Book People

Until I was 8 years old, I lived in a hometown where "Crazy Days" were celebrated each summer.


Merchants would dress up in costume, pull out folding tables to the sidewalks outside their stores and hawk their wares with ridiculous prices. Around mid-day, the city officials would have a guy scoot up the pole in the middle of the courthouse square and begin greasing it down.


As children at the end of the school year, we had dressed up, grabbed the end of a long ribbon hanging from the top of the pole and, following our teacher's instructions, began a dance where the ribbons weaved in and out. But on "Crazy Days", this pole became the domain of high school kids and young adults, not children!


Once well greased, the object was to shimmy up the pole and grab the prize from the top. Usually an envelope of coupons from the merchants around the square. There could be a free pound of ground round from Fred, the butcher at the grocers. Perhaps a free magazine or comic book from the Rexall Drug store and always a $5 bill from the bank!


Once there had been a victor, the town would start lining up for the hot meat sandwiches, chips and kool-aid courtesy of the local business men's club. We'd sprawl across the town square visiting with neighbors, holding babies and talking about the upcoming fireworks.


After the last boom of the fireworks were gone, my older sister and I would help Mom put the littlest ones into the wagon, pile on whatever goods we had purchased or won that day and walk the 3-4 blocks to our house. Dad would stay and visit with "the guys" until late in the night, arriving home before dawn.


When we moved to a huge city over a thousand miles away, life was much harder and there was very little reason for celebration.


Then, twenty years ago on an autumnal day trip with a beloved Aunt and Uncle, I traveled to an upper Midwest river town. It was love at first sight. By spring, I had packed up my belongings, hugged my family good-bye and moved north. My very first summer here found me wandering the streets on an early Saturday morning, enjoying "Crazy Days." I knew then I was truly home.


This year was my 18th "Crazy Days" celebration in my "new" home town, having taken a brief sabbatical from my newly found home to attend law school. Sure, there is no greased pole or community dinner from the hometown of my childhood. And the merchants participating this year didn't have amazing deals (ahem, recession ripples).


But what this town has that the hometown of my youth didn't, is a book sale!


Throughout the year, people donate gently used books to the Library for the"Crazy Days" Saturday sale. Those "in the know" gather early and form a line from the library door to down the block. Sipping coffee from the local bakery, chatting quietly with their neighbors and sharing stories of last year's finds and maybe a bit of local politics. Finally, the doors are opened and, being good upper Midwestern folks, there is no shoving or shouts of "no cuts" - instead, we pour gently into the huge community room turned book store and begin our browsing.


We are Book People.


We may have the Kindle, Nook or Ipad app that allows us to carry a cagillion books compressed into a thin package and tout that around on vacation or when we travel. But those long cold winter nights (and there are plenty here in the high prairie lands) call for the heft and "feel" of a REAL book.


For Book People, that may be the only thing that keeps us sane until Spring.


At least, that is my 2¢  worth.

Splurge

Perhaps a blend of the words Splash and Surge? Or so Merriam Webster reports.


An indulgence -- that is how I will define "Splurge" for today.


This week I decided I needed to splurge on time. Time has been used fast and furiously with work demands, seeking out friends, caring for loved ones, worries of the world and household chores now that Winter has packed her bags and Spring is settling in around the homestead!  So, I took Thursday morning off from everything. No TV. No Radio. No chores. Coffee, me, an open window to hear the birds and feel the cool breezes and my cat.


It was "love-r-ly" to say the least.


Three hours into my morning of quiet my brain began to hum about decadence versus indulgence. See? That is how my brain works things out...a bit of my own string theory of how the world, or my view of it, works. 


Decadence is actually not a good thing -- immoral behavior, slippery slope thinking. But indulgence? Quick dips into and back out of the stuff of life that makes us sing, gives flight to imagination, eases the tension between our shoulder blades, gives our pleasure buds just the right amount of ecstasy to remind us once again we are alive but not so much we fall into, well, decadence!


We splurge on "things" in life (a new book, a new music download, an old coffee cup at a flea market, a gelato with a friend) in ways to indulge our senses.


So, today I planned the morning off from work in order to indulge myself. I began with a slow stretch this morning, waking before the alarm and, after throwing a few kibbles into her bowl to appease her ever present hunger, the cat and I curled up in the bed and listened to the morning arrive. The birds, the leaves in the early morning breeze...straining to hear the crack of dawn as we enjoyed the coolness of the morning air seeping through the window.


Finally, up to make coffee.. but this morning, I wore my comfy slippers and not my house shoes. Squishing out to the kitchen, I made a pot of my favorite brand of coffee and reached high up for the most delicate coffee cup I own...so delicate that when I hold it in front of the kitchen window the sun transforms the stark white areas to that blue just at the edge of the day - twilight blue.


The warmth of the coffee cup seeps into my aching left hand (due to nerve damage as a result of a gopher hole accident almost 10 years ago).


I run my nicely warmed up hands through my newly shorn mop of hair, briefly noting I have hair to tussle, then make my way to the front porch. Perched on the railing in my bathrobe and squishy slippers I breathed in the mix of smells from my coffee cup and the dew covered grass. A whiff of the lilacs that stubbornly push their way into life every spring comes from the corner of the house. Poor bushes...winter was not kind, but like most things with a strong core, the lilacs still bloomed. 


That was my morning. Pretty much summed up the three hours I indulged in the quietness of the day. Indulged my senses with the sights, the sounds, the tastes, the aromas and the feel of spring.


Time to move back onto the chaotic beltway of living: work, chores, errands, people, responsibilities.


I will do this again...this indulgence of a quiet weekday morning.


It felt good to dip into the stuff of life obscured by living.

Bullying

My friends and family are tired of hearing me "complain" about a bully at work. So, this is my last statement about it.




Adult bullies. Who knew? Well, I was bullied once at work years ago (different employer), but this person was very aggressive to everyone, so it was easier to "prove" I was being bullied.


Yep, it has to be "proven." I get it. Being investigated as a "bully" can be harmful to one's career, so the "bullied" better have some concrete evidence. 


This bully is female and very very sly. At first I didn't think of it as bullying as it was all so subtle. And did I mention the bully is a woman? I don't usually associate bullies as adults much less a woman.


When I told a fellow attorney about this woman's actions, they bluntly told me to check the definition of bully. She hit every marker of a bully. 


It has been a year and I have tried many different tactics - including talking with this new boss of mine. Still, nothing has worked. 


A bully is all about control. About keeping a person off her game - isolating them and marginalizing them. Then being very charming when approached about "being mean" to others.


But here is something this bully forgot (and so did I until recently): I am an attorney.


Minnesota is not a "Healthy Workplace" state with legislation for ADULT bullies (only children -- and I am grateful for that victory -- bullying is extremely difficult for children to grapple with -- ). BUT Minnesota does have case law for civil suits on vicarious liability of employers for forms of harassment.


Especially if they state in their code of conduct that bullying is not condoned.


My current employer has such a policy.


Time to file a claim with Corporate for violation of our code of conduct. It may go nowhere. There shouldn't be retaliation for saying one is being bullied...it even says that in the code of conduct. I wonder how realistic that is -- guess I'm about to find out.


No one wants to believe that you can be bullied as an adult. People I've told have said this isn't worth fussing about -- that I'm being too sensitive. Cautioned me about "being certain" I want to force the issue with my employer and maybe I should look for a different position at the company.


I'm not surprised. It is hard as adults to understand bullying of our children. How can we fathom bullying of adults?


I am NOT being "too sensitive".... What I AM is being bullied.


 Being a "Plan B" person I am polishing up my resume.

Double Nickels

There is a song running on several stations these days about today being the best day of my life...truth. Every day is another "best day" of my life, even if I get splattered by mud, an appliance breaks, someone I love dies (well, ok that is rough). Still, all in all, every morning is a best day of my life.


For some there are "special days" in their lives that are better including birthdays -- 13, 18, 21, 30...


As I age I find I am less passionate about things I am "SUPPOSED" to like, or "SHOULD" like all to "better" myself. I suppose I am about as "better" as I care to be...for now. Whatever else I feel I WANT to "better" myself, I will choose. All that other stuff? Pffft!


55 Things I Leave Behind


55. Eggplant. I tried it over and over, willing myself to like it. It sounds great Egg+ Plant. It has a cool color and everyone I know adores it. Yet, it is just slimy yuck. Adios, Eggplant!
56. Modern Art (some folks I know have now tuned out). Ok I have REALLY REALLY tried to "get" Modern Art. A pile of white crushed rock, a shadow box of broken toys, a canvas with stripes of differing color...well, you get the idea. No more pouring over books, plopping myself down on a bench of front of a canvas painted GRAY and willing myself to find something anything to relate to so it becomes Art. Modern Art -- Ciao!
54. Classical Music (another portion of readers has now exited the blog!). Well, most Classical Music. I do find there are times I enjoy Vivaldi and Chopin. But those sonatas that all seem to sound alike except for a few "minor" (pun intended) chord changes? Bleck. No more steeling myself to turn on the radio, find the classical music station and listen all the way to work, taking note of each...well, note. Sure, I found SOME pieces pretty cool, but to tune into and listen to all day? Nope. I need more Variety -- mix it up folks: Ragtime, Folk, Blues, Rock...then maybe a New Age or Classical to sum it all up. Today I find a new channel to "set" in my car -- auf weidersehn Classical Music!
53. Following the "rules of making lists" -- really, do you think I have time in my life to job down 55 things I will leave behind? Do you really imagine there are only 55?? Is there a "List Police" ensuring we go from 1-10 or 10-1.  Skipping right along...
*  *  *
7. Dusty Dreams. Now, ya'll know I am a HUGE believer of following one's dreams and if half-way there (sooner or later) its not for you, jump to the next moving path and follow that Dream. Still, there is truth in the phrase "If you follow all your dreams you will end-up lost." So, I suppose this would be "Dreams" with a footnote. But alas "footnoting" is bordering close to things I am leaving behind. Suffice it to say, this past year I purged my life and dream journal of dreams I had jotted down and thought I should follow because it was expected of me. No more! Fewer but more vivid Dreams I say! Despedida!
6. Bad Coffee. Face it, I am a coffee snob. Some folks are wine snobs, fashion snobs or other vice snobs. Only certain shoes, makeup, jewelry, vineyards will do. Me, I am a coffee snob. Good news is that my friends drink great coffee. But no more vending machine coffee. No more gas station or convenience store coffee for me. Either I cart my mini-thermos with Seattle's Best or Eight O'clock or I do without. Bad Coffee? "Adjöss"
5. Sunday New York Times. Now, its true I adore truly adore the Book Review and spreading the paper out, rummaging through it to read interesting bits on a Sunday Morning. But the truth is there is too much paper for a Sunday morning, so I stack it up to read "later in the week" and just end up recycling it all. Except for the Book Review. I'm certain I can find the Book Review at my local library or even online. So, good-bye stacks of New Yorker staring at me all week making me feel guilty for shelling out bucks on unread materials! 再见
4. Golf. Trivial? Silly you say? Well, the PR for this sport is "deals are made during Golf" and "Golfing is a corporate bonding experience." Really? I tried it. About killed some folks and ticked off others. I tried watching it on TV (paint drying can be exciting it seems). Nope. I am not a Golfer. A "duffer" or one who enjoys wacking a pitted ball and praying it doesn't hit someone. No more Golf. Scratch that off the list of "edification" goals! Give me baseball. While I'm in the sports category lets just put it all out there: Farvel    Golf, Jai Lai, NASCAR, Log Rolling, Sumo Wrestling, Boxing, Truck Pulls, Flag football, "powderpuff" (really??), skiing, ice skating. All of ya'll? Farvel!
3. Bullies. Did you know adults are bullied as badly as kids? Yep. Thing is as an adult AND an attorney I have some tools at my disposal (nothing in the violence vein or illegal realm, trust me) to deal with bullies. Bully me? Hah! Bullies Ćao!
2. High Heels - in the spirit of truthfulness, all shoes with any type of heel (I said shoes not workboots!) greater than 1/2 inch. How do people walk on the front 1/3 or less of their feet...for more than a few seconds? I am putting all that fits in the category and hauling it to Salvation Army. While I don't want to encourage "tipsy toe" walking (ballet dancer exemption - but really, toe dancing?)...while I don't encourage walking such that your back aches, your calves ache and all because society says it makes you look great...there are folks out there who insist on wearing that type of shoes. So, to the donation bin you lovely but cruel shoes -- Daag


1. Did you really think I'd put down for all to see the #1 thing I am leaving behind? Hah!




Good-bye to all that is painful, cluttering my enjoyment of life and obscuring my view of a beautiful world!

CARPE DIEM!!

Sunday

The house and I are feeling our ages today. It is only the end of February, but it seems like the longest winter of my life.




The calico cat is snoring in her own rocker in the "cat cave" she has carved out of the quilt she pulled down onto the seat.




There's something healing about drinking coffee and mindlessly rocking in my chair as I listen to the house noises on a Sunday morning. Being an ancient house it is full of hisses and pops and groans -- especially this morning as it strains under the weight of the winter snows that have been falling since, well, fall! The wind is calm, so the drafts are few across the wooden floors and the rattlings of the windows are little staccato bursts of brrrrr.




Weekday mornings are rushed and harried - up at o'dark-thirty, feed the cat, catch some time with God on the porch, work-out to heart-thumping/rafter-raising music, shower, do a few house chores as I listen to the news only stopping to watch the weather update, then its grab my gear and head-out. Even Saturdays find me cleaning and making lists to the backdrop of Minnesota Public Radio, running errands, paying bills and catching up with friends. Six nights a week I fall into bed after another exhausting day of living.




Then comes Sunday. 




Perhaps it is my age or just where I am in my life journey, but I find I am quite protective of my Sunday mornings. Such that I am more inclined to NOT go to church on Sunday, but squeeze it in on an occasional  Saturday night. (my entire family may have just fainted)




On Sunday mornings when the alarm goes off I still get up at o'dark-thirty to feed the cat, but more often than not, I tuck myself back into bed to watch the dawn bring light into the room. Doing nothing. Just breathing and listening in the quiet. Until I am ready to stretch and putter out to the kitchen to start the coffee.




On Sundays it isn't the usual routine of a few minutes stolen in the morning to spend on the front porch with God.




No.




On Sunday mornings, I watch the sun make it's way across the bluffs to crawl along the east side of the yard. Then, ever so gently, sift through the windows. Cast shadows on the walls as it spills into the rooms, filling them with light.




The light reaches me in my rocker. I sip on another cup of coffee. Breathing...in and out. Time is slow and my mind is thinking about nothing at all as the house groans, hisses, pops and the cat snores.

The Reality is...

...we all will die someday.

 

That doesn't mean one has to mope around moaning "oh man, I'm going to die some day so why even try?"

 

Nope. The statement I made about the reality of dying is because I have to realize that while I want to live every day to the fullest and be 86 or 94 or old enough to be a "Good morning America" birthday shout-out from the crew...the reality is that I don't want to outlive those I love. Because grieving is, in my 2¢, the most difficult journey to navigate.

 

This past week it truly was a frozen tundra here in my home town. So, I resorted to going through closets and drawers and tossing old "too big" clothes and filling a couple of bins with clothes to donate and books to sell. One of the "too big" clothes is an old comfy nightgown. One that my sister Dorene wore the last months of her life. Yes, it has been washed a cajillion times since those days.




I would put on that nightgown whenever life seems too painful to bear and imagine her hugging me. Thing is, I think I can let it go now, so off to the "donate" bin it goes.

 

That memory of her in the nightgown made me ponder on where I would be if I had truly lived a life where everyone I loved still lived. And I didn't like it one bit. Here is why:

• Would I have found home and this old house with the greatest porch to talk to God?
• Would I have returned to college and graduated summa cum laude?
• Learned how to quilt?
• Found and survived my own battle with cancer?
• Seen the Northern Lights?
• Get to see my beloved Twins up close?
• Gone to a writer's conference as a story teller, wow the crowd, win awards and then decide I truly wanted to be a lawyer?
• Packed up the aging cat and car and moved 800 miles away to follow a dream?
• Realized its true that eating healthy and exercising is not only good for one's "looks" and "health" but actually feels good?
• Spent late nights laughing with the dearest friends I could never have imagined?
• Come to appreciate my Scandinavian heritage while infusing a ton of southern charm into the living?
• Seen the whales off the coast of Nova Scotia and climb a mountain in Newfoundland?
• Would I have learned that each day I wake is another gift and if I screw it up that forgiveness is for the asking?

 

I have navigated several grieving journeys, and while each one is full of its own pitfalls / pain/ obstacles, I have come to learn this about myself:

 

I will never stop loving people, pets and even locations with my whole heart even if they don't love me back, I let them go, they move away, say good-bye...die.

 

I will never stop waking up each day grateful to take in those first sips of good coffee as I head to whatever "porch" is around to talk to God and get the day moving.

 

Mostly, no matter what grieving journey I am thrown into, volunteer for or stumble across, I will be okay.

 

First, gotta retrieve that old nightgown from the donate bin...

Christmas and Granola

While preparing gifts for family and friends, I decided to go the "consumable" route this year!

One gift I'm giving is to a young woman who took her nursing boards the same year I took the Minnesota Bar. She studied while being a medic at camp and I studied while living in her bedroom back at her home! For her gift I decided to give her the gift of time and a memory.  Then I decided it would make a nice gift to anyone who reads this. Some editing was done, of course!

This is pretty good granola - At least that is my 2¢ ·worth!

Christmas Granola

When I was your age I had been living in a housing co-ops for several years (it was the 70’s after all!). My two favorite jobs were to bake bread and make granola. You are an amazing baker, so I am going to share my granola recipe with you in hopes we can spend an afternoon soon making it together!

Although I made several different variations using whatever ingredients were available at the food co-op (Wheatsville in Austin, TX), this is the basic recipe. You can switch up the nuts, dried fruit, sweetener (we got an amazing tin of maple syrup once!) And I’ve used molasses as there was nothing else – a bit strong for my liking!

My favorite co-op was on Pearl street. It had the best front porch.

One Christmas I bought a real tree, set it up in the sitting room and we found all sorts of things to decorate it with including a string of those old fashioned lights. On Christmas Eve we made big batches of granola, popcorn and my Aunt Marty's ice box cookies. Then we "retired" to the living room where we turned on the tree lights and took turns playing songs on the old red piano we had had literally rolled home from an abandoned bar a few years past. I remember sitting on the floor and watching the lights and ornaments on that small tree as we shared memories of Christmas' past and dreams of Christmas' to come. 

You know, I think it was the only real tree I ever had that didn’t require me to wrap a wire around the top and nail it to the wall to keep it from falling over! But that is another story!

Merry Christmas! 

• 2 cups steel cut oats


• 1/4 cup brown sugar (light or dark)


• 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon


• 1 pinch salt


• 1/2 cup slivered almonds (we would use pecans when in season – we’d sit around the huge dining table as we cracked pecans and just visit)


• 1/4 cup honey


• 1/4 cup light olive oil (or you can use vegetable oil – we had olive oil in these huge cans!)


• 1/2 cup dried fruit(Dried cranberries are my favorite)

 Preheat oven to 325 degrees. In a large bowl, combine oats, brown sugar, cinnamon, salt and almonds. In a    glass measuring cup, warm honey in microwave for about 30 seconds. (This is a new step since I moved to Minnesota and my cupboards stay cold as they are on ‘outside’ walls! If your honey is at room temperature, just pour – at the co-op it was rarely cold. But if the honey wouldn’t pour, I’d boil water, put it in a huge bowl on top and let it warm up some!).

Add olive oil to the honey and stir.

Drizzle the honey-oil over the dry ingredients and mix to combine. Spread the mixture on a baking sheet that has parchment paper on it or you can use a lightly oiled pan (what I used in the ‘olden’ days) or spray with Pam baking spray (oil only).

Bake granola until golden and crunchy, stirring once. Could take 15-25 minutes. Just watch it so it doesn’t burn!

Pour onto a sheet of wax paper or parchment paper to cool. Stir in the dried fruit. When cool, store in a sealed container. Sometimes it clumps together – just break apart.

Enjoy on homemade yogurt, for breakfast or as a snack on a run!