in memoriam

 

"I, myself, have always found that if I examine something, it's less scary, and that's kind of the way I feel about confronting pain." - Joan Didion

It's the first day of the new year and that lends itself to pondering the age old what the hell happened to last year? 

People tell you when you're a kid that time will move faster as you get older and with every calendar I drop into my wastebasket on Jan 1st I can't help but think, holy crap, they were right. Where did it go? What. Who? I think that's just normal aging and being busy in the day-to-day grind that is the maintenance of our human existence, but also 2021 felt very much like season 2 of 2020, and I just wasn't a fan of the first season. I guess there was some solid character development, but for the most part I am underwhelmed.

As per usual the new year in Minnesota usually also means extra cold weather. Which gives you a chance to throw on another sweater and decide, "Well I am not doing anything today. My nose hair will freeze in this. It's not worth it."

And that's how we gauge life in Minnesota. Is an activity worth freezing your nose hair for? 

While I sit here and ponder the literal death of the past calendar and the birth of a new. I am left pondering Death. Bleak Joanna. I mean it's hard not to. Did you see this list compiled by NPR? It's worth a scroll. I'll wait. No really. It's a hell of a read when you think about it. All those names. All those lives gone. 

That was a lot of death right? Probably not more than a usual year, but when it's all compiled like that. It's a lot. Death simply is. Change. It comes for us all. No one escapes death. One transition into another. One thing has to end in order for another to begin, and so 2021 rolls out, and here comes 2022. 

I have a pretty neutral feeling about death. I am fairly sure that was based on how I was raised. I was taught that when you die you just go to sleep. And that sounds nice to me. I love sleep! 

What I am trying to say is, it's not like I am seeking it out tomorrow or anything, but a forever nap does sound nice some days. I also just think this death neutrality might also be attributed to my super practical Midwestern upbringing.

Allow me to illustrate.

Exhibit A:
My grandma Vivian was always old as long as I could remember. Your classic Midwest grandmother really. To me she was floral polyester and doughy warm arms and white on top like a late season dandelion. Her voice was gravel and yet softness at the same time and sort of warbly. Her specialty dish was white bread with butter on it. Did she make the bread? Not that I recall, but she buttered it thick. And you can dip it in some kind of gravy. There will always be gravy. It will be brown, and taste like a hug. Also potatoes. Being so near to spud country it just makes sense why there would always be potatoes. Fried, boiled, smashed. Mmm. Taters.

These are my grandparents. When I dream of them, this is who I see.
 Grandpa Francis and I have the same taste in slippers I see.

Vivian was born in Iowa. 

How cute was she?

She's a good Catholic. She graduates high school and marries Francis. Another good Catholic and they set their roots in the Red River Valley, in Downer specifically, and have ten kids and heaps of grandkids. 

Vivian and Francis in the middle.
Her parents - Hampton and Ida are on the left.
His parents - Frank and Katie are on the right.

For me she is my far away grandma. They live 4 hours away and we only get up there a couple times a year, so I don't have a ton of memories of her. Luckily my father, Vivian's second son, is a great storyteller. Through his characterizations and retellings of family lore I have a sort-of picture of her before she was a grandma.

Grandma Vivian, her sister-in-law and brother-in-law, and Grandpa Francis

My dad's stories of his mom are about her being a mother, of course. How she taught the boys to sew buttons and iron because chores are chores and everyone pitches in. She had TEN kids, of course everyone needs to pitch in. Some of his stories are about the times when having those ten kids wore her down and I find them so deeply relatable. 

My grandmother was very quiet and warbly by the time I show on the scene, but she was a pot slammer when she got mad according to dad. My dad's a pot slammer too, so he would know. Some of the stories he remembers are about the times when they'd sent her to her limits. 

I mentioned earlier they lived in a small town. Very small. Tiny even. When 90% of the town's child population share your genetic background, you naturally become the default hangout, the meet-up, and the general congregation point for the rest of the town's child population. The scene I am attempting to lay here is that there were always kids around, and not all of them are hers. My dad recalls that one day they were horsing around in living room, probably wrestling on the couch that was broken and held up by a soup can on one end because of all the Lone Ranger reenactments that had happened on the sofa over the years and this one particular day she had HAD IT!

"Stop acting like animals!" she uncharacteristically barked at them. This was shocking because she didn't usually yell. What happened next is the stuff of family legend and was even more shocking than the yelling.

"How would you like it if I acted like that?" she queried. Then she took her little bowling ball body and ran across the living room full tilt. Like a linebacker on a blitz to a quarterback and I mean no one was blocking her. She then leapt into the air, did a half gainer and lands in the swivel side chair which spun her from her momentum and promptly flipped over. It was athletic to be sure, but as the old timers are fond to say, "she'd gone ass over tea kettle." 

My father said all the jaws of his siblings hit the floor at the same moment their mother did. Shocked silence befell the hooligans for once because they were immobilized by what they'd just witnessed.

"HELP ME UP!" was curtly barked from behind the chair her tiny feet flipping helplessly in the air and then the stunned children helped right the mother they had clearly broken this day. Unfortunately for her, it wouldn't be the only time they broke Ma.

Reliable sources tell me, ok my father, say an oft repeated phrase from her was, "You kids are gonna send me to Fergus Falls!"

Background: Fergus Falls is where the state mental hospital is located and it's roughly a 40-mile distance from where they live.

Victorian Spa? No. Mental Health Hospital.

Once and a while the kids knew when they had pushed Ma to the limit because she'd just quietly walk out of the house and start heading down the road, and she'd just keep walking.

As word would spread among the siblings that mom had hit the highway out of town, again, then the speculation would begin. Was this it? Was this the day they'd pushed too far and sent her to Fergus Falls for real?

"You think she's going to Fergus?"

"Probably because of your dumb face."

"She's not going to Fergus!"

"How do you know?"

"She didn't take any clothes with her. Or a suitcase. If she was really going she'd at least take her pajamas and her toothbrush."

"Nah, my friends cousin said they give you a toothbrush when you get there."

Years later they found out most often she just walked up the road to Mum McCullum's house. Mum was just an older lady who didn't have kids. She was also British and usually had tea on the stove and so grandma would sit with Mum and spend some time away from the hooligans destroying her couch for a couple hours.

The picture he paints is vivid for me. I can see it as if I was there with him, so I of course believe him, but this was just not the lady I knew. My grandma was just soft and grandmotherly only. She never yelled. She smelled nice. For me she was only ever warm friendly patience, but that's probably because I wasn't drilling a broom handle into the ceiling in the living room like an animal.

One memory my dad and I both share of her was her reading to us. She read to them as kids. He read to me as a kid. She read to me as a kid. She was always reading, and sometimes she'd offer to read to me, I just had to pick out the book. I liked to snuggle with her while she read me the story about how there once was an old lady who swallowed a fly. She goes on to swallow a whole host of other animals to deal with her fly problem, but spoiler alert it doesn't end well for her.

"I don't know why she swallowed a fly?" it went.

"Perhaps she'll die?"

This for some reason was my go-to book. I don't know if it was the weird artwork, or the sing-song yet matter-of-fact way my grandma read it in that gravely yet honeyed voice, but I always requested that she read me that particular book and she always obliged.

My grandpa died first, and it must have got her thinking about her own mortality I suppose, as it would. I have a distinct memory of going to her little senior living apartment after grandpa had died. I was maybe 8 or 9? For sure not double digits yet. She pulled me aside and in her soft yet somehow gravel voice she said, "I want you to pick out something you might like."

"Like?" I wasn't following.

My grandma said, "Well, when I am gone. Is there something of mine you would like? Maybe a candy dish, or this letter opener? Or a book?" My grandma didn't have much, but she wanted to make sure whatever I liked, I was sure to inherit. I didn't quite get it but as an opportunistic kid, I was just thinking, "Cool, grandma is giving me a present!" And it turns out she was.

I looked around her small apartment. What would an 8-year-old want? I remember walking down her small hallway and seeing these little paintings that had metal gold frames around them. I fancied myself a bit of an art snob even back then and I thought these were the most priceless heirlooms in the whole joint, so I said, "I really like those", and pointed at the little portraits. 

She smiled broadly and said, "Ok. Those are very nice. That's the Blue Boy! Let's put your name on them!" And she got a little sticky piece of tape and wrote my name in her shaky little scrawl and we taped it to the back of the pictures and went back to the kitchen. Probably to eat some gravy or possibly beans? Maybe potatoes? For sure white bread though.

Exhibit B:
This isn't a phenomenon exclusive to my family either. This mater-of-fact nature of death. My best friend and I have always joked that her father is just a super practical man. That there were many occasions where he would pull her aside solemnly and say, "This is probably worth something, so if I die, you make sure to come get it." I laughed, picturing her father uttering that phrase in his thick Minnesotan accent.

Then one night when we were in our early 20's we stopped in to visit her folks. Her dad was very excited because they were going on a trip to do some snorkeling and he got a new underwater camera. He was extoling the many features of the new camera, how the special case was pressurized to so many feet so if it fell off the boat it may survive to a certain depth. I was nodding when he said it. The magic phrase, the one she'd told me he was prone to speaking. 

"This is probably worth something, so if I die, make sure to come and get it."

I almost choked on my pork chop, but there it was. The stalwart practicality of it all. In fairness to him, it was a real nice camera.

Back to Exhibit A - My Grandma Passes
My grandma ends up living several more years after my grandpa passed. I am a teenager when she finally passes too. I didn't get to see her before she died. We knew she was failing in health and in the hospital, but I was in the school play. I have a performance. Plus, I am working at the local gas station. If after my shift, I can get away I might be able to drive up...but she passes. I cry in the walk-in cooler. I didn't get to say goodbye. I have regret. My part in the play was literally one line, I didn't need to be there, anyone could have covered my shift at the gas station, and I thought there would be more time. 

I go to her funeral, and it's weird. She's in her coffin, but it doesn't look like her. She's not there anymore. I don't know where she is, but this isn't really her. At the funeral, there is some incense, I don't like how it smells. This is one of the few times I have been in a Catholic church. It is wild to me. So different from a Kingdom Hall. 

After the funeral we have these amazing, potatoes in the church hall afterwards. All the things that people say about Midwest funeral food is true. It's potluck heaven! It's the bland carby balm your soul needs to deal with the fact that your grandmother who found ketchup to be a bit on the spicy side is no longer with us and you know you're going to miss her. Oh, and those little silver-dollar rolls with butter on them. She'd have really loved those.

Cream of something soup is the blood that courses through all our veins in times of tragedy.

After the funeral we gather back at the tiny apartment she lived in. All the grandkids get a quilt. She made "crazy quilts" of old scrap fabric and there are enough of them that we all get one. I get a silver teapot, and my aunt Mary hands me these little gold pictures.

Sophistication.

I had forgotten about that simple conversation in the hallway just a few years before. Put out of my mind until it came rushing back as I flip them over and see my name in her handwriting.

"She must have wanted you to have these," my aunt Mary explains. "Your name was on them. She labeled a lot of things for everyone."  

I smile. These little paper and metal reproductions are the most priceless thing I own.

My aunt Mary is gone now too. She gave the best hugs. She had the biggest laugh. I miss her too. And my aunt Viv is gone now too. Grandma Vivian's namesake. She had a great laugh too. Floating in a Minnesota lake with all my aunties is one of my fondest memories of all. A memory that brings a smile to my face and a floating feeling in my soul. We're all built like bobbers, so we can float for hours. Who doesn't love a good endless summertime float?

Exhibit C:
My parents have already pre-paid their cremation plans because they are also practical Midwesterners who make sure their obligations are taken care of. They already have their little boxes for their ashes in the closet. My mom bought some stickers with gold foil like the kind you'd have on a mailbox with their initials on each of their boxes. I appreciate the forethought and the craft. 

Exhibit D:
When our geriatric cat started getting creakier this year we saved a shoebox for him in our closet. Turns out a men's size 13 will fit a 10-pound domestic shorthair quite nicely. We were sad to see him go this fall, but glad he went before the ground froze. We took our little cardboard box proclaiming MEMORY FOAM to my parents' place. It's where all the pets get to go rest. My dad pre-dug the hole for us since we were driving up after work. It was past day-light savings because by the time we got there it was well beyond dark. I held the flashlight while Gabe tucked in our buddy for his long nap. It started snowing while we said our final adieus to our sweet black and white boy. It's like we live in a goddamn Willa Cather novel sometimes.

In Conclusion...
I come by it honestly, this detached objectivity about the inevitability of death. Like I said, I am not looking forward to it, but I just like to be prepared.

And so don't be surprised that I have already started telling friends, "Do you like this? You can have it once I die." Who else is going to want my stuffed unicorn head? I also have a stuffed dragon head. And a stuffed squirrel. I don't know if it matters but the squirrel is flipping the bird. There could be a fight over it, so speak up early for the good things. If you put your claim in now, I can put your name on any of it. Otherwise, there will be a hell of an estate sale. One of my bucket list items actually...

• HAVE A DELIGHTFULLY CONFUSING ESTATE SALE

I am going to need a label maker. If you want that...I can put your name on it...

2021 in many ways felt like it didn't even happen. Another whole calendar dropped off and it feels like it's still 2020, but it's already 2022 and I don't know how that happened. Another one slipped away, and I am grateful that I made it to this new calendar flip. Not everyone does.

Even Betty White. 

Betty and her husband Allen

I have such a fondness for this woman who I have never met and yet feel like I knew her. Which is silly. She'll always be my favorite Golden Girl. The sweet Rose from Saint Olaf Minnesota. Of course, none of that was real, but still her charm was that you felt like you did know her. What a joy and a treat she was. Betty was once asked after the passing of her husband if she'd ever re-marry and she said, "Once you've had the best, who needs the rest?" Later she was asked what would she like God to say to her when she walked through the pearly gates, and White replied: "Hello Betty. Here's Allen."

We lost some tremendous people this year. Some of them you'll never have the pleasure of knowing, and that's a shame. 

For example, we lost my uncle Harold a few weeks ago. His mom was Vivian. He was my dad's older brother, and the oldest boy in the family to be specific. I really hoped he'd get another Christmas with his family, but it did not work out that way. One afternoon my dad got a call that there wasn't much time left. He planned to make the drive up in the morning, since the sun was already threatening to set and his eyes aren't what they used to be. I appreciate his caution, but it meant that unfortunately his brother had already gone before the sun rose. I was working and so I also didn't get to say goodbye. I have regret, but instead of focusing on that, I think about the fond memories of him instead. 

As a kid I got to go to the walleye opener with all the uncles and cousins. We'd pile into boats an adult or two and a handful of kids and it was always freezing because some years ice out had just been a couple weeks before. I remember going with my dad and eating Twizzlers in the truck on the drive up to Uncle Frank's place. 

Sometimes I'd go in the boat with my cousin David. Harold's son. He was an older cousin who knew all the lines to Monty Python and was super sarcastic and listened to heavy metal so of course I thought he was pretty cool. He's gone now too, and I miss his dry sarcasm and sly grin at family functions very much.

We'd go out at the crack of dawn, and whether you caught your limit or not you always met back up at Uncle Frank's to share in the spoils of Walleye and eat lunch and share stories about the conditions of the local lakes and their topography, which baits and techniques had produced the best results, and if anyone was going out in the afternoon to try somewhere else; new battle plans were drawn. I am pretty sure I never caught anything other than weeds, but I was never a very dedicated fisherwoman. I was mostly there for the Twizzlers and pop.

Uncle Mike always made the fish camp cozy. He fried up the catch, some years were more plentiful than others, and there were always beans and the best fried potatoes you've ever had. Uncle Mike had the deepest voice of all my uncles, and a big red bristly moustache. I miss that deep rumbly voice and smile, and sometimes I swear I can still smell those fried potatoes with onions he made.

Anyway, this year we said goodbye to a pretty great uncle, father, grandfather, husband, and brother. He was another warm voice and big smile I enjoyed spending time with very much. In his later years he used to grow these really delicious potatoes in his garden, and I was lucky enough to eat some.

Mmm. Taters.

When I dream of my Uncle Harold this is how he'll always look.
I don't know for certain what happens when we die, but I do hope for him the Walleyes are biting.

If you've lost anyone this year, I can't imagine how difficult that is, but I do know enough about grief to know that it's challenging. We're all doing our best.

I don't want to start my new reflection on the year by talking just on what we've lost but also on what we gained. I have plenty to be thankful for yet again this year. I found myself laughing more days than I cried, and on the days I did both it was truly a reminder that it's a gift to be able to experience the gamut of human emotion, so on the whole I'll just simply say...can't complain.

In other news, Gabe got a new job. It's in his same field but aligned with a cause he is truly passionate about, (ecological restoration) and I am so excited for him, but it will be a big change. Back in an office, back to commuting for a while. I love my big ape husband, but he loves change about as much as he loves picking up fossilized animal turds, which is to say, not so much. I know this change will be tough for him, but I am still so excited for him none the less. He will rock it because he always does. 

The other thing that's fun about this time of year is that it's a chance to start something new. Plant seeds of hope for the future. Sometimes LITERALLY!

This spring we'll start planting our meadow. We've been visiting the arboretum and Gabe has been pouring over the internet studying about native plants. We've assembled our list of native plants like we're curating a mixtape of all the native flowers greatest hits, and we decided this year to take the plunge and make our own meadow in our back yard. This fall we killed the pointless turf grass, and it will slowly turn to dirt over the winter. Sometimes death is a good thing. It makes way for something new and better. The roots of the turf breaking down into dust in this frozen time. This spring the turf will still be dead, but things will have inevitably blown into the future meadow zone or have pushed their way past the turf, so we'll have to spray again to kill the "winter weeds". Then a few weeks later, probably around Mother's Day, which is usually the fishing opener for those not in the know, we'll be able to sow our meadow seeds. 

I CAN'T WAIT FOR ALL THE CRITTERS AND BUGS THAT ARE GOING TO BE IN MY MEADOW!

She won't be much to look at her first two years, but eventually we hope to have a little pocket meadow sanctuary and you're all always welcome to come stop in and see her progress because it's good to have things to look forward to. Like Spring, and the fishing opener, and seeing the people we love again.

Happy New Year. You've made it. Well done you!

Art Therapy

Remember when you were good at art? You were five. You were in Mrs. Moe's kindergarten, you had a pan of watercolors that you mashed your crappy plastic brush into the dry disk with a blob of water and you were off! No subject was out of bounds! No shape intimidated you. I've seen a horse! Of course, I can paint that. It didn't matter that it looked like a tornado with streamers. That's a horse. The human form - you were an expert! Sure, arms come straight out of the side of the head. Family portrait time! Frank Lloyd Wright wishes he could design homes like you can kid! And the landscapes. My god. Clyde Aspevig would have wept. 

About a week ago I bought a pan of watercolors that's been in my Amazon cart for a couple years now. I had an urge to remember what it was like to use watercolors. Watercolors intimidate the heck out of me. But it's the 42nd of Decanuary and you watched democracy crap its pants live on TV and you're like, man I sure wish I was in kindergarten just painting goddamn rainbows because this is too hard to deal with right now. 

But Amazon prime means these paints have been sitting here a while. I am very good at using my adult money to buy things my inner 5-year-old wants, and then not ever using them. I had today off work and decided today was the day I bust out the pans.

Adult me has an art complex. I want it to be perfect out of the gate. I also know that's not how art works. The reason artists on youtube and TikTok make it look so easy is because they didn't have a gap between 1986 and 2021 where they didn't do much artin'. They've been honing their skills to get this good.

So I sat down in front of youtube and my brain was too overwhelmed. I had to pick the right beginner tutorial. Finally, I decided it had to be a nice landscape (good and blobby) and I wanted to do northern lights. Youtube lead me to believe I had a nearly endless choice to watercolor beginner northern light tutorials.

But 5 year old me took control of the helm for a hot minute, and she was very persuasive. We'll call her Joni. Because when I was 5, that's what I went by.

Jo: "I should probably find a tutorial that actually talks about technique and step by step so I can follow-along..."

Joni: "Nah."

Jo: "I'm super out of practice, and watercolor is hard. There are actual techniques I could learn and use."

Joni: "Boring! You watched that 10-minute speed painting. And frankly, none of these are right. You saw the northern lights, they were more yellow-green, and you've seen trees. Just go grab a reference photo if you're so worried about it, but I am pretty sure we got this!"

Jo: "I dig your moxie. That tutorial did seem pretty easy. And there were notes on the screen as to what she was doing. If I get a reference photo I'll be sure to do this. How hard could it be?"

Five minutes in Joni took over and I forgot about the reference photo. I was just twirling my brush in the pans and slopping some paint on the paper. I panicked though when I looked up and realized it was not my reference photo at all. 

Chaos insued. It was just wet blobby and terrible. I spread more paint and water to try to "fix" which just made things worth.

Jo took the helm and was starting to berate "So stupid - why did you think you can paint? FUCK THIS IS TERRIBLE"

But then Joni took the wheel and was like, "Well - you're in to deep. Might as well just keep slopping paint."

So I did. 

It's horrible.

Gabe heard me muttering in the office and swearing while I worked. "How's it going?"

I don't remember if I answered.

When I finished I cackled like a mad scientist with the mania of "IT'S ALIVE" as the subtext of the cackle. But it passed the time, and it felt good. It looks awful. But I had to remind myself - it's not about the skill at this point. It was about sitting down and just doing something for myself. Smearing some pigment on a blank page. Expectations and ruined the experience, until I let that shit go.

Waltzing in Wildflowers

If you had told sixteen-year-old me, "In the year 2020 there will be a great pandemic. You will be separated from your parents to prevent the spread of the disease and you will miss them terribly!" I would have laughed and laughed and laughed. Not so much about the pandemic part, I was raised to be a dooms-day-prepper for Jesus so pandemics are just part of the norm, but the missing my parents part would have seemed far-fetched.

At 16 it's not that I didn't love my parents, I just didn't understand them. Or rather, felt they didn't understand me. As most of you who read this blog know by now, I was raised a Jehovah's Witness. At 16, I was super depressed and suicidal. I'm not going to say it was the religion that made me that way, but it certainly wasn't helping. In that faith, nothing you do is good enough. We're imperfect. You can always "do more". And if you're sad or depressed, or having a crisis of faith, the best thing you can do is pray to Jehovah. Talk to him like a friend! And I did. Let's just say it was a real one-sided conversation in my experience.

The centerpiece to the Jehovah's Witness faith is that "The End" is coming. All the trials and tribulations of this big bad world and all its injustice and greed are just proof that Satan is in control, but one day soon Jehovah will say, "No more!" and BAM! Apocalypse! Now to survive, you just have to believe in Jehovah. You'll ride out the beasts rise, the destruction of all society, and be rewarded for your faith by God destroying all the wicked people and you get to live for ALL ETERNITY on the Earth, which will be restored back to its Edenic start. But you have to really believe. Jehovah can read your heart, and if you have doubts...oh, you're probably not gonna make it friend. Which led to my crisis of faith. I was suicidal already, and you're telling me I have to live on earth...FOREVER? With these people?!  Hard pass. Even if I get a pet tiger the inherent misogyny of the religion was a real bummer for me. 

Fast forward to 2020 and shit has gotten weird friends. It sure feels like the end times. If you're thinking this is my formal announcement of my return to my childhood faith, I'll burst your bubble right now with a big "Nah". 

As you can imagine though, my parents are on high alert. This is not a drill. This is what their religion has been preaching for years. YEARS! How many years? Well, the end of the world was so close that I was probably not even going to have to go to kindergarten before "The end" started so...

I actually have a good relationship with my parents now. Something 16-year-old me could not comprehend. Sometimes it baffles me too. Not the "enjoying my parents" part - they are awesome people - everyone enjoys them! But their faith also teaches that because I am not a believer I am "bad association". The fact they talk to me at all and have a relationship with me is really the miracle here. But it does require us to waltz around the topics of their faith like seasoned ballroom professionals. It seems effortless to outsiders, but it's years of practice and built up muscle memory. In spite of all of that awkwardness, I still love them and love spending time with them. This pandemic has made me really miss them.

This past Thursday I invited them to my favorite place, the Arboretum. We could socially distance in an Edenic garden and enjoy each other and the landscape. While our Venn diagrams don't line up on the topic of God, they did instill in me a deep love of nature and being out in it and reveling in all its wonder. On this, we wholeheartedly agree.

While we walk around the beautiful gardens they fill me in on their meetings, now all conducted remotely via zoom. This doesn't bother me. I see it as them filling me in on what's new with them. I explain to them I do all my work via zoom now too, so we laugh about the foibles of modern video conferencing.

They make comments about the flowers and trees, gasping in wonder and praising Jehovah for creating such amazingly interconnected and beautiful things.

The waltz begins.

My mother and I are enjoying the beautiful canopy of the forest above us when she comments, "I think the greatest thing Jehovah created are trees. You can do so much with them, and they do so much for us." 

"They are so beautiful!" I agree, and side-step, "I often think this canopy is reminiscent of the architecture you see in Cathedrals. The sweeping vaulted lines that reach to the heavens. It must have been what they were thinking of when they designed them. To bring the divine in nature inside." I appeal to her love of architecture and history. One-two-three, two-two-three...swirling away to another topic. 

While walking through the hosta glade, my dad comments, "Look at all the shades of green! Jehovah sure must love green when you think of all the different colors of green there are just in this one kind of plant!"

Shall we dance father? "I've read that our eyes see more shades of green than any other color, which if you think about it makes sense for distinguishing different types of plants to eat, or possibly to avoid predators in trees or grasses."

We've leveled up our dancing skills today. We've had a theoretical discussion about creation vs evolution without even saying the words! He can think, "Neat, God sure thought of everything!" and I can still talk about science without getting angry. 

Invariably we talk about politics and current events. This is where things get the strangest. You see, Jehovah's Witnesses are taught to remain politically neutral. Don't vote, don't get involved. Pay Ceasar's things to Ceasar, but trust that Jehovah has a plan. This is my parent's vice as Witnesses. They like to stay up on current events. And they have opinions. Luckily and weirdly our political Venn diagrams line up pretty well. We get cranking on politics a lot, I think I am like their one outlet for this juicy conversation, and once they get it all out they usually end with a, "But we don't take a side in this system of things". I smile demurely and nod because I threw away my absentee ballot instructions that were on the front entry table before they arrived because I do take a side, but don't want to cause a fuss in case they need to use my bathroom. This is the dance that we do.

Sometimes though, there is nothing you can say. In those situations, I just blankly stare.
"It just shows we're in the end times..." A phrase I have heard most of my life, and just haven't come up with a good response to yet. So I stare out at the prairie flowers knowing those taproots go really deep and just don't say anything. Sometimes there is nothing to say. Some things we do see eye-to-eye on, and some things we just never will. At the end of the day, our view of the world is in fact very different.

At the end of the day, it was good to catch up with my parents. I so enjoy their company. They are funny, thoughtful, kind, and loving. 16-year-old me is surprised this is where we are at, but forty-year-old me is just grateful. Grateful for whatever time I get with them. 

My new neighbors

If there can be silver linings in pandemics, here are a couple, if you're lucky you can work from home. You can take your dog out frequently, and you can watch the birds in your backyard.

I've really leaned into being the little old lady with too many birdfeeders. To be fair, I started with a new feeder earlier this year, but I didn't really get the appeal until a pandemic. Now I am glued to my patio window like I'm watching some soaps.

Chickadees are adorable. I have a new appreciation for such tiny little birds who hang with us all winter even in the cold.

Nuthatches are pretty cute and kinda shy. I see them every once and a while.

We have a male and female cardinal who visit us early in the morning sometimes, but more often closer to dusk. The boy with his bright red keeps watch and his less garishly dressed lady friend peeps in for seeds. Sometimes you'll even catch them feeding each other.

We have three kinds of woodpeckers. Hairy, Downy, and Red-bellied. Go ahead and do a google image search on that last one. Are you as confused as me? Good. Gabe and I are pretty sure by the time white people got around to naming this one, they were like "oh look at that red-headed woodpecker! Well, we can't call it that - we've already got one of those. I guess, red-bellied?"

Blue-jays come from time to time but only when I leave out peanuts and since they are my personal favorite, I make sure to leave out lots of peanuts.

There are assorted other little birds, junco, sparrow, some finches. I hear crows and see them circling, but they rarely stop in my yard.

We have a hoard of grackles and redwing blackbirds. I know to most people they are nuisance birds, but I don't mind them. We also live by a swamp, it's their prime habitat. I am not a farmer trying to grow corn, so c'mon my dudes - soups on at my place I guess. I kind of love the redwings. They sing beautifully. They dive-bomb through the trees like fighter jets. Some of the boys have bigger red-orange patches on their wings than the other boys. They puff out more too. We call them, "big king shits" cuz they act like they are.

Since we live in the swamp we also see Canada geese, mallards, and we've had a pair of wood ducks stop by a few times. None of the water birds stick around a long time. Except for this year we've had a boy and girl mallard for several weeks. I know this because I have nowhere else to be but my patio right now.

I noticed them a while ago and was just happy to see them. They come up in the yard sometimes. The little lady duck for sure wears the pants in the family. If she wants something she sets a course, and boy duck better just keep up. She waddles with a determined pace quacking the whole time. She isn't as flashy as he is with his beautiful teal and navy blue head, but in the sunlight, she is just as beautiful gold and black feathers, and one flashy stripe of blue.  He is always her shadow and looking out for her.

A few weeks ago, before we were super close friends, I heard a commotion of quacking in our neighbor's yard, only to see girl duck being harassed by a different boy duck. She was trying to get away but he wouldn't leave her alone. Her protector was with, but pretty ineffectual while the rouge mallard was harassing her. It was pretty traumatic and I was rooting for him to defend her.

A few days later I saw boy and girl duck in our back yard this time, and another male following behind. I have no idea if it was the original harasser, but either way, I didn't like the cut of his jib. So I kept watching. Girl duck was not happy and started quacking loudly while the boy duck kept a close tail on her.  I happened to be in the yard and just circled around my new neighbors, and made sure the new mallard boy knew he was not welcome. He eventually got the memo and buggered off so the boy and girl duck could resume normal un-molested duck activities in my yard. That's what you do in times of crisis. Watch out for your neighbors.

They lay in these grassy spots near the swamp and nap. I've started buying critter feed, it's mostly corn and sunflower seeds. It's a huge hit. I feed them around noon when I am taking my lunch break. A few weeks ago I was just tossing seeds around to see who would come, now if I am not with the critter chow at noon girl duck is on my patio tapping her foot waiting for the grub. Based on the way she quacks I assume she gets low-blood sugar and kind of hangry, so I try to not be late. They are still cautious of me, and I don't want them to get used to me, but we have our ritual now. I walk out with my little jug of critter chow and sprinkle it back by the swamp. She leads the charge and heads in for lunch while I walk back. Social distancing is something to always practice with your duck neighbors.

Girl duck makes her beeline for lunch. Her dutiful beautiful drake boyfriend keeping a quick pace behind her. She walks like she is on a mission, and he walks like he's up for wherever she wants to go. She chows down and he keeps watch but sneaks a chance to get some food. When she is done, she is done. No time for small talk after, she starts waddling back to the swamp usually quacking, but more softly this time as she goes. Boy duck usually finally starts eating in earnest when she is done. Sometimes he isn't paying total attention as he scoops up as much as he can while she is half-way home. He then usually speed chomps so he can get back to her as quick as possible.

I feel like the goddamn Jane Goodall of backyard birds. I hope they find it a good enough place to camp out and think of laying some eggs, we shall see. In the meantime, I am super happy to get to know my new neighbors.

2020 - The Year of Trees

FUN FACT: Did you know it's Earth Day today? It's the 50th Anniversary even. Arbor Day is this Friday.

I used to make jokes about arbor day, as a throw-away pretend holiday, but I do remember as a kid that we basically got little tree seedlings every year to take home. My parents planted them all. I had a kindergarten tree, my first-grade tree, etc...we lived in the country and I come from a long line of tree huggers*. We were going to plant those free trees damn it.

*Literal Tree Huggers. Briefly in the 70's my parents lived in a trailer court with no trees. They bought 40 acres of land that was just woods so they could go visit trees...and hug them. I think the plan was to build a house there eventually, but that didn't happen.

In my last blog, I mentioned we go to "Church" - a.k.a. the Arboretum. Pretty much a couple days after I posted that Church closed. Just like real churches. COVID-19 is making going to any church or anywhere not happening. I am missing spring at the Arboretum and I am bummed.

It was our love of the Arb that stoked a fire to start landscaping in our backyard. It wasn't until we went to the arboretum that I realized "Landscaping for Wildlife" was a thing. Seriously - they have a whole section devoted to it. We saw this pile of brush with an instructive sign in front of it that said, "This is habitat" -- and I was like, well shit...I got habitat. And that's when we started thinking maybe we could do some stuff in our yard.

Habitat - Allegedly.

And we do legit have habitat. We bought our house kind of because of the back yard. It butts up to a swamp. No one behind us. There is a little creek on the west side of our property that leads to the swamp. We've always seen lots of wildlife around. Wild turkeys, deer, rabbits, Canadian Geese, Mallards, Sandhill cranes one year, raccoon, possum, flying squirrels, regular squirrels, once a fox, a few times coyotes, a mink was living under our shed briefly, eagles, hawks, and a whole host of other birds. It's really freaking incredible for living essentially in the middle of a housing development.

With that in mind, this winter Gabe and I started plotting all the things we wanted to plant and do in our yard. A few goals in mind. Plant natives. Make it critter and pollinator-friendly. Have less yard and more habitat. Looking at the lengthy list of things we wanted to do we knew we needed a plan of attack. We can't do it all at once, this is going to take time.

The logical first step is planting trees. They are going to take the longest to grow, so let's get in our anchors. I thought I was really clever and declared 2020 the year of trees. The arboretum also had a theme this year of trees. In retrospect, I probably didn't come up with shit, I probably just read their newsletter, forgot about it, and then thought I was clever on my own.

Yo - if you've never done it shopping for trees is hard. First of all, a lot of nurseries don't actually sell native stuff. They sell things that are pretty and usually not from here. And then this COVID thing happened. Not sure if you've heard of it?

Essentially tree sales that communities do are not happening. They don't have the staff to harvest the trees. My thought is maybe next year there will be all sorts of tree sales? We did manage to find some that we wanted that could be ordered online and delivered to our driveway.

So here is the first gang of trees. Also, we've started naming them. I know if you farm don't name them, you get attached. I figure if I name them I am invested in them. Now if they die, I'll probably just replace them with a similar tree. Sort of like how all the seals at Como Zoo are named Sparky. It's best to not think about it.

The new kids in town

Here are our trees. New and Old.

This is Bruce. Bruce is a spruce. Thus how he got his name.

Bruce

The new kid we got as a friend to Bruce is Willis.  Get it? GET IT?!

I can't wait to ask him what he's talkin 'bout.

Willis is a Black Hills Spruce. He is going to be a buddy for Bruce. He's a teeny baby, but I hope they become best friends.

Then we have a  Boxelder tree. It doesn't have a name, because she is on the green mile. Half of the tree just collapsed one-day several years ago. No real wind, no storm. We just heard a crack and watched half our tree fall down. I would love to keep it because it's big and old and gnarly old trees are awesome, but sadly it's not doing well. She probably has another year with us, and then she'll be taken down...and replaced with others. I can't bring myself to name her. Her other half is the habitat photo posted above.

Dead man walking

This is a blue beech. I wanted the cultivar of this one, but that wasn't happening. Hard to locate and in the time of covid not likely. Her name is Carol. Mostly because we were watching Tiger King at the time, but also the name for this particular blue beech is carpinus caroliniana.

CAROL!

Out near the swamp we have Red. I think he's a spruce too, but we're not sure. He has a new friend named Samwise the Balsam fir.

Red and his new buddy Sam

Samwise

These last ladies aren't trees. We moved a rhododendron from the front of the house. She wasn't very happy on the north of our house in a pretty shady area. She moved and we got her some more friends. We named her Eileen because she is a little tippy from trying to grow to the sun in her old home. We got her a friend. Rhoda, and a couple of cousins. They are twins. They don't have names yet.

Rhoda, the twins, Eileen

ANOTHER FUN FACT - They sell bare-root trees on Etsy. We may have some more kids coming in the mail over the next couple of weeks to add to our new collection. Some hazelnut, black willow, river birch, and American plum.

Special shout out to Gabe. I provide the vision, he provides the labor. He is officially the sexiest dude I know.

He said his goal is to create a habitat David Attenborough would be proud of. I fully support it.

Going to Church

Picture it - Christmas 2018.

The Minnesota Landscape Arboretum has winter Christmas light displays. I've been to the Arboretum like once before this. My family was in town, we wanted to go buy apples, we were sticker shocked by how much it cost per person. Didn't stop to get a map, got confused by 3-mile drive and were like, That's it huh? It was lackluster. We did stop at the prairie because that's my Dad's jam. It was nice, but we had no idea what all was there.

So in December 2018 remembering the sticker shock of the earlier trip, I say to myself...well, I want to bring my friend and her husband -- "hell, I should just get an annual pass. Two more trips of just Gabe and I would pay for it". We go to the lights display. I am charmed, and my midwestern soul is soothed knowing, it's a bargain for the unlimited trips I am going to take come spring/summer/fall.

Cut to August 2019 when I realize I have this damn arb card and I have not made back my money yet. SCANDAL!

So Gabe and I go, just the two of us. We get a map. We wander around the buildings and drive out to the prairie. It's beautiful. We are hooked.

Our first official trip to the ARB not in the dead of winter. We have been missing out.

We start going every weekend. Sometimes we even go during the week. I'm making back my money! The more I go the better the deal! But it's slowly becoming all we think about.

We turn to each other frequently and say, "Hey if the weather is nice..."

"Do you wanna go to the ARB?!" the other would invariably finish.

Sometimes even when the weather is not nice, we still go. It's less crowded, and on overcast days sometimes the lighting is better for pictures.

Every time we go there is something new in bloom. We discover a different garden, a new walking path, a different biome. At this point, we are kicking ourselves for missing spring and early summer, but we console ourselves by luxuriating in the dahlia gardens, the hosta glade, the hydrangea test gardens, and discovering bogs are cool as hell.

Suddenly it has become our routine.

We discover if we go Sunday morning, early - it's quiet. We're sometimes the first people in. We take in some sights, pick a spot that sounds interesting or is a previous favorite.  Once the crowds start to thicken up, we take off. We notice that the traffic is cut off as a large church lets out usually as we are leaving. We start taking to calling the Arboretum church.

Our new shorthand is, "Should we go to church this weekend?"

In October of 2019, I take my first trip to NYC. I am by myself. It is loud - always. It is full of people. Tourists and New Yorkers who are fed up with tourists. It's too much for me. When Gabe picks me up at the airport I ask him to drive me to church. We sit under some maple trees and my pulse slows. I breathe deeper than I normally do.

Sorry, Central Park - this is my happy place.

We are now considering ourselves fledgling vegetation enthusiasts. Church has inspired me to put out bird feeders and try and draw in more birds. Church inspired Gabe to buy some native wildflower seeds and spread them in our back property. We'll never be able to recreate what the Arboretum does, but it has for sure given me a new appreciation for nature, and we are going to attempt to do some landscaping in our own little patch of earth and see how we do.

In the meantime, I re-upped my membership, and can't wait to see what the Sunday services are like at Church this spring.

Oh Hi Blog!

I still have a blog you guys!

Oh boy. Here I go blogging again. I sure do like blogging.

It's been a pretty crazy ride as of late, but in like a really positive way. I've been hitting a really creative patch within the last 2-3 months...none of it writing, but still, it feels good.

Part of this means I do want to start blogging more. I am trying to pinpoint when this creative up-tick began. I guess around Thanksgiving/Christmas? What are these crazy creative projects taking up my time?

1. Podcast
2. Gaming Valhalla
3. Make-Up
4. Tarot & Tea
5. CRAFTS!
6. Interspirituality

PODCAST: Talented Heifers
Becky and I are finally taking the plunge and podcasting. We've talked about it for years, and as of the publishing of this blog we have two episodes released and one in the chamber. That's three whole episodes! It feels good. (Hopefully, you clicked the link in the 2nd paragraph and you are still enjoying the delectable sounds of Tony, Toni, Tone! If not, click it now, for you see my blog is a multi-sensory experience.)

So what is our podcast...well, it's just the two of us talking, also sometimes Gabe! It's mostly just about fun things we do in Minnesota, what we've been up to, craft projects, recipes. Hopefully, once we feel more competent and assured, some interviews with our fellow funny and talented friends. Mostly I think we are doing it as a way to bring some laughs to our friends and family. My goals for the podcast are to create a community. I've been feeling the need for community lately and that's what's been fueling a lot of my creative projects of late (more on that later). We think we're funny, we like to make people laugh. We like to hang out with fellow laid back midwesterners. There is a certain comfortable quality to midwest folk that I particularly enjoy, and I think others get a kick out of. We want to have a herd, if you will, of other Talented Heifers who just want to laugh, have a good time, and live their best life. Whatever that looks like for them. Subscribe or something...tell your friends if you think they would think we're funny? This is where the marketing cart really crashes and burns. I am horrible at self-promotion. But truly, if you enjoy it - let us know. It makes my day to hear other people enjoy our blather.

GAMING VALHALLA:
This is something I've wanted for a long time. A dedicated game room. I thought we'd have to move before I could get it. Then I realized, "That's dumb." Our house has a family room and a formal living room. What the hell do I need two living rooms for? So we've converted the basement into an epic nerd nirvana as god intended all basements to be.

We have a super huge table for the tabletop action. Comfy chairs with enough seating for all our Dungeons and Dragons group. Oh, and a GIANT FREAKING DRAGON HEAD!!

He still doesn't have a name. That seems like a failing on our part as homeowners. 

It makes me happy. I had been squirreling all our nerd toys into the office, but I had a bit of an epiphany recently. I have struggled a long time with the notions of feminity and adulthood, and that grown ladies do not decorate with giant dragon heads. They go on Pinterest, find a chevron patterned throw rug, pin it, and then get re-targeted on facebook until they go out and buy it. I was playing that game too...but then it dawned on me...I don't really like normal decor. I am a nerd. My giant freaking dragon head makes me really happy. My nerd toys, also make me happy. Why am I locking this stuff up in a room no one goes in? I should put this stuff in my family room where I like to spend all my time...so I can, I dunno? Enjoy it!

So I did. And I do enjoy it. Gaming Valhalla is not done. There are still touches I need to add like some awesome dragon weapons our friends got us, but it's a work in progress. We spend so much more time in the room now, and it's become our go-to hang-out den. I love it! It's sort of inspiring me to tackle more rooms in my house. Like, why am I waiting to move to a better house before I do fun projects? I live in this house...I should like it, and if I don't - I should do something about it.

MAKE-UP:
I've started playing with make-up. Like a few years back, before Becky got married, she introduced me to this woman she worked with who is a make-up guru. She was going to help us with our make-up for the wedding. We went to Ulta, it was a life-changing experience, and now she is one of my favorite people. Now, I won't say I am going to be a youtube make-up blogger. I don't have the budget or skills for that. But, I do enjoy playing with it and trying new things. Basically, I refuse to be intimidated by it. It's nothing anyone needs. But it can be fun to play with. And after some practice, I don't hate the results.

I feel obnoxious about how many selfies I am taking lately, but I am feeling myself.
_Sorry not Sorry_

I set up all of my make-up in the guest bedroom. Again, it was a room we weren't really using, so why not? Friday and Saturday night have now become my own personal slumber party. I have a little cocktail, and sit down to my new make-up station and just fart around with make-up. It's not even to like go out later. Just doing it because it feels good. (I don't know if you're a slow reader and the sweet beats of Tony! Toni! Tone! have ended, so if you need to press play again. There is a new link so you don't have to scroll back up. I don't want you to lose your place!) If you ever want to come play with make-up too, come on over. I don't really know what I am doing - but we can figure it out together.

TAROT & TEA:
Speaking of not knowing what I am doing...I'm interested in Tarot. I took some classes at the Eye of Horus metaphysical shop a few years ago, and I totally recommend them if you've ever wanted to learn about Tarot for yourself. Chuck is an awesome teacher! But playing with tarot cards kind of feels solitary. And it's no fun reading for myself and the dog never gives me feedback as to if the cards are accurate.

Does the Hermit mean anything to you Kotter?

So a couple months ago I just put up a post asking if anyone else was interested in Tarot. That morphed into having a group of ladies at my house who expressed interest. It was a cross-section of people from different friend groups, but I knew everyone would hit it off - and we totally did. We drank tea, I did some readings for people. I got some assists from Christy and Jennifer who are also into tarot, and it was a really fun night. I was buzzing from the energy of all the really cool women I know for days. So much so, I started a facebook group for us. If you're interested, let me know - you're totally invited. Even if you don't want to read tarot yourself, it's just a fun little group. I have no idea that it will turn into anything, but I would like to do more of these gatherings because it was super fun.

It's been crazy for me seeing the group of people who are in the group, so many who don't know each other, but we have lots of Venn diagrams where our interests intersect. In any case, I love the connection and bringing people together. I'm telling you - it's been a theme lately for me.

CRAFTS!
I've just been on a really creative kick lately. I made a flower crown recently, because. I haven't set up my paints yet, but that's only because my paint space has not been formally been set-up. But it will. And then it's game on. It's felt good to break out the markers, craft paint, and hot glue guns. I even painted my snowbanks in a desperate act to fight off cabin fever.

Be spring already, damn it!

It kind of harkens back to as a teenager getting some puff paint and a t-shirt. It was all horrible, but the act of creating was fun. Messy but engrossing. I decided this year I want more of that in my life. So I've been trying it out.

INTERSPIRITUALITY:
So back in November or possibly December, I ended up going to a Red Tent Gathering at Moving Beyond yoga studio. I am always interested in these kinds of events and yoga, but the Hermit card does speak to me, and it's hard sometimes for me to rally and go out to a new place where I don't know anyone and trying a new thing. I almost didn't go because it was after work, and dark - and I was having trouble finding parking, but I did it, and it was life-changing.

Seriously.

I think a lot of the uptick in energy and creativity I've had recently can be traced back to this event. I won't be able to put into words what a great experience it was, I can only tell you if you're a lady in Minnesota, you should check it out. Come with me sometime if you want.

Anyway - Kim, the instructor of the yoga studio, led the group and she mentioned the term "Interspirtuality". And I didn't totally know what it meant, but I liked it. That sort of describes my own interest in religion. Which is to say, I am not really interested in religion anymore. I am interested in how I process the universal human experience, examining what life means to me, and I am genuinely interested in how others have experienced this thing called life. I think that's why I love storytelling so much, and storytellers are like Gods to me. To be able to articulate something in such a way that it sparks a connection with others...that even though we're all different we can still hold up a mirror to each other and say, "I see you, I relate to this on a level similar to your own." and it makes my heart happy. It makes me feel like not a hermit.

Since then I've been reading up on "interspirituality". I feel like this article is a good one.

That night we started with some Oracle cards, and mine was about "Connection" -- and I literally wanted to cry. I was so scared to come out and connect with new people, and yet it was such a profoundly delightful experience. I needed connection. As much as an introvert as I am, I do love people.

Truly, this path of creativity lately has been all about connection. Connecting with my interests. Connecting with friends; connecting those friends with new friends. Making space for myself in the house I currently live in, in the body I currently have, to experience life as I want to. But also it's about being present and mindful. Why am I doing what I am doing? Is this bringing me joy? What would I rather be doing?

IN CONCLUSION...Libya is a land of contrasts*.
I'm not totally sure where all this is coming from. Ten year wedding anniversary was pretty amazing. I feel like that was a big milestone, and kind of where some of this creative energy and connection stuff started. The Red Tent event, for sure. Maybe because I am about to turn 40? I'm not totally sure, but whatever it is, I am going to keep rolling with it. Because it feels good. (C'mon, click it again!)

Enjoy the earworm! I love you all.




*If you get the reference and are the first one to post it in the comments I'll send you a gift. Of something...it'll be good...I promise!