Empty House Creations

Shhhhhhhhhhh! I'm making an audio memory

2012-02-02T13:55:00.000-08:00

I have learned to capture my memories in ways other than still photographs.
They are a little harder to share but most of them are personal memories anyway.

I'm not a genius or an originator of a great idea by any means - I actually think I started doing this because I'm more or less scatterbrained. When my kids were little and we won the big game or the cutest thing on earth was happening I was the mom that stood in the background and repeatedly asked of all of the other mothers armed with 35 millimeters and Canon One-Shots..., "Hey! Can I get a copy of that?" Most of which you know never really happens because I'm just scatterbrained enough to forget to follow up on that too.

So at different points in the past dozen years or so when life has been happening all around me I've paused.

Just paused.

Watched.
And listened.

To the boys on the team cheer and laugh and debate on what the best pose for the photograph of a winning team might be anyway - who should stand where - should it be silly or 'straight up'. I can hear the giggles of a dozen girls coming up from the basement on a Saturday night and the wail of my son's voice coming from the garage when his knee suffered the repercussions of a really bad bike jump attempt gone wrong. I can pick the memory of the first notes of the Wedding March at my daughter's wedding and remember exactly how that moment felt because I was making one of those mental recordings.

Because of this I don't have beautiful scrapbooks and organized photographs. I'm pretty sure other mothers have more pictures of my children then I do. Someday my kids will look through the beautiful books their friends' mothers made for them, laughing about their years growing up together, and realize I dropped the ball a little. But, I think they already have a clue in the ways I was inept at the job.
But I swear to God I can actually HEAR the things I've made mental audio recordings of. Somewhere in my brain there really is a magical zip drive full of these videos. The truth is sometimes I can smell the wet sand of the rain delay and I can feel the hair of the perfect tight braid the girls mastered in my kitchen. I can perfectly recall the sounds my kids singing along out of tune to a song on the radio on a summer day in the car. I know this is all pretty weird. But it's okay because you know what - maybe I am a genius.

And in the spirit of full disclosure ... I know a video camera would have accomplished the same thing and we have actually owned various models since the second our first baby was born. I...err...uh... usually forgot that too.

Tidings of Comfort and Joy

2011-12-21T06:33:00.000-08:00

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Merry Christmas! Ho! Ho! Ho! And fresh little springs of Mistletoe -

Chocolate goodies for one and all! And multiple trips to the shopping malls

Glass balls fall each day from the tree - We chase down the dog, pleading, “Give that to me!”

A piping hot cup of Hot Buttered Rum – That sits here beside me while this letter gets done.
Carols play on the radio – I look out the window and wonder ‘bout snow.

Is it coming or will it not? It’s okay by me – cuz’I likes it hot.

We go over the river to St. Cloud this week. (Kayla’s a grad. Isn’t that sweet?)

They’ll give her a paper (that cost 40 grand). We’ll all go to watch it and give her a hand.

She’s learned all they taught her (and might study more). But Pharmacy school is more years (like 4!)

She’s been selling drugs at a job that’s part-time. Legit!! At the Wal-Mart (but I read your mind).

Kirstin still studies for nursing someday. And she did alright while Ben was away.

They spent six long months while he was deployed - but he’s back in the states and she’s over-joyed.

And even better he’s flying back home and she won’t have to spend her Christmas alone.

It will make the whole holiday having him here … And together on New Year’s they’ll toast a whole year.

Kyle’s a junior at ole’ Brainerd High. If you saw him now – I swear you would die –

The hockey boys made a sort of a bet … about growing their hair and it’s still growing yet.

They slather the mousse and the spray all about - Its way worse than girls before they go out.

They talk styles and product (I know – I’ve heard!) ...The shears are on standby just waiting the word.

In March Kirk turned 50 he’s showing some wear – mostly memory and hearing. (He’s still got his hair).

In June we were married for twenty five years. Celebrated in style with pizza and beers.

Just like it started way back in college … but oh now we have so much more knowledge.

We flew to Las Vegas with some friends this fall. We walked most the strip - hardly gambled at all.

Saw a few shows and took in the sights – And it’s true those fountains are way cool at night.

Most of our weekends this summer and spring - we spent up at mom’s helping with things.

The boys fished a little and hunted some too – They don’t have to look hard there for something to do.

In September she left us after such a good fight – And Christmas this year just hasn’t seemed right.

So here’s hoping your shopping is almost all done. And you find some time to fit in some fun.

Friend us on Facebook (or just stalk our site). Check out our photos and what people write.

Its okay – There’s no need to feel bad if you do. (Chances are we have done it to you).

So Happy Holiday! May your wishes come true …and only the best things in life come to you!!

May your cheeks all be rosy - your Christmas cards done. (May I recommend the Hot Buttered Rum?)

The Helmbergers

It's a Hard Knock Life

2011-12-16T05:25:00.000-08:00

I probably have the perfect job.
I don't have to crawl out of bed, get dressed, brush my teeth, fight with my hair and report somewhere to punch anything to prove I was there.

Basically I can plan my job around my life and once in a while I walk to the mailbox to retrieve a paycheck - not a large one mind you, but one that gets to be semi-rewarding when I pool a couple together. Also fortunate for me is the gift of a husband that has been willing to get out of bed, brush his teeth and do all of that other stuff so that he can actually leave the driveway and go to a real job.

Although my freelance writing doesn't always pay spades in hard cold cash I'm still rewarded with the opportunity to meet some pretty cool people and have some pretty great experiences. It is an interesting gig this opportunity to write in my den in the dead of winter and on the front porch in the summer. People always ask - How do you know what to write about? Do they tell you what to do?
Sometimes they do. Sometimes I have an idea of my own and once in a while I get a phone call from someone who knows what I do and has a possible idea for a story. More than once a stranger in a store has come over and told me about something interesting and I've done a story on it.
I've written about food, shoes, the flu, high school graduation, camping equipment, walking trails, dogs, cats, grilling, babies, senior citizens, summer, fall winter and spring. I've wrote about thank-you notes and buying new cars. Garage sales and formal dances.
I've done several pieces on my own family and I've interviewed lots and lots of local residents. And now I'm writing a story about writing stories.
Just because I really do like to write I'm willing to do research on home flooring and school lunches.
I've interviewed child entrepreneurs and successful musical artists and couple of summers ago I, a non-swimmer, learned all about the world of sailing and a national race that was happening locally. Last winter I, a non-ice fisher person, drove 90 miles to talk to a well-known ice fishing expert. I have learned a lot sharing other people's expertise. Last fall I spoke with elementary school children diagnosed with Diabetes and was awed by how brave they handled their situations along with daily self-administered insulin injections.
Recently I took an assignment from a magazine in St.Cloud for a cover story about a young female BMX racer that has a great possibility of qualifying for the next Olympics. I interviewed her by phone in Baxter while she was at her home - the Olympic Training Center in Los Angeles. She was packing for a competition in South Africa.
How cool is that?!

Sometimes the world of freelance can be a little frustrating too. Often I get paid six months after I write an article and sometimes stories get killed altogether. After I've done the interview. After I've taken the time to sit down and write the article making sure I've met an editor's deadline. That's the not so fun part. Because even though I've done the work I might not see a dime. But it's something I know can happen.

I also write this blog. The one I don't update nearly enough. But Ive already made myself a promise to do better. That's what New Year's resolutions are for. (I'm also resolving to cook better, clean more thoroughly, exercise more often and a multitude of other things.)
Besides, I have interviews to do, topics to research and articles to write in my jammies.
I am going to be very busy.

I've got to remember...tis now is December

2011-12-02T14:12:00.000-08:00

The tree is up.
Just one.
The one in the basement with the bulbs my kids have made and collected over the years is still sitting untouched at the bottom of the stairs beside the fireplace.
I will get to that one I swear I will.
Christmas is happening in baby steps this year.
I'm slowly getting in the mood.
Maybe it's because we don't have snow friends say. Truthfully, that would be cause for jubilation and celebration not disappointment.
And I'm not even very excited by that.
Grateful.
Just not excited or filled with jubilation and celebration.
Like normal.
Usually by this time I have my cards ordered, written, and stamped. Decorations sit on every shelf and flat surface and I've already played the holiday CDs multiple times in the kitchen CD player.
It will come.
I have two presents bought and wrapped and under the living room tree.
But it's December and there is so much more to do.
It's a start.
This year there will be no Christmas Day trek to my parents for a second celebration.
Their home is closed up until spring arrives.
Nobody is there.
We've locked the doors and the windows. We've turned down the temperature to a safe winter setting.
Already it doesn't feel like 'home' to me. It's nice to go there but it's just a gathering place for weekends for my brothers and I and our families.
It is definitely December.
Already we are a handful of days in.
And I know...I know...I am almost 50. A grown up.
So this is the weekend I will dig through the other totes of decorations and lights.
I will put some more things up.
I know where the CDs are. I might even play them.
All of the songs except one.
The dumb one.
...I'll be home for Christmas.

Las Vegas Baby!

2011-11-03T09:28:00.000-07:00

We came. We saw and darn it we gambled about a perfectly good $100 away. (Obviously we didn't spring for airline tickets to Las Vegas for the high rolling.) We went there for relaxing and good entertainment, laughs, and to spend some time with our good buddies and enjoy sunshine and 70 degree temperatures for one last time this year.

It's pretty well known among my friends that I'm not an enthusiastic flier. I'm getting better at it the more I do it but I still like to ensure a relaxing time on the plane by having a toddy before I get on.

Even though no one else felt it necessary to join me my entourage supported this weakness and helped me find a cold beer at 7 a.m. before the flight out (for the record there was another lady sitting down the bar from me with a 7 a.m. glass of wine - I hear ya sister - Salute!) and a Bloody Mary at 10 a.m. before the return flight so both went incredibly well. Which is good because, for some reason, it didn't occur to me that we'd be looking at mountains, lots and lots of mountains, underneath us a great deal of the way. (I've seen those movies - I knew airplane pretzels and beef jerkey from my carry on backpack wouldn't keep us alive for double digit days if we went down in the Rockies.)

While we were in Vegas since we didn't gamble a whole lot we decided to do other things with our cash like treat ourselves to a once in a lifetime, wallet busting, authentic French meal. The waiters pulled out our chairs, put my jacket over my backrest for me and then waited for us to be seated and gallantly opened and placed our napkins in our laps.

It was pretty un-Pizza Ranch-like ya'all. I was kinda glad my kids weren't with. We were at a Bed and Breakfast out East one time and they thought having a mint leaf in our water was so exotic it made them giggle. Although we were surrounded by professional artwork by Picasso the room was so dark the waiter brought a small flashlight over for the table next to us to order wine by. Michelle and I would have liked wine with our fancy schmancy meal but when the menu came in the way of a catalogue with no prices and offered mostly by the whole bottle we figured we might be out of our Barefoot Moscata comfort zone.

Before we ordered we were allowed to sample a 'gift from the chef,' which came in the way of a small, lightly breaded morsel on our plates. "Tator tot?" I quizzed my fellow diners. For over a hundred bucks a person they thought likely not. My husband picked at his and declared it flaky. He took a bite and said, "Hmmm I think it's fish."

"Aahhh," I said, nodding, "Fish stick." Although it was doubtfully perch, crappie or bullhead.

As for the fanciest and my most expensive dinner ever - My friend Michelle and I gave a thumbs up to the dessert and entree (young fallow deer...sorry little buddy...but you were tender and delicious), but thumbs down, enthusiastically, to the Pate' course (translation: goose liver). I know it was chef Julianne's specialty dish but a savory cheeseball with a Triscuit would have been just fine, really. Squash soup though? That was surprisingly enjoyable especially for someone who doesn't even like squash. The next night we were back to steak and garlic mashed potatoes - THAT I understand.

While we were in Las Vegas we saw shows that delighted and entertained.

We saw this one

A Cirque Du Soleil that was mesmerizing to watch and had fun ushers too.

Although it was hard to get the song, "All You Need is Love" out of my head the rest of the night.

And we also saw this one: A comedian Kirk loves that brought his A Game that night. My side hurt.

No fun ushers but our table was three back from the stage.

I'm pretty sure he was talking directly to us the whole time.

We toured the strip a little everyday. The buildings and architecture are fabulous and because it was Halloween we were treated to all kinds of other sights as well.

Michelle and I even stumbled upon a real live Betsy Johnson fashion show in progress with a catwalk and models. We're pretty uptown sometimes.

And Bob and Kirk?

Well, interestingly enough, they stumbled upon an Oompaloompah while we were in the Sugar Factory buying rope licorice. Here's something you don't see everyday in Brainerd - but I'm guessing you probably do in Las Vegas.

Still, I couldn't love this picture more.

It was a great three days. We walked until we were limp, ate until we gained weight and gambled just long enough to come home with money still in our pocket.

Okay winter.... bring it!

It's coming... It's coming and I can't even stop it

2011-10-13T20:06:00.000-07:00

It was painful to turn the calendar to October. November will hurt even more.
I suspect I'm one of those people that falls into the deepest of funks when the winter months arrive. I hate the snow. I hate the cold and more than that I loathe the feeling of being a prisoner in my home.
Oh, sure my son's hockey games and the 'parent meetings' before the puck drops help a little - but one can't really do that every...single....day. (Or shouldn't at least - since it's code for 'have a beer before the game').
I knew I should've learned to ski. I should have embraced snowmobiling at high speeds in below zero temperatures, or at the very least I wish I would have learned to enjoy the feeling of frozen snot on my scarf.
But no sir, not me. None of that happened. My distaste for all of it only settled deeper in my heart at each arrival while I fantasized of becoming a snowbird in my senior years.
But then, my snowbird years are probably still down the road a good chunk and October is already almost half way gone.
But on a bright note I did realized today that I do, however, enjoy winter as a spectator.
I like to watch other people ski. (Ideally with a novel in my lap and a cup of something hot in my hand). I also often jump up to look out of the window and watch as a madcap snowmobiler flies past the driveway at an unsafe speed.
And the pictures we take in the winter - those are admittedly breathtaking. Just beautiful.
There's no denying it. Winter. Is. Pretty. It's mere weeks away.
And that feeling of frozen snot...haven't really found an upside to that yet.

A bogged down blog

2011-09-25T20:26:00.000-07:00

Blogging is hard.
My blogs, for awhile, have been far and few between.
Not because I don't have fantastic ideas about what to blog about because I do. I really do.
But this summer while my mom was sick my heart just wasn't in it.
The options were to blog about dark things and depress everyone else or just stay idle for a little while which is what I did.

But.... I think I'm ready to get back to the life of writing and writing well (or, you know, standard, like I did before). So the plan is to update my blog a little more timely once again. At least weekly and we'll see what kind of excitement pops up that might require a more frequent random post.
It's good to be back.

Modern fashion meets inappropriate exposure

2011-06-14T10:00:00.000-07:00

I owe an apology to another mother somewhere out there
It's not my fault. I can honestly say that.
My daughters try to dress me.
I know I'm too old to do it.
I know I'm too lazy to do it.
But sometimes I do.
In the name of fashion I occasionally don the trendy low rise jeans. The only real annoying thing about them is that they do require hiking up pretty often.
They are actually pretty comfortable though although they don't give me support in the exact place I need it (ahem - a little higher above the waistline of the low rise.)
But other than that - designers I salute you! Nice going.
Oh - except for the fact that the low rise has a tendency to become v-e-r-y low rise.
For instance, say, if you're bending over in the aisle of the local retailer on the bottom shelf for a jug of laundry soap and you feel a cool breeze below your back but above your thighs and there is a possible-nay-probable chance that a boy, say about 10-years old, may have been schooled in what the butt crack of a middle-aged woman might look like.
If that was your son - I'm sorry.
I'd like to say it won't happen again but other 10-year olds consider yourself warned. They were capris and it's summer. They'll be appropriate for another four months.

We might still have a little work to do

2011-04-05T12:39:00.000-07:00

If you never use the stove you never have to clean it

2011-03-22T08:46:00.000-07:00

Martha, Rachel, Paula and Giada... I’m not worthy and I don’t pretend to be.

I’m not a cook.
I preheat, reheat and nuke almost everything.
From scratch? I create nothing. Trust me. It's better this way.

It’s not my mom’s fault. She cooked every single day.The closest McDonald's was not only 15 miles away but her cooking was better than anything they would have passed out of a window in a bag at the golden arches. We were the recipients of home cooked meals whether we liked them or not (and some I didn't - Spanish Rice, potato pancakes). I can count on my hands the number or times we went out to eat while I was growing up and I'm aware that it’s a little humiliating my kids' daily language includes the phrases Footlong, Whopper and Big Mac and they're not talking about a day on the lake fishing.
You want to know what killed cooking for me? Thanksgiving, Christmas and other assorted family gatherings. All of the high-pressure-in-the-kitchen events that mean eight hours worth of cooking followed by 20 minutes of eating and three hours of clean up.
Well, that and the nightly exchange while my kids were growing up of:

Kid 1, “What’s for dinner?”

Me, “_____________,” (anything other than pizza)

Kid 1, “Ick.

Kid 2, “Gross.”

Kid 3, ”I’m not hungry.”

Hubby , “I had that for lunch.”

The good news is just because I don’t particularly like to cook doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy purchasing things to do it with. I definitely like to look like I like to cook – because so many of my friends actually do. If there’s a Pampered Chef party within 50 miles I’ll be there. The kitchen supply area of my local retailers? Love it… almost as much as jewelry department.

I like pots and pans and cookie sheets; baking stones, cool looking cutlery and anything else you can stir, whip and blend with. I am also a fan of gadgets that need an outlet to operate. I like my electric knife, my electric can opener, and my waffle maker. I do have illusions of grandeur and fantasize about setting a table with a spread
made for a king. And should I ever be in the mood to do so I like to have all of the necessary equipment to accomplish that.

Thanks to my many novelty cooking accessories I can core an apple in two seconds, create a beautiful colored sugar display on the top of a cake and press a cookie into more than a dozen decorative shapes. I have a tool to make rosettes and one to bake bread in the shape of a flower. I can make homemade beef jerky, chop coffee beans and create a vat of homemade salsa in 12 minutes flat.
And someday I just might feel like doing some of that.

I actually give the illusion that a real cook might live in my home. I have a steamer and a counter top grill and a food processor. In my kitchen hangs a sign that says Bon appetite. Enjoy your meal! HAH!
But I'm an imposter in a lot of areas. I also own a lot of wine glasses but I’m more of a beer drinker.

My grandmothers used to be able to whip out hot main dishes, salads and desserts for three dozen people without even breaking a sweat. A Sunday afternoon found hot food for dozens without so much as a trip to the gas station for sour cream. It boggles the mind.

A few years ago I joined a dinner group with some friends. I thought I might pick up some tips and possibly form a real interest in creating fine cuisine. Plus, my husband was impressed and it sounded pretty cool to say, "Oh, I can't. I have dinner group tonight.".
I think I pulled off a pretty good acting job and I managed to stay under the group’s radar for quite a while. No one threatened to out me if I didn’t start pulling my own weight and initially they were kind enough to put the new girl on wine and bread detail. I tried to offer witty dinner conversation to make up for my lack of edible contributions and the first few months they praised my bread and wine selections and it was enough. After a while though I was asked to prepare real dishes. I crammed with the Food Network. I watched the ladies and gents who haphazardly tossed ingredients into cookware with nary a care. Then it occurred to me why these people liked cooking. A) Awesome kitchens, every one. Magnificent refrigerators and ovens and stoves with not one item still cooked on them from the last use because B) They never clean up. I think I could be in the mood to cook fabulous multi-coursed dinners every night too if a crew came behind me and mopped, wiped and scoured everything I touched. Also how cool if my ingredients were already miraculously pre-measured in cute little bowls and an example of my creation already made and ready in the oven!
Some of my dinner group assignments had ingredients I’ve never even heard of and required visits to markets I’d never been to. How did I know File Powder wasn’t pronounced the way it’s spelled? (Feel-ay?? Really? Sorry. Kraft doesn't make that.) My desserts that were supposed to raise didn’t and the things that were supposed to melt in your mouth stayed firm and required being spit into a napkin. They never really asked me to leave but I started to get the feeling that witty dinner conversation might not be enough.

At least I try to please. The first month I was married I made pork chops and vegetables for the hubby. I remembered he didn’t like cooked carrots and when I realized the only frozen vegetables we had were mixed I picked out every … single… carrot. Love or ludicrous?
I do think it's important for everyone to have a specialty - even the inept. A go-to recipe to be prepared in a pinch. I make a fair tasting goulash. That is mine. And the other litte secret weapon in my back pocket? Cheese. There’s a gourmet dish at my house we call chips and cheese. And almost everybody loves cheese and crackers. And a cheese ball? Yes! You can slice cheese, melt cheese, and cut it into squares. Sigh. The perfect food.
The good news is I suspect that I’m not the only lazy cook in America. Convenience foods are becoming even more….well, convenient …and there are happily more shortcuts out there than ever. You can buy garlic already diced. Dinner salads in bags already made and frozen vegetables all cut up and in the bags for steaming. I’m surprised I didn’t invent them.
Luckily for me my husband does like to cook and so all of those nifty things that I’ve purchased to look like I know what I’m doing actually do get used. He makes homemade soups. He smokes and grills delectable meats and he sautés and marinates them ahead of time. I’m a lucky, lucky girl. And so we both use our strengths … I set the table in an eye-pleasing manner, open something cold from the basement fridge with a really cool bottle opener, set out some napkins and he does the cooking.
Now, where do I find one of those clean-up crews?

I think that about sums it up

2011-02-11T15:19:00.000-08:00

Hear me roar

2011-02-09T11:00:00.000-08:00

I'm currently on day six of having no voice, hacking like a goose and living on the sofa under my electric blanket. (BEST invention ever...after the heated car seat.)
Not sure if I should just chalk it up to cold and flu season or if I've just been gifted my own special form of bug that was designed to cut me off at the knees and hit me where it hurts the most - my voice.
Anything but the voice. I would bargain away a couple of fingers to only have my voice back (I know...careful what I wish for. But I'm not wishing for it - just saying it would be easier to work around.)
Speaking of -
It's not quite the situation for someone to be in that does a great deal of business on the telephone. Whether it's scheduling interviews, doing interviews or just trying to communicate with my daughters away at college or my daily phone call to my mother it's been a pain in the neck to not be able to speak.

Kirk...well he's doing just fine with my not speaking. In fact - Happy early Valentines Day to him.

Say Yes

2011-01-13T17:58:00.000-08:00

The veil changed everything.

We weren't even wedding dress shopping.

We were looking for bridesmaid dresses, deciding on a color - hence a color theme, and maybe, just maybe, if there was time, thumbing through the wedding dresses for another day and a return trip.

And...well...just like always, one thing lead to another and we were so efficient on finding both the bridesmaid dress and a color they both loved that the next thing you know both of my daughters, the older and maid-of-honor, and the younger, bride-to-be, and myself were tromping around the bridal shop with our arms loaded with gowns which, by the way, when multiplied by five or six in an armload equal about two to three hundred pounds of satin and tulle.

She tried on gowns that were lacy, gowns that were slim fitting, some gowns that were ivory, and lots that were white. Gowns that had beading, some that had embroidery, with straps and strapless, with and without trains. Some looked better on the hangers and some that we didn't like that much on the sales floor actually looked ten times better and wonderful when she put them on. We ooohed and ahhhed over lots of them. Some felt so soft and exquisite. Others felt stiff and uncomfortable but apparently these weren't the reactions she was waiting for.

"This is supposed to be like Say Yes to the Dress!!" she finally exclaimed after about a dozen gowns had been put on and then removed. She stared at us. "Nobody has cried at all yet. What are you people looking for?!!"

Daughter number one and I looked at one another, "I dunno," said my fellow audience member shrugging.

I shook my head. "I love lots of them. You look beautiful in all of them. I just haven't seen one that made me explode into tears yet."

She sighed taking another gown off of a hanger.

After an hour and a half or so we narrowed it down to five that we wanted her to try on a second time so we could give them another look. From there we whittled the possible candidates to three.

She was pretty in each one, any could have been her gown - but still I didn't choke up with the much anticipated tears. Even I started to wonder about my lack of emotion.

What kind of mother was I??!!

I cry at cell phone commercials, Kleenex tissue ads and anything with babies. Why wasn't I ready to run out into the street sobbing at the sight of my baby in a wedding gown? The price tags alone should have at least been cause for a little blubbering. But nada. Nothing.

She stood before us in a dress that we were pretty sure was going to be the one. It had everything she loved. It had a long train, a little gathering on the side, lots of crystal beading on the bodice and it was puffy at the bottom - it was everything she ever loved about the gowns Cinderella and Belle from Beauty and the Beast had worn. All the things that made her sigh as a child, and walk up and touch the television screen fantasizing about what it would be like to be a princess and own a gown just like the one she was wearing right now. In this bridal shop. In Little Falls.

We knew it would be the one she would pick. And it was the one she should pick.
It was perfect.
"I think this is the one," she announced a little hesitant chewing on her bottom lip. Then she walked over to study our faces. I tried to squint so she might think I was starting to tear up. But she sighed and turned away. "That show is stupid," she mumbled. "This isn't anything like that."

"Do you want to try a couple of veils to see if there is anything you like?" asked the helpful attendant from the shop seeing someone should break the silence.
I said yes, that would be a good idea, besides we were accomplishing so much else. She came back with a couple of different styles and handed them to me.
I took one from the assortment and walked over to my daughter, in her perfect wedding dress, and put it in her hair. I draped it carefully along her sides and stood back to see how it looked.
And it happened.
The "Say Yes to the Dress" moment we'd both been waiting for.
I couldn't have said anything if I'd have wanted to. She smiled at me sweetly and then triumphantly.
I looked over at daughter number one - whose eyes were misting up as well.
She looked at me and nodded, "It's her dress," she said whispering.
And we all said Yes.
To the Dress.
The dress she was married in two weeks ago.

Kirstin and Ben

The little brother

The sister

Merry Christmas

2010-12-15T21:38:00.000-08:00

MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM THE HELMBERGERS!!

Ye ole' Christmas Tree and Bella.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!!

Glad tidings to you and much holiday cheer.

Before we get started I have to forewarn -

Kyle's a real driver -- Keep yo' hands on yo' horns.

Not only that he shot his first deer -

Just in time for this letter of holiday cheer.

It wasn't real big...Oh, but it was a buck.

Hockey starts this week so he's moved on to pucks.

Our year was a full one with things good and bad.

And some heartbreak too - In March we lost my dad.

"Cancer," they said when the tests all came in.

We've spent most of this year - all missing him.

Kayla announced that this time next year -

She'll graduate college (And, man, we'll ALL cheer).

She just bought new wheels. A car sleek and new.

With a few bells and whistles and car payments too.

Kirstin is still taking classes and such -

But her life will soon change -ever so much.

We're all planning and primping and doing things now

For New Years when she and Ben say their vows.

We've added a puppy to our house, too, this fall.

His name is Miller - and he comes when we call.

Not after the beer!! Jeeze...Holy Moly!

Kyle named him (sigh) after a goalie.

Merry Christmas! Here's wishing you all of the best!

And a year that is nothing, nothing but blessed.

Cheeee Cah Go!

2010-11-05T13:31:00.000-07:00

A Shopping We Will Go.... Ah, Went

Went to Chicago with friends for a while

we shopped up and down the Magnificent Mile -

We scooped up cute jeans and all kinds of shirts

And the four of us walked until all our feet hurt.

One friend who lives there took us to the sights -

We took them all in and slept good at night.

We strolled like the locals to all the cool shops

and walked and then walked and rarely did stop.

Except to refuel with some food and some drink.

And a little pause sometimes so we could all think.

For my daughter's wedding - I needed a dress

and said, "This is the place I could find one I guess."

I tried on a few said, "Oh pew," and, "No thanks."

Then we went to the Wine Bar at Macy's and drank.

"It's $5 Friday!" the waitress declared.

So we decided to spend a little time there.

Suddenly it seemed like my task was quite small -

I went back to the fourth floor and tried on them all.

Some seemed too young for an oldie like me

Some seemed too short - I should not show these knees.

It'll be dead winter when they say their vows.

So I had to think temperatures colder than now.

"Bring me more dresses," I ordered, "Please?"

"Is there anything lined with a small touch of fleece?"

And finally a skirt and a top looked just fine

Of course we admitted - it could be the wine.

But I came away with an outfit to wear ...

I think I will dazzle when I show it off there.

That store was insane it had nine floors to take in!!!

(That's why we went once - and then went back again.)

And not just to pants, dresses and shoes -

But decided to revisit the Wine Bar again too.

At the Hancock Tower we looked at the view

Carrying packages of all of our things that were new.

We walked up and down and all through Navy Pier.

And picked up a couple of great souveniers.

There's a huge Ferris Wheel to ride while you're there

Two of us climed it without even a care.

It was kind of high up we decided too late.

But the view of the city was ever so great.

Seven short minutes and we'd made the trip 'round.

And they safely deposited us back on the ground.

I think I'll declare our trip a success.

We got pretty good bargains. And me? Ah, that dress.

These friends were delightful for four days of fun.

I hope I can speak for most everyone.

To go in October it could have been cold

At least from the stories that we'd been told.

But the weather, I swear, was 60 and more.

So we were warm - even outside of the stores.

Chicago in the fall was a trip to remember

My dress I'll show off near the end of December.

The food was delish and our feet have recovered -

Go again?!!!!

Ah, Why yes! I think I'll have another.

(And that goes for the wine bar too.)

The drag of downsizing

2010-10-18T20:31:00.000-07:00

Dude, this car is like, supercool, but I bet you're rethinking that minivan, huh?

THIS SUCKS and this blows (but both in a really good way)

2010-09-22T19:59:00.000-07:00

I admit that I waste a fair amount of money on crap.

I see some new kitchy novelty thing and before I can come to my senses it grabs my money out of my wallet, jumps in my bags and shows up at my house when I'm unpacking my wares.
The hands-free, battery operated can opener that drives itself around the rim of the can? Got it.
The Magic Bullet? Mine. All mine.
The upside-down tomato planter...sigh, two.
The George Foreman Grill? Check.
The VHS three-pack Tae Bo workout? I curse you Billy Banks! My abs are no better than before I popped for the $30.

In my defense...no matter how many commercials they crammed down my throat over the holidays last year - I have yet to purchase a Snuggie or a Shoedini. Apparently I still have some self control.

But today ... today I am here to applaud a couple of new gimmicks that I saw, I bought, and am here to proclaim are sheer genius.

First of all let's talk odor (and things that blow).

The little area that houses our kitty litter is an assault on every nasal cavity that enters the door going from our garage to our house. I keep it clean, too, in a nazi-crazed-obsessed kind of way but with a couple of cats doing their jobs it's a pretty big task and occasionally the box emits an odor that tends to linger. The Air Wick Freshmatic air freshener helps my cause.

It's a little can of air freshener that sits in a case and squirts itself (meaning I don't even have to run out there and try to head off company by five minutes to 'freshen up' the entryway. It's being done continuously - I told you, genius).

It runs off a little timer you can set to spray every 9, 18 or 36 minutes. I hit things a little heavy with the 9 minute interval but like I said it can get a little stinky.

Drawbacks to the device? Refills are a little pricey but I'm a coupon girl for the right items and I have found some that save a buck and a half.
Also - this is also the same area my washer and dryer are in and since the air freshener goes off randomly according to the timer I'll be honest here and admit that on occasion I've been sprayed in the chest, the elbow, and once, the right lens of my glasses. Just a little something to keep in mind.

The other item I love? (And things that suck)
The Space Bag Vacuum Seal Bags.

I have this lovely blue tote that I've kept in my closet for about a decade. I use it to change out my seasonal clothes. In the summer it houses my fleece jeans, fleece vests and pull over... well...fleece sweatshirts. (Hockey Mom).

In the winter the tote keeps my tank tops shorts and capris nicely tucked away. But it's a big darned thing and as a self proclaimed pack rat (nay, not hoarder) I hold over way more clothes than I need to but that's for another post.

Anyway - The space bags caught my eye. And I bought a couple. I brought them home and I proceeded to use one for my summer clothes.

OH.
MY.
GOSH.
Some things really happen just like the commercial!! When I had every stitch of air sucked out of the plastic the pile had wilted before my very eyes. What once fit in that huge, blue, closet-hogging tote now slides under my bed. I started to cry.
I fell so in love with the bags that I bought more! And then, a couple more. And I proceeded to tour my home looking for things to vacuum pack.
My spare bedding takes up nary a foot of closet space now.

Just doing it is fun. Pack 'em full. Suck out the air. Lock. Repeat.
I have actually laid in bed a couple of nights thinking about things I could vacuum pack. Which might mean I've taken it a little too far.
If I'd have known about those bags back when we were moving hither and yon every couple of years I would have had our entire load that took a semi condensed to a red wagon.
The box says they're waterproof and reusable which makes them perfect. Hopefully I'll never have to test the waterproof part but the fact that I can use them again, I think, makes the cost and owning them justifiable. Although Kirk did make himself chuckle the night I showed him my teeny, tiny, summer wardrobe.
I know he was secretly mildly impressed but as he stared at the newly compact pile (in awe perhaps) he said, "I hope the cat puts a hole in that and it fills up with air and you can't get it out from under the bed." Nice.

As seen on TV - some of the items are laughable.
Some I'm not sure how I ever lived without.

Before I go...and because some of you have been asking...This is Miller.

He's been ours for almost a week. He's a fast learner, too, cuz' in that time he's learned to fetch, come and sit.
We've already got things down to a routine, too.
He pees and poops and I clean it up.
Wait...a...second...I'm thinking vacuum pack?

It's MILLER Time....

2010-09-16T12:28:00.000-07:00

Good news... We're expecting!!
Take a deep breath. There's more to the story.
Obviously most of you know that my eggs nearly qualify for AARP and any swimming going on isn't being done with any kind of distance or strength at all so you can deduct that we're NOT having a baby - at least of the human kind. Plus, I'd kinda be in a little trouble since Kirk had that special man surgery a bout a dozen years ago.

Just when things have slowed down at the corner of We're Almost There Boulevard and Easy Street we have decided to shake them up. The girls are in college, Kyle's made the big move to the high school and we're within three years of the finish line (i.e. empty nest) and now we've decided we're due for something exciting to happen (other than planning that wedding in December of course).

I suggested the adoption of an infant, just one more chance to do everything right since we kinds, sorta, might have messed up the other three kids we'd had - but hubba bubba didn't even let me get to the part about how cute all the new baby stuff is since our kids were little and how I still have some great baby names I never got to use before he shut that light bulb off with a quick flick of the switch.
He did...however...announce that he'd been batting around an idea of his own.
With three kids in youth hockey all those years and the number of winter nights we spent at home in our own beds in the single digits, the time had never been quite right to do it before.
He thought that now the timing was perfect and that...even though it wasn't quite the same as another baby we'd still get to hear the pitter patter of little feet, get to potty train it, teach it to speak and sit up all night with it.

It was, he declared, the perfect time to acquire a puppy.

"But wait!" I said, "What about all these cats???!!!" My husband has long held the opinion that as the kids leave I replace them with kittens and there is actually some truth to that. I haven't yet spoken to a counselor but there does seem to be some correlation. Besides, cat No. 1 is 16 years old and I thought it was getting close to the end so it seemed like a good idea to replace one old cat with the antics of two kittens. But that was two years ago and still today, the old cat lives on. How was I to know?

But back to the pup. It's a springer spaniel and the kennel owners declare it already has 'great hunting instinct'.  Which is a big plus. My boys wanted a hunting dog. They also said it has 'high energy' and 'a real curious nature'. Translation: hyper, crazy, barking lunatic???
We'll see.
We've met him briefly, making the three hour round trip expedition to take a little more of a look see than the photo on the Internet could offer. We had our choice of two. The other cried and whimpered our entire visit and this little guy came over to us, nuzzled us in the neck one at a time and licked our cheeks all the while pleading with his eyes, "I'm cute, right? Take me home. I promise you will love me."

Kyle has already named him Miller. Interestingly enough NOT after the beer - which is what most of our friends will think - but after the hockey goalie Ryan Miller.

The black and white pup to be named Miller-but-not-after-the-beer, will be ours on Saturday. Tonight after church the boys and I scooped up some needed supplies for his much anticipated arrival. Instead of teething rings, bibs and pacifiers I took collars, leashes, chew toys and kibbles to the check-out ... as well as DVDs of both Old Yeller and Where the Red Fern Grows. (Sometimes I can't help myself!!)

The girls say we are mean. That we deprived them of the love of a dog their entire lives and now, now, we decide to get one.  The cruelty. We assured them they will have liberal visitation and have been designated official dog-sitters.

This is actually not our first dog. Back in BC (before children) we had another dog. She was a light brown lab and possibly six or seven other things and we called her Libby after a town in Minnesota where we stopped to let her go potty the day we got her. Each night when my hubby came home from work she was so excited to see him that she immediately peed at the front door. Every. Single. Night.

Our fondest Libby memory of all is the time my husband rushed me to the emergency room, eight months pregnant, in the middle of the night. We had woke up lying in a large wet spot on the bed. We sped to the ER declaring my water had broke and birth was surely eminent only to find out the wet spot in our bed wasn't amniotic fluid at all - but dog urine.
Libby the pee-er was hit by a car near my parent's cabin one weekend and it has taken 21 years to think of giving dog ownership another shot.

But I think we're ready. The question is...Is Miller-not-after-the-beer ready for us?
I'll keep you posted.

Okay... but guess my weight??? Who thought of that???!!!!!!

2010-08-23T18:42:00.000-07:00

The end of summer brings such a sense of loss that it's only fitting there is a monumental, landmark event to console us through the pain.
An event so noteworthy, exhilarating, and dare-I-say, even educational, that some of us look forward to it with the greatest anticipation the entire month of August.
And. Now. It's here.
It's state fair time in the Gopher State.

I lived the entire first half of my life having never gone to the state fair. Sure, up on the Iron Range we had the St. Louis Country fair in Hibbing when I was growing up and that was a pretty big deal in its own right but I don't know how I ever lived for twenty-ahem-some years without knowing the pleasure of a free yardstick, multiple glasses of all-the-milk-you-can drink or the knowledge of the shortcut that takes you from there to the Sweet Martha's Cookie stand to get the perfect accompaniment.
For the first five years after I got married we lived in the cities and my husband, who was well aware of the magic of the fair having gone while he was growing up, took me once, twice, and sometimes even more in one season.
The first few times we went as a two-some, walking hand-in-hand listening to the vendors in the grandstand and perusing the offerings of the bazaar. Sometimes we even took in a concert by a national headliner. Later I hobbled, pregnant belly protruding into the crowd, searching every half mile or so for a suitable empty seat and the perfect food to fill an odd craving.
Later we pushed strollers and held on to toddlers learning to incorporate a break for naps and ice cream into our visits. Only once did we misplace a child and only for a few moments next to the water ride.

One of my favorite state fair memories is the year our middle daughter, desperately desiring one of the big teddy bears from the midway tried and tried and tried until all of her change was gone to win one. On the verge of sobbing - and a pending meltdown she pitched a diddly of a toss, the ring spun around the bottle and a big blue 6' tall bear belonged to her.
Then she discovered how impossible it is to lug a big teddy bear through the crowd at the fair and how hard it is to get someone else in your family to do it, too.

We've made great purchases at the fair. Miracle cleaning cloths that can be reused forever and ever and ever, personalized Christmas ornaments and bird houses.Wedding gifts and birthday presents have been bought during trips to the fair. And every year, even though we swear we won't stop, we still end up standing somewhere along the walkway oohing and aahing at a new item, sucked into the pitch while a demonstrator explains why their product is the must-have item of the year. Then there's the learnin' part. You can't visit all those booths about animals, vegetables, and natural resources without picking up at least one thing that makes ya just a little smarter.

We eat gyros for our biggest meal of the day and I always get my wedding ring, (original cost $269 with my college roommate's employee discount) cleaned with pocket change. When they're finished it looks good as new. And since my husband always patiently waits with me on the sweltering hot second floor of the grand stand for my ring to shine and for me to walk through slow moving lines to gather free tote bags and yard sticks I return the favor by going to the animal barns and machinery hill with him.

During the years we moved away from Minnesota for a couple of fair runs but whenever possible we still managed the trip back during the fair. Sometimes with our kids, sometimes with friends, occasionally alone.
This year when the commercials began and the news channels talked about beginning their live broadcasts from their assorted booths I marveled at how in a couple of years it will be only the two of us visiting the fair once again..........although ...apparently not for awhile.

Because while we can barely get our cool kids who are all in college and high school now to go to a movie with us for fear a friend might see they have parents or walk beside them through the aisles of a grocery store - when we talked about making a trip to the Minnesota State Fair the other night at dinner every one of the three kids we've introduced to the big pig, the caramel apple sundae and the DNR booth yelled, "I'm coming!"

BOOBS or BANGS?

2010-08-02T22:23:00.000-07:00

In the age of the fanciest of gizmo and gadgets and electronic calendars in all shapes and sizes I still choose to shun them all. I rely on an archaic system that involves a handy dandy paper and pencil black book planner with a month-at-a-glance, a pencil with an eraser, and a paper clip to mark the date.
It's how I roll.
It's what I understand.
It's a system I am a slave to.
I am nothing without the black book planner.

A rebel against modern day conveniences I tuck the planner under my arm, tote it around hither and yon and refer to it daily to see where I should be and when. When I'm setting up an appointment or in a meeting and everyone else grabs their phones and other hand held devices I dig out the black book - which, incidentally, is only a bit smaller than the Qwest Dex phone book.

With such a steel proof method to keep my important notes, appointments and reminders it's a wonder I managed to double-book two
very important
appointments on the same day last weel.
One being my mammogram and the other being, well, another pressing, hard-to-get appointment with, ah, my hair stylist.

When I realized my predicament I deeply pondered the dilemma, "Well this isn't going to work," I thought and called the hospital and cancelled my mammogram.

For roughly 23 seconds.

I wondered as soon as I'd hung up how it could be that highlights in my hair would weigh the more important of the two options. A look in the mirror confirmed the dire need for the hair appointment and I already knew how long it could be before the stylist could squeeze me in again, but the real quandary is -
What does that say about me?!

Well, first of all it says
a) I realize how hard it is to get an appointment with a good stylist.
b) I'm pretty much anxious to look for a-n-y excuse to not show up for an appointment that consists of prodding, poking, probing or pinching any of my female areas and that probably isn't that unusual,
but it also says
c) I am now a shallow, simple person who would choose to replace my sickly, dark roots with beautiful, bright blond ones instead of showing up for a screening that could save my life.

So... in the end I realized I had momentarily lost my mind and my better sense prevailed. I called the hospital right back.

"Hi, I just called a minute ago to cancel my 8:30 on Monday for my mammogram and I'd like to reschedule it please."
"The same appointment?"
"Yes. For 8:30 a.m. on Monday."
"The exact same appointment?"
"Ah, yes."
"At 8:30 a.m. on Monday - just like you had?"
"Yes. Is it gone already?"
"No. Just checking. You want to reschedule the same exact appointment for the same exact time you just cancelled for?"
"YES. (sigh) I thought I had a conflict (dark roots) but I don't so I'd like to just come in for the mammogram (not really but my guilt is weighing heavy)."
"Okay, I've got you down. Thanks for calling (you unorganized goof that probably has a hair appointment conflict that you double booked by using a planner made out of paper instead of using an electronic device that would have saved us all this hassle) Have a good day."

The good news is...I did the right thing and showed up for the mammogram and received the letter yesterday that the test was fine.

And more good news...the hair appointment I rescheduled is in two days.
Dark roots be damned - it may be shallow your days ARE numbered.

Me Want Cannnnnnnnnnnddddddddddyyyyyyyyyy

2010-07-05T19:34:00.000-07:00

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMERICA!

We do the same thing every 4th of July.

And I'm not complaining. We've created a pretty decent tradition with some of our better friends of spending the afternoon and evening together taking in all the 4th of July finery our city, which likes to boast that it's 'the 4th of July Capital of Minnesota 'has to offer.

Before we get to the good stuff on the 4th of July however - meaning the parades and the tailgating and hanging with our buds while we bide our time until the fireworks - there is much work to be done. Celebrating 4th of July with us is not for the lazy.

We have to shop for the food, clean out the coolers. Pack spatulas, plastic silverware, napkins and paper plates. Prepare a smaller cooler for parade beverages and a larger one for the tailgate meal. Cut up some fruit, cut up some onions, wipe down the table we'll take and make sure there is propane for the portable gas grill. I also pack sweatshirts and long pants for sunset - for not only myself but for everyone in my family who swears they won't need them but then asks if I've brought some for them about 8 o'clock, after the temperature has dropped about 20 degrees.

As the parade hour approaches we need to load all of our totes, coolers and grills into the truck. When we arrive at our pre-appointed tailgate location it's time to set up the lawn chairs, visit a little, and collect a few free mini flags from the local Ford dealer.

And then....and then.... it's Cannnndddddddddeeeeeyyyy time!
I likes my sugary treats.
You can have your cake and cupcakes and gooey chocolate bars. My guilty pleasure is delicious, delicious candy.

I am a dentist's dream.

Now that my children are older I don't even have to feel guilty for not donating my take to their collection.

It's every parade goer for himself.

And this year it was a banner 'free candy' event.
Tootsie rolls and caramel suckers. Blow pops and Icees. Hot Atomic Balls and Sour War Heads that exploded splendidly in my mouth.
Sure, I also had to smile and graciously collect several dozen political stickers during the course of the afternoon but it was well worth it for the sugar-high inducing haul I made... which I promptly devoured sitting in my lawn chair parade side.
Now that I think about it I may have been a bit of a spectacle. What with my girlfriends yelling, "Throw some to her!" "Over here - she wants some," and all.
But it's okay.
It's another 12 months before the next 4th of July comes around.

Until then I'll try to be more responsible about my candy consumption.

As soon as the mega bag of lemon drops from Fleet Farm in the glove compartment of my car is gone. And ... it's only three months until the next big candy holiday comes around ... Halloween.

Decisions...Decisions

2010-05-26T06:33:00.000-07:00

Choices! Choices! It's just no fair - Deciding anything is my worst nightmare.

Even today I labored about – what to wear before I went out.
Shorts cuz it’s sunny? Jeans cuz I like em? A pair of capris? If I’m hot I can ‘hike em.’
A tank top? A t-shirt? A layer on top? A sweater in case the temperature drops?

If I go out to dine I never pick first – what I’ll eat to fill up on or quench my thirst.
"What are you getting?" I’ll ask everyone - and then make my selections when theirs are all done.
I have to know what they’re going to eat -- Or when they get theirs I might wish it for me.
If I get a burger with fixins and such and their stuff looks better- I won’t like mine as much.
If I order pizza I won’t like my take - when their waitress brings them hashbrowns and steak.

If we go to a movie I never can pick - Between action, or romance or comedy schtick.
What if I choose & we don’t like what we see? It’s too much responsibility.
When buying flowers with hubby this week - he said, “Well, do you like anything that you see?”
Geraniums, Marigolds, Petunias and such – "Yes, yes, I like all of them... much!”
He leaned on one leg and shifted his side – and his irritation got too hard to hide.
“Can’t you find something to get the job done? Please, hurry – soon, this isn’t much fun.”
Baskets or flats? The red or the blue? I couldn’t decide on a type - or a hue!!!
I picked a few things and took them all home and still went back twice – but those times alone.

He’s well aware of my shortcomings now – In decision making on whats where’s and hows.
For 24 years he’s sighed and he’s moaned – rolled his eyes and quietly groaned.
He can’t gripe too much cuz’ I have one on him. A choice he can’t make- again and again.

When he sits on the sofa to watch the TV the channel flipping goes on endlessly.
News and then sports then music that’s groovy – and maaaaybe nine minutes of some random movie.
Then sports again and maybe the weather. "Come on Man! I want to scream – Get it together!!"
Pick something to watch then I’ll watch with you. But if you keep flipping I’m outta here dude.

There’s one choice I make that’s easy for me – My hubby can have that HD TV.
If I have an evening with time I can spare – I know how to spend that and I know just where.
I’ll lay on the couch with the cat in my crook. And open the page of a very good book.

Lettttttttttttttttt's Plaaaaaaaaay Ball

2010-04-15T20:21:00.000-07:00

It rained.

But only for a while.
And not enough to dampen the excitement of a day at the ball park.

The new one.

The one that cost millions and millions and millions of dollars.
To watch the ball players play -

The ones that cost millions and millions of dollars.

For the first visit we even
sprung
for the good seats.

It was a great day to play hookey.
At the ball park.

With friends.

Too bad our team lost.

DAD

2010-04-15T19:54:00.000-07:00

The campfire’s lit and the embers all burn bright
But there is one empty chair at the fire now at night
He’d be here if he could to tend the burning flame
But from this moment on – Nothing will be the same.
One of the most generous people that you’ll find…
And the laughter that he gave us - just one gift he left behind.

Even when things got as badly as they could
He tried to pretend, for us, that he felt good.
The day that they told us, and said, “It won’t be long.”
He said, “All I ever wanted was to take good care of mom.”

As a dad he always had the time to talk and have some fun.
Ribbing all the grandkids and entertaining everyone.
We all loved to hear the stories of his years as a kid -
And the funny, naughty things those local boys and brothers did.
As a man he was a model for others to aspire
Welcoming even strangers – to those nightly summer fires.

A boiling pot of stew that didn’t seem to have an end
When we’d come home for the weekend with our kids and any friends.
"Come home with us this weekend,” we would tell friends that we had, “
"You have to come there with us. You guys will love my dad.”
He waited 37 years to come back and make a start
On the land that always seemed to tug a little at his heart.
He never traveled far away as many people know –
He said, “There’s no where else but here that I’ve wanted much to go.”

Surely even deer and birds - are wondering just where
The man is that gave them such kind and loving care.
Life is not always fair or good and kind.
And he wasn’t yet quite ready to leave those he loved behind.
Still we’ll light the fires when we’re home to end the day –
And know though the chair is empty, He’s still sits there anyway.
So if you see the flame burn brightly and you happen to pass by
Just like the days when he was tending. Pull in, sit down, say, “Hi.”

Me. Unplugged.

2010-03-02T09:24:00.000-08:00

It's been a month.
Maybe it's been a short month - but it's a month nonetheless. Twenty-eight days doth a month make, especially if it's February - and what a February it was.

An unexpected family illness has taken me away from my home for a few days a week all of February.
It's not far away - an hour and half - but it's far enough to remove me from simple conveniences like cell phone service and high speed internet.
These are things I didn't even know existed when most of my kids were born. Nonetheless, somehow, now they have become important to the way I live my life.
The internet is instrumental to the work I do. As a freelancer I use it for research, for writing copy and for turning in assignments, preferably before they are due.
I use my cellphone for my work, too - to do interviews and to communicate with editors when even e-mail isn't fast enough.
Daily I use my cellphone to communicate with my children. Especially the two that are in college. And the other one, who still needs rides to and from practices with times that are ever changing.

But with this new life twist that has taken me away from reliable cell phone service (except for this one place, a sweet spot, standing right up against the window pane in a spare bedroom), I have begun to do more of the dreading texting. (For someone who types every single day for most of the day I am surprisingly inept on a cell phone keyboard). I find it tedious and exhausting - but it's getting a little easier.

The internet connection I have been using is dial up. Ergo if I use the internet I make it somewhat quick because the internet also ties up the reliable telephone line. Something I'd completely forgot about for a few days.

But as the weeks have continued I have come to realize something.
I miss time.

Downtime, free time, extra time.

Maybe everything doesn't have to be an immediate rush job. When the two minutes or so it seems to take to send an e-mail used to be excruciating, now I sit back in the chair and relax. Spin a little, hum, and then celebrate the little victory when the screen signifies a successful delivery.
When I used to talk endlessly on my cellphone (probably about nothing special) a text or two a day as an exchange with my kids serves the purpose just as well. I know everyone is fine - which is really all that matters.

And I am reading!! Alot. Which I do anyway but now it seems a little more rewarding.
Without endlessly surfing on the internet as a distraction, the pages of the books I've wanted to get to are turning twice as fast.
Leaning against the arm of the sofa visiting with my parents is entertainment enough and sometimes, my cellphone isn't even in the same room I am. Which is an interesting discovery because previously I returned home multiple times a week to retrieve it because spending a couple of hours without it was becoming unheard of.

So if you call me these days chances are the phone doesn't register such a thing and I'm into a good chapter of a book.  And if you e-mail me and it takes a little longer for me to respond it's because I'm not able to check my messages every hour on the hour like before. And maybe I'm listening to a good story from my parents or their friends and neighbors who stop by.
I will reply. Just give me time.
And take a little for yourself.

Lovin' My Jens

2010-01-20T18:55:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I obsess.
When I love something I love it a lot.
(See: Frozen ice pops, sunflower seeds, chewing gum, kittens, Grey's Anatomy - the early years, ice cold beer, reading good books and discovering oh so cool people.)
It's been my good fortune lately to discover a couple more oh so cool people.
My Jens.

I dream about some day saying things like, "Hey Jen, Let's have lunch," "I'll call you tonight Jen," "Do you want to come over later, Jen?" You know, all the things I say to my real life friends.

Jen No. 1 logs in at 3'2" tall but her personality is BIG. She is funny and kind and smart and sweet. All the things I happen to like about all of my other (read real life) friends.
Her marriage seems intact, for a reality star, that is.
She has obviously overcome many hurdles in her life - because she is a doctor (which is probably a little more notable than the reality star part).
I enjoy watching her get through each episode being sweet to her husband and not pausing even once when she goes out to eat and asks for linen to sit on or toting a stool to a cooking class to stand on.
I think she would be one of those friends that tells you to just get out there and try -because you can do anything - she has. If you haven't seen The Little Couple yet dial it up. (Sigh! After the heartbreak that became Jon and Kate Plus Eight Jen Arnold is restoring my faith.)

I do not know how tall Jen Lancaster is.
I do know she is wickedly funny, sarcastic, and brutally honest, everything I like about the rest of my (real life) friends.
When I read the first one of her books I immediately hopped on line and ordered three more. ( Actually I ordered FOUR more even though there were only three more at the time - I had a couple of beers and somehow magically said I desired two of one title. Oh Jen! We have so much in common! (She shops on line with interesting results after drinking too.) However, when the royalty checks arrive - remember, I did you a solid.

This Jen might be the anti-Jen Arnold (see above).
She posesses a love of cursing that would make my mother cry. But I can guarantee you this - she would not be boring!
I'm not at red alert stalker status but when my girls were home over Christmas break I was knee deep into multiple books by my new favorite author and was busted more than once saying things like, "You know, Jen has cats, too." or "You know, Jen really likes this reality show too." To which one of the girls I gave birth to looked at me and said, "You mean the author-of-the-book-you're-reading-who-you-don't-even-really-know?!!"
Whatever. Non-fiction can be that way. I have a window to her world.

The fun thing is - Jen Lancaster has a new book coming out and the Captain and I do make yearly treks to Chicago (Home of 'the Bean', Navy Pier, Wrigley Field and Jeeeeeeen Lancaster) to visit friends and take in a ballgame but ... wouldn't it be fab if it was during one of her book signing???!!!!! Cubs Schmubs - Team Lancaster!!!!
I like the Jens.

5 a.m. Aaaaargh!

2010-01-10T19:57:00.000-08:00

I know there are people who enjoy rising out of their warm beds ridiculously early.
You revel in beating the sun out of bed, enjoying the quiet in those last few moments before the rest of the world begins its' hustle and bustle.
There are no awards for this, but you do get to say cool things like, "I've been up for hours already," or "I have all of my work done before most people even think about getting out of bed."
This week I will be one of you. Because, apparently coaches and players in the son my sport loves also love to rise early and hit the ice for a rousing pre-dawn practice.
Because this is the horrifying time my alarm will be set for tomorrow morning. And Tuesday. And Thursday.

Early morning hockey practices be damned!

Coffee pot - you have been put on notice.

Habitual early risers - you have my respect.

Early morning travelers on Hwy. 210 - Consider yourself warned: The site you may see in the grey Honda Accord will not be pretty.

It's going to be a long week.

Sub-Zero ponderings

2010-01-05T17:17:00.000-08:00

We are about a handful of days into a cold spell where we live.
I mean a c-c-c-c-old spell.

When my alarm goes off each morning I have it set on the local radio station so I can rise from my grogginess to soak up all the information I need to start the day.
I like to wake up to the national news, have the local news read to me from the newspaper so the surprise is gone when I get my own copy out of the mailbox and to find out what the day's forcast holds for us. This past week the on-air voice has broken the bad news repeatedly with temperatures at 6 a.m. being -27, -23, -25. It's enough to make me put the electric blanket on high and turn the alarm off altogether.

Our cars register their own complaints when we go to start them. Errrr.... Errrrr.... Errrrrrr....and pipes that aren't insulated enough against the sub-zero readings don't have the ammunition they need to withstand the cold. Some immediately cease to dispense water to their owners.
In my own home I have noticed a draft. Between the front door and the frame. It magically appeared when the artic temperatures hit. Unnoticable before, now that the temperature has dipped this low even the cats take the long way around the area.
An old blanket now temporarily covers the gap until the days once again rise above zero.

I monitor the thermometer in our house these days like a Kensington Palace Guard - lest one of my kids (or my sneaky, sneaky, husband) inch the setting above what I deem suitable for the budget.
"Listen here!" I announced last night, "My friend in Chicago has taken her family down to 62 degrees!!!! Sixty-two degrees I tell you! Can't you people toughen up?! I was hoping to take a vacation this year! You can pick - One less layer now - or a picture in front of Mount Rushmore in July!!!!"

Any trip away from the house has to be weighted as to whether it's worth going out into a cold car twice.

A run out for milk? Hmmmm....as quick as ten minutes and that's if I'm in and out and nothing else catches my eye.... probably doable.

A two hour movie at the local theatre - absolutely not. My daughter and I shun a chance to see Sherlock Holmes last weekend because we knew after two hours idle in the parking lot we'd have to relive the pure agony of the warming-of-the-car, chattering-of-the-teeth-full-blast-blow-of-the-heater episode it would take to leave the house. Not worth it. (We have 100+ channels on cable where it's warm - We found something.)

Lucky for me I have no problem abandoning fashion for comfort. Ergo the daily bundling I've embarked on this week.

I'm not sure I'd care if Brad Pitt was in town and there was every chance we might end up at the same stoplight on Washington Street - I'd still be true to my layers.... earmuffs and mittens, wool lined jeans and clunky snow boots (not Uggs - I'm talking the real deal). It is what it is. Take it or leave it Brad.

I have just six words to sum up the past week in this area.

"Respect The Power of the Parka."

How to break bad news to your husband - Session I

2010-01-01T23:09:00.000-08:00

"I'll have to look for the antenna to my truck next spring when the snow melts," my husband told his father the other day while the three of us were riding in the car.
"Why, what happened to it?" My father in law asked while I paged through a magazine in the back seat.
"Every once in a while it comes loose when I go in or out of the garage. I've never lost it all the way before though," said my husband a little irked.
"Yeah, it's probably under there somewhere then," agreed my father-in-law.
"Or.....," I added, "Someone may or may not have ground it up in the snowblower yesterday."

And that's how you do it.

I'm starting to get kind of good at it.
Not long ago I had to break the bad news about this one:

Where have you been Bella?

2009-12-28T21:51:00.000-08:00

What
cream cheese?

Sure, it's pretty coming down

2009-12-28T20:19:00.000-08:00

So here's the thing. Minnesota = snow. Snow = my least favorite thing.
Me = Minnesota.

What is that all about?

There are a couple of things I will admit to enjoying about snow. One being the thrill of playing in it for roughly 11 minutes after it falls or until I get the first clump down my boot. The second thing I can admit to liking about it is that it's the only thing that offers the opportunity to crank up the snow blower. Which I actually do love. Twice. After that even running something big and motorized that kicks streams of snow hundreds of feet away just starts to become work.

I did have a new winter revelation today. I noticed that our yard seems quite a bit...well...higher now. It's pretty much even with the second step of the porch. This could come in handy in the summer in the weeding of the flowerbeds but I don't know how to work it all out yet.

Something else that I thought was funny was the car pictured above driving down 371 ahead of us this afternoon. I was with Kyle and his friend, Reno, and neither of them found it as funny as I did. Really? Harrumph. Video games have jaded kids.

It also slightly tickeled me that most of the street signs were covered with heavy clumps of snow over the names. If you didn't have a GPS and were new to the neighborhood it would be a hopeless cause to follow directions the old fashioned way. You know, "Take Norway Street to Walton Drive." Today you would have had to say, "Take Nrwa Stee to Wlto Dive." Hahahahaha.

Okay, maybe it's not that funny.

Also, something you should know in case it comes up in your own life.... Two college daughters and one 15-year-old son = anatomically correct snowmen.

In the front yard.

Nice.

The snow is here - it's officially winter. Everyone rev the snowmobiles twice in salute!

2009-12-18T22:16:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas! Tis the time – to send Season’s Greetings to yours from mine…
To wish a little holiday cheer - with a bonus recap of the whole darned year.
No major changes that much I’ll say – We had a year to mostly play.
No grad parties or formal things … just the chores that every season brings.
Good news, too, we’ve all been good (compared, at least, to Tiger Woods).

This year the girls both traveled far … by train and plane and too by car.
Kirstin felt the urge to go - on a girl’s road trip to New Mexico.
She rode a balloon up in the air and then later did Vegas without even a care.
Too young to gamble she kept all her dough - That’s the perfect time for someone to go.
“New Orleans by train” is what Kayla declared - then she hopped on an Amtrak and it took her there.
Over water through woods one state then the next. “It’s a great way to go” she said in a text.
Youth from the nation all joined one another, to help people there that still need to recover.
Then in October she decided to go - with a friend from high school to Colorado.
They drove out together she came back alone – but it went much faster because she flew home.
Kayla and Kirstin are roomies again – in an apartment this time with one other friend.
In between travels they study some too – to get future diplomas from SCSU.
Since hockey is something our family all shares – we drive to St. Cloud to see Husky games there. We share season passes with others from town - we split up the games and take turns driving down.

Kyle headed to high school this year – He’s growing up too. It’s just as I feared.
He plays some baseball and hockey still too – So these days that’s what Kirk and I mostly do.
To Fargo! To Buffalo! Anoka, St. Cloud! We watch from the stands and cheer ever so loud
For the goalie with 35 on his shirt and I silently pray that he doesn’t get hurt.
This last year he grew about six inches too. Finally!! (It’s what he’s been hoping to do.)
About November we both said, “Oh Sh*t,” when the state gave him a learner’s permit.
“Can I drive? Can I drive?” He asks every day. “I’m good, C’mon let me - I know the way.”
Slowly he maneuvers the neighborhood roads – if you’re driving near here just stay on your toes.
“No cell phone! No rock tunes!” You’ll hear bellowed from me – but so far he’s got us from point A to B.
He hunted and fished some this year with dad, And from the tales that I hear a good time’s always had.

The aging process has begun to progress. Kirk and I already need more and more rest.
“Was I napping?” One of us asks once a day. Or, “What was I going to get anyway?”
Small print’s a frustration we could both do without. “I can’t read that!” Kirk frequently shouts.
But all things considered we know when we curse, we’re healthy, we’re thankful and things could be worse. We went to Tulsa this year in May so we could Preston, Jen, Wiley and Gage. We had a good time they were great tour guides. Kirk drove the whole way (I was glad I can’t lie).
So no excuses, Hey! Let’s stay in touch – for communication we’ve been given so much.
Twitter us, E-mail us, drop us a line. Maybe text, call, or Facebook us sometime.
Follow my blog or log on to my site… Choose your method. They all work all right.
We’re hip, we’re modern, some news I should tell - is our home phone is gone so please call our cells.
A land line? Peeshaw! Who calls them today? It’s just one less bill now that we have to pay,
Glad Tidings, God’s blessings, may your season be bright.
May peace be yours when you lay down at night.
Do the right thing when it presents itself - and put family first above everything else.
May the season’s good wishes bring nothing but smiles
Sheila and Kirk, Kayla Kirstin and Kyle.

Swine Flu or just The Crud?

2009-11-15T18:40:00.000-08:00

It started out with a headache.

The headache led to a cough.

The cough led to some sinus issues which led to my feeling hot then cold then hot then cold.

And all of that led to aches and pains. Pain in my legs. Pain in my hips. Pain in my arms.

Murphy's Law or the long standing Helmberger Hex, I'm not sure which, but when I finally crawled up the stairs two at a time to locate the 19-year-old thermometer we own the only reading I could get was "AA" which meant the thermometer needed a new battery. It flickered on 101.1 at one point but I didn't really consider the reading reliable. But I'll tell you this: It knocked me down.

I think I picked up the bug at a neighborhood elementary school.

When the writing I do offers gaps between interviews and deadlines I fill in for teaching aides that have bugs of their own in our school district. The past few weeks the phone has been ringing frequently. It's not the school's fault. Hand sanitizer and kleenex boxes are visible in every classroom and students have been instructed on the proper way to cough - into the crook of their elbows. Still, germs are crafty and they lurk on doorknobs and magic marker tops and on art projects and folders.

And they got me.

In the week leading up to Halloween I barely left my sofa. I slipped in and out of lucidity and moaned when moving my aching body required it.

I also watched daytime TV which I never do.

I learned the following things from soap operas that air on ABC.

1. For the most part the casts have barely changed since I watched the serials back in college. Erica Kane, Adam Chandler, Dorian Lord and Luke Spencer all continue to linger in soap opera land. Although, for the most part, they manage to look a lot younger now.

2. The dramatic lingering stare into space as the director cuts to commercial continues to be effective, yet hilarious.

3. Every home in soap opera land has a fully stocked bar so the homeowner can offer visitors a drink no matter what time of day it is.

4. Soap opera children are ever-s0-wordly. Even if they're pre-teens.

5. Dress clothes are mandatory - even if the character is cooking, taking care of a newborn, gardening, or chasing a criminal.

The good news is... the bug is gone, I'm no longer confined to the sofa in front of daytime television and I'm working on a deadline.

I'm Baaaaaack. Oink, oink.

2009-09-07T18:39:00.000-07:00

The Girls

The oldest one has her father's hands. We noticed it roughly four minutes after her delivery. Wide palms, short fingers. I suspect she's cursed them over the years, maybe when her sister was taking piano lessons or while she was a catcher on the softball team. But they were the first sign that she truly belonged to us. Those hands and her blue eyes. Later, she would develop a keen sense of humor that we would delight in.

The younger one has always had a love of fashion and everything "pretty". While her sister delighted in sweat shorts and t-shirts this one was Suri Cruise long before Suri Cruise hit the headlines of Us Magazine with her rompers and Mary Janes. This one donned a different dress everyday, no matter what the plans. Whether she was riding bike, driving tractors in the dirt or off to preschool she wore dresses, tights, skirts and jumpers. Sometimes she would lay them carefully out the night before, from the hair ribbon down to her shoes. She was a dress and hair do girl -from the moment she could point in her closet, make her own decisions, and retaliate with a tantrum if you didn't comply.

They were so very different. Yet they delighted in no company more than one one anothers. They often held hands for no reason at all. Just because they liked to. Sometimes they would watch television side-by-side on their belly's on the floor with one chubby little arm tightly around the other's neck. They shared bedrooms as toddlers and, as a result, years of stern warnings about going to sleep, cooling the giggling, and keeping the lights out.

Seventeen months separated their entry into our lives and cemented a friendship I hope and pray will always last. Having no sisters of my own I have been a faithful voyeur into the shared secrets and inside laughs of their sisterhood.

They were 'the girls' from the second the oldest held the youngest. "What are the girls doing?" "Where are the girls?" "Are the girls excited for Christmas?"

And now...because they have gone off to college for the second and third years, people ask, "Are the girls back at school?" "Do the girls like the university?" "Are the girls coming home for Christmas?"

The girls have also decided, no surprise toanyone, to be roommates for the second year. It works for the most part but I'd be lying if I said they didn't scrap a bit too. Just like roommates.

Just like sisters.

And now that summer has ended and I've hauled home boxes from the grocery store for them to repack their belongings and they've returned to their own galaxy far-far away (Fine. It's an hour by car.) It seems farther if you're their mother and you used to spend afternoons singing Schoolhouse Rock along with a cassette and were familiar with every episode of Full House. If you were used to at least one faithful companion you could bribe with a cereal of their choice that would tag along to the grocery store and tell you if the waist band of your jeans was too close to your belly button. If you longed for someone to sit in the dark and watch Steel Magnolias one more time with you. If you were their mom then you would think the gap in the house was pretty noticeable too.

They were sure pretty handy to have around.

I really miss the girls.

Batter Up!!!

2009-08-03T18:10:00.000-07:00

What is it about baseball and why do I love it? I shun ESPN. I detest Sundays that result in 6 hours of football games on television. I don't get the thrill of televised golf. I'm not even particularly a sports fan unless one of my kids is on the roster.

But baseball...that I love. Maybe because it starts in the spring and it's a sign summer is surely coming.

The weather has turned bearable (generally) which means lawn chairs are unzipped and set up along the baseline for the best seats in the house.

The action on the field is methodical and calculated as opposed to the pell mell drop and chase of a hockey puck is what I'm far more used to with three kids and a spouse that set up shop at the local hockey rink six months of the year.

But baseball? That means hot dogs and pretzels and cool drinks of your choice and sunflower seeds.

Which may be the reason I love it most of all. The world of the sunflower seed lover has become even more magical the last handful of years with flavored seeds making their appearance in gas station and grocery aisles. There are dill flavored and salt and pepper. There are spicy garlic (crowned the new favorite in the '09 season) and barbecue. There are jumbo sized and regular size. It's a big, wonderful world of cracking and de-seeding today for the sunflower seed connoisseur. During baseball season there is a perpetual remnant of a sunflower seed somewhere on my shirt.

Ah, baseball.

But already this year baseball is ending and the keen eye is starting to notice leaves are no longer as vibrantly green as they once were and for the handful of baseball games that remain fleece will be carried up into the stands with fans for the portion of the game played after the sun goes down. Already stores are offering pens and pencils at unheard of prices and bottles of glue for a quarter.

Alas! The summer is waning and already we have moved on to county fair season.

Thankfully professional teams play long after I've packed away my own son's cleats and uniforms for the seasons.

And with any luck if the team is good this year they just might play right up until the puck drops.

Kamikaze Robin

2009-07-14T18:14:00.000-07:00

Don't let the birds fool you.

They might sing those pretty little melodies and hop around on those cute little legs looking for lunch on the front lawn, but they can be mean too.

We met the Kamikaze Robin a few weeks ago while she was scouting around for a place to have her babies.

We were honored when she chose, not only our yard, but our front porch to do so. Right in the middle of my fuschia plant.

After she was faithfully present day after day after day we put the pieces together. We knew there must be a nest somewhere and my husband found it one afternoon. It held four little eggs - dry temporary housing - until they'd make their debut.

It was fun at first to watch her sit in the nest. She was a faithful presence on the step. But the closer her babies came to making their debut the more serious the mother Robin got about her job.

Once the babies hatched the gloves came off and we were no longer able to even use the front porch. I watched the rest of my plants on the porch become more and more dry and the one that held the nest start to die. But mother-to-mother, I understood her responsibility.

When I dared to tread on her territory it became a little unnerving. She flew at mach speed, full throttle and would swoop within a foot of my head.

Any attempt to exit through our front door was met with a 100 mile an hour attack by our mother Robin.

Finally one day I readied for battle - wearing my raincoat with the hood up as added protection I reclaimed ownership to what was mine. I couldn't take it any longer and spent an afternoon administering mouth to mouth resuscitation to the rest of my plants in the way of a good dousing.

She dove at me repeatedly but I got the job done.

And this week she is gone. The babies grew fast as all babies do. We witnessed it through the dining room window. Soon they were ready to experience the world beyond my planter and porch on Norway Drive.

Now I sit on the porch as long as I want and wander in and out of the front door without any fear of an aerial attack.

It's just not the same.