Still Weather Watching

Flooding in Red Wing on July 4

We got a winter respite in Florida, where we spent the entire month of March. We thought spring would be in full bloom by the time we returned to Minnesota in early April but we were wrong. Things looked promising at first, with most of the snow gone, but cold weather persisted and we were well into May before leaves and spring flowers made their appearance.

After an unusually pleasant Memorial Day weekend, we sank into a wet, soggy June. We broke a few records, including the most rain in a single June day, and were close to the record for the wettest June ever.

By last Monday, the Mississippi in downtown St. Paul was 6 feet below flood state of 20 something feet, but several heavy rainstorms during the week -- including 3 inches yesterday morning -- were something of a setback. Looks as though it will be weeks before the river will be "normal" for this time of year.

Leaves are dripping moisture and the air itself is rain forest soggy. Ah, and the sun now sets before 9:00 p.m. Summer is sliding by, without summer weather for more than a day or so at a time, and record cold is predicted for early next week. One bonus is that I feel much healthier this year that I usually do in the heat of a Minnesota summer.

Hope the sky will be clear tonight so I can see the July super moon.

A Thousand Laughs

 

A few years ago, Chris gave me a gift certificate to Acme Comedy Company for Mother's Day. I finally redeemed it for our 31st anniversary dinner and an evening of good comedy. The club is in the heart of the Minneapolis warehouse district.

We got a prime corner table in the Sticks restaurant dining room, a very pleasant and airy space in an open space, with minimalist décor. Our server was pleasant and competent, and our drinks were served quickly. It's hard to go wrong with Johnny Walker Red, and the house Pinot Noir was surprisingly delicious. Bread and house salads were nicely presented and very good.

Sticks Restaurant

I can't say the same about Bob's sirloin steak (tough and decidedly well beyond the requested medium rare), or my seafood linguini. I picked out the clams, mussels and shrimp, which were passable removed from the strong, soupy tomato sauce and tired linguini. Bob's sides (green beans, spiced potato chunks) were fine.

No matter. The entertainment was great! We were ushered into our front row center seats in the adjoining club. Emcee Brandi Brown kept things moving along through the amateur comic contest (5 contestants, 3 minutes each) and the performances of featured comic Erik Allen and headliner Mike Winfield. We were very aware of being the oldest attendees, by at least three decades.

Bob had warned me before the evening began that I wasn't to raise my hand, under any circumstances. However, early on Erik Allen identified us as "old" and asked how long we'd been married. After a little sparring, Bob told the comic it was his job to entertain us! A very funny guy, a recovering alcoholic somewhat uncomfortable with sobriety. He has that edgy personality so often found in comedians and today, I found myself worrying a little about him.

Mike Winfield was side splitting funny. His act includes a lot of "black guy" and male-female relationship stuff. I laughed a lot and was totally spent by the time we left the venue shortly after ten. My abdomen is still sore today, and I laugh every time I think about our evening.

 

Must be Love!

June 25, 1983

Today Bob and I celebrate our thirty-first wedding anniversary. I never, in my most optimistic dreams, foresaw myself completing over three decades of marriage -- almost half my life. I'm starting to think it's going to last!

In June of 1983, the weather was hot and humid, and reality gradually sank in. I was leaving my job, my family, and my beautiful native land in only a few days. The anticipation of homesickness co-existed with the excitement of preparing for a wedding, and when I couldn't sleep, the words of a friend who predicted that I would be "home within six months" rang in my ears. The sensible side of me saw clearly the folly of marrying someone I had known less than two years, mostly through regular letters and weekly midnight phone calls, when rates were cheaper.

The sweltering heat broke on the morning of our June 25 wedding. The day was wonderfully cool and beautifully bright, and the happiness of the occasion tamed my fears. Our reception for about fifty people was simple, casual and elegant, at "Le Papillon de Rhodes", one of my favorite Greek restaurants on rue Duluth. Our honeymoon in a Nimrod tent trailer was a new experience for me, the first of many unusual and fun vacations with my husband.

The years passed with the usual life events that were not then documented on Facebook. Bob and I both enjoyed being older parents to our son: much of parenting was déjà vu for Bob, but for me it was all new and exciting. Our happiest moments involve family occasions and the opportunities to get together with children, grandchildren and great grandchildren.

Florida 2014

I don't have much "relationship advice". I live by two "rules": the first is to avoid criticizing my husband's family and the second is the "one year rule". I believe that no one should "waste" more than a year on someone who isn't a clear candidate for a long term relationship. Similarly, a person shouldn't make rash decisions during the inevitable rough spots in a relationship. Let things sort themselves out for a year rather than abandon ship too quickly in the heat of emotion.

There is no traditional gift for the 31st anniversary, a good thing because neither of us is much of a shopper. Instead we're going to dinner and Mike E. Winfield at the Acme Comedy Club. Seems like a good way to celebrate all these years of good times and laughter.

Early Spring on the North Shore

Duluth Harbor Lift Bridge

We try to visit the north shore of Lake Superior several times a year so that we can enjoy the region's eclectic weather and waterscapes. I had been hoping to see the chunks of ice in Duluth Harbor but we missed that unusual sight by a couple of weeks so I wasn't surprised by a clear lake, with a cold breeze hinting at frigid water.

Temps had finally warmed in the Twin Cities but we were sensible enough to wear our jeans on the Corvette run last Tuesday. We had donned our jackets by the time we arrived at Grandma's, where tradition dictates a shared sandwich for lunch, in this case, turkey and bacon on a roll. I treated myself to a Prairie Mary, a delicious variety of bloody mary: vodka infused with red and yellow peppers, garnished with skewered beef-venison jerky stick, baby corn, and pickled herring. I had mine with half tomato juice to cut the acidity, and really enjoyed the amber beer chaser too. Bob had a beer, my usual choice.

Lilacs, wildflowers, garden plantings -- all vegetation, really -- were several weeks behind. That's always the case, but mid-June seemed very late for flowering crab, though it was lovely to see the trees in bloom for the second time in a month.

Superior Shores

We stayed in the main building at Superior Shores in Two Harbors, rather than at the Burlington Bay complex located about a mile south by highway, also accessible by trail running along Lake Superior. The building is showing its age and our room had no seating, apart from the bed and two extremely uncomfortable log chairs. Not enough outlets for our modest complement of chargeable devices.

I was surprised when I called in confusion about the wifi network (two discovered, but neither worked). At the end of my conversation with the front desk, I was told that some guests had noted problems, and that the service provider had been called. Wifi was out for several hours -- I'm fairly sure I've noted this problem before at the same hotel.

We drove up the shore to Gooseberry Falls the next day. The park was quiet and almost serene, with few insects and no black flies. We were expecting much more water over the falls, but, as always, it was a thrill to hear the water rushing enthusiastically toward the big lake.

Next time we may look for new accommodations, perhaps a little more modern and device friendly. This demand almost seems sacrilegious, since the beauty of the north shore is still the main attraction.

June 6, 2014: 70th Anniversary of D-Day

American Cemetery, April 2007

 Bob and I visited the beaches of Normandy during a 2007 trip to France. The April morning was overcast and rain was falling lightly, with mist obscuring the beach when we first arrived at the American cemetery.

Photo: D-Day Museum, Arromanches

This is American soil now, very peaceful and reverent. The crosses and stars of David stand in symmetry under the Norman sky, in the shadow of the flags that fly so proudly in honor of those who landed here in the summer of 1944 and the many who died in this foreign land.

HMS Northern Pride - converted trawler used in D-Day Landing
Photo by John Abbott

The experience was made all the more poignant when we learned out that John Abbott, one of our tour companions, was in that harbor as an 18-year-old sailor on D-Day, very much in harm's way, a real live hero in our midst. In his self-deprecating British way, he denied any heroism -- but there he was, a young kid in charge of radio operations, positioned above a magazine, never expecting to survive that dreadful day. He had joined the Navy because he "liked the uniform".

Arromanches - April 2007

We toured the D-Day Museum in the village of Arromanches, where evidence of the prefabricated harbor is still in the bay, a reminder of the engineering brilliance that gave the Allies a harbor in an area where all harbors were under German control. The harbor was a key component of the infrastructure created for the invasion of Europe.

I didn't realize until we went to Normandy that the march to Paris was a very long one, and that so many obstacles lay between the landing and the end of the war. The Normans have vowed to preserve those memories forever, in grateful tribute.

Finally: Bliss!

Today was the first day of retirement that I've really enjoyed. Perfect Minnesota summer weather, in the mid-seventies. No pressing outdoor work waiting for attention; inside chores pretty much done.

Bob had business to attend to so I was alone for much of the day. I spent an hour or so at Target looking at toddler toys, as I searched for a birthday present. I made three stops at Highland Village for sourdough bread, cocktail shrimp, and wild bird food. This afternoon I played with gift wrap made on my printer.

The sun is beginning to set and I feel none of my usual worry and existential angst. So-o-o relaxed and happy! A much better version of my usual self.

Gardening: a not so Rosy View

My tiny late blooming tulip

The thrill of recent small gardening successes has fizzled a little. I was quite happy with the daffodils and tulips, and even the little west corner where I planted bulbs too deep achieved modest success, with miniature flowers blooming colorfully even in this summer heat.

Waiting for wildflowers

Today was too hot to spend in the sun digging and planting. Spring has ended abruptly and the weather is now in the high 80s F. Bob has been faithfully watering the wildflower patch every day, and a few little plants seem to be showing up, though most of them look suspiciously like grass. So the wildflower experiment may not produce much.

Bob helped me a little before he began the day's painting. However, I did most of the work on the little plot on the east side of the house. We widened it a little this year, and I spent a fair bit of time shaking the dirt off big chunks of grass and pulling out little oak trees growing out of last year's acorns, planted by squirrels last fall.


Impatiens and begonias in the shade garden

Last year, I planted that space in the pouring rain, simply shoving the plants in the mud and hoping for the best, and the results were surprisingly good. This year, Bob insisted on peat moss, mulch and plenty of sod turning and raking, such that the process was more labor intensive and tiring.

The east flower patch

I started shortly before 10:00 a.m. and was soon taking a break on the deck with a large glass of water. Ten or fifteen minutes later, I was thinking that the only good thing about this mini-project would be writing about it later, and maybe a cold beer on the deck. By then, I was ready for another break and a change of eyewear, as my regular sunglasses kept falling into the dirt.

Petunias, marigolds and celosia

Because of my two knee replacements, I can't kneel down so all gardening has to be executed from a crouching position. This soon gets old, and I needed several more breaks in the next couple of hours. By the time I got the job done, I remembered that I still had a tomato plant to get in the ground. More peat moss and compost.

Finally, the job was finished. I stumbled into the house, dehydrated and exhausted. Lots of water -- and no beer -- this afternoon. Feeling better now, as the sun begins to set in the western sky.

Touch of Hypochondria

I recovered from the painful shoe incident a day or so after I arrived home from Canada and was soon back into my usual, fairly active routine. Last week, I worked outdoors three days running and felt that my stamina had improved since last summer, when I first ventured into the unfamiliar world of yard and garden maintenance. Maybe the work was less demanding this year, because Bob and I are sharing it. Early last spring, I was on my own as Bob recovered from knee replacement surgery.

Anyway, I felt pretty good, and good about myself, until Saturday night when I couldn't sleep. As Bob drifted off, pain returned to my right leg, radiating from my shin down to my toes and up through the femur. I soon ached all over as I sometimes do with what I usually think of as some kind of  MS pain syndrome.

A few hours later, the leg was so painful that I self-diagnosed osteosarcoma and mentally put my affairs in order. After a fitful sleep, I rose before 6:00 a.m. on Sunday morning and we attended early Mass. Yesterday, we took the day off and by evening I felt surprisingly well. I slept great and woke up ready to pick up my shovel.

As I turned the soil in one of the back gardens, I realized that the shin pain was the result of stepping on the shovel to give myself some leverage. I revised my diagnosis to muscle strain complicated by hypochondria.

Transitions

I've always felt a little sorry for the generation that came of age in the new Millennium: 9/11, wars and terrorism, a deep recession. Recently, I've begun to see they are more resilient than I'd ever imagined.

Twice in the last week or so I've had the pleasure of sharing a meal with several young people in their late twenties and early thirties. Both times I found myself feeling a little choked up as I listened to their animated conversations about careers, relationships, plans for the weekend -- and for their lives.

Today I was struck by the thought that they've all grown up in the last few years, and I never noticed until now. Kids no longer, with 30 looming up ahead or already in the rearview mirror, they're looking and acting like adults. They've acquired impressive expertise in some areas and excellent skills in many more. They're people who give and take advice well. They seem to be happy and successful.

I read somewhere that a century ago children grew up very quickly and were expected to be grown up in mid-adolescence. People may mature later now, but this generation is looking good in spite of the challenges they faced and conquered. We can stop the hand-wringing!

Wildflower Garden

Nothing more hopeful that a big bad of wildflower seeds

A few weeks ago, Bob negotiated with Jerry, the bobcat guy working up the alley, to remove the rocks beside the garage. The area was used as a parking spot for campers and snowmobile trailers over the years, but the last snowmobile was sold over a year ago and the rocks were definitely an eyesore. Jerry also delivered a few loads of "black dirt" from his worksite and leveled it out.

Bob was ready to plant grass, but I had been looking wistfully at bee and butterfly friendly wildflowers since last summer and was eager to turn this "arable land", as I thought of the space, into a delightful wildflower garden.

I pictured myself sitting on the deck with a glass of wine of a summer afternoon, watching birds and butterflies, camera on the table beside me. I imagined my beautiful flowers brightening the landscape and helping the environment. I felt so good about myself!

Bob reluctantly agreed to the garden, suspecting that the venture might not succeed and that, sooner or later, he would get his grass. I started "turning the soil" early in the week and after a few minutes of shoveling, I realized that the job was harder and bigger than anticipated. The "soil" was so hard and difficult to work that I began to reflect on the Parable of the Sower. I thought about bringing in some better soil but really all I wanted to do was get the damn job done.

Today I returned to my labor, determined to finish the project. By now, I'd decided that Lady Bird Johnson didn't get all that wildflower planting done by tilling the banks of the nation's freeways. Surely some of the seeds had fallen on rocky ground and flourished. Shortly before noon, son Chris came along and shoveled the last few square yards for me, and I felt a little optimistic.

Chris is a good landscaper and he told me to turn the soil again before raking it. What? Fill the rock bucket again? Not happening.  I raked the area with little enthusiasm and sprinkled the seed-mulch-fertilizer combo, a poisonous looking bag of green pellets. I hosed the whole mess just to get the job out of the way.

I spent the afternoon feeling exhausted. My attraction for the land has diminished this evening, and while I'm guardedly hopeful, I don't feel that good about myself or the future of my wildflower garden.

Re-Entry

Marilyn and I spent Sunday afternoon recalibrating. We picked up Dougal, Marilyn’s wheaten terrier, did various chores (Marilyn) and worked on photos (me). We had a delicious quiche supper brought by friend Maggie, who also came with good humor and excellent conversation.

The day started with the zipper on my rather large suitcase finally giving way just after I had finished packing. Marilyn gave me a much smaller one, but everything fit in except the pair of uncomfortable shoes that I left in Stratford as trash, along with the suitcase.

The drive to Pearson airport on this holiday Monday was pleasant on a very light traffic day. I sailed through customs & immigration at YYZ in record time and was at the gate more than two hours before my scheduled flight time. I enjoyed a Starbucks breakfast sandwich and skim latté and sat down to write.

The weekend was not only enjoyable but also very “satisfying”. I had the pleasure of participating in two happy occasions that brought great pleasure to many families. I survived awful shoes and Marilyn saved me from a luggage disaster. Bob picked me up at the airport in the pouring rain.

What more can anyone ask for?

Stratford by Train

My last train experience was long and somewhat uncomfortable, so I was looking forward to revising my impression of train travel. I had been in Union Station once or twice before, back in the 1970s. The station is undergoing extensive renovations, but the passenger areas we saw have that depressing look of poverty in the nineteen sixties: cheap, uncomfortable furniture; ugly colors; not even an electrical outlet for use by passengers. Add that unmistakable “railway” smell of train track, rubber, creosote, and various body odors and you’ve got a traveler a little reluctant to get on the train.

My fears were unfounded. L didn’t break my neck getting on or off the train (always a good thing) and the trip was quite scenic, in super comfortable seats. Spring burst out all over as the sun warmed the trees and gardens along the way. The only sour note was downed wireless connectivity which persisted throughout the two and a half hour trip to Stratford, despite the conductor’s best efforts to “reset” the wireless. I was dying to have a look at the router but wisely said nothing.

My stomach lurches very easily and I was both relieved and happy with the cleanliness of the lavatory.

One-Night Stay at the InterContinental

I was too tired from the Steam Whistle shoes misadventure to fully enjoy the comfort of the InterContinental Hotel on Front Street. On a visit longer than the few hours we spent in Toronto, I would have explored this very pleasant hotel and its amenities. Marilyn reminded me yesterday that the subway would have been a better way for me to travel between the hotel and St. Michael’s Cathedral. And, of course, that had crossed my mind at the time but I felt reluctant to take the chance of going in the wrong direction. I was wrong … but no matter.

Marilyn ordered room service for a delicious Sunday continental breakfast, including enough fruit and pastries to feed a family. After our meal, we went for a swim in the spa area of the hotel. Quite posh and well equipped, though the locker room did seem a little small to the woman who walked in, expecting to repack her extremely large suitcase next to the lockers.

The pool was beautiful. Not too much chlorine; narrow in the style of modern pools designed to attract the serious lap swimmer, which I am not. I was mesmerized by the view through the skylight of the CN Tower, from a corner of the pool.

The hotel is a convenient short (<  10 minutes) walk from Union Station, where we hopped on the train to Stratford.

Agony at the Steam Whistle Brewery

Through the window from inside the Steam Whistle Brewery

The wedding reception was at the Steam Whistle Brewery, a few blocks from our hotel. A short walk, unless one is stupid enough to wear extremely uncomfortable shoes (not elegant, or even good looking, in my case). The shoes came from Payless a decade ago, and I've kept them around for use when the comfy black loafers just won't work. Shoes are now in Marilyn's pile of junk for the dump, but that is another story.

I had already hoofed plenty that afternoon, walking to St. Michael's and most of the way back, but at least I was wearing my comfortable tennis shoes for that junket. My calves and shins were so sore that I contemplated abandoning the shoes and walking down Simcoe in my bare feet. Marilyn was wearing very lovely heeled sandals but she looked fit and comfortable in her wedding finery as we trudged down the small but challenging hill.

By the time we walked in the door, I desperately needed a stiff drink, but under the circumstances was afraid to imbibe. I settled on the glass of red wine offered by a snappy looking waiter. I had to sit down on the bench at the entrance, while Marilyn socialized with friends. I had gone way beyond being worried that I'd be thought unsociable and cold. I was in too much pain. The wine didn't help.

I enjoyed the two appetizers (chicken in a miniature ice cream cone, breaded shrimp) brought to me but I simply couldn't get up to try the others. Meanwhile, I was getting mighty thirsty but the authorities were herding the crowd into the wedding reception. By the time I got to the bar, service had stopped so I grabbed a second glass of wine from a waiter's tray and limped into the dining room.

During the delicious dinner, I worried about how I would look when I finally got up from the table. Later, before the dancing began, I got up my courage and stumbled toward the ladies' room. I looked around, only a little concerned that I would be judged to be drunk -- which might have numbed the pain -- or infirm, which I definitely was.

The climb up the hill was actually quite a bit easier than the trek down. We made it to our room shortly before 11:00 p.m. By that time, I ached all over and slept fitfully, grateful that the day had ended without some awful fall or shameful incident.

The wedding reception was, in fact, very enjoyable, and I got the warm feeling that Carol and Jeff were compatibly blending two lovely families. Read about Carol & Jeff's wedding here.  FB Photos.

Interlude at St. Michael's Cathedral

The four-hour gap between the wedding service and the reception gave us the opportunity to check into our hotel and compose ourselves. Marilyn headed off to the Aquarium and I decided  to  attend the vigil Mass at St. Michael’sCathedral. I hadn't quite realized that a half-hour walk would take such a chunk out of the limited time available. I ambled a little on my way to church and didn't arrive until about 15 minutes before 5:00 o’clock Mass.

I was a little dismayed when I saw the scaffolding surrounding the church, and surprised to note that the interior is a construction zone, with virtually all seating impeded by scaffolds. Caution tape everywhere. I really wondered how Sunday Mass could possibly be held in such an environment.

The cantor began the opening hymn, and the most glorious music wafted toward me from the rear. The men's choir processed down the center aisle, elegantly robed and solemnly reverent. Behind them, the boys from St. Michael's Choir School sang sweetly. I felt much as I did when I accidentally walked into Vespers at Sacré Coeur in Paris, transported to heaven. I closed my eyes and forgot the scaffolding as Gregorian chant and Palestrina filled the worship space.

A couple of unrelated thoughts distracted me during the homily. I reflected that if I hadn't know where I was, I would have identified the choir sound as Anglican, not Catholic. Perfect diction; almost British. And, being me, I wondered about the cost of this massive work of renovation.

Someday, when the work is completed, I'll return to St. Michael's for a concert.

St. John's Church




Church of St. John

Church of Saint John

I don’t know Toronto very well (make that “at all”), but I always wondered about "The Beaches" neighborhood so I was happy to finally drive through the pretty streets along Lake Ontario. The Its history as a resort area for Torontonians reminds me a little of White Bear Lake, where people would ride the streetcar to spend the day in the park and on the beach. The Beaches neighborhood looks very gentrified now, with no outward sign of concessions or carnival rides.

St. John’s is a parish built during that great church construction era of the early twentieth century. The stained glass windows seem to have been added over time, many during the period following WWII as memorials to servicemen killed in the war.




I suspect that the St. Pius X window the rear portico preceded the rest. Pius X was a great promoter of good liturgical music and I’ve seen many a tribute to him in churches of the era. Other windows depict saints like the ever popular St. Catherine of Siena and St. Bernadette.





Saint Pius X

Saint Catherine of Siena

The parish seems prosperous and the priest was pleasantly indulgent, in the manner of Catholic clergy who have presided over many weddings attended by an unchurched congregation.

The only surprise was the presence of a single restroom at the rear of the church. I encouraged some uncomfortable looking wedding guests to try the basement, but the only one who ventured down the stairs said it was "too dark and scary".


Carol & Jeff's Wedding

Carol and Jeff

Marilyn took be along as her guest for Saturday’s wedding. Jeff is a friend from Harry’s years as an undergraduate at Western and he played in a band with both Carol and Jeff in med school – or something like that. Yesterday’s guests included the couples from Friday’s celebratory grad dinner, so I felt connected, even though I didn’t know Carol and Jeff myself. Harry and Laura picked us up in Stratford on Saturday morning and we drove directly to the church, St. John’s in Toronto’s Beaches neighborhood.

I was surprised to hear German spoken by a group waiting for the restroom in the rear of the church. Turns out they were Jeff’s relatives, in town for the occasion. The music was provided by an excellent little string ensemble and a superb soloist. The tiny flower girl, the bride’s niece, was carried down the aisle during the processional, but she got the picture during Mass and walked out on her own, to audible “awws”.

It was a cold afternoon and the female members of the wedding party must have been chilly in their lovely yellow dresses. Both families and all guests beamed on this happy day, missing only a little warmth and sun. More wedding pictures here https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10203372940660641.1073741851.1125181306&type=1&l=2be6555931.

Celebration Dinner

We celebrated Harry's graduation in the new chic Stratford restaurant located in the Bruce Hotel. The hotel itself won't open until May 24th but it certainly looks promising, and it has the smell of new construction that I love so much.

The best part of the evening was getting to know Harry and Laura's friends a little better. For some, the friendship dates back to middle school and they have an easy familiarity and humor that made the evening very pleasant.

Marilyn was eager to try the menu, especially after learning that the chef had been buying cheese at the Milky Whey when she was shopping for us this afternoon. I am less adventurous than she, but I loved my "Potatoes, potatoes, potatoes ..." appetizer that featured a variety of potatoes with a mildly seasoned white sauce drizzled tastefully around the plate. The others all chose a second appetizer but I just couldn't eat any more, especially because I had enjoyed several pieces of excellent bread.

My lamb main course was a kind of patty made of shredded meat, breaded lightly and roasted, not quite what I expected but excellent nonetheless. Unfortunately, the summer ratatouille (if that's what it really was) was full of olive bits, which I detest, so I didn't touch the accompaniment after the first surprising bite.

A few of us had dessert (not me) but all enjoyed miniature pastries. Just enough to finish off the meal. Perfect end to an exciting, milestone day.

New Doctor in the House

Harry and his lovely wife, Laura

Harry became the latest M.D. in the Marshall family - #5 by my count: Dr. Mark (Harry's paternal grandfather), Dr. Ken (dad), Dr. Marilyn (mom), Dr. Kate (sister). Harry earned his Ph. D. a few years ago, the first degree in the seven-year joint MD/PhD program offered by the University of Western Ontario.

It was a cold morning in London. Seems to be I've sat through many a sweltering graduation ceremony, but this wasn't one of them. The morning was run efficiently and well. Most of the speakers were brief and a few even had good things to say.



Harry and his mom, Marilyn

For me, the most memorable words were from Professor Jacob Van Dyk, the recipient of an honorary degree at today's event. His advice to the graduates was simple, direct, and easy to remember: 1.  Prioritize the big things or you'll never get anything done; 2. Invest in other people - they contribute to your success; 3, Celebrate your successes - don't get bogged down in your failures. He used the acronym "PIC", cracking a joke at the PICC procedure familiar to all the new graduates and many of those in attendance.

Graduations are emotional celebrations, often tinged with a little sadness. How I wish Harry's dad had been with us today! He would have been bursting with pride to see a second child begin a medical career. I think of my parents too and the happiness they would have savored on this extraordinary day. Photos: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10203360959561121.1073741850.1125181306&type=1&l=12341c26f9

Rose breasted grosbeaks

Rose breasted grosbeak in the magnolia tree

A few weeks ago, I saw a couple of jumbo "sparrows" at my feeders, and I wondered how they had grown so large during our long, harsh winter.

The answer came last week, when I noticed two beautiful rose breasted grosbeaks of similar size feeding just outside the dining room window. The jumbo sparrows were, I think, female grosbeaks, colored much like generic sparrows.



rose breasted grosbeaks under the feeder

Turns out sister Marilyn had a similar experience and came to the same conclusion as I. This morning I was thrilled to see a couple of beautiful rose breasted grosbeaks in Marilyn's garden. They stayed long enough to pose for pictures

Spring at Last

Tulips in my sister's garden

When I was packing my bag for Stratford on Tuesday evening, I found my selections a little heavy on winter wear. Fortunately, I remembered that this region of southern Ontario is always warmer than home, even this year when winter stretched on forever. I decided that I didn't need a sweatshirt or winter gloves.

I have often been here in May, and my first impression was that the leaves are a little more advanced, but nowhere close to where you'd expect them to be in mid-May. And then I saw my sister Marilyn's beautiful spring gardens! Her tulips have reached their prime and they're stunningly beautiful. The weather feels much as I imagine Holland at this time of year.

Our Minnesota spring can't be too far behind, even though the thermometer is still flirting with near freezing temperatures. My spring Facebook album has lots of photos: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10203085851483591.1073741848.1125181306&type=1&l=a325b326c6

MSP vs. YYZ

I've been flying the Twin Cities - Toronto route for many years and I've always enjoyed flying into the beautiful Toronto metropolitan area.

In recent years, I've noticed that MSP has really improved its appearance and functionality. The airport is bright, clean, well laid out and efficient. This morning, my flight left from the B terminal, a long way from the ticketing area but made easy by a series of moving sidewalks and a modern tram. I was impressed with our airport's use of  limited space in a high traffic environment.

My arrival at YYZ was unwelcoming and dreary. The walk to Customs is long and the escalator wasn't working. I had trouble finding my bag because the monitors with baggage information weren't easily visible and I got incomprehensible answers from the two airport staff I asked for directions.

If I were a first-time visitor to Toronto, I wouldn't be too interested in seeing more of this beautiful city.

A Wild Dream

I hadn't watched playoff hockey for many years until the Minnesota Wild surprised fans with a powerful appearance in post-season play.

I was hooked when the Wild lost a first game heartbreaker in OT, and I didn't get much sleep on hockey nights until Minnesota went all the way to Game 7 and clinched the series in Denver. I dared to hope that the Wild could win the subsequent series against Chicago.

Minnesota played impressive hockey but finally succumbed to Patrick Kane and the Hawks in last night's Game 6 overtime loss at the Xcel Energy Center in Saint Paul. The outcome was deflating and very disappointing for Minnesota fans.

However, I think we'll see a revitalized and more experienced team next fall. I'm daring to hope for a great 2014-15 season in the state of hockey.

Corvette Season

Home at last and ready for a wash

The October summer toy storage is the first milestone marking the end of summer and the beginning of another northern winter. Bob's sadness is hard to bear and I'm always glad when the job is done.

The reverse is true in the spring when we make the trip to Isanti to pick up the Corvette and the boat. Bob's glee is contagious and I picture the little Corvette ready to escape the gray  shroud covering her in the Isanti barn. This year he did fret a little after learning about a "controlled burn" planned for area surrounding the building. He had a vision of the plastic body of the car melting merrily before a gas tank explosion.

Fortunately, fears were unfounded. Bob had his spring list ready and the main task was to reconnect the boat and Vette batteries. We were on our way in almost record time and I had pretty much -- finally, after all these years! -- memorized the route so I wasn't too nervous about getting home. The Corvette is fun to drive, even for a scaredy-cat like me.

That great "happily in control" feeling lasted about five minutes, until the seatbelt started to strangle me. At first, I thought I could get through the next hour, but the belt got tighter and tighter as I drove along. I fiddled with the lock and suddenly the whole damn thing flew off.

Rolling down the highway at 60 mph isn't the best time to mess with an unfamiliar seatbelt, but I did try valiantly for a few minutes. Then I began to rehearse my explanation to the police, just in case I was stopped for either a seatbelt violation or out-of-date plates (new plates and tabs were in an envelope on the passenger seat). We managed to hit a green light every time I might have tried to re-buckle, so I stopped worrying and finally buckled up a mile or so from home.

 The C6 Corvette is an electronic marvel. Assuming that the battery is charged, the push button start works as long as the fob is in on or near you. The only problem now is that the key fob system is acting up and for awhile Bob couldn't start the car. The Chevrolet dealer told Bob to have the car towed in for servicing!

He did get the car started and we fooled around unsuccessfully with the instructions for resetting the two key fobs, but at least the car is now in the garage and not sitting in the alley. Bob is replacing the license plate right now, and giving the key fob re-programming another try. I foresee a dealer appointment in our near future.

Veep

I loved Julia Louis Dreyfus in Seinfeld and enjoyed her role in The New Adventures of Old Christine. I don't know how I missed her latest role as Selina Meyer in Veep until I saw Season 3 advertised on TV last at the beginning of April.

I didn't even know we were HBO subscribers, and I certainly had no idea that I could watch TV online. I might have suspected that online watching was possible, but I had no earphones and didn't want to isolate myself in another room where I could turn up the sound.

Turns out Bob's earphones for his unused mp 3 player are a perfect fit, and I embarked on a weekend of binge watching, a first time experience for me.

A week later, I've finished Season 2. I haven't laughed so much since my annual Christmas Vacation intro to the holiday season. Veep characters actually remind me of people I once knew when I was a staffer in the Canadian House of Commons and the Minnesota House of Representatives.

Certainly "must watch" TV for any political junkie with a sense of humor.

Quebec General Election - April 7, 2014

I've lived in the United States for nearly 31 years, but I always feel a pang of something like regret whenever I follow a Canadian or Quebec election. It's a sense of missed opportunity to participate in building the future of Canada.

This passion and emotions surrounding this year's riveting Quebec general election reminded me of  November 15, 1976, when the Parti Québécois, Quebec's independence party, first came to power. It was one of the worst days of my life, partly because I wasn't on the voter roll and didn't vote in that election, but mainly because I drank far too much as I watched election returns well into the night.

For voters who favored the Parti Québécois, the next day was filled with euphoria and hope for a new, exciting future. For me, not so much. I woke up the next morning under a friend's dining room table. Literally -- the beginning of a three-day hangover and years of guilt for missing the election.

At the beginning of the last election campaign, I thought there was a good chance Premier Pauline Marois would get her majority government and move forward with isolationist policies that would culminate in yet another referendum.

That was until "star" PQ candidate Pierre-Karl Péladeau's right wing, anti-union positions clashed with the party's left leaning history. PKP created so much controversy that the Parti Québécois lost track of other campaign themes that might have seemed more attractive to the electorate.

I started to look for election results shortly after the polls closed on April 7 and was stunned that the Liberals gained a solid majority early on in the evening. The outcome of the election was a disaster for Marois and others who lost their seats. The Parti Québécois itself seems in disarray, with fewer seats than at any time in the last 35 years.

The jubilation of loyal Canadians was reminiscent of that long ago day in 1976 when Parti Québécois victors celebrated for days. The independence bullet has once again been dodged, but civil debate and respectful dialogue could provide many opportunities to identify and embrace common ground. The issue won't just "go away" until the sovereignty option seems unnecessary and undesirable

Ignatian Volunteer Corps

I like to put structure into my day, with the objective of achieving a balance between physical and mental activities. I tend to divide every day into a few hours of physical labor, some writing, keeping up with social media, and work on my photos. The beauty -- and major attraction -- of photography is that it requires so many physical and mental skills, while providing the opportunity to spend time outdoors.

For the last few months, I've also entertained the possibility of part-time work. One of the interesting opportunities was the Ignatian Volunteer Corps. Like many other American Catholics, I'm somewhat influenced by Pope Francis' charismatic personality, so I thought I'd check out the IVC, whose work is grounded in Jesuit spirituality. I met with the regional director on Tuesday and learned a little about the IVC's presence in the Twin Cities.

The idea of finding a match with one of the partner organizations is intriguing, but I'm reluctant to commit two full days a week to a project for ten months of the year, at least for now. Over the short term,  two books by Jesuits on my reading list: Jesus and Tattoos on the Heart.

First 70F Day since October

I didn't want to miss a minute of the warm day promised by Twin Cities weather forecasters. I was in shorts and a polo shirt by 9:30 a.m., determined to get "indoor work" out of the way before noon. I'm not quite caught up from the month away, but by the end of the morning the kitchen and bathrooms were clean, most carpeting was vacuumed. The irritating cat puke stains are still there ... it will take a professional carpet cleaning to resolve that particular problem.

Both Bob and I worked outside all afternoon. He washed the deck and deck furniture, and put a good dent into spring window cleaning. My main task was to remove the leaves insulating Bob's roses and my spring bulbs, a bigger job than it sounds.

I uncovered burgeoning daffodils and tulips, one of which I ruined with the rake, but most seem to be intact. I'm hoping that the daffodils' yellow foliage will soon turn green now that it's exposed. The bulbs planted too deep near the front of the house have yet to peek through the ground.

After filling full barrel with leaves, I started on another and added to it by picking up leaves that had drifted to the area between the back fence and the garage, and we made our first trip of the season to the compost site.

I ached all night from using muscles I'd forgotten about over the winter, but feel reasonably energetic this morning. Spring planting seems a long way off, despite recent balmy temperatures.

One Year Anniversary

A year ago today I worked my last day as a State of Minnesota employee. I had been preparing for several months, so my last day's activities were limited: last-minute emails, goodbyes, file purging; lunch with the MN.IT team @ Commerce; last log out and key card return; happy hour after work.

In retrospect, it seems that I spent many hours in the following weeks shoveling snow and cleaning house. Bob's knee replacement surgery seemed more all consuming than my own had been a few months earlier. Suddenly, summer was over and we set off on our awesome Grand Canyon trip. I spent much of the fall and early winter recovering from a nasty virus that knocked me off my feet in Ottawa, precluding a long anticipated visit to Montreal.

Despite all our misgivings, the Florida road trip was a great success. The winter of 2013-14 provided a lot of outdoor work and I realized that I am physically stronger than I was a year ago. I haven't published the online book I'd hoped to write ... but I do have several writing and photo projects in the works.

Happy to have the first year under my belt as I look forward to an active spring and summer.

Florida: Epilogue

Tulips and daffodils will soon be in bloom

After I hit 60, I often thought about this segment in the opening monologue of  a Jerry Seinfeld episode:

"My parents live in Florida now. They moved there last year. They didn’t want to move to Florida, but they’re in their sixties, and that’s the law. You know how it works. They got the leisure police. They pull up in front of the old people’s house with a golf cart, jump out, “Let’s go Pop, white belt, white pants, white shoes, get in the back. Drop the snow shovel right there. Drop it!”

Although we've occasionally entertained the idea, I don't think we'll be moving south anytime soon. The Florida road trip now seems like a distant memory, and I was really ready to come home to quiet St. Paul last week. Like true Minnesotans, we followed the weather in Midwest and across the continent while we were gone, and we had the impression we would be returning to the dead of winter, with five-foot snowdrifts in the yard.

In reality, we were a little stunned to see signs of spring everywhere, with the little remaining snow melting under a hot April sun. Of course, last Friday's blizzard felt like something of a setback, but the snow was already melting on Friday morning and by yesterday, it was almost gone. Some of the daffodils and tulips I planted last fall are peaking through the protective cover of leaves in the garden, and I am enjoying the long days, bathed in the glorious light of a Minnesota spring.

The temperature soared to the high fifties yesterday, as warm as a few of our days in Florida. Today the sun will shine on the Twins' home opener. Summer can't be too far off and I'm happy to be spending it in Minnesota.

Sochi: Border Battle

The most significant change  for me during these Olympics is that I can watch events live in a time zone 10 hours ahead of hours. I've logged hours watching events like skeleton, snowcross and women's bobsled, along with my favorite figure skating, ski jumping and giant slalom. Throw in hockey, both on TV and on my PC, and by now I am feeling a touch of Sochi OD.

For the most part, Bob and I enjoy the same events and cheer for the same competitors. The only hint of conflict comes when Canadian and US athletes are vying for the same medal. I've lived in the United States for over 30 years, but old loyalties remain and I just can't help supporting Canadian medal contenders.

On Thursday the Canadian hockey women defeated the US 3-2 in overtime. The US was ahead 2-0 until the last couple of minutes of the game, when Brianne Jenner's goal revitalized the Canadians. Marie-Philip Poulin, who scored the two goals in the Vancouver Olympics when Canada won gold, tied up the game with 56 seconds remaining and there was a little tension in the room as we waited for OT to begin. When Canada scored, I was jubilant. Bob, not so much. Marie-Philip Poulin scored the winning goal as well. A great victory for Canada.

On Friday, we spent several hours shoveling and blowing snow and were ready for the late morning start to the men's semi-final.  Jamie Benn scored the only goal of the game, giving Canada a 1-0 win against Team USA. I felt a little sorry for the lack luster Americans, especially because two of our Minnesota Wild players, Zach Parise and Ryan Suter, looked so dejected after the game.

Today Bob and I were both cheering for the US against the Finns in the bronze medal game. The outcome was a sad shock. Anaheim right-winger Teemu Selanne, 43 years old in his sixth Olympics,  led Finland to a 5-0 victory over Team USA and the Finns skated away with bronze medals.

Tomorrow Team Canada takes on Sweden.  I may be alone cheering for Team Canada -- so many Minnesota Swedes!

Polar Vortex

I heard on a weather update yesterday that it's been much colder than average most days since December 4. Sounds about right. I've had the inner layer zipped into my jacket since the week after Thanksgiving; most winters, I wear only the outer shell most days.

The first frigid cold spell broke in time for Christmas. I was keeping track of how many days of respite followed each week or so of bone chilling cold, but I gave that up awhile back. I lost interest when our temperatures didn't come close to breaking records. In January schools have been closed a couple of days, and shortly after the year began, even Rainbow Foods and other businesses closed early.  For some employees, the extreme cold has created the added hardship of reduced hours and income.

I feel confined to, and by, the house. Sometimes the outing of the day is grocery shopping or running a few errands. I wear a hat, scarf and warm mittens to shovel snow and clear the sidewalks. As I worked outside this morning, I thought about the very few times in my life when I've been really cold:

• frozen toes as a child from walking in deep snow in search of a Christmas tree
• frostbitten fingers from a holding an iced up rope tow as a young skier
• snowshoeing in too few layers for the weather
• skiing with Bob in Quebec City, when I couldn't keep my glasses fog free
• tent camping near Crosslake, when I froze in my light summer sleeping bag
• camping in Yellowstone National Park, when I couldn't warm up after falling in a frigid mountain lake

That's about it -- until now. I'm now remembering, a little wistfully, my hand wringing over global warming when we had a long run of positively balmy winters a decade or so ago.

As the number of tolerable indoor activities diminishes, that five o'clock cocktail hour is a very welcome little reward for making it through yet another sub-zero day.

Road Trip in the Deep Freeze

Early last week my friend Monica was looking for a volunteer to make a quick hop to Des Moines with her on Thursday, January 23.  I thought it would be fun to catch up with her and attend her presentation to the Central Iowa chapter of ARMA in Urbandale, a suburb of Des Moines. The topic was  information governance, specifically the impact on cloud computing on records management. Information management is one of my major interests, so I was looking forward to the event.

Earlier this week, temperatures began to fall and by yesterday morning the temperature outside our kitchen window was -18F, so I was somewhat less enthusiastic about spending at least eight hours on the road when Monica arrived to pick me up at 7:15 a.m.

 She's an excellent driver and we made good time, even though I35E was very busy in both directions. Fortunately, there were no drifts on the freeway and as we drove south, there was very little snow, a sharp contrast to the very snowy environment in and around the Twin Cities.

Monica's presentation was very well received and we had a good lunch at Mama Lacona's: salad, several kinds of thin crust pizza, lasagna, a variety of rolls and bread. Our server was the restaurant's general manager: very professional, attentive and pleasant. I was happy to be back in the familiar world of information management, if only for an hour on what was really a day on the road.

We stopped at Majestic Lion Antique Center on the way home and spent a pleasant hour walking through a large warehouse, full of antiques, memorabilia, old class photos, kitsch, and junk. I'm neither a shopper nor a collector, but I had fun looking though this eclectic collection. I was just a little tempted buy some old Fiestaware in colors and sizes that I don't have, but the last thing I need is more dishes, so I resisted the inclination to purchase.

Wind farm just east of I35E in northern Iowa.

The ride home was a little warmer -- above zero some of the time -- but the landscape was very bleak and monotonous for most of the 250-mile drive. The wind blew relentless across the freeway, powering the windmills in northern Iowa and southern Minnesota and I remembered the early autumn beauty of last September. Spring seemed so very far away.

Monica dropped me at the door shortly after 7:00 p.m. I was almost surprised that our long day had been so enjoyable. The frigid winter day on the road was great fun.

Estate Sale

Pre-dawn on the first day of the sale

Our neighbor's estate sale began yesterday at 9:00 a.m. and it concludes today at 3:00 p.m.

E. was our friend for many years, She and her family knew my husband and his first family for several decades before I moved into our house when Bob and I were married thirty years ago. Her wedding gift to me was a lace tablecloth that I used for a long time until one too many cats used it to slide across the Duncan Phyfe dining room table, not unlike this one but full of cat scratches, replaced with a more modern set about a decade ago. The furniture and the tablecloth would have fit in perfectly with E.'s estate sale offerings.

E. had moved to assisted living five or six years before she died eighteen months ago, so the house has been vacant for quite some time. When the family invited us to preview the items in the sale a few days ago, I felt very sad to see E.'s life laid out on every available surface in the house. E. & I shared a love for cats, and I was happy to be given a cat bookmark and a little, round china box with a black and white cat on it. When we got home after the viewing, my husband and I immediately began to clean house. We made several trips to the trash bin with buckets of garbage and polished off the afternoon with an excursion to the Goodwill.

We were unprepared for the onslaught of vehicles on our street yesterday morning. When I got up shortly after 6:00 a.m., cars were parked on both sides of the street, as far as I could see. By 8:30, a line of people stretched from E.'s house to the street, and the steady stream of people continued until the doors were locked at 3:00 p.m.

Yesterday, the serious collectors were out: WWII memorabilia, outboard motors, vintage magazines, ancient gardening tools, old books. We saw camping equipment from the fifties and garage shelving carried out to waiting trucks and SUVs. Our young neighbor bought some model railroad books from a half century ago and a newspaper section with a headline announcing VICTORY! after the Second World War.



People lined up all weekend

Today, leftover stock went on sale for 50% off. Several buyers were waiting at the door an hour before opening. Two hours before the estate sale ends, there's no place to park on the street and the house is being emptied by the bagful. A guy just walked by the window with a pair of older skis and poles. Even husband Bob went over, and came home with a cat carrier he bought for $2.50. I was actually very pleased, because the cat is too strong to stuff into her own small carrier, and this one will be more manageable.

E.'s tidy little house is full of strangers greedily shopping for a bargain. Just doesn't feel right.

Seinfeld: Party of 2500

Jerry Seinfeld 01.17.2014 - Orpheum Theatre

The Orpheum Theatre was filled to capacity Friday evening for the second of Jerry Seinfeld's three shows in Minneapolis. Looking around the audience, I saw a lot of AARP types, junkies of the old Seinfeld sitcom. Like me, they probably knew every Seinfeld episode and have seen most of them several dozen times.
I laughed for nearly two hours and woke several times during the night with lines from Seinfeld's fast-paced routine in my head. This NY Times item provides some interesting insight into how Jerry still tries out his jokes in NYC comedy clubs, obsessed about perfecting language, timing, gestures.

I loved this routine full of Jerry's quirky view of the world. Seinfeld has jokes on everything: cell phones, social media, other technology, death, pop tarts, and more.  My favorite segment was the bit on relationships and I enjoyed peering into the little window revealing tidbits about Seinfeld's personal life life, including his marriage, being a husband and father.

Warm-up comic Mario Joyner was a happy surprise as well. Highlights: a rant on his New Year's resolution to eliminate regional accents overestimating one's do-it-yourself abilities, "upscale" homeless in Santa Monica, California. This comic managed to address delicate issues with fairly inoffensive killer humor.

Magnetron

I an adept and frequent user of my microwave, and have been very happy with the over-the-range LG model that replaced my 10-year-old GE model last April. I was surprised, and a little shocked, when the machine suddenly quit working on day 2 of the New Year. I immediately called the manufacturer's customer service desk, and after a few simple diagnostic tests (like restarting the microwave and resetting the time), the agent authorized a service call covered under the warranty.

The two-week wait for a technician seemed a little long, but I decided to make the best of the situation and reverted to "the old ways":  I haven't forgotten how to use the oven and still know how to manage cooking times so that dishes are ready at the same time. My favorite recent meal of sautéed fresh salmon was just as good reheated at 350 degrees as it had been the previous evening.

I'm used to cleaning up as I work, and was a little dismayed that preparing the main course and side dishes simultaneously resulted in many more dishes at the end of the meal. Fortunately, Bob stepped in as cook's helper and clean-up was quick and efficient.

Nevertheless, I was counting down the days and literally jumped out of bed this morning, as excited as a kid at Christmas. I was dressed and outside clearing snow by 7:00 a.m., in case the technician arrived at the beginning of the 8-12 service window. Dustin, a good looking young man in the Air National Guard, was on the job shortly after 10:00 a.m.

After removing a few screws and performing a few minor tests, Dustin diagnosed a bad magnetron and diode, an easy repair. The bad news: the parts in his truck are mostly for old machines and he didn't have the parts for our newer microwave. The repair is now scheduled for January 29, and I'm simply resigned to waiting it out. I did enjoy learning that customers often get quite angry when told bad news, and, not for the first time, was happy that I no longer have to deal with end-user temper tantrums.

January 29: the parts arrived about a week ago and Kyle the Repair Guy was here shortly after 8:00 a.m. this morning. He removed the microwave from its over-the-range location and took it apart on the kitchen table. After replacing the magnetron, the  appliance still didn't work. Kyle looked at the wiring and found what looked like a burned out plastic terminator for a couple of wires. I reluctantly let him out the door to get parts from his truck, and the whole thing was soon back together and in place. Water heating test was successful!

The good news: I have a better command of the cooking workstation and I really know how to integrate stovetop, oven and microwave.  And I'll never again take my microwave for granted.