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?

Belgian lace

This lovely piece of lace from Belgium was given to me as a wedding gift in 1965.

Its gracious giver was a long-time friend of my mothers, and was sent to me from New York City.

My mother and her friend, Leonia, had become the best of friends while both were working at National City Bank on Wall Street in New York City. From their training days to their various promotions, they, along with another co-worker, Margie, became a close threesome.

Many stories were recalled  by my mother of those happy days as a young woman in her first professional job. When my mother married and moved to Minnesota for a business opportunity for Dad, she and Lee, as Mom called her, remained in touch.

Never losing contact, they called each other often, right up until Mom's passing. They enjoyed sharing various clippings, bulletins, announcements, or snippets of news from their corners of the world. Mom especially loved getting articles or human interest stories from the New York Times that Lee would send from time to time.

And on any special occasion, be it Mother's Day, Easter, Mom's birthday and so on, I knew Mom would be telling me she had talked to Lee. They had a very special bond and both had sealed this wonderful friendship long ago.

I have tried to stay in contact with Lee since Mom's passing since I realize how difficult it must be to lose a dear friend. Lee also helps me to keep a piece of my mother's past.

I called her recently to ask about this piece of lace. I never knew its history.

Lee was happy to talk about it and was a bit surprised, but pleased, that I had kept it all these years. She told me my gift of long ago was among the pieces brought by Lee's mother and brothers when they came to America from Belgium in 1958.

Belgium is renowned as the leading maker of fine lace, still practiced to this day exclusively by hand. You won't find any lace factories in Belgium.

Belgian lace making, like many other needle arts, shares the story of European winters that were cold and dark. Days were long; folks were indoors. Working with bobbins and a pillow, hooks and needles, fabric and threads, they passed the time creating fine things. These were things that could adorn their homes but could never be bought.

Her brothers, Lee noted, also did lace making. I shouldn't have been surprised by this. The dexterity required to work with wooden bobbins might better fit a man's hand than perhaps stitching using a fine needle. And so my piece could have been made by any one of her family members.

Lee still has a collection of pieces with such cherished memories attached to each one.

Many fiber art forms have made a comeback. People are turning to simple things, perhaps with the changing economy. Yarns, fabrics and threads do not need to be expensive and beautiful creations result in people just sitting still and allowing their creative instincts to blossom.

Classes in knitting, stitching, weaving, bobbin lace making and other techniques are thriving, many offered through a community education program for a low cost. Knitting stores are happy to have you come and sit while you knit, and learn some new stitches.

The satisfaction gained from a finished piece is worth the time the effort. And who knows what piece you create today might be a cherished heirloom in years to come?

Autumn musings

I spent last week with my sister, Edie, at her lovely country home near Lima, Ohio. A perfect place for meditating and slowing the busy summer pace, it is surrounded by trees and a brook. It's quiet there in the country, and the autumn air was restful.


The road to my sister's house is never long.

On Thursday, I drove to the neighboring town of Kenton where my then-husband and I lived when our children were very small. We had moved there from Minnesota with the promise of a better job for my husband. I hadn't been back for many years.

It was a trip down memory lane for me. All of a sudden I was 25 again as I drove past the two houses we bought and called home during our time there. And I could picture vividly pushing our baby son in the stroller as his 3 year-old sister toddled beside us, walking to the neighborhood carry-out (their term for a small grocery store), or to the library or the park.

I spent the day there in Kenton with one of my dearest friends. It was a friendship born when we were neighbors on the small two-block stretch of Barron Street and she was expecting her first child. The bond of friendship was instant.

She and her husband had moved to Kenton only a short time after we did, so they were newcomers to the town as well. The friendship that followed between our husbands was a bonus, we thought.

We lived on a narrow cobblestone street. Amish residents from the area's farms used our street frequently when in town to cut across two busier streets on either side of us. I never tired of hearing the clip-clop of the horses and peering out the window at the bearded men and women in cloaks riding in the small, square black carriages.

My neighbor was a bit more accustomed to it than I, she and her husband having lived in the Amish-country of Ohio all their lives.

Baptism in Ada, Ohio, 1971
 

When their baby boy was born, my husband and I were asked to be Godparents. Since we had no family around us at the time, it was a comfort and blessing to be welcomed into theirs.

~~~~



So on the beautiful autumn day that we shared together last week, my friend and I continued our tour through the town, driving past once-familiar sights including the hospital where I worked part-time.

But like everything else, it has grown and changed beyond my recognition.

The downtown area was built around a square with the county courthouse in the middle and retail stores all around. A wonderful department store called Ullman's, a delightful children's store called Miss and Master Haberdashery, and a very practical Rexall drugstore were ones I frequented. The drugstore more likely than not included Amish women shopping for necessities. There were no shopping centers or chain stores then.

Today the courthouse remains, but the stores around the square are all closed and vacant. The outlying area is built up with split-level houses, shopping malls and Wal-Mart. It's the story not only of Kenton but so many other small towns around the country. The landscape of Americana is, sadly, changing.

As my friend and I ended our tour and our memorable day together, and I drove the 26 miles back to my sister's house, I decided to leave my impressions of our small town just the way they were when we moved back to Minnesota. Committed to my memory, they are better left there.

The physical surroundings of the area may have changed, but the blessings of warm friendships and the memories of two friends sharing the joys of being 25, homemakers and new mothers still remain, protected for recalling at will.

I am blessed and thankful for rich, heartwarming memories, and for solid friendships that endure the test of time.

My last nerve

The major road construction project here in Lindstrom has landed on my last nerve. 

Bit by bit, it has tested even the most patient residents. I don't believe you could find anyone for miles around with a shred of patience left.

Highway 8, for those who don't already know, is being divided into what's called "split pairs." It's not feasible, apparently, to widen the existing highway, so it is being split by first tearing up the highway entirely and creating two new highways: one going one-way eastbound, and another, formerly a city street one block over, going westbound, also one-way.

I guess we all knew it was inevitable. Highway 8 is notoriously dangerous with a record number of accidents and fatalities. The new project, when completed, should ease the flow of traffic through town and hopefully create new turn lanes which will be safer and more efficient.

That's assuming we live through it all.

Since my husband and I live only one block from the worst of the construction mess, there are days we don't even know how to get off our street or how to get back home again. A makeshift gravel road has been made through the bank parking lot to allow us to get over to another street in order to get anywhere. We tend to think twice before leaving the house.

On foot is not much better. Sidewalks are torn up and closed as well. I walked across the mess today to get to the local alterations shop, Threaded Needle. It was a challenge to walk through the mounds of dirt and dodge the rocks, all the while heavy equipment trucks are moving back and forth, their cranes moving up and down loading and unloading heavy rock.

Possibly the most annoying to us residents is the sudden and unannounced loss of power, or worse, loss of water pressure. We've gone hours without water, cable for television or Internet. Naturally, new pipes need to be laid.

But complain as I do, the hardest hit have been the local businesses. Our little woes are trite compared to theirs. Some have closed, others are near closing, holding their breaths. Still others who would like to open in our town are holding off. Our local grocery market has this sign in their front window, desperate for business from once-loyal customers.

We try to shop local but the construction is not making it easy; certainly more than inconvenient. It really takes an effort.

I've heard they are allowing for bike paths and pedestrian walks, something we've not had before. That will help local businesses, as well as the environment, as it will be easier to get around without starting up the car.

So it's progress and the day will come, although projected to be a year away, when it is finished. Businesses will hopefully prosper, the roads will be safer, and we'll all be very proud. Quiet and settled in at last.

That's assuming I have a nerve left when it's over.

Good news, bad news

Today is Minnesota's primary election. The Minnesota State Fair starts next week. School starts again a week later. And yesterday I happened to notice a few fallen leaves in our yard.

The bad news is that all of this points to the end of summer.

For many Minnesotans, this is a disappointment.  Summertimes here are especially cherished with lake activities, escapes to the cabin, fishing, softball games, picnics, camping, small town festivals, Fourth of July parades, swimming at the pool.

The advent of autumn, though particularly beautiful here with the fall leaf colors of orange and gold, signals what's ahead for us: the long months of winter.

But it's all good news for two little girls (my granddaughters) who can hardly wait to start Kindergarten. One is headed to a magnet school; the other to a Spanish immersion school.

On Sunday, we had a family day, shopping for new school clothes and shoes. In and out of crowded dressing rooms, waiting in long lines, it was obviously a prime shopping day for other back-to-schoolers as well.

School supplies were purchased some weeks back. In my day, one just knew what we were supposed to have: notebooks and pencils mostly. Something to carry them in. If per chance we needed anything special, like a protractor or compass in our later grades, we were just told at the time by the teacher.

But not now. The girls, for kindergarten, had a mile-long list. Not just a list, but a very particular list. Must have this, but not that. Certain color crayons only. Certain brands. Raincoat and rain boots. Two pair of tennis shoes. Kleenex and snacks. Seriously?

A  backpack. $50 bucks. Anything much less wouldn't last through the year. How in the world do parents do it?

After our clothes shopping spree, we went to the fairgrounds which happens to be close to the shopping mall. It was the first day one could bring their entries for judging and display in the Creative Activities building.

This is always a good news day for me as I look forward to entering my counted thread embroidery from the past year.  I have two entries this year. If you follow this blog, you will have seen these already in previous posts.

This is Southwestern Pots, stitched for our home in Arizona. It features the typical southwestern earth tones and turquoise. Most pots originate in Mexico and are clay.

Native American and Southwestern design elements are full of history and beauty. They are featured throughout the southwest. These patterns attempt to capture some of the traditional designs and colors.

Although I could have stitched it on one piece of fabric, I chose to do them separately so I could decide on the spacing in the frame later. These were done on 16-count Fiddler's cloth (which tends to be my favorite fabric if the design lends itself to an earthy textured cloth). 

The second entry is African Drummer. The pattern is actually called "Don" as it is designed after a real-life drummer and teacher named Don. I stitched this as a gift for my church in honor of our African ministry, a partnership with the Iringa Diocese in Tanzania. When I collect it at the close of the fair, it will hang in our church library.

The State Fair itself is something to look forward to, even though most folks know it as bittersweet, coming at the end of summer vacation.

So maybe it is our reward here in Minnesota. A special treat to enjoy, a kick-off to autumn and a wind-down from the summer months.

That's life in Minnesota: good news, bad news. I like to think it's mostly good!

Never too old

My mother was a shining example of the saying, You're never too old to learn.

She was actually a shining example of many good things and I miss her terribly. But since her passing earlier this year, I am trying to use the lessons she taught me and the examples that remain with me of a life so well lived.

One of those lessons was to keep learning and trying new things. She did this all her life. An avid reader and CNN viewer, even in the care center where she spent her last year, she was up to date on world affairs and learned through books, listening and watching.  She could converse intelligently on any topic.

In the middle of her life, she had a thirst for learning that took her back to college. She studied occupational therapy; and then because she wanted to travel abroad, she took language courses at the University of Minnesota, studying Norwegian.

She ended up speaking it fluently and could easily converse with her older cousins in Denmark who did not speak English. She also enjoyed speaking Norwegian with her aunt and her friends in Norway and also friends in Sweden, since the languages are similar. Not exactly the same, but similar enough.

Danish American Center, Minneapolis, Minnesota

And so, I figure if my mother could learn another language in mid-life, I can do it, too.

Tonight is my very first Danish language class. Wish me luck.

I am told learning Danish is a bit more challenging than learning the other Scandinavian languages, but I am ready all the same.

The classes are offered at the wonderful Danish American Center, located in Minneapolis. Also referred to as Danebo, it is a center for Danish cultural exchange and is dedicated to the forwarding of anything Danish. It offers a wide variety of activities and events which focus on aspects of Danish living and culture, traditions, customs and history.

The Center sponsors a week-long resident folk camp at its Minneapolis campus where dancing and Danish crafts are taught. They also have a similar resident camp in a rural setting in Tyler, Minnesota called Danebod.

Danebod, Tyler, Minnesota

My mother attended the camp in Tyler for several years as a participant, and then from 1980 to 1983 as a Hardanger instructor, meeting some valuable lifelong friends and enjoying the traditional dancing and customs of her father's homeland.

I can hardly wait for tonight's class. Besides the thrill of just being immersed in an activity at the Danebo, my goal is to be able to understand all the Facebook posts from my Danish family. Although most of our generation and younger can speak English, it will be nice to be able to speak in their native tongue as well.

Well, I am a bit nervous about my own learning capabilities, but I'll keep you posted and let you know how it goes.

Maybe I'll start writing in Danish...

Green stamps

Remember these?

Yep. S&H Green Stamps. My cousin recently posted a comment about them on Facebook, asking if anyone was old enough to know what these were.

Most people answered yes, they did. Because their grandmother collected them. That made me feel really old, until I learned they were actually in use until the late 1980s.

Sperry & Hutchinson (thus, the S&H) began offering stamps to U.S. retailers in 1896. The retailers, such as grocery stores and gas stations, bought the stamps from S&H and gave them as bonuses to shoppers based on the dollar amount of a purchase.

The stamps were perforated and after collecting several pages, we then moistened them (usually by licking - ugh! They could have made them taste better) and mounted them in collectors books, which were provided free by merchants. The books contained 24 pages and to fill a page required 50 points, so each book contained 1200 points.

The books could then be exchanged for gifts from the local Green Stamps redemption store.

My mother once gave me the twenty cents for a round trip fare and sent me downtown St. Paul on the Grand-East 3rd Street bus line to redeem several books of stamps for a surprise birthday gift for my father. It was a black, goose-necked desk lamp for his home office.

I thought nothing of it at the time, but now I realize how important it often was for a housewife to collect green stamps.  This enabled my mother to get a gift for Dad, not only without him knowing about it, but because money was tight and the stamps were received with her grocery purchases.

There's nothing better than the feeling of getting something in the way of a bonus. Kind of a reward, a sense of satisfaction of sorts, a frugal feeling.

I definitely think they should bring them back.