over here, yea, i'm the one in the jeep with the peace sign on the bumper

Hi!

There were a couple of you out there on the road with me lately, and I want to tell you that I absolutely appreciate you and your really gracious behavior. I just want to highlight a few of you, because you have set yourselves apart from the millions of other moving objects on the road, and I want you to know that I've noticed.

First, to the 60-something man in the white Cadillac STS. Hey, if I paid $81,000 for a car, I wouldn't pay any attention to those laws that are created for my safety, either. When all four lanes of the eastbound 494 were backed up, you simply cruised your luxury vehicle over into the shoulder. What solid white line, wink wink, nudge nudge? When I signaled to turn right at the exit for France Avenue, you simple continued on in your "very own private personal lane" and passed me on the right. Whoo hah, we exercised the tight steering control of the Jeep on that one, didn't we? And, why merge left into the spots left open by those of us exiting? Not you road warrior, you kept going in that lane you created. Those are some massive balls you've got, sir, and I sah-lute you.

Next, to the 30-something bicycling commuter at the traffic signal. I agree ... fuck the red light. You're man enough to ride that bicycle to work, you're man enough to ignore the lights that give everyone a turn at the intersection. Why stop? You've got that bike up to a good speed, and you wouldn't want to slow down to say, avoid getting hit by that car exiting the retirement condos on your right. Old people can see you, of course they can! They see absolutely everything on the road ... it's a complete fallacy that our senses become less sharp as we age. You're a wafer thin guy in an aerodynamic shirt, shorts and helmet, but they're all neon colors, so what the fuck are they honking at?

Finally, on a beautiful day like today, I was really glad to share that 2 minute wait at the red light with the 20-something gotta have a cigarette with my window down and my smoking hand dangling out in the breeze. It was nice the way you shared the delicious scent of your tobacco with my minor child and me. No, our windows weren't open because it was about 79-degrees and crystal blue sky with nary a cloud. Nah, we were just anticipating the nicotine high we'd get from the generous exhalation you pointed toward my son's window. And, the cross vent in my car? Perfect so we could all share a puff. Thanks!

Here's hoping that as I cruise the metro area tomorrow, I'll run into all of you again! It was such fun!

--Marti

since giving birth, i'm late for everything

I took Mrs. G's assignment earlier in the week, and wouldn't you know it that when this morning rolled around, I was late ... again. Seriously, before the Teen/Child was born, I was early for everything. Thirteen years later I'm still waiting for my old self to come back.

Yea, like that's happening.

I really thought about this topic... where is the heart of our home? You remember that recently we remodeled the entire basement. The family room is so comfortable and elegant and we have an awesome a.v. set-up down there ... but it's not really the heart of our home to me ... That designation goes to:

The kitchen.

Yes, it is finished. No, I do not have cupboard doors. I'm one of those absent minded people who always left them open, so when we remodeled the kitchen, I simply left them off. It does require me to LOOK at what's in the cupboard, but I don't mind. It makes grabbing things so much more efficient.

One thing that it's important to point out is that my college diploma is displayed in the kitchen., right next to the Teen/Child's first ceramic project from kindergarten. Is there irony in the fact that the diploma is right next to the dish drainer? I don't think so.

Another couple of highlights in the kitchen are my shallow pantry where I keep everything from cleaning supplies (top shelf) to my tool box (bottom shelf). Nothing gets lost in this pantry, because I can stack things only 1 or 2 deep. Makes it easier to write a grocery list.

Next we have a former broom closet. This space was reconfigured to hold the liquor cookbooks. My good friend, Jose, lives in here.

I have a television in the kitchen. Cable. It's generally tuned to MSNBC or the Food Network. I've been known to watch other stuff, too, especially while eating my lunch. I have a favorite program I began watching with other slackers dedicated university pals during my college years.

Here is evidence that other people inhabit the heart-of-our-home...

Connected to the kitchen is the mudroom. Well, it's more accurately my office, and where I spend inordinate amounts of time. My entire life and my business is organized from this spot. I only clean it when the piles get too high to see the desktop, and that didn't happen today, so you're seeing what's normal.

Some of the Teen/Child's art is on the wall in my mudroom/office. How much do we love IKEA frames?

Now that we're finished with the tour, why don't we head to the backyard with my good friend Jose?

derfwads? i thought we said noon-ish?

I haven't had time to clean up the heart-of-the-home, because I spent all farcking afternoon yesterday working, and because the Teen/Child got all of his braces on too and he's already popped two brackets off the front (I can tell the next two years are going to be really fun) ... and we have to get up today to take care of that and to go to his swimming lessons ... and so then, why am I up so farcking early? ... haven't you ever heard of a middle-aged bladder and a hot flash? Well, if you stick around here long enough you just might. So, since you're here, if you want a look at one of my other rooms, just take a look at this. If for no other reason than to just help me check my new stat counter over there. Be a pal. Thanks.

And come back later for the heart-of-the-home bit, k? Please?

blowing a little, but not up my skirt

Click here.

Jesus, Mary and that guy who married her. It took me long enough.

[If you forget the link, no biggie, it's up there on the right. See the side bar? Yea, there. For instance, on another day you're thinking to yourself, "Self, I need something totally different." Like for a gift. Or, for yourself, 'cause you made it through an entire day without saying "fuck" more than 17 times. 'Cause haven't we all had one of those days? I mean, really. You need a little pampering, too.]

because, really, i'm supposed to be cleaning the house

Today is a designated cleaning day. I have even found something for the Teen/Child to do all afternoon swimming at Auntie Fun's apartment followed by hanging out with her eating ice cream sundaes. Go mommy, go mommy, go mommy.

Remember when I updated the Teen/Child's room with the new dresser? Since then, the old dresser has been sitting IN THE MIDDLE OF THE LIVING ROOM because two of the drawer runners are broken and MechanicalMan was trying to decide if it was worth his time to repair them so that we could sell the thing on Cra*gslist. Today I made an executive decision (which I am want to do when pressed with a large piece of furniture taking up space in the middle of a room which is meant to be cleaned) and the lovely yet somewhat broken but still very usable item is going on the FREE listing at Cra*gslist.

However, I am a curious girl by nature. I have been known to follow links on the internet when I don't have time that lead me down many many interesting paths, much like stopping at a crossroad and flipping a coin not caring where it takes me (Not those paths, people. Get your mind out of the porn). I find that some of these links teach me things, some merely entertain. While at Cra*gslist, investigating my competition the other hardwood dressers on today's free listing, I clicked a link.

LINK TO SILLY TIME WASTING FOOLISHNESS.

Some of it is just stupid, but there are a few that are quite clever, and lead me to believe that there is hope for humanity if we all just keep laughing. Perhaps never more so than when a beloved pet dies or we find that parenting has left us with a few leftovers.

And, if you're in the neighborhood, the dresser needs some work, but you can pick it up on the curb.

tuesday field trip

Before summer break began, I contemplated just how I was going to help keep the Teen/Child entertained for an entire three months without going completely out of my mind. Like many parents of a child on the spectrum, I know that my kid has NO problemo finding things to do. He can sit in his room and read the same stack of sports magazines and Simpson's cartoon books until each and every fact is memorized. This is not necessarily the most "social" way to hang out. A little is fine, 24-7 is overkill.

Much to his chagrin, we don't turn on the handheld video game thingie ("It's a PSP Mom!") until after dinner. Daytime in the summer requires using more brain cells than that. My mother was famous for sneaking up on my sister and me while we lay on the orange shag carpet in the family room zoned out on Match Game, and snapping the television off (remember when it actually had a sound? of a real on-off switch ?), then telling, nay, ordering us to "go outside and play." Never mind that it was 217 degrees and 99% humidity in Topeka, and no we weren't members of the country club and no we didn't know anyone who had a pool. Oh, I longed for a pool in those days.

Back to present day. One of our plans to keep busy is to take a Tuesday Field Trip. Teen/Child and I, on Tuesdays that are not occupied by another activity, are choosing Twin Cities museums that participate in the Museum Adventure Pass program. If you're not a Hennepin County resident (pity) this will be of little help to you because you need a library card and a Hennepin County library. [If you live in Boston, or other communities in New England, Google "library museum pass program" and you'll find that many cities out there also have a library museum pass program.] Mosey up to the kiosk, choose a laminated card for the museum you want to visit, "check it out" and receive a receipt that serves as your "admission" to the museum you've chosen. Um. FREE. Two weeks ago we went to the Minnesota History Center, which is at it's FINEST as our state celebrates its 150th anniversary of statehood. Uff Da.

Today being Tuesday, we decided to visit the American Swedish Institute. We're not Swedes, we're Norwegians. Teen/Child's name comes directly from the 100% Norwegian side of MechanicalMan's family tree, Scandinavian spelling and everything. However, we don't have anything against the Swedes (and if you lived here in the Land of 10,000 Scandinavians, you'd understand) so we thought we'd take a gander.

It was lovely. First of all, it is a beautiful home/mansion/castle. I think I would be able to live very comfortably there with a large staff of minions.

Photo from the ASI website.

The 33-room mansion is a fine example of early 20th century chateauesque architecture. Graced with a majestic two-story grand hall, carved stone and woodwork, sculpted ceilings, and eleven floor-to-ceiling kakelungnar (Swedish porcelain tile stoves), the mansion is now a blend of period rooms and exhibit galleries.

Photo from the ASI website, by Alexis Daflos at the Royal Palace in Stockholm, 2006

My 13-year old Teen/Child boy who loves all things sports and Simpson's and fart noises and bathroom humor, actually was quite curious about the collection of 18 gowns on loan from Queen Silvia of Sweden. These gowns, by top fashion designers from all over the world, had been worn by Queen Silvia when she attended Nobel Prize Ceremonies and other state events over the past decades (let me tell you, it was easy to tell which dress was from the 70's). Teen/Child located the plaque for each dress and read to me the date and the name of the designer. We looked at the photos which showed her wearing the gowns at the ceremonies, and I marvelled at the bead work and the lace while trying very hard to lean in for a look without crossing the little black line. In the photos the Queen appears statuesque. In person, the dresses show that she is really a little wisp of a thang. Microscopic by USA standards. A woman who has not changed dress sizes since the day she was married.

Oh to be Queen.

and then the hippy potter went off on the 70-year old man

Yesterday, in the sunshine of a perfect 78-degree day, the Hopkins Farmer's Market made it's Saturday morning appearance resplendent with lettuce, kettle corn, perennials, organic basil, fresh eggs, bison jerky, blueberry scones, strawberries, patchouli soap, freshly squeezed lemon-limeade, and two artists right in the middle representing the local art center. Wandering through the market were little old ladies (some driving little their cute electric scooters), old veterans in Elks t-shirts, young parents with tiny tots in tow, hippy teens, gay couples, and one particularly vocal old man.

As he stepped up to the art center booth, he greeted one artist, a young woman working in chalk and pencil. She, a high school senior, had been urged by her parents to put her artwork in the simple village farmer's market. He asked, "Where do you go to school?" She replied, "I'm homeschooled."

Well. That was all he needed to begin.

"Oh, that's so wonderful. I think the public schools are falling apart. The stuff they teach using our taxpayers dollars is just horrible."

What he didn't understand is that this charming girl was the product of an unschooling family. Her mother and the other artist, the hippy potter, spent most of the morning chatting about unschooling using interest led learning and the inspirational teachers and resources of the local public schools, sharing laughter and enjoying one another's company. None of the unschool mom's description of her family's decision to unschool involved fear of contamination by the public schools. Yet, the old man heard "homeschool" and immediately assumed he was the preacher and this was the choir.

The hippy potter, intrigued by the old man's statement, smiled like the Cheshire cat and purred, "Say, I'm just wondering, since I'm a public school parent, what specifically are you concerned about?" She knew that she could very well answer the question herself, and this exercise might end up with that vein in her forehead throbbing, but she did it anyway.

"Well, there are things they teach that are just wrong. Like sex education. I mean, there's nothing wrong with sex education, but if they're not teaching abstinence, then harumph..." his voice trailed off.

"Hmm, that's interesting," replied the hippy potter, "my son has had two years of human sexuality in his health curriculum and he's now going into junior high. I know what he has been taught, and we've discussed it, and I think the curriculum is excellent. I also know the people who make the district curriculum decisions, and if I had issues with it I could call them and discuss it, and I know that my ideas would be heard."

She didn't bother stopping there, because, well, that's just not the potter's nature. "I think, too, that we have to have more faith in our teachers. They love children. The last thing that teachers want is for pregnant teens to show up in their classes. I don't think that any teacher in their right mind would encourage teen behavior that would result in that. No teacher that I know would."

Undeterred by the logic in this, he moved to the next subject, one that the hippy potter had written in her head just as this exchange began, "What do you know about creation and evolution?"

At that point, the hippy potter went in for the kill, gracefully with a smile on her face --- her grandmother taught her to be nice, and this conversation was testing every ounce of her self control, "Here's what I know. I grew up in Kansas. You're familiar with the Kansas Board of Education?"

He wasn't satisfied, "But what do you believe?"

Still holding onto her manners, the potter replied, "I'm a good Lutheran woman."

And, he pressed further, "But, what do you believe?"

So, she summed it up, before turning to the two customers who had lined up at her table waiting to purchase pottery and who were watching this exchange with some amount of glee, for they too were public school parents, "I believe in my faith, and I believe in the world of science."

The End.

As she completed the two waiting sales, the old man left their booth and disappeared into the market. It seemed like divine karma that the next person who walked up to the art booth was a friend, a member of the Minnesota House of Representatives, a woman with whom the hippy potter met on a public schools legislative advocacy committee.

Later, the unschooling mom said, "It is interesting how he jumped to that conclusion, isn't it."

Yes, yes it is.