Big City

The day before our trip to Minneapolis-St. Paul, the girl got a haircut. She wants to grow her bangs out, and I agreed only if she'd let us put in a ponytail or a barrette every single day; this is something she has resisted, often violently, since birth. The next morning, she requested 5 ponytails.

 She never does anything halfway, our girl.

So this trip to the Cities was primarily to serve three purposes: for Shaun to see some of his city friends, and for V to see Nickelodeon World. Oh, and for our family to have a quality family vacation. We stayed in a hotel very near the Mall of America (minding the bedbug reports), packed some snacks, our swimsuits, and a few changes of clothes and considered ourselves ready.

Only I forgot to bring clothes for V.

I mean, I brought socks and undies. And her swimsuit But nothing else. I don't know how this happens to me, but usually I don't forget ALL of her clothes. Rather than be normal, and buy her at least a t-shirt, my frugal self just shook out her orange t-shirt every night. She wore it three days in a row. She didn't care at all, but it does make it look like we did a whole heckuva lot in one day, instead of the actual three.

First stop, after freshening up at the hotel: The Rainforest Cafe for dinner with college friends of Shaun's. We got to meet their son and his girlfriend, and I just adore all four of them. Unfortunately for everyone, Shaun, V, and I had never been to this particular restaurant. It's very....stimulating. Visually, it's really lovely and cave-like. And it's noisy, like a rainforest, with thunderstorms every half hour. Cool, right? Well, yeah, if you're not V, who gets overwhelmed sometimes.

 She spent most of the evening like this. When her rainbow drink in her rainbow glass came, she insisted it was a rainbow party! But only took one hand away.

Afterwards, though, when she caught sight of Nickelodeon Universe, she was feeling much better.

The next morning (yes, it's the same shirt. Remember my limited packing skills?)

 Woody at Lego Land (which is conveintly located just outside Nickelodeon Universe).

 V built a safe house. That's what she called it.

 Oh, Kai-lan, you Chinese Dora you.

 So many characters to meet! Here's Tyrone, Pablo, Uniqua, and V, for those of you unfamiliar.

And even more impressive characters, these three gentlemen, with whom we enjoyed lunch, and then they kindly came with us to watch V in her nirvana.  They all went to high school with Shaun.

And dear Brad, who spent time with us on his birthday, even rode the rides that Shaun and I are too wussy to ride.

Later, we had dinner at another college friend's house, and talked about their upcoming (third!) baby while our kids played as if it hadn't been years between our visits.

In between socializing, we swam at the hotel's salt water pool, looked at the tall buildings like the fine country folk we are, and regretted not visiting more of our dear friends, despite not having much time between social obligations already.

It was a fine trip, overall. And V even said she'd go back to the Rainforest Cafe. After she turns 18.

Leftover snapshots

Sometimes I take photos and I mean for them to end up in a particular post, but they just don't. And then sometimes I go back and notice these photos and think, huh, that was kinda pretty.

And then sometimes I think of that old Sesame Street segment, "One of these things is not like the other." And I get all sappy and nostalgic.

And then I share it with you.

A reprieve of sorts

Over a year after his initial diagnosis, Shaun finally got some substantially good news about his heart this week. His second echocardiogram from six months ago showed an ejection fraction of 30%, up significantly from his original 15-20%. Still, though, according to the experts, anything below 35% is in the red zone, meaning essentially holy-shit-how-are-you-still-walking-upright? and would require the implantation of a defibrillator.

We were pretty much braced for that step. I mean, he would then be part robot (sweet), and I wouldn't have to break the glass on any AED machines, because he'd have that power within his own chest. But it made me a little queasy, somehow, because it's not as if we could forget, ever, about his extremely poorly named illness once he had a medical device implanted just under his skin.

So yesterday, hanging out in the Heart Place Waiting Room (which is not what it's called but whatever) with the white haired ladies and guys on oxygen tanks, I tried to take deep breaths.  It's okay. It's better than having him drop dead in front of me. It'll be a cool party trick when I yell "Clear!" periodically.

The doctor raised his eyebrow as he checked Shaun's latest test results (a MUGA test, this time, which is more precise and also, apparently, more radioactive). I hate raised eyebrows. Shaun and I held hands, and we were both sure the news was going to be bad. Instead, he said "You're at 39%..." What? You mean 29%, right? Or 19%? Nope. "...which means you're not eligible for a defibrillator." What? Really? I mean, maybe we'll regret this sometime, when the robots rise up and an implant would've spared him, but for now? 39 is my most favorite number of all time.

He'll keep working, watching his sodium, exercising, and taking his medications. 39% is just above the red zone, after all. But I feel like we dodged a bullet, at least for now, and I'm so, so glad.

A Fairly Good Time

I have an unhealthy fondness for carnival signs. These are outside the ferris wheel, and illustrate that a ride on it costs $4. And also that you have to be over 42"tall to ride it without a parent or guardian. I would like both of them outside my house.

It was a perfect, perfect day for the fair: sunny but not too hot, with a nice little breeze. Of course everyone else thought so, too, so we had to wait in a few little lines, but it was worth it.

My sweet fairmates.

From the top of the bigger of the two Ferris Wheels. Our sweet little fair makes me happy.

V recommends the Tornado. Shaun and I do not, and Shaun especially suggests that if you have heart failure of any type, you sit this one out.

Even if your darling daughter blinks her steel blue eyes at you from behind her oversized sunglasses.

It was a really, really good day.

List #18: My favorite characters from books and films.

Like choosing favorite films, favorite characters can be tricky: these are my top nine today. Tomorrow will most certainly be different. And though I've numbered these, I really can't rank many of them at all.

9. Augustus McCrae from Lonesome Dove. I want to drink whiskey with him, and hear him sing crochety old cowboys songs in the morning.
8. Princess Leia. I can point to her as a princess who takes care of her own business. Suck on that, Disney.
7. Desdemona, from Othello. Oh, pure Desdemona. Every time I read the play, I hope she wins. Every. Time.
6. Isabella from the cheesy historical romance novel Rose of Rapture. My lord, that book deserves its own post. I don't want to just hang out with Isabella: I want to BE her.
5. Inigo Montoya: Mandy Patinkin's finest work.
4. Dewey Dell Bundren. She's not a smart woman, nor an especially kind one, but she really ties the novel As I Lay Dying together.
3. Esperanza in The House on Mango Street.  You should really read that book if you haven't yet. I'm part Esperanza, and part Esperanza's best friend. But with less Latina, and more Scandinavia.
2. Joel in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. He's a little boring, but full of goodness, ache, and love. He appeals to me tremendously, despite the fact (or perhaps because?) he's played by Jim Carrey.
1. Fran from Strictly Ballroom. I...I can't explain Fran. She's like Ophelia and Leia and Esperanza all rolled into one Australian dream. I would totally hang out with Fran.

Howsabout you? Are you familiar with my choices? What are some of your favorites today?

Gus the toad

Will, V and I rescued a toad from a window well in Fargo today. We brought him home, named him Gus, and let him go in the garden. But first we took some pictures. (Thanks to Charlotte for the inspiration).

 As a girl growing up in Hendrum, I played with toads and frogs as soon as I could walk. My daughter and nephew, however, have many more forms of entertainment available to them. This was, as far as I can recall, their first toad.

 "You touch him." "No, you go ahead."

 "His belly is squishy, but his back is rough," V said with genuine wonder when she finally worked up the courage to let me place him in her hands. I don't know how it is that I've raised a child with so little toad experience in her first five years.

Gus, to his credit, was very patient. And now he's free.

My Little Dinner Party

I teach Judy Chicago’s art installation The DinnerParty in my Women in the Humanities course, and it never fails to make an impact on the students. So I thought it only fitting to create my own Dinner Party guest list.

1.      Sylvia Plath: you sweet, broken genius. Come over and have tea. I’ll keep you away from the oven if you stay away from my daddy issues.

2.      Elizabeth Cady Stanton: How fantastic to have one of the mothers of feminism at our table! Please, Elizabeth, stay awhile and help us fix this unholy mess of a country.

3.      Marilyn Monroe: I believe she was way smarter than any of us gave her credit for, and broken like the rest of us.

4.      Susan B. Anthony: a little redundant, what with E. C. Stanton, but I bet she’d be fun at parties.

5.      Liz Phair: given the guest list, I think she’d be a kick-ass addition. Plus, she’s also the only one besides me who’s still alive.

6.      7, 8, and 9. My great-grandmothers, Beatta, Myra, Elizabeth, and Emilie. I never met any of them, and I think it would be cool to hang out with all 4. I know Beatta died of cancer, Myra is whom my mother is named after, Elizabeth had long, thick, white hair, and Emilie had five children including identical twins, one of which she named Emil. I don’t know if they like talking politics, or music, or Kennedys, but we’ll figure out something.

We would eat expensive cheese, drink cheap wine, and have lefse. Who would you invite to your party?

Holiday Weekend in Nine Photos

Other fantasies I like to entertain

So I wrote recently about my plans for winning the lottery. But wait, there's more! (there's always more....)

Anyway, with (nearly) unlimited funds, I'd buy a place like this, paint it in Edward-Scissorhands-like colors, and invite my friends to pick their own cabins. Wouldn't that be fun? We could have sun tea every day at two in the afternoon, and sit outside on metal lawn chairs and fan ourselves with paper fans and watch our dogs do cute things like wear funny hats and bring us cans of beer.  And on tuesdays, we'd have sushi on the roof of the larger house, overlooking the lake, and on Saturdays we'd have a big bonfire and burn old student papers.

As soon as my stupid state reopens, I should really buy a lottery ticket for once. I have so much to do.

Lakeside wildlife: navy worms

I had never seen these creatures until a few years ago: I'm told they're called Navy worms.

 Navy worm on the left; ant on the right. Perhaps they're in love.

Whatever the name, they are EVERYWHERE at the lake again this year. They cluster at corners of the fence, climb up onto cars, and fall out of the trees like wiggling raindrops. Voracious eaters of leaves, they don't seem to be interested in biting any other living thing.

They are a little creepy, especially in such large numbers, and the expansive damage they leave behind is massive, but up close I find them kind of, dare I say, cute.

I'm probably going to regret that one day, when the world is taken over by navy worms, and all the trees die, and they turn to eating humans. Until then, though, they make fun photo subjects.

Seven recovers nicely, it turns out.

After a week, Seven got to take his silly cone collar off, and his eye is so much better. We still don't know if he has vision in that eye, but since it's finally considerably smaller than a tennis ball, and it isn't hurting him, we are happy dog owners. Someone recently pointed out that his breed is the best, because it's the two swears: bichon/shih tzu. For some reason I find this completely delightful.

 We're still working on the finer points of housetraining, and he likes to bark a lot at our neighbor's three dogs (who bark at him even more). But he is so soft, and every so often he comes over, and rubs against my shin with his goofy face, and we feel pretty lucky to have such a sweet addition to our family.

How could anyone not love that fluffy face? Awwww...

My little mermaid

I think it's way too cold to swim today, and this water was fresh from the hose. But the girl, she loves any water. And I think she's learned a couple of tricks from Seven.

Hope you're making the most of your summer.  We're sure trying. 

Holy crap. Nine years.

I've said it all before, here, and here, and here. Nine years married to the hairy, crazy, crass, loving man that is Shaun. We celebrated on Friday with dinner out and a Netflix movie. That's what nine years has done to us: made us crazy celebraters.

Eight years ago, we had a giant reception for ourselves. I got to wear my wedding dress again, and Tami did my hair, and all of our dearest friends and family showed up to party like rockstars. Above, we're singing "You're the One That I Want" from Grease. It was the best party we've ever thrown (except Tenessa got crazy hungover: oops).

Maybe if we make it nine more, we'll throw ourselves another reception. V will be 14: she could babysit for you, if you needed. Or almost sobercab us all home. Would you come? We'd love to see you!



Quirky is as quirky does

I am Dewey Johnson's daughter: collections of weird, old crap make me feel like I'm home. But when it's not my old weird crap, and it's right next to my house, I start to like it a little bit less.

 Collection of old paint cans three inches from my driveway. Early Summer 2011-present. (Now buried under three truck loads of lumber).

My neighbor is essentially who I would've grown up to be if not for Shaun: she's single, has no children, and struggles with health issues. She also loves dogs and swears like a sailor. I kind of like her, and she's always kind to V in the way that people who are sickly and swear like sailors try to be nice to kids. Aside from her penchant for letting homeless people live in my driveway, I have no problem with her. She's sort of hardscrabble, and I like that. But she collects. Well, no. She hoards.

The lawnmower collection. June 15 2011- present.
Five push mowers and one riding mower. In a standard city lot (40' x 120' or so). No professional mowing business involved. The rhubarb, above, is growing right on our property line, through our fence (thank god for fences).

So, I don't really care about any of that stuff. I mean, it's kind of unsightly, but if I wanted a scenic vista I certainly shouldn't've bought a house in North Moorhead. And V's not the kind of kid who goes wandering into other people's yards, so I'm not worried about her safety, exactly. Though those paint cans must be some sort of environmental hazard...our other neighbors (everyone else on our street, as far as I can tell) HATE it. They hate her stuff, and many of them strongly dislike our neighbor, or worse. Believe it or not, the city came a couple of autumns ago and took everything away (yes. these two collections are all less than two years old), and I don't know about your city, but ours doesn't really show up unless they get numerous complaints. But none of those complaints came from us. Afterwards, everyone on our block got a letter of reprimand from the city, telling us to play nice and not call each other names or tell our children malicious things which they may repeat (seriously. It's an awesome letter). It made me very sad, and not because we had been playing nice all along. It's just sad to me when grown ups are mean to each other.

And truly, my neighbor's collection is nothing compared to what my family compiled, before and after I was born. We owned over half a city block, and my dad and uncle would scoff at only six different lawnmowers. Somewhere in heaven, Dewey's laughing. "I had six mowers by the time I was V's age!"

Still, I feel like I'm not a very good American somehow if this doesn't piss me off more. What's your take, gentle readers? Would you be more annoyed than I am? Is it just my crap-filled upbringing that makes me tolerate this crazy hoarding issue? For the record, Shaun doesn't care at all about her stuff: as long as it doesn't affect him, she can do what she wants. Perhaps we're just the libertarian family on a block full of angry republicans.

I do know that if there's a zombie apocalypse, my neighbor's house is going to have most of what we might need to survive. Perhaps that should be my main comfort.

Things that Confuse Me: List #17

9. How airplanes stay up (Yes, I know, air pressure, propulsion, blah blah blah).

8. Communicating with Shaun (it's not just mars & venus. ugh)

7. Parenthood (why does almost everyone do this when it is SO DAMN HARD?)

6. Why I live in this godforsaken part of the world.

5. Dinosaurs (Do not tell me Noah had dinosaurs on the ark. I will poke you).

4. People who just don't get grammar. At all. (Not people who make mistakes sometimes, mind you. I mean people who just have no grasp).

3. People who honk inappropriately (This could be my own issue, since I always assume it's directed at me. I think I have excess driving guilt).

2. People in general (I would make a terrible waitress. Or greeter).

1. Most children's television (Calliou, I'm looking in your direction).

If you can explain any of the above, or want to share what puzzles your own self, please leave a comment. Please.

Things I consider when I really should be grading (Winning the Lottery)

If I won the lottery:

I'd pay off our mortgage, and our car. Then our student loans, and our immediate family’s student loans, and Tami's & Susanne's student loans would all be paid off. Others to be considered once a year by an elaborate application process that I will likely develop in the near future, just in case.

I would buy my grandmother’s house, next door to my mom’s, and set it up as a little quilt shop. Who cares if we break even? We’ll put a long-arm machine in the boys’ room, upstairs, and serve cookies & peppermint tea every single day. Wanna come over?

I’d buy my sister and her family a reasonable, lovely home to move to their lovely lot.

I’d buy an elaborate Gypsy caravan & a ‘68 Dodge Coronet to pull it. Then V and I and Seven (and Shaun, if 'n he wants to) would travel where few people have seen Gypsy caravans. Like…um, Kentucky. And Montana. Maybe New Mexico.

Then I’d get myself 3 new pairs of Danksos, in brown, black, and red. Because everyone loves red shoes.

And that's it. Seriously. Oh, okay. I'd probably put up a 6' cedar fence around our backyard, and plant a bunch of kick ass perennials, and hire someone to paint our window ledges this summer. Because I'm going to be driving all over in the Coronet, so I don't have time to mow the lawn or climb ladders and whatnot.

Howsabout you?

What we're enjoying right now....

 Backyard wildlife.

 Visiting the in-laws.

Soft pupdog cuddling.

Hope your June is going beautifully.

My kind of sculpture

The shelter where we went to adopt Seven is a working ranch, with all kinds of fauna. And as we drove in, it was pretty clear that if my crazy neighbor Kathy and I lived on a farm together, this would be the kind of place we'd have.

 Most notable, aside from the turkeys, llamas, dogs, peacocks, ducks, geese, and cats, were the mannequin heads.

 Atop the fence posts, with silk flower accoutrement.

And the occasional farmyard diorama.

 One of the members of the board has a beauty school, and donates heads each season. I'm so jealous. And I love how they look after enduring the Northern Minnesota winters.

 I love a girl with an Ankh earring....

Or a fella with a head full of blooms.
I was so grateful they let me take photos, because they are really hard to describe effectively. Now, who knows where I can get myself some mannequin heads?

Ebony and Ivory

Seven meeting Rocket for the first time.

Thanks for all your happy responses to Seven! Some of you had questions about him, and since he's all I want to talk about lately, I'm more than happy to do another post.

We found Seven through Petfinder.com, a lovely way to yank your own heartstrings. I have read more than enough student essays on puppy mills to convince me of the importance of pet adoption, but we've also had our share of less than perfect pets through adoption. I do recommend pet adoption, though, to anyone considering pet ownership.  There are so damn many dogs (and cats, and bunnies....) waiting.

We didn't have a name chosen when we went to pick him up, but we had fun on the drive home: V liked Milk, Coconut, and Vanilla (but she may have just needed a snack). I loved Umlaut and Dr. Nutbucket (any pet name that begins with "Dr." or "Mr." is automatically funnier). Shaun was unimpressed, until I mentioned numbers. Eleven? Five? (I liked Five, because V is, of course, a roman numeral....) I said we could name him Nine, after Roger Maris. And it came to us, clearly, as a family, that this little dog should be named Seven. It's a Seinfeld reference, and also V was born on the seventh of September. And it's a lucky number. And Mickey Mantle's. And none of us hated it (though I cried a little to lose Dr. Nutbucket).

Aside from his eye, Seven is healthy (knock on wood!), though he does sometimes make funny little hiccup/burp noises when he sleeps. It's just about the cutest sound ever.

The rumors you have heard are true.

We have a new dog.  We've named him Seven.

 He's a bichon-shih-tzu cross, and will be one year old on June 25th. We got him from a rescue, who got him from a puppy mill. He's housetrained, and kinda quiet, and he is completely in love with V.

 An hour before we picked him up, he got bitten in the eye by another dog. These photos are from day one and two; by day three, he was an unholy mess (I have photos, but you don't want to see them). $160 worth of dog medications later, his eye is getting better, and hopefully he'll get to have his funny cone-shaped collar removed by the end of the week.

 A warm bundle of fluffy love at my feet? Oh, mercy, I've missed this.

V reads to Seven, and Seven loves V. I hope they have many years of adventures together.