me very morose.  All of those pictures and survivors brought back vivid memories, and once again I was in the little back room of my tiny middle school library watching the first tower get hit and then the second.  More horrible news followed about a plane crashing before it could hit its target.  All of those feelings of disbelief, sadness,  anger, confusion and hatred came back, and I was once again in those surreal moments.  I mean no disrespect by choosing not to watch all of the ceremonies today, the tenth anniversary, but I don't need them to remind me of that day and how so many died and how so many are left sick or still grief-stricken.  Instead I decided to plant grass because thinking about seeds sprouting with something growing is a good balance to the sadness that unnecessary death brings. 
     I guess we all handle grief in our own way.

More Fun

     On the very morning of the very day when I would normally be seeing kids for the first time this year, I met some other retired teachers at Taste of Scandinavia for breakfast.  It was a gorgeous day and I had lefse stuffed with eggs, ham and cheese.  I thought I'd feel somewhat sad about being studentless, but another recent retiree and I agreed that all we felt was happy not to have to get up so early!  The lefse helped to add to this happy state as well.
     I then had my first One to One appointment at the Apple Store, where I recently purchased a wonderful MacBook Pro.  A sweet boy patiently explained how to use html to set up a website.  Not that I'll ever actually do it, but who knows?  Anyway, I love learning that stuff.
     Much less fun but one of those dreaded necessities was what I tackled yesterday:  washing windows.  This is a job I always do in the summer because I hate it, and it would be just too depressing to do it on a weekend or short vacation during school, so usually I end up doing it on a hot summer morning because of poor planning.  For some inexplicably anal reason, I always start on the east side which is the hottest, of course, because it's the dang morning.  I know it makes no sense, but that's just one of many such things in my world of the ridiculous.  Anyway, the job was still its usual miserable self, but it was only 58 degrees which made it almost a treat.  Well not a treat, but not as horrible as before.
      Today I'm taking advantage of a great deal Best Buy has going on in September where you can bring in up to three old electronic devices for recycling and in exchange receive 100 "points" per item to use at Best Buy.  I have no idea how much that will buy, but no matter what, it's better than having to pay to recycle.

      Also, I found out that the Animal Ark (a no kill shelter for animals) will haul away some furniture I no longer want, and having taken a peek at Craig's List, I know wouldn't sell.  They are the only organization I could find who will come into the house to get the items without charging.  I'm so glad to have found them, and I love what they do for abandoned pets.  A win-win deal.
     So far it's true what past retirees kept telling me: "You'll be so busy you won't believe it."  I am and I don't.

No Labor Day Blues

     Today is Labor Day, the day before school really starts.  Even though staff have been back for a week, the kids don't start until tomorrow.  This means that today is normally the day I spend trying to talk myself out of the blues and trying to focus on the positive.  After all, while it's sad that summer is officially over, there is that excitement of something new in the air, of anticipating the high levels of energy and demands that the new school year brings. While I might have been able to hold that thought for a bit, it seems I'd always drift back to the blues.
     Not anymore.  Tonight I'm going to stay up late watching old movies and sleep until 7:00 tomorrow, normally the time I'm at school.

     Official end of summer?   Not in my world.

Farmers Market - Hmong in Minnesota

     On Sunday mornings I like to go to our local farmers market.  Last week I was able to get those tiny brussels sprouts which I roasted with garlic and tossed with balsamic vinegar, more garlic and olive oil.  Excellent!  Today I latched onto fingerling potatoes, raspberries and cherry tomatoes.  I love that most of the stands are run by Hmong families.  Not only does this remind me of my own roots since I am the progeny of farmers in this area, but it reminds me that the American Dream is indeed alive and kicking.
     When the Hmong first started enrolling in St. Paul schools in the 80s, I was teaching English.  One of my class requirements was that the kids keep a journal.  Reading about the Winter Snow Daze Dance in so many of the entries, I was taken aback when I came across my first Hmong journal in which a student described something very different than dances, boyfriends, clothes and who was this week's worst ho in the school.  Instead, this journal described running from soldiers who were shooting at him and his family, how hard it was crossing a wide river with so many of his family members and what it was like to sleeplessly hide in the jungle until they could reach a camp in Thailand.
     Over the years I came to know many such stories and absolutely marveled at how these families struggled to save money, work all day and go to school at night. They proudly encouraged their children to reach pinnacles at school because that was THE ticket to success.  Before I retired I was fortunate to have many Hmong educators as colleagues.  One English teacher had even been a former student of mine in 8th grade, and there she was, excelling in the classroom and sitting next to me at faculty meetings!  Talk about feeling old...... These professionals do their culture and the field of education proud, and I can't express what a privilege it has been to work with them.  They are the success stories and examples of why our country is all the richer for the immigrants we've invited to our cultural table.

     So when I spend a little extra on produce at the farmers market, I don't mind one bit. 

Walking Paths

     For awhile when I was in college, I enjoyed running.  It was hard work but very freeing.  Part of the reason it was hard was because of the Salem Lights I used for a warm up and cool down.  When push came to shove, the Salem Lights won and I quit running.  I finally stopped smoking 11 years later, but by that time I had other things on my mind like getting married.  Fast forward another 11 years past a daughter's birth and a divorce, and I find myself in the suburbs surrounded by walking paths.  Because my insurance company said I had to start moving if I wanted to keep my co-pays from going up, I did.  By this time my knees could no longer easily support the extra 40 lbs. I'd put on since college so instead of jogging, I walked.
     At first I had to drag myself out of the house to make the 1.5 mile trek, but by the end of the summer, just about the time school began once again, I was starting to build up a little more distance.  The logical step would be to simply change my walking time from mornings to late afternoons or evening, but school left me motivationless and it never happened.
     Even though walking alone can sometimes be intimidating, last summer I decided to stop being a fraidy cat and to explore the many walking paths around me.  After all, I'd now been in this area for 18 years and not once had anyone ever been hurt on one of the paths.  It was then I began to realize how lucky I was to be walking distance from three different lakes.  One lake actually has about 200 feet of flowers someone planted and maintains. 

Another has a long fishing dock.  There are trash cans along every path, very convenient if you're walking your dog. 

We're a friendly bunch, too, we path users.  Nearly everyone I pass says, "Good morning," and bikers frequently remind me not to deviate too much by saying, "Coming up on your left." 

     Last spring the police reported that a woman had been assaulted on one of the paths, but it turned out to be a fabrication.  Thank goodness.  My paranoia breathed a sigh of relief and went back to its normal level.
     I'm now walking 2-4 miles a day and thoroughly enjoying it.  This year when fall comes, I'll still be walking and I'm hoping that when winter hits, I'll be able to make the short hike to a nearby huge Target and walk around the inside perimeter a few times.  I was told that 4 times around is a mile.  I hope they don't get sick of me.  My plan doesn't include being chased by a pack of irate red shirted thugs.  I'll just tell them that when spring comes I'll be out of their hair.