Street Signs

Sometimes I wish people could just wear street signs so everyone could better understand each other.

It comes in waves

Inspiration, that is.  Sometimes loud,crashing, fast waves.  Yesterday, I dropped my kids off for warm up before the meet and ran two errands that took around 45 minutes.  I was having idea after idea after idea.  I couldn’t hold on to any of them.  I didn’t have a journal, and couldn’t have used it if I did. It was similar to labor; it was like contractions.  The ideas would come, and I could envision pushing the idea onto paper, into a blog post, into a short story, into the book. It was a physical urge, all I could do not to pull over and start writing. And it would ease, and I would try to plant it into my short term memory, to come back to this incredible idea. And I would relax.  Physically. 

And two minutes later, here comes another big idea.  Totally different idea, but same process.  Elation, excitement.  Hold it. This is good.  And the ideas came faster and faster and I could not hold them.  They went back out to sea, and I knew they would be lost.  Just as I was frantically trying to hold on, I knew they were lost.  

I could take the practical approach.  I’m sure there is an app that could help with that. Voice pages maybe? This would probably really help me. Let go , that is.  I do a version of this when I am writing.  Often I keep an open Pages document, and just jot ideas as they come. Sometimes, if I am writing intensely (I will just include the thought in parentheses and move it when I edit later.  If I edit.)  However, surprisingly, I rarely go back to these notes. And if I do, I often have no recollection of where that seed came from.  And if I do remember, there is no water for that seed, no energy in my mind.  But, the voice app would help me let go, would quell the anxiety of the loss, because it would be stored, not lost. 

Or I could take a different approach. Frame it differently, as I read earlier today. These fleeting ideas, that I feel so passionately about, could be used as a lesson in trust.  If I have these great ideas, there will be more. Ideas are not finite. I have room for many more. There will be more, just like those. 

I am not always mired down in sentimentality, but sometimes I am.  Some days (quite possible certain days of the month) a pool of tears just sits behind my eyes. I fear I can’t take one more beautiful sight, I can’t be thankful for one more thing, lest I burst with the fragility of it all. 

Last night, my youngest daughter had her second to last game at the little kids soccer fields.  They are quaint fields on the grounds of a Catholic Church. We often bike to the games, soccer balls and water bottles strapped to our backs. We have been doing this for 6 years, since my oldest daughter started soccer. Sally rode in the baby seat of the bike until last year.  This year she rides her own bike.  There are woods all around for siblings to make forts or bug hunt or play hide and seek. Often there are nuns strolling the grounds, temporarily lulling us into our little safe bubble where all is well. The six year olds smile and run and try hard and do group hugs. They rarely get mad and have no idea who wins.  Some of them don’t even know yet that you can win or lose a soccer game. 

Last night after the game, my co-coach (yes, I coach even though every thing I know about soccer is from my 8 year old) and I sat in the grass and watched every one leave and let the kids run barefoot and play.  This is our second year with this gig.  We did it because no one else would and learned that we loved it. We work well together, and we did it again this year only because the girls give us so many hugs. We talked about many things, more breadth than depth because every few sentences was interrupted by kids. We lamented that this would be our last year doing this -- because the girls need more than we can offer.  They need someone to teach skills, and teach them that there is winning and losing and some kids are, actually, better soccer players than they are, and some kids will be mean and say things like we don’t want you on our team because you aren’t very good at soccer.   We will leave these for the next coach, because, really, it is more than we can bear right now. 

Another reason we won’t coach together next year is that my friends little girl, less than a month younger than my daughter, will have to repeat Kindergarden next year. This decision tore at my friends heart for months, hoping that her intuition was wrong. It isn’t fair for me to focus on my sadness around it, or my daughters. The fact that they won’t ever be in class together again, that they won’t graduate together, that this dear friend will not be as close as we had thought.  Yet, the loss was coming in waves last night.

I must remember it comes in waves. If I have been given these great people and great moments in my life, there will be more.  People and moments are not finite.  I have room for many more. 

P's sweet hands on my daughter's shoulder (tears pooling)

The Galley

I love good finds. I love good deals. I love authenticity. I love good food. I love things you can't get at any strip mall in the suburbs. I found something that fits all these categories.

I loved this dinner. Saleh Hamshari is Palestinian and he is a great chef. I note his ethnicity for two reasons. I think it's cool we have a Palestinian IN OUR SUBURBS. Second, I don't know much about Middle Eastern/Palestinian cooking (turns out it was Peruvian cooking I think), and maybe you do. Maybe you would know better than to dunk your chicken in this sauce without heeding caution.

But I didn't know better. Nor did I know the name of it. MEAN GREEN HOT SAUCE. That definitely would have been a hint. But, honestly, I wouldn't have been prepared. Because I would have started talking crack about how I grew up down South and nothing in Minnesota is truly spicy. Well, let me tell you, this hot sauce is not fit for any native Minnesotan.

This was a perfect hot sauce. It was spicy from the inside out. Not a sauce that you make and then you want it to be spicy so you add hot stuff. Or something that tastes like it had a spice packet added, like jambalaya in a box. It was so flavorful, so rich, that it stung when you ate it, but had you crawling back for more because the flavor was so sincere.

Moving on. The MEAN GREEN HOT SAUCE comes with an incredibly moist, juicy flavorful whole chicken that is roasted and then pressed over a charcoal fire. It is also accompanied by your choice of two sides. We had fluffy, sticky (yes, it was both) jasmine rice and flavorful green beans. We have a family of five and have left overs of everything.

Total Cost: $25



For more information, and for those who live in town and want to order, check this out.

Cutting down the Christmas Tree, Year 15

For the last 15 years, we have gone to Tallackson's Tree Farm in Big Lake, Minnesota to cut down our tree. This year seemed easier, at first. It was a warm 45 degrees and the sun was shining. No need to make sure we had all the snowsuits and extra garb to stay warm. No diapers or sippy cups to pack. The kids got themselves dressed for the most part, packed what they needed for the day, and off we went.

I had a letter I needed to mail to my grandmother and he said, "What's this?" A letter I need to mail to Nana, I want to drop it in the box on the way out. OK. When we drove the 2 houses to our mailbox, he put the letter in the mailbox. I said I didn't want it in the mail box, I wanted to drop it in the US Post Mailbox. "It will post faster here." I don't care, I want it in the US Post box so no one will mess with it. "No one is going to mess with this." Now, it didn't really matter where it was, and most probably no one would mess with it, but I just don't like doing it that way and I CANT UNDERSTAND WHY YOU ARE ARGUING WITH ME ABOUT THIS WHEN THE US POST BOX IS ANOTHER 50 YARDS DOWN THE ROAD.

Steve and I always want a latte for the hour plus drive, so he obliged me and we went to Starbucks. Then I was being a little high maintenance, and he obliged me because he knows he can be that way too - I wanted to stop at Lunds to get tweazers. I needed a new pair and I wanted it NOW otherwise THIS ONE HAIR WILL BE DRIVING ME CRAZY ALL DAY AND YOU WILL HAVE TO HEAR ABOUT IT. He didn't really mind stopping once I explained it like that. So then he asked me to get some donuts while I was in there. OK.

I came out and needed one more errand. Now I know that I was pushing the limits now, but it was in the same parking lot, same little strip mall. I needed some conditioner for my hair and WE WERE RIGHT THERE. I hadn't been able to get it all week because someone always had to be somewhere and didn't want to stop. Now they all had a movie, Steve had his coffee and donuts, so I wanted to stop. So he stopped. And he was very nice about it.

On the road now. We get on the interstate and their movie is over. Wow. The dog is jumping over the back seat and landing on the kids. They are screaming. About the dog. And wanting another movie. So we pull off at the next exit, the one after we entered the interstate. Steve is losing it now, but trying not to let on. He gets out to take care of the dog and Chloe unbuckles to change the movie.

All is well and we are off again. We pull out of the gas station where we stopped and are about to turn left to make a quick right to re - enter the Interstate. Chloe can't find the remote to work the DVD player and is getting louder and more frustrated with it, the dog has gotten out of his leash and jumped on the kids again, and Steve starts yelling that this is my fault because I didn't get out and help when we stopped. I snap back that there was nothing I could have done because he was doing a GRAND job of RE - TYING up the dog and Chloe was changing the movie. We make a U turn and screech back into the closed gas station we just left. Now Steve is pissed. He opens the rear of the Suburban and PUNCHES the dog and the kids start crying because he punched the dog and WHY CAN'T WE FIND THE REMOTE? I am at a cross as to what to do. I yell at Steve that he has upset the kids and he can't punch the dog while I am looking for the remote. I eventually, after removing half the crap from the car, find the remote under the seat.

FAMILY HOLIDAY TRADITIONS ARE NOTHING BUT FUN!

So we are back in the car, everyone is calm, some small sniffles coming from the kids, Steve is being extra nice because that is what he does when he feels bad for losing it. I am about to laugh because we are at the same light where we are going to turn left to make a quick right for a reentry onto the interstate and NO KIDDING BUT I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM. I quickly wonder to myself if I can hold it for the hour or so trip , and decide I can't , so I just laugh and say I have to go to the bathroom. If he would have ignored me and driven on, (which I would have done) I would have said it again, and I guess he knew this and didn't want to hear about it for the next hour. So, instead of that left that we had tried to make twice before, he went straight and pulled into another gas station and was very nice about it and asked me which side of the car the gas tank was on because we might as well get gas. I am laughing out loud now even though he isn't quite able to do that yet. I asked if anyone had to go to the bathroom and the kids yelled, "Can we get out and get a toy?" "NO!" I did get Sally out and we went to the bathroom and came out and they were ready to go. We did sucessfully re- enter the interstate at this point, and one of the kids asked, "Are we almost there?"

We talked about rethinking this tradition and going to the lot down the street.

But what will we really remember when we see the photos from the day?