Me day

I haven't had a Me Day for a long time. So yesterday I declared one for myself.

A Me Day is a day I set aside to have a little adventure and try something new, by myself and just for me. The glow I have at the end of a Me Day day is worth it and lasts quite some time. Well, until the itch comes again.

Starting with the Ojiketa Art Blitz (the second annual) in nearby Chisago City at 10:30 (yes, I even skipped church), I was one of the first hundred attendees and therefore received two wine glasses and a great burlap bag, which was the real reason for being there at 10:30 and skipping church. I have two glasses from last year's festival so it's, by default, the start of a collection.

My good friend, Barb, was there displaying and selling her exquisite gemstone art.

It was a cool, brisk morning for walking around the park, a former Camp Fire Girls summer camp, but a great place to greet familiar faces along the paths in the crunchy leaves to the various cabins where art was displayed. The hot cider took the chill off the body while the friendly atmosphere warmed the spirit.

The sun came out as I drove into the cities to the Mall of America. It's my annual visit to the MOA to the American Girl store for Christmas gifts for my two little girls, ages 5 and 6. As toddlers, I bought them Bitty Baby; so each year I buy them accessories. Since they both started kindergarden this fall, I bought them a Bitty Baby backpack and rolling suitcase, a fleece coat, mittens and pink beret for the coming season. Checked that off my list.

Strolled along the Mall with no other purpose, enjoying the store displays and stopping to watch the cake decorating contest. Picked up a few tips for frosting a cake and decided I must have a pedestal turntable and a cloth pastry bag for best results.

Mid-afternoon hunger set in, so off to Nordstrom to the top floor for lunch. My mother and I used to have lunch there when we were at the Mall together and it has fond memories. The bleu cheese, pear and candied walnut salad was wonderful, but I was conscious of the empty chair across from mine and held an imaginary conversation with Mom.

On the way out of the Mall, I was tempted by the cosmetics counter and all the beautiful fragrances. Years ago, I wore a fragrance by Estee Lauder called Aliage.  I hadn't thought of it in over twenty years, but asked if it was still available. The first salesperson said, no, sorry, it had been discontinued. Another salesperson said, oh, no it hadn't and she had some in a drawer behind the counter. Apparently, it's not in high demand.

As I sampled it on my wrist, a flood of memories came back of my first real job in my professional career, wearing Jones of New York suits and expensive shoes. Truth be told, I probably couldn't afford either, but Aliage brought it all back, reminding me that I was once 40 and somebody.

That did it. I had to have it. Wasn't this a Me Day, after all?

I left the MOA, smelling very good, I might add.  Now headed to the Danish American Center for my first visit to their Reading Circle. I had dutifully read Per Petterson's book, I Curse the River of Time, and was prepared for a good discussion.

The group didn't disappoint. Far exceeding my expectations, there were fifteen women and two men gathered for what turned out to be a most enlightening review of a good book and background of the author with his unique writing style. I was glad I came.

Again I thought of my mother, who I try to model by jumping in and trying something new, for better or worse, whether it be a successful venture or a total flop. This one was the former and I intend to return. A cup of good Danish coffee and a slice of American apple pie topped off the discussion, allowing me the opportunity of visiting with some of the people there.

As usual, a glow went home with me, the sun starting to set but still illuminating the reds, golds and oranges of this beautiful Minnesota autumn.

You've never had a Me Day?  What are you waiting for?

Curled up with a book

Tomorrow my Book Group is meeting at my house for lunch and a review of our current selection, Island Beneath the Sea (Isabel Allende).

I am the discussion leader.  I have not yet finished the book.

So this morning, I made chicken salad, cranberry relish, homemade rolls, and lemonade. Cleaned the kitchen, dusted and vacuumed. Put odds and ends (junk) away that were sitting around where they never should have been, but you know how that goes. Or maybe you don't.  Maybe you put things away in their proper place right away.

Yeah, right....

So now I am ready to curl up (I wish I had a box of chocolates) and finish the book. Why do I always have to have everything in order and all my chores done before allowing myself to sit and read or knit? Maybe it's a Lutheran thing.

Besides being my favorite author, Isabel Allende has outdone herself with this book. I almost hate to finish it. Then it's done and I will miss it. It's just that good.

Set in the late 1700s in France, Haiti, Cuba and New Orleans, it contains a rich history of the settling of Louisiana as a colony of Spain, then France, and finally America.

It's the story of Zarité, known as Tété, a young slave purchased by a wealthy sugarcane plantation owner, Toulase Valmorain, as a concubine for his own pleasure and whims.

Against a merciless backdrop of slavery in the sugarcane fields, their lives become more intertwined and interdependent over the years. Though battered and treated cruelly, Tété survives with her strength of character, and her voodoo beliefs, which are later mingled with Christianity.

The island beneath the sea is a place where "rhythm is born...it shakes the earth, it cuts like a lightening bolt and rises toward the sky." Such beautiful prose. Typical of Allende's style.

Isabel Allende wrote two of my favorite books, Daughter of Fortune and Portrait in Sepia. Now I have a third favorite.
 
So if, tomorrow, I am to lead the discussion, I better finish the last twenty-seven pages....

Boxcar children

When my childhood friend, Kathy Jones, came to my house to visit, we often chose to play Boxcar Children.

~ Kathy and I, 1956

Boxcar Children, one of our favorite books,
is the delightful story of four children who run away from home. Their parents have died, and they don’t want to be sent away to live with their grandfather.


They don't actually know their grandfather, but they conclude he must be mean, and he certainly doesn’t love them, since he's never come to see them.

Kathy and I became the poor, needy, but brave, orphans in the book, venturing into the woods and making beds of pine needles.

When we discover a boxcar to hide in, we scavenge a nearby dump for dishes and furnishings. Finding some old utensils and some metal bowls, we clean and polish them with sand.

This game appealed to Kathy’s innate sense of adventure, and my "nesting" instinct, preferring to pretend things that were homey, safe and comforting.

We had the perfect spot for Boxcar Children: a little clearing in a vacant lot off the alley on Prior, between Lincoln and Grand Avenues, in back of Dory’s corner grocery store.

Kathy and I would hide out in our little clearing off the alley, hoping we wouldn't be discovered. We were, after all, surviving, on our own, escaping being sent to our wicked grandfather.

Only, in the story, Grandfather turns out to be a loving man, playful, generous and very kind and gentle. When the children are finally discovered and he sees how much the boxcar has meant to them, he has it moved to his farm as a playhouse for them.

But Kathy and I never got to the end of the story. It was too much fun to hide, fear being found, and remain brave while trying to stay sheltered, warm and fed.

Of course, after awhile, we Boxcar Children would head for home.

Exhausted from our adventure. And most likely in time for supper.

Cloud Shoes

When my four sisters, my brother and I, were young, in 1957 to be exact, we were given a book as a gift from our Tante Rachel Due, who lived in Manhattan.

Tante is Danish for "aunt." Though my mother's family was very small, they had several close family friends who, though not blood relatives, were given the title, Tante.

Tante Rachel was one of those. We children came to know her when she visited our home in Minnesota. She presented us with the book during her visit.

Tante Rachel had a dear friend from her native Norway, Borghild Dahl. Ms. Dahl was the author of several children's books; among them, The Cloud Shoes.

All of her stories were delightful, most set in her homeland of Norway.

Besides inventing captivating tales and enchanting Norwegian legends of trolls and elves, Ms. Dahl was a remarkable woman, graduating from the University of Minnesota, then receiving a Master's degree from Columbia University. She taught literature and journalism at Augustana College. She was decorated with the Medal of Saint Olaf by the King of Norway.

But there was one thing she did not possess: her eyesight.

She typed her manuscripts on an old Braille typewriter. The kind with round keys, a cloth ribbon, a black roller carriage, and a manual carriage return. No, it was not electric.

Can you even imagine such a thing? No delete key? No insert key? No memory? No backup and restore?

My mother tells the story of a time when Ms. Dahl had worked laboriously for days on end, with little rest, to meet a story deadline. She typed, and typed, and typed, and typed some more. I imagine she typed carefully, as well, with the absence of the above-mentioned keys.

When she finished, she handed over the manuscript for publication.

Only she hadn't realized there was no ribbon in the typewriter.

I can't begin to fathom that degree of disappointment. The story told by my mother ends here. But Ms. Dahl's stories live on in the hearts of children around the world.

The Cloud Shoes is an enchanting tale of a king and queen in Norway during a time of famine. The king promised his people he would do anything to save them.


This led him on a hopelessly difficult journey to bargain with the dwarf of Trond Mountain, aided only by a pair of baffling "cloud shoes" to help him jump off a mountain peak. The "cloud shoes" would become the first pair of skis to be used in Norway.

I managed to find an old used copy of this book for sale. I leafed through its musty pages and I was suddenly a child again.

I'm going to continue to search for the books of my childhood. Maybe I'll get lucky and find The Bobbsey Twins . Or Betsy, Tacy, and Tib. Or even Boxcar Children. Or Black Beauty. Or....

Reading group

Some years ago, in August 2005, to be exact, I had a free Friday to wander around a bit in St. Paul. I stopped in at the Merriam Park library just to browse when a poster in the lobby caught my eye.

It was an invitation to join a book group for persons 55-plus and announced the book currently being reviewed: "The Emperor of Ocean Park." This was Friday and they were meeting the very next Tuesday evening.

I jotted down the information, proceeded directly to Barnes & Noble to purchase the book, went home and read all weekend. I felt like I was back in school, starting a homework assignment the last day of vacation. Three days to read 300-plus pages.

Tuesday night came and I timidly walked into the group. Any reservations I had were immediately disspelled. The group was delightful, its members diverse, and stimulating.

Five years later, here we are. The group's founder is a member in absentia, as she moved to Washington DC. Two of us original members remain. We've changed locations and added new members along the way. We're not a closed group: anyone is welcome. If we're not able to make a discussion in person, we e-mail our comments. We rotate choosing a book and leading the discussion. It all works.

I think each member of our group hungers to learn more about the world, past and present. It's what keeps us together. In our reading, we've traveled through many centuries to many different countries.

Yesterday we reviewed the book, "The Lacuna" by Barbara Kingsolver. Our leader asked us to rank the book on a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the strongest. Though we don't often all agree, which is what makes our group even more interesting, this book achieved an almost unanimous 10. It is extremely well written and a very unique book. I highly recommend it to you.

I love to read. That's probably obvious. Historical novels are always my choice. Contemporary novels are okay if they are set in another culture.

No matter your preferred genre, reading expands your mind and experience like no other media. Celebrate liberty...read.

I have a job

That didn't take long, did it?

One visit to the Chisago Lakes Area library and a brief chat with Carla, the librarian, and the deal was cinched. I am now the "Used Book Coordinator" (a title I gave myself).

My duties entail reviewing all donated used books for condition and appropriateness, categorizing and shelving them in a room for this purpose in the library office, deciding which books to display for sale in the library (a function of the Friends of the Library with proceeds benefiting the local library) and which books to transfer to Family Pathways (to sell in their used book store, proceeds benefiting community members in need), and which books should simply be discarded. Can you just sense the power in all this decision-making?

This opportunity appealed to me for several reasons: (1) it is a big project, has been neglected and is very disorganized (yes, that appeals to me); (2) I can pretty much do what I want with it; (3) I can work whenever I choose, with no schedule; (4) my organizational skills and neurotic tendencies might just be appreciated here; and (5) best of all, I get first dibs on buying the donated books that come in.

So last week I reported to work. This is what the room looked like when I walked in:


Quite a mess, huh? Just let me at it!