Destination North Shore

View from Thompson Hill, duluth

Our most frequent North Shore junket is Duluth and points north, always Two Harbors and sometimes the lovely area around Split Rock Lighthouse. We hadn't been on the Wisconsin side of the lake for a couple of years, until yesterday.

The ride north on I35 was close to traffic free, and almost as scenic as Highway 23, the secondary road we usually take to Duluth. For the first time in recent memory, we stopped at the Thompson Hill Information Center, where the panoramic view of Duluth harbor is one of the most glorious sights in Minnesota. The wildflowers were in full bloom around the building, where we restocked on Minnesota highway maps.

We were on something of a schedule, since we had a reservation on a 2:00 p.m. boat ride out of Bayfield, so we stopped only long enough for a couple of photos. We arrived in Bayfield in plenty of time for the glass bottom boat tour of the Apostle Islands. The Superior Princess is a new (2012) boat but we didn't really take advantage of its glass bottom features. We're really outdoor types, so we spent nearly all of our time on the upper deck.


A sailboat on Superior

The tour of several Lake Superior shipwrecks was moderately interesting, but three hours seemed like a long time on the boat. The weather was ideal, though, sunny but not too hot. Our windbreakers were handy, as the air got a little chilly in the late afternoon.

We checked into Lake Superior Lodge around 6:00 p.m. We've stayed at the Hotel Chequamegon in the past, but it was fully booked, perhaps a sign that its new (how recent, I'm not sure) association with Best Western has resulted in some much needed updating to facilities. Our room was "fine", with a great bed and newer linens, but the plywood doors, fifties furniture, and old TV are something of a downer. Excellent: front desk guy (young and competent), coffee pot (Starbucks), and WiFi (fast and reliable).



Ashland sunset

Had dinner at Bob's favorite Deep Water Grille. He had steak and, against my better judgment, I ordered the Cobb rather than a house salad. The steak was OK but seemed "processed", and my salad was so salty that the sodium meter in my mind went over the top. I did enjoy my house nut brown ale, tasty and not too heavy.

We watched some fishing at the dock just after sunset. Lake Superior was serene and darkly beautiful. Pics in my FB summer album.

A Prairie Garden

Last May, I dreamed about a beautiful wildflower garden until I tilled the dry, rocky soil and finally scattered the green planting crystals on top. I watered the sorry effort and, somewhat discouraged, simply hoped for some kind of "sign" of life.

The weeks passed and a few little plants sprouted, but to my untrained eye the crabgrass looked much like the promised wildflowers. The rain fell on the bad seed and the good, and Bob took to watering what we now jokingly called "the prairie garden". Before we left for Calgary in mid-July, I was delighted to see a few flowers that turned out to be cosmos. Other blooms soon followed: cornflowers, poppies, zinnias, several others I can't identify with any certainty.


I did some weeding and Bob fertilized my little plot when he was taking care of his own plants. The rabbits hide in the greenery and a few butterflies have been spotted on healthy looking colorful flowers. I'm ecstatic and crazy proud of my modest success.

I've started thinking about turning this little space into a small meadow of color, blooming merrily from early spring through late fall. I'm sitting on the deck enjoying my view of the "prairie garden", minus the wine but full of all the summer joy I anticipated last May.

When I'm Sixty-Four ...

Birthday cards include a handmade "Hallmark Classic" from Bob

Doing the garden, digging the weeds,
Who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?

They were just Beatles lyrics, not so long ago, it seems. Almost unbelievable, but here I am, "doing the garden, digging the weeds" ... at 64.

When I was a little girl, my mother hosted great birthday parties, with good games and lovely prizes for the guests. I almost always felt cheated, because my sister and I weren't allowed to win, and it seemed that the prizes awarded sometimes exceeded the quality of gifts received.

The last party I remember was for my tenth, "golden" birthday on August 10, 1960. The day began badly, when I stepped on broken glass and cut my foot. The wound bled, off and on, most of the day, and a Band-Aid didn't keep the blood from staining the brand new white socks which reminded me of the incident until they were finally retired many months later.

Most other birthdays are tangled in my mind, one indistinguishable from the next. A few exceptions: #25, in Provincetown, Massachusetts - too many Harvey Wallbangers turned me off Galliano, pretty much for life; #30, on Durocher Street in Montreal - my godmother, Catherine Lynn, called me from my home town of Temiscaming, an unusual occurrence in those long ago days of expensive long distance phone rates; #40, in the State Office Building in St. Paul - my first summer at the Minnesota Legislature; #60, at home in St. Paul, when one too many gin martinis sent me to bed in the early evening, thereby eliminating yet another libation from faves at the home bar.

I love the month of August in general, and August 10 in particular. The day is almost always hot and sunny, great weather for any outdoor activity. I always think of it as the apogee of summer, after which signs of autumn manifest themselves, as the hours of daylight decline rapidly and the first colored leaves appear on drying trees. A jacket is often required in the evenings from now on and, of course, the State Fair is on the horizon.

I'm a little dismayed to be looking forward to 65 a year from now, when Medicare kicks in and health insurance prices go down. The Silver Sneakers program will give me a gym membership for $25 a year.

Paraphrasing Denny Crane's comment to Shirley Schmidt in one of the later episodes of Boston Legal, I may have more good years behind me than ahead of me, but the future still holds a few more adventures and good times.

Where are you, Lord Fletcher?

A visit to the Arboretum is usually followed by lunch at Lord Fletcher's. Since I'm always so geographically challenged, the GPS would normally be a necessity, but Bob was confident that he knew the route from the arboretum to the restaurant.

We drove through much of the countryside around Lake Minnetonka, enjoying the late summer colors and the feel of the road in the Corvette. Somehow, we turned instead of staying on County Road 19, and were soon way out of our way. North Arm ... Maple Plain ... Highway 12 .. Wayzata. Fortunately, we weren't all that hungry, and we did laugh about our predicament. Lots of traffic on 394 and 94.

We decided to have lunch at the Longfellow Grill, by which time we were tired and hungry. It must have showed, because the server asked us if we wanted water, along with our beers -- an unusual order for us in the middle of the day but very much needed. We shared a turkey sandwich and were much revived for the rest of the day.

Perfect Summer Day at the Arboretum

Black-eyed susans

I'd been looking forward to a visit to the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum for several months but something always got in the way ... until today. A perfect Minnesota morning beckoned, and we headed out Highway 5 to the Arboretum, confident that the sun would enhance photos without excessive heat.

I was shocked to set up my Canon Rebel and realize that I had left the image card in my laptop. I usually have my trusty little Panosonic with me, along with an extra card, but this morning I'd decided to be economical and take on the Canon. I felt the anxiety rise in my chest, tears welling in my eyes. I sadly put away my camera and almost failed to appreciate the extraordinary beauty of this late summer morning.

The shadows were cool as we drove along 3-Mile Drive, and I tried to compose myself. I almost missed the colors in the dahlia garden, where the blooms were at their peak rather than way past prime, as they were last year and the year before when we visited the Arboretum. Finally, I resigned myself to simply enjoying the moment.

One of many varieties of lilies

The serenity of the place washed over me. I listened to the birds and the waterfalls ... and the hum of the air conditioning. Workers trimmed plants and pulled weeds. A docent nabbed Bob and lectured him on the Annuals Garden, stunningly bright and beautiful under the noon sun. I felt something akin to peace.

I did take a few iPhone pictures, and realized that my skills need polishing. I was surprised to find myself rationing my shots, something I haven't done for many years. We left the grounds feeling refreshed and renewed.

Dana and Ben's Wedding Weekend: Madison Club Reception

Ben and Dana. Photo by Andrea Paradowski.

The wedding reception was on three floors: the terrace level, where the groom's dinner was held on Friday evening; the next floor up for dining; the top for dancing. Enjoyed the conversation over dinner with "Frank Sinatra" style music in the background. We hadn't eaten since breakfast so were ready for our steak, salad and dessert. I'm not usually a dessert eater, but I loved the light, lemony cake with jam lightly spread between the layers.

we left the dance shortly after ten, when serious dancers were already warmed up and ready for a couple of hours of fun. Some of the boys were smoking cigars in the summer heat outside the front door of the Hilton. We chatted for awhile and then retired to our room.

A good end to an enjoyable day.

Dana and Ben's Wedding Weekend: Time to Get Married!

Waiting for the bride

Members of the wedding party were all lined up on the stairs from the lower level of the church. The grandparents, including me, took their spots at the entrance to the church and we were soon walking down the aisle. My usual fear of falling in the middle of a crowded church went through my mind but fortunately I made it to the assigned pew and watched the rest of the processional.

One of the two ring bearers rant to the front to join his mother but the other ring bearer, the brie's nephew  Will was not in evidence. When the bride appeared, a little figure behind us handed her a gummy worm -- the pre-determined bribe from his dad, to be received after the aisle walk. Instead, Will gave the gummy worm to his aunt. She took the gummy worm and chewed it as she completed the last few steps to the altar. Unscripted and adorable.

Married!

The love story of the bride and groom was central to the ceremony, and it was interesting to learn about Dana and Ben's relationship, now spanning about a decade. Fun to hear about Ben's proposal again, in a winter storm on a cold Chicago bridge. Vows were exchanged and the newlyweds beamed as the congregation applauded.

More pics.

Dana and Ben's Wedding Weekend: Grace Episcopal Church

We drove to Grace Episcopal Church, located just across from the west entrance to the Capitol. We had been there just a few hours earlier, but this time I was wearing the platform shoes and I couldn't imagine myself making the trek on foot. The church was so hot that staff passed out fans as we entered, not a good sign. The promise of air conditioning in a couple of years wasn't particularly helpful to the many men in suits.

The beauty of the worship space was perfect for a summer afternoon wedding. Lovely stained glass invited me to walk around with my camera, but I was able to resist that temptation until a future visit to Madison.

We sat in the last pew until we were summoned to the narthex for the processional.

More pics.

Dana and Ben's Wedding Weekend: Capitol Square and Monona Terrace

Wisconsin State Capitol, west entrance

We were on the street by 9:00 a.m., on our way to breakfast at Marigold Kitchen, recommended by the customer service rep at the Hilton desk. The "organized chaos" created an environment that was full of sensory stimulation -- a little too much for one small child who had a major meltdown at the neighboring table.

There must have been a lot of new patrons that morning, as we were not the only ones who had to be told to order food before getting a table. Turns out we ended with the same corner table near the door that we had selected when we first entered the restaurant. We each ordered the breakfast scramble, a good meal for the long day ahead of us, though more than either one of us could eat.



Inside the Capitol

The Farmers' Market on Capitol Square is busy, energetic and fun. The land around the Capitol is flat, so the grounds are very people friendly, with many benches perfectly positioned for watching Saturday morning visitors. Bob gave me a little time to myself so that I could go into the beautiful, historic capitol building. This is a lovely "people's house", a fitting monument to our long and successful, if messy, democracy.

We took a break at Starbucks and walked down the hill to Monona Terrace, on the lake next to our hotel. The gardens and tables with umbrellas welcome visitors to Lake Monona, where boaters and swimmers were enjoying the midday sun. Made me think that Saint Paul's riverfront development is a good thing ... and it has a long way to go.

More pics.

Dana and Ben's Wedding Weekend: Madison

Lots of activities

We woke up to a stormy morning on Friday and Bob decided to take the Traverse rather than the Corvette for our Madison junket. That turned out to be a good decision since the traffic was heavy most of the way. Our hotel room at the Hilton Monona Terrace wasn't ready when we arrived at about 2:30 p.m., so we "settled" for a lower floor (10 instead of 12) and a State Capitol rather than a lake view. The room is very comfortable, with a great work desk and two armchairs. WiFi seemed very slow so I'm using an ethernet connection for the first time in several years.



The boys enjoying the patio

We spent a couple of hours meeting up with various relatives at the bar and walked to the Madison Club next door for the groom's dinner. After a pleasant buffet meal, we sat outside on the beautiful patio until after dark.

The bride and groom seemed very happy and we all had a great time.

More pics.

Calgary Wedding

I moved all the Calgary posts to a new blog http://hennesseycalgary2014.blogspot.com/.

The wedding photos are on Facebook and should be visible to all. See https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10203820606652011.1073741861.1125181306&type=1&l=93e4733ecc.

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.