Croissant Dough Named Charlotte

Picture Perfect Croissants. (I didn't make these.) 

I've become a fan of the British Baking Show, which I learned about from my sister-in-law Laurie and have been watching on and off for a few years. It's a lot of fun, putting amateur bakers to the test making new and challenging recipes.

My friend Deb and I were chatting recently and said how much we both would like to try to make some of the more challenging recipes they attempted. One of the most challenging ones was croissants. There is a lot of rolling, turning and folding, and tons of butter, followed by chilling, more folding and turning, etc. So we decided to try our hand at it.

Deb looked up a bunch of recipes and we ended up going with one that came out of a 1961 New York Times cookbook. We started on Thursday at her house, making the initial dough, rolling it out and adding in all the butter. Then it chilled overnight in her frig, and we picked it up again at my house the following night. 

Deb arrived at our home and announced that the folded, flat bit of dough had been dubbed Charlotte. Charlotte was about to get a working over now that she was at my house. Deb continued the process of rolling, turning and folding, which is supposed to incorporate the butter through all of the layers so that when it bakes it puffs up into all those delicious flaky layers.

My favorite part of the recipe is when it says "cut into triangles," which I have determined is the most passive-aggressive direction ever written in a recipe. Do you have any idea how to cut 18 triangles out of a square piece of dough?I do, but only because I've purchased Pillsbury croissant dough in the past and saw how it had been scored and rolled so carefully into that little tube. 

We managed to get 19 little tiny croissants out of the dough, which was supposed to make 18 croissants, so we considered that a success. We put it into the oven with the temp sent to "proof" and waited for them to rise. And waited. And waited. And they rose...a little bit. You could tell by the seams that they were indeed attempting to rise, but alas, they were not doubling in size.

Ready to start rising! Aren't they cute?! 

Do these look like they're rising? 

After a couple of hours we heated up the oven to 425 and popped them in at their current diminutive size. Oh well.

They came out like little bread knots. No flaky layers, no puffiness. Just a solid, dense chunk of bread. They were good if you were expecting bread knots.

Later on I read some other recipes for croissants, all of which called for perhaps a teaspoon or tablespoon of sugar. I realized that the sugar was the "food" for the yeast. Poor Charlotte, we starved her!

I have a new appreciation every time I casually pick up a croissant from a bakery. I'm going to try a different recipe and see if I can succeed at this. It was too much fun not to do it again.

Slowing Down

Throughout this COVID-19 pandemic, I've been in almost daily contact with my sister Kristi who is a nurse at a local hospital. The emotional and mental toll of preparing for a pandemic is taxing to her and other front line health care workers, even though right now her hospital has a few COVID cases and many empty beds waiting for a wave of patients. Hopefully that wave doesn't come — Minnesota has experienced fewer cases than neighboring states and has done a great job of using social distancing and other tools to keep infection rates down.

She and I were commenting on an interesting phenomenon that's occurring through all of this. Currently she has a standing weekly video conference chat with a group of friends from her years living in Indiana, and another weekly chat with her high school classmates who are scattered across multiple time zones. These are friends who see each other once every few years, even though they still consider themselves close.

She also initiated a video call with relatives from our dad's side of the family, people we enjoy seeing very much but do so only every couple of years. My close group of local friends are gathering every week; previously we were lucky to get together once a month.

We joked that both of our social calendars are now busier than they were before, even though everything is happening online and not in-person. Which begs the question...

Why weren't we doing these things before?

Video-conferencing has been around for years, easy-to-use, cheap and effective. Yet we've never done a video conference chat with our extended family, nor she with her high school classmates.

The difference is that now, in these troubling times, everyone is realizing that the most important things in life aren't things. Each of us has been forced to slow down our lives, to stop scurrying from activity to activity, and to take time to breathe. All of our friends who are much busier than us, with multiple kids in multiple activities plus their own functions to attend to, suddenly have nowhere to go and nothing to do. What better time to check in with friends whom we think of often but speak to rarely!

Honestly, this little pause in life has been a rare gift. Our family eats every meal together, but instead of rushing off to finish homework or work on a project, we sit around after the meal and talk. We tell funny stories to each other and laugh. Oh my, how we've been laughing! Such a treat.

I hope that when this is all over, when we can go about our lives without fear of making each other sick, that we remember these moments and cherish them. And, I hope, we continue to make room in our lives for the people who matter the most.

The Glue That Holds Us Together: High School Reunions

Class of 1989 in 1989

Class of 1989 in 2019

This weekend was my 30th high school reunion, and it was pretty amazing.

I graduated with around 150 students from Sheboygan Falls High School. I have fond memories of my high school years — playing in the band, acting and playing for musicals, forensics competitions, and all-around fun.

Social media makes these reunions so different from what they used to be. We all keep up with each other's lives from a distance, but only what we all share on Facebook. A fun day, first day of school, a special dinner out for an anniversary, a kid's sports accomplishments.

But when we all get together, we share each other's lives. And because we've known each other so intimately, granted a long time ago, we are all pretty open about challenges facing each of us. Divorces. Careers gone askew, demanding jobs that suck the life out of a person. Challenges raising children. Caring for aging parents. The real deal that doesn't get shared on Facebook. And often these troubles are met with encouraging words of "I know what you're going through," or "You should talk to so-and-so, they went through something like that," or just, "I'm sorry that's happening to you."

Plus there are things to celebrate. One classmate opened a tab and let people know to have a drink on him. His explanation? "I've just been so fortunate in my life, and I want to share my good fortune with others." Wow, that's awesome, thank you!

I was speaking with another classmate and asking how life was going and he said, "I love my job, I love my family, I've got good health, I'm about as happy as I can be in my life right now, and I'm so grateful for it." That's the best any of us can ever hope for, and I'm so happy for him.

And sharing those high school memories, oh my! What is it about graduating high school together that becomes a glue that holds people together?

As seniors, my girlfriend Jody and I once had Domino's pizza delivered to the school for lunch. (There were other people who did this with us, I can't remember all of them.) We brought it into the lunch room to eat and the vice principal just about had a conniption, I've never seen that man's face so red. He was a small guy, not very tall or broad, but we got out of there with that pizza pretty quickly. Eventually we got smart and had pizza delivered to Jody's house just across the street. We would run to her house so we wouldn't get caught leaving the school to eat it, then dash back before the bell rang.

My friend Judi recounted spending hours in my basement, listening to music and goofing off. Had Wendy been there I could have told some good stories of a sleepover at her house where she pretended to be sleep-talking but wasn't really, she was just giving us a hard time.

Our class is planning on creating a scholarship fund and at our reunion appointed a committee of people to work on this. That's a pretty amazing legacy that we'll be leaving for future generations of graduates from Sheboygan Falls.

It was a great weekend getting together with my classmates, and I am so grateful for their being in my life, even if it's only every 5 years.

Comparing cute shoes, 25th and 30th reunions (Myself, Kelly and Rachel)

Goofing off.

The 6th Grade Retreat, subtitled "Apparently I Camp"

Marissa and her favorite chaperone.

Each year the 6th grade class does a two-day camping retreat to Camp St. Croix in Hudson, WI. When Lindsey was in 6th grade she didn't want me anywhere near the camp, but Marissa asked me to chaperone.

"You know I don't really camp, right?" I reminded her. I don't do well with bugs, or sleeping bags, or walks in the woods to get to the bathroom. Plus, I was guaranteed to embarrass her at some point over the 3 days, intentionally or not.

It didn't matter, she wanted me along, and so I signed up.

I and a friend were assigned co-chaperones in a cabin with 8 6th grade girls, most of whom were Marissa's requested friends. During the day I was in Marissa's activity group, which was a different set of kids besides those in the cabin, so I got to know more of the kids in her class.

What a time!


Marissa and her cabin mates: Berit, Allison, Marissa, Carolyn, Eleni, Anjali, Erika and Hattie

Girl power at the archery range.

The first day was all sunshine and warmth. (Warmth in April=55 degrees). The group played games in the "Enchanted Forest," where they had to use teamwork to cross a path or balance a board with all teammates on it. The evening activity was a townhall where kids voted to preserve St. Croix or sell it to a developer who spoke an awful lot like Donald Trump.

Day two promised rain, and it started just after breakfast. It poured, then lightened up enough for Marissa's group to go to the pond for an aqua ecology lesson. The other chaperones and I quietly took bets on the side on which kid was going to fall in; I won. I know, not very chaperone-like, we can't be perfect role models all the time.

The second night's activity was the campfire. I told Marissa that the counselors had asked me to sing "Kum Bya" to the entire grade and that I had agreed to do it. The reaction I got when I finally told her I was kidding was priceless.


Marissa turned a new shade of red when she found out I wouldn't be singing.

The last day was the best activity ever, Predator and Prey. All the kids are split into animal groups; wolverines, skunks, rabbits and others roamed the property looking for food, water and shelter. Those at the top of the food chain could hunt those down the food chain, while others, like Marissa in the rabbit group, spent their time running and hiding. We all roamed fields, woods and water playing this game -- the places to hide were immeasurable, and with 150 kids playing, it was an absolute blast.

For me the biggest downfall was the lack of sleep. A hard and small mattress meant my shoulder was shoved into my ear for most of the night, and by the last day I awoke with the start of a migraine and tight shoulders. Not to mention the two bathroom requests in the middle of the night which required a chaperone to walk with a child to the bathrooms.

This was far outweighed by watching my daughter enjoy the outdoors and play with her friends, and by getting to know the other students and parents in her class. I'm so glad I was able to be a part of her memories of this trip.

Marissa's cabin which sleeps 12 people.

Skating in the Rain

Skating marathons are few and far between, so when they happen I prefer that we have good weather.

Not this stuff.

The Apostle Island Inline Marathon was this past weekend, and we had quite the girls' weekend planned. My skating friends Mary and Megan and my sister Kristi were all carpooling together to Ashland, Wisconsin, and the three of us were going to skate it while Kristi spectated.

The forecast called for 100% chance of rain by the start of the marathon, and didn't waver from that every time I checked it during the week.

Sure enough, as we stepped off the ferry onto the island, the first few drops began. And then it started coming down steadily. At one point it was a complete downpour and I watched the rain pool on the road into long, shallow puddles. The pros were gliding up and down the practice course getting used to the pavement, and I thought they were crazy.

I have never skated in wet conditions. The few times I've encountered a puddle on my path my skate has always taken a heart-stopping slip. Mary and Megan convinced me to at least start. After all, the course was three loops, I could always peel off after 8.7 miles and call it a day.

My friend Mary had trained hard for this -- she was hoping for a new PR, beating her old time of 1:38. But with the conditions being what they were, she had to re-adjust her goal. We decided to have a collective goal: 1) Stay safe 2) Stay together 3) Have fun. And so we took off with the rest of the pro/advanced women.

By the end of the second mile my feet were swimming in lakes in my skates; I think each skate weighed 3 or 4 pounds more from the water collected in them. I grumbled, I considered, I thought about peeling off after a single loop.

And then I thought about how amazing it would be to skate a marathon in the pouring rain. How many people can say they've done that? How many people would think that was the absolutely craziest thing they've ever heard?

Once I committed to skating the whole thing, my outlook changed, my energy changed, and I was all in.

It went from being disappointing to being exhilarating.

We accomplished our goals: We stayed safe. We stayed together. We all had a blast.

We did it!

Grit and dirt everywhere.

The rain let up about half an hour after we were done. We had to stick around for the award ceremony as I had taken 2nd in my division, though I really share that with Megan, who was 7/10th of a second behind me. Mary pointed out that if we had registered in the open/recreational skate all of us would have placed.

In three years of doing this marathon I still have never seen the sun from Madeline Island, but I can guarantee you we'll be back next year.

A 5k In Every State!

Wayne and I flew to Nashville Tennessee for two very special reasons: Jim and Amy Patterson.

Okay, so there was that thing about Wayne running a marathon in every state, and he hadn't hit Tennessee yet, but it was a convenient reason to visit with some dear friends of ours.

The Patterson's used to live down the street from us in Minneapolis. After three glorious years of Minnesota living, they decided to move back to Buffalo, NY. Something about extended family and roots, whatever. They've been back in Buffalo for 7 years now.

Amy shared with me how different the community was for healthy living. Here in the Twin Cities we take things like sidewalks and bike trails for granted; back in Buffalo there weren't any. They don't know many people who walk or bike frequently, and the main entertainment is watching sports, eating wings and drinking beer.

During the past 7 years Amy had been gaining weight, and she finally got sick and tired of being sick and tired. Or, as she put it:

My motto going into this was "I'm done."
I was done being overweight, actually obese. 
Done with the lack of energy
Done being lazy. 
Done eating unhealthy. 
Done feeling like sh*t. 
Done with taking medicine,
Just done.

In September of last year she joined the Transformation Center by Body and Fitness, began making healthier food choices and working out five times a week. She went through a six-week course and dropped 23 pounds. She loved the results so much she signed up for another six-week course and in total dropped 43 pounds.

Before and after - go Amy!

Unbelievable.

Before this program, she'd tried to do the couch-to-5k program a few times, and every time lost the motivation halfway through and didn't end up doing a 5k. This time, she was committed and signed up for a 5k when her husband signed up for a half marathon in Nashville.

And I decided I wanted to be there as her supporter and witness.

So Wayne signed up for the full marathon, I signed up for the 5k, we booked our flights, Patterson's booked hotels and away we went.

That was one of the best weekend getaways we've ever had. We had a great time exploring the city of Nashville with our good friends, reconnecting and telling stories that made us all roar with laughter.

And then, of course, the run.

We stopped to take a photo at the start line, and I was just so proud of Amy for being there. So many people don't even try, and here she was, after all her hard work, at the start line of her first 5k.

She was nervous that she wouldn't make her goal, which was to not have to walk any part of the run. And except for a couple of moments when we were forced to due to a wall of walkers in front of us (seriously people, what do you think this is, the Mall of America?) she made her goal. We both finished with a time of 39:59. The Patterson's friend Sean, who had originally signed up for the half marathon but hurt his back and couldn't run that distance, joined us as well and the three of us stayed together the entire race.

It was an absolute blast.

We waited for Jim to finish the half, and then for Wayne to finish the full, which he did with a time of 3:29:40, just under his goal of 3:30.  That was marathon #14 and state #11 for him, overachiever that he is. We went back to the hotel, cleaned up, napped, and went out for a celebratory dinner.

We were all back in our rooms, asleep by 10. Exciting travelers, us runners.

We spent the next day in downtown Nashville, enjoying the live music in every venue (starting at 10 a.m. even on a Sunday!) and touring the Ryman Theatre, the original theatre that hosted the Grand Old Opry before they outgrew it in 1974. There's some good ole history for you, with amazing acoustics and beautiful woodwork. It even made a non-country music fan appreciate the history of the place.

Amy's already asking when our next one will be. We'd like to make this an annual event. Who knows? Maybe eventually she and I will finish a 5k in every state. She's got two down and I've got four. Just a few more to go!

On Turning 50

To make this clear -- I have not hit 50 yet. But I have friends who have, and they have funny ways of celebrating it.

Our friend Mark had a backyard party to celebrate his 50th. We drank and ate and laughed like teenagers, while our kids ran around spraying each other with the hose and jumping on the trampoline. Some of the moms took a turn on the trampoline as well, showing off with backflips and somersaults. Gymnasts, those two.

Yesterday a group of us celebrated my friend Janey's 50th with a pedal and pub tour of Minneapolis breweries. Our friend Eric (henceforth known as Eric the Bike Man) organized the tour, with his considerable experience of the bike trails of Minneapolis. We met at their home, close to Lake Calhoun, to begin.

This was probably the most fun I've had on a bike. Ever. Rain sprinkled on us a bit on the way between stops, which made it all the more fun.

We biked to Harriet Brewery in the same amount of time it would have taken to drive and park, minus the hassle of driving and parking. It happened to be Food Truck Festival day, so the parking lot was filled with about a dozen food trucks Chicken wings, burritos, fish tacos, cupcakes, smoothies, pick your palate and enjoy.

Then off to Fulton Brewery, a brewery that started in our neighborhood of Fulton and moved its operations to downtown Minneapolis near the Target Field, where the Minnesota Twins play. Another food truck and an amazing patio, with a view of downtown Minneapolis.

We ran into a group of bikers wearing matching jerseys that read "Liver Strong," with graphics of a liver that is actually a beer tap. They had stickers to share with all.

At one point Janey commented to me that she felt so fortunate to have friends who were up for this adventure. As I looked around at the group, I realized that at age 43, I am the youngest. Everyone would be classified as mid-40's to early 50's. Biking for 12 miles at an average speed of 15 mph was no big deal for any of us.

We talked about moving out of our homes and taking over one of the beautiful condo buildings we biked past. When we get old.

By the end of the evening I had determined a philosophy for turning 50:

Turning 50 should feel like being a teenager again. Only with money.

Just good health, good friends and good times.

I'm pretty sure a classmate of mine wrote that in my yearbook back in 1989.

Blessings from the Universe

This is what our mantel looks like right now. While there are a few Valentine's Day cards up there, it is mostly filled with sympathy cards from family and friends.

The support we've gotten from everyone in our lives has been overwhelming. On the day we put Dax down a group of friends organized our girls' activities for day, so that they would be out of the house and having fun while things were happening at home.

We had the vet come to our home, a luxury I am grateful we were able to pay for.  She was kind, sympathic, patient and wonderful. I am so thankful Dax was able to pass away in his favorite place; in front of a roaring fire, on my lap. What a gift.

A good friend of mine came to be with me when the vet came to our house. Wayne dealt with Dax's passing by going for a long, peaceful run in the hush of new fallen snow. Without my friend being with me, it would have been just the vet and I. I could never have asked her to be there -- she volunteered.

As strange as it seems, a back injury which flared up the day before Dax was put down was a blessing. It gave me an afternoon to myself at home with him, resting on the couch with ice, a laptop, and a snoring dog.

Earlier in the month, I lunched with dear friends of mine. We've known each other for nearly two decades. One friend gave the others a belated Christmas gift of a CD set of "This I Believe," an NPR series of 5-minute essays. Now we don't usually exchange gifts, and I had nothing for my friend, but she had enjoyed this series so much that she wanted to share it.

What a gift that has been! The essays are from famous and not-so-famous Americans, writing from their heart about the beliefs that guide their lives. It's not religious, and some of the essays are downright quirky. Many of them were so appropriate for what our family is feeling at this time.

My favorite essay is the one recorded by Oscar Hammerstein, famed composer of The King and I, The Sound of Music, Oklahoma! and many other classics. His essay is titled "Happy Talk," and my favorite lines are:

Why do I believe I am happy? Death has deprived me of many whom I loved. Dismal failure has followed many of my most earnest efforts. People have disappointed me. I have disappointed them. I have disappointed myself...

..Could I not build up a strong case to prove why I am not happy at all? I could, but it would be a false picture, as false as if I were to describe a tree only as it looks in winter. I would be leaving out a list of people I love, who have not died. I would be leaving out an acknowledgement of the many successes that have sprouted among my many failures. I would be leaving out the blessing of good health, the joy of walking in the sunshine.

Ultimately, that's what it comes down to: what we are humans choose to focus on. And as I've written before, I choose joy.

Since Dax's passing, I know of two people in my life who have lost a parent. Another has put her father into hospice care, and one friend's sister is battling breast cancer...again.

There are other people and places for me to put my energy now, for me to support those friends not in grand heroic gestures but in simple acts of kindness. My turn to return to the universe the blessings it has showered on me.

A New Definition of "Pole Position"

Today I tried a pole dancing class for the first time. I only did it because my friend Jennifer's birthday is today and her idea of a good time was getting her friends together to try something that she's discovered is a great workout and a lot of fun.

OK, I'll give anything a try...once...

I just have to say, it was really, really fun.

One of our party members putting her rock-climbing skills to work on the pole.

At the beginning of the class the instructor -- a beautiful, petite, lythe dark-haired woman in her 20's -- showed us the dance we would be learning. She looked amazing; so graceful. Sensual. Comfortable in her own skin. She did a spin around the pole where she floated above the earth, legs poised in such a way that she looked like she was hardly touching the pole. She showed us the move and had us try it.

She looked like she was floating. We looked like we were on a fireman's pole, spiraling downwards in a deathgrip.

We laughed at ourselves and tried again. We laughed even harder at the second attempt. And by the third, some of us got it. And the rest of us got it on the fourth.

We twisted. Spun. Swiveled. Sweated. Laughed.

We had such a great time.

After the class we celebrated with red velvet cupcakes and wished Jennifer a happy birthday. We took photos after the class in Jennifer's backyard.

Kristin, Rachel, birthday girl Jennifer, me, and Tina (Jennifer's sister)

It was more physically demanding than  it looks. My shoulders hurt, my neck hurts. I don't even want to know what's going to hurt tomorrow morning.

I can now check pole dancing off of my bucket list. Not that it was on in the first place, but now it doesn't have to be. It was so fun I might have to go back and do a couple more classes with Jennifer.

You Talking to Me?

My sister was in town this past weekend and we decided to whoop it up after the kids went to bed Saturday night by going to a dueling piano bar.

If you love music and dancing without a loud booming beat, you need to go to one of these places. Watching talented musicians as they switch from piano to guitar to drumset, all while singing popular tunes that the crowd requests, is impressive. Not to mention a whole lot of fun.

We were not lucky enough to be able to reserve a table since our party was so small so we spent the evening standing near the back of the floor, dancing when the music moved us or talking over it when it didn't. Traffic was moving behind us as people went to and from their tables and servers delivered food and drinks.

An employee was selling single roses and silly light-up leis, and he passed by our group several times. He finally got our attention and struck up a conversation.

He says to me, "You look like you work out."

First I looked around, to see which of my friends he was talking to, assuming he was talking to Gianna, my friend and coach who started me on this whole fitness journey. But he's not, he's looking at me. Then I think to myself, "That's the lamest line I've ever heard." But we ended up in a discussion about fitness. Turns out he's a lifelong fitness buff who used to run marathons. Quickly, I might add. His record is 2:51, or a cool 6:31 pace for all 26.2 miles. He talked about how working out and running helped keep him mentally grounded through difficult times in his life.

I eventually introduced him to Gianna and they continued the conversation for some time before he moved on, but not before handing every single one of us a rose. No charge; he liked our group and wanted to give us all a rose.

And later my friends agreed that saying "you must work out" is not a lame line if you say it to someone who actually looks like she works out. I have to be honest, that made me feel pretty good.

I got me some good-lookin' friends and family! And some really, really bright lipstick. Oops.

A French Connection

Marissa has two new classmates in her grade this year, twin girls who are from France. Their family is here as a part of a house swap. They are staying in a home in Minneapolis for one year, while the owner of that home is staying in their home in Leon, France.

On the first day of school, Marissa connected with Camille as if they were long lost sisters who had been born to different families on different continents. By the class picnic two weeks into the school year it was as if they had known each other their entire lives.

Marissa was invited to Camille's birthday party last weekend, and they had a fabulous time.

On the roller coaster ride at Chuck E Cheese.

Marissa reads her homemade card to Cami.

The best part about this friendship is that Marissa is learning French. But of course she is learning the French words that a 2nd grader would be interested in.

I was surprised when she came home from school one day and said, "Bon jour!"

Then another time she asked me, "Comment Allez vous?" and informed me that the correct answer was "Bon."

She let me know that they call their mom "Maman" and their dad "Papa."

And then the fourth time she informed me that the word for "poop" in French was "ka ka," and that they call pee "pi pi."

And finally, this past week she let me know that "J'ai pépé" means "I farted."

I am so glad that if I ever get back to France I will be able to tell people all about my bodily functions. Now if only I could figure out how to ask where the bathroom was, I could take care of all that.

Some People Have a Twisted Idea of Fun

I'm not sure why, but I thought a mud run sounded like a lot of "fun" and I convinced a friend to try one with me.

We drove an hour out of town to the farm where the mud run was being held, only to pull up next to two vehicles full of Lake Harriet moms we knew, who also had this same twisted idea of fun. They, however, had coordinated matching outfits and were 11 people strong. And of course, they had two extra outfits along with matching headbands, just in case they ran into other people who wanted to join their team.

Sure, because you may just run into parents from your children's school an hour out of town at a mud run. We threw the shirts on and joined the team!

The "Muddy Bunch," pre-race.

The organizers of the Lozilu (pronounced LOW-zee-loo) run bills itself as a mud run for women of any fitness level. According to their website, if you could walk a 5k you could complete the course, though the obstacles would be challenging. One of our group was at that level, having never run and only trained by doing a 1-mile walk earlier in the week. Others of our group, like my friend, Gianna, were fitness buffs, and one of our team members teaches tabata, a form of Japanese fitness that I learned about from her.

We decided at the beginning that we would start together and finish together, and we did.

Each obstacle had some silly name geared for women -- the 8-foot high fence below was called "Tan Lines," the swampy mud pit was called "Hot Mess," etc. Most had various levels, from 8-foot to 6-foot to 4-foot high walls for climbing, for every level.

At the "Tan Lines" obstacle.

I couldn't go over the wall that you see me hanging off of in this photo; I ended up walking around. I just couldn't bring myself to swing my leg over at the top of the wall, even though it was as easy to climb down as up.

And the mud pools were, well, muddy. But not just muddy. After all, this is a working farm that some farmer allowed the organization to use for this event. The soil had decades of natural fertilizer (or "organics") sprayed and plowed into the ground. So let's just say it smelled like putting your face into a cowpie. And the mud got into everything. Ugh.

My best and worst moment.

This was the final obstacle of the run, the "Fish Nets," or a cargo net that went 15 feet up into the air. Yes, it's at an angle, but if you don't like stepping onto a ladder from the roof, you wouldn't like this. That's me at the far left on the very top, and my friend Gianna is talking me through where to put my feet and hands to make it over. It was the only high obstacle of the run that I didn't chicken out on. Everything else that involved climbing I either went around or took the easiest option. I was shaky and scared, but proud as hell that I made it over.

"Do I have dirt under my fingernails? Wanna look?"

It took us about an hour and 20 minutes to run, crawl, climb and slide through this 5k. It was truly a ball, and I got to know a great bunch of ladies, most of whom I was meeting for the first time that morning.

It met my expectations of fun.

Halloween Festivities

This year, I had an awesome idea for a Halloween costume.

A little history first.

Four Halloweens ago I dressed up as Amy Winehouse. This was when she was at the height of her career, with hits on the radio and a Grammy under her belt. Shortly after she began making news for her unsavory drug habit, for which she eventually went to rehab. It apparently didn't take, because she was found dead of an apparent drug overdose on July 23rd of this year.

And thus my costume idea for this year.

My problem was that I had nowhere to wear it. So I decided to create a place to wear it, and hosted a Halloween party with a few friends.

We scheduled the party for this weekend, when my sister was visiting from Indiana. She arrived in Minneapolis on Tuesday of this past week and spent three days with our girls during a break from school. They had an amazing time, going to the Children's Museum, going shopping, making dinner for us in the evening. We were utterly spoiled by her presence.

And because Kristi is an amazing, outgoing person, she packed a costume and was ready for the party with people she's never met.

Back to my costume idea.

Here is the original, circa 2007.

(Damn blogger, won't let it display in portrait. Tilt your head and deal.)

And yesterday's updated look.

Yes, Amy's been zombified.

What do you mean I'm dead?

Other players of the party were:

Kristi, court jester.
Lindsey, big bad wolf in grandma's clothing.
Marissa, the wicked witch.

Wayne dressed as himself, though he did pull out the orange Monster Dash t-shirt that had a skeleton on the front.


The party was a smash, with princesses, ballerinas, witches and others running around the house and on the swing outside, while adults in various costumes nibbled on food and visited over a beer or glass of wine.
It was a great time. Who knows, if someone else famous that I can imitate dies next year, we may just have to do it again. I've got a whole stack of "undead" make up to use up.

No Words.

This is a blog. I know that. It takes words to write, to read. But I have no words for what happened this afternoon.

I spoke to my friend Anita today, a month and a day after her accident.

She was articulate. She did not have to search for words. She remembers everything up until the accident and doesn't remember the 3 1/2 weeks she was in the hospital until a day or two before she was released. She is walking. She was on Facebook earlier in the week. Typing comes easy to her, though apparently old-fashioned writing skills are more difficult.

A few days ago I saw her "friend" a couple of people on Facebook, and wondered if it wasn't her husband doing it on her behalf. But then, a status update, thanking family and friends for helping her family during her hospitalization. And even better today: a joke.

She cannot wait to be through with the hours and hours of therapy that she is currently doing to sharpen her brain function. She cannot wait to be back to where she was. And in particular she's disappointed for the month of summer that she's missed. Her nonprofit, Extreme Moms, is going hang-gliding in a few weekends. She's especially disappointed to miss that, because hang-gliding was her idea, and she's bummed that she can't do it. Doctors told her that another head injury in the next 6 to 8 months would be, as she put it, really really bad. As if what she'd been through wasn't bad enough. She herself has no idea.

I cannot put into words the joy that this puts in my heart. Her recovery is nothing short of miraculous. For those of us who know her, it's just one more way in which she is amazing Anita.

The Long Road Ahead

This is a photo of my dear friend Anita, as taken by her eldest daughter. Anita was hit by a car while riding her bicycle on July 3rd. She sustained a severe brain injury and had to have emergency brain surgery to save her life. She then spent several days in a medically induced coma. She is still in the hospital today.

She is on my mind constantly. She is one of the first people I think of when I wake up in the morning and before I go to bed at night. If I'm enjoying a beautiful sunrise while skating in the morning, I think of her and know how much she would appreciate the view.

If you knew her, you would know what an amazing person she is. She has a powerful calm about her, if those two adjectives can go together. Her patience with her three young girls abounds; joy surrounds her. Her generosity is legendary and is coming back to her ten-fold during this time, with friends coming out of the woodwork to watch her kids, feed her family, relieve her husband of bedside duty or mow their lawn.

She is slowly, slowly recovering, but has a long road ahead. Her family was thrilled when she finally squeezed her sister's hand on command. She will have to re-learn how to speak. How to walk. And she may never recover some skills, though we are all hoping that she will regain her ability to do henna art, her passion in life.

One of the many bedside watchers wrote this update in her Caring Bridge site a few days ago:

Must share a quick update. At 6:00 this am, the neurosurgery team came bursting into the room and turned the lights on. One particular doctor was talking to Anita in a very VERY loud voice. He was trying to get her to follow commands. She doesn't make a whole lot of facial expression, but I think she might have been glaring. She pointed at the light and we turned it down a little and then she shushed the doctor with her finger. I quietly mentioned that her hearing was ok. He lowered his voice and she proceeded to follow all of his commands. It was pretty awesome.

Really, neurosurgeons should know better than to startle a person with a brain injury. They had given the family lots of instructions on keeping her calm, on not getting her excited. And then they rudely burst into the room, switch on the light and start barking commands. Leave it to Anita to set them straight.

What is obvious is that she has not lost her fighting spirit, and that is what is making her come back to her family, day by day.

Update: Anita is a founding member of a nonprofit group in Milwaukee called "Extreme Moms." From now until the foreseeable future, any donations made to Extreme Moms will go directly to Anita and her family to help her pay medical bills and other expenses. They really need your help. If you can, please donate to www.extrememoms.org. Thank you!

Teaching Friendship

This past weekend Lindsey had a birthday slumber party. After last year's birthday shenanigans, we decided to tone things down a bit, keep it to just a few close friends and have a slumber party, instead of a party with lots and LOTS of friends.

I insisted that she keep it to three guests for a total of four girls. That way if they ended up pairing off in activities or games, there would be an even number. And there was no way I was dealing with six girls, four was quite enough, thank you.

She had a hard time deciding which three of her friends would be her guests.

After weeks of debating and discussing, she made the decision and excluded a very close friend of hers whom she sees five days a week at her before and after school program, as well as in the classroom. Her reasoning was that she sees this friend all the time, and the party was an opportunity to spend time with other friends who either aren't in her class or don't go to Minneapolis KIDS (the before/after school program).

I asked Lindsey a day after this decision was made if that was who she wanted at her party, and to make sure she did not want this one very close friend. Yep, she was sure. So I emailed the moms of the invitees to make sure that weekend was set aside, and a week later Lindsey brought invitations in for her three friends.

Her dear friend who hadn't been invited was crushed. Right after handing out invitations after arriving at school Lindsey came up to me and whispered, "Can I change who I ask?" No you can't, your other friends have already been asked. "Can I invite one more?" she whispers. No you can't, that is the rule.

She felt really bad for her friend who had been excluded. And then she came upon a different solution.

"Can I have a sleepover just with her one time to celebrate my birthday?" Yes, absolutely, we can have a sleepover with just this one friend, some other weekend.

That seemed to satisfy her.

During the past week Lindsey tried not to talk about her sleepover in front of her one friend, knowing that it made her feel bad, and kept reassuring her that some other weekend they would have a sleepover to celebrate. I'm glad she was thinking of her friend and caring for her feelings.

Overall the sleepover was a big hit. Everyone had a great time and no one seemed to get excluded from activities. But it was also an interesting lesson in friendship for Lindsey.

A House Full of Love

Tuesday evening we had a ladies night at my neighbor's house to celebrate our former neighbor's visit from New York. Our neighbor Marilynn, the matriarch of the block, hosted the get together at her home.


Heidi (seated), Roseanne and Marilynn (far right)

Marilynn has lived on our street her entire life. She grew up on one block and upon marrying her dearly beloved, now gone for 10 years, moved down the street to her grandparents' home.

She is now in her 80's and is the most amazing, independent, energetic woman you've ever met. And when you walk into her house, you walk into a house of memories.

She has black and white photos of her late husband and herself as growing children and earnest young high school graduates. There are more photos of her children, now long grown and married with kids of their own, whose smiling faces peer out from even more frames set throughout her rooms. She has sets of china teacups throughout her home, carefully arranged in little settings on side tables, built-in buffets and other nooks and crannies.

If you didn't meet the woman of the house when you first walked in, you would know that she is a woman whose family is everything to her. You would know that she values laughter and joy, and that friends and pets complete her world.

Her smile hasn't changed since her wedding photo, and she still has a zest and exurberance for life that is contagious to others.

You can tell when you walk into a house full of love, and Marilynn's house embodies it.