In which grief slips up on me unexpectedly

Well, I'm home. Got in after midnight on Friday, and as we had jettisoned the idea of going to XX Year, that was OK. Turned out to be the right decision.

The last two weeks at work have been stressful and very tiring. I didn't sleep well - the hotel's air conditioning kept waking me up all night every night - and I suspect that in my weakened state my body was defenseless against the bug that my co-worker brought to Minnesota. *sniff* The work was more intense than usual, and the heat also weighed heavily on me.

After arriving so late on Friday night, I slept in a little Saturday morning, and then we went to the Farmer's Market in Cherry Creek and then to the Tattered Cover. Although both were thoroughly enjoyable destinations, I found that the lack of sleep, the heat, and possibly my too-early rising had gotten the better of me. I came home and crashed.

Sunday found Chris and myself re-discovering our family room (the "Hall"), which involved cleaning the corner of the garage vacated by the old piano. The garage has had some small residents that moved in last winter. Of course, there's no way to know if they ever moved out, or if the progeny remain. But the signs are everywhere - mouse poop on the floors, inside boxes, on shelves. I found the bag of leftover robin's eggs empty behind the wooden utility shelf, littered inside with mouse poop. I swept up piles of the stuff. They'd discovered a box full of styro peanuts and shredded the styro - I've been trying without much success to corral the shreds since the spring. It seems that every time I move something in the garage, there's more shredded styrofoam and mouse poop.

There's a trash can in the garage that usually serves to hold smallish boxes. I emptied that out and found two little bodies in the bottom. The mice had apparently gotten in and were unable to get out. They were huddled together. I could not help myself - I cried and cried. (Indeed, I cannot keep from crying as I write this.) It's not that the death of the mice bothered me so much - it's how they died. To suffer hunger or dehydration is a death no one should have to endure. Better that their deaths had been swift, the death of the prey.

Besides, I do rather like mice - they are one of the creatures that "go bump in the night", creatures that our collective unconsciousness fears irrationally but deeply. Yet they are food, and without them snakes would be hungrier and cats less entertained.

My mother said that it was her fault - she'd taught me to be so soft-hearted. This is true. But there's more. I think that I have never grieved fully in my life. I find it difficult to emphathise with the grief of others, simply because in doing so deep wounds might open with which I am ill prepared to deal. Better to shove those feelings down and carry on resolutely. After all (I rationalize) little respect is granted to people who let their feelings incapacitate them. While I can understand this, I am unable to let go.

I suppose I'll just suck it up and do whatever has to be done next. Again. Besides, I may have to go to Atlanta tomorrow.

In which weekend diversion options prove limited in Rochester MN

When you're on the road and you have to spend the weekend somewhere, it becomes important that you find things to fill your time that don't include lying on the bed in the hotel room and watching TV for 16 hours. As I needed to find diversion in southern Minnesota, I had been thinking about the weekend for the previous four or five days.

I had a couple of offers. "Come to our show on Friday night." "You can crash at our house in Minneapolis for the weekend. Bring your laundry." Well, I don't like country music that much, and am not comfortable imposing on folks, and so neither of these offers seemed likely. The traffic manager at the station where I was working saved me with Friday night tickets to the old-time rock'n'roll show at the local historic theatre. Options for Saturday and Sunday seemed to be shopping.

I'm not a great shopper. I really don't like it very much, because I'm indecisive. I can't make up my mind. I hate buying shoes and purses. But shopping seems to be a decent way to spend a weekend away from home, and so I bravely sallied forth. I did have a few needs after all, and a couple of "wants".

I don't like malls very much either. Too many people. Too much stimulation. I usually head straight for the store most likely to contain the object of need or desire, and then head out the nearest mall exit. On the other hand, what else is one to do in July in southern Minnesota?

So on Saturday I went to the mall in Rochester, MN, and did a little shopping. It took an hour and a half, but I walked away with three new bras that fit. What an ordeal. I took my new Ecco shoes to the cobbler for stretching, and also picked up a couple of new summer bottoms from Catherine's. Since I'd spent so much on Saturday, I really didn't anticipate spending much at the Mall of America on Sunday.

Sunday found me driving the 70 miles up to Minneapolis to the Mall of America. It is, well, a big mall. It has all the usual stuff in it. If you combine Park Meadows, Cherry Creek and Southglenn malls, got rid of the duplicates and added more shoe stores, and sprinkled in a handful of specialty stores you'd have the Mall of America. It doesn't cover so much real estate as airspace - the thing is three or four stories high. I did pick up a couple of silver rings from one store, and some chocolates from the Lindt store. Oh, and two pairs of lace-cuffed anklets from the sock place. But that was it. Ate at Panda Express. Ho-hum. At least I got some exercise. The amusement park holds little appeal for me when I don't have a little boy to fete', and my co-worker had called to announce his arrival in Rochester, so I turned toward "home".

Home was an extended stay hotel. It was basic. Very basic. My room had a kitchenette, which was nice, but no dish soap. Oh, and housekeeping expressly refused to do the dishes during their once-weekly visits. And no hair dryer - I had to go buy one and then schlepp it back to Denver. Actually, I schlepped quite a bit of extra stuff back to Denver, because I needed it for living in the hotel, but didn't need the entire bottle of Dawn nor the entire roll of paper towel. I did leave several items with my coworker - he's staying there through the end of this week.

By Monday I discovered that I was ready to come home. I've had plenty of what Minnesota has to offer, thank you very much. I'm done.

In which humidity plus a dry line equals storms - finally

I must admit that one motivation for going to Midwestern TV stations in my job is to experience a little bit of the excitement of Midwestern weather. Severe storms to be specific. Hail. High winds. Torrential rain and deadly lightning. Tornadoes. Flying cows. The experience so far has been disappointing.

Yesterday was somewhat more exciting however. A line of storms moved through south eastern Minnesota about mid-morning. We knew we were in for it when a weather cut-in was announced over the intercom. From inside the conference room at KAAL, it looked as if the sun was setting. It got darker and darker out there; the street lights came on, and the traffic on I-90 turned on headlights. As getting rain, wind, and hail seemed more and more certain, I decided that I needed to run out the car - I had left my windows cracked to vent the heat of the day.

By the time I got outside, the wind had really picked up. The wind had filled the air with dust and the clouds were the peculiar color of turquoise that means trouble to any Kansas kid. With no rotation, it seemed that the worst would be hail. I got back under cover just as the first wind-driven drops stung my skin. Exhilaration made it hard to return to the conference room and the training, but as the rain sheeted down I gathered the class once again and proceeded.

I-90 runs maybe 70 yards in front of KAAL - there's a yard, a ditch, a street, and another ditch between the conference room window and the highway. The truckers' jake breaks frequently rattle the windows, and it seems that we hear a lot of traffic even through the windows that will not open. Yesterday morning at the height of the rain, we could barely see the highway. Some highway workers had hastily lifted the cones which directed drivers around the crews erecting new highway signs, and we could still see the blinking lights on the highway trucks parked across the road. But that was about all.

Alas, it was all over by the time I went to lunch. The skies were grey in the north and east, but of course that's not doing me any good! The drive home only encountered rain on the last few miles into Rochester. But the atmosphere was not done for the day.

I really hadn't planned to stay up so late. I ate supper from the freezer (having found the Hy-Vee the evening before) and read USA Today's coverage of the Israeli/Hezbollah conflict. I found CNN, and there was coverage there. About 9:30 there was an EAS activation; severe thunderstorms were again popping up to the west. I switched to the news at 10:00.

Sure enough, during the newscast, the storms triggered several warnings, and the weather geeks were reporting weak rotation in the storms. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but I shut off the TV and the lights with some trepidation. What if a storm would strike? What if a tornado developed. The storm seemed to have Rochester dead in its sights.

I opened the window, and the curtains - which I never do in a hotel, because the neighborhood is always so well-lit. (Yes, that was sarcasm.) As it turned out, it was a pretty strong storm, but nothing remarkable. The thunder woke me up, and of course the storm got my attention when the lights went out. But no hail, even. Plenty of rain, though. I got up and shut the window and curtain.

Of course, my sleep was totally wacked. Not going to bed early, not initially being able to sleep, being awakened - it has all gotten to me today. I could have napped at lunch. I'm going to get to bed early tonight, but first, supper.

In which humidity means condensation but not precipitation

I arrived in Minneapolis late on Sunday night to find that Frontier had lost my luggage. Between reporting the loss and waiting on the car rental, I managed to leave the airport by 12:30 am, about an hour later than I intended to leave.

Things have been hot and dry here in the upper midwest. The radio yesterday said that the soybean and corn crops were in crisis; only 56% of the crops are considered "good" or "excellent". I've also noticed an uncharacteristic lack of mosquitoes, considered by some the Minnesota state bird. So it's dry. Not that the humidity is absent - there's still plenty of that. It's just that the H2O molecules don't seem to be in a precipitating mood.

Yet, condensation happens.

Having left humidity behind in Kansas eleven years ago, I have little tolerance for it now. You know when you get off the plane what you're in for - the weather inside the jetway is only a little less extreme than that on the tarmac. The jetway in Denver had been like a large oven, hot, dry, and stifling; getting off the plane in Minneapolis was a little like walking into a sauna (and for me almost as claustrophobia-inducing). Needless to say, I cranked the AC in the rental car as soon as I got in on Sunday night.

I was headed to Rochester from Minneapolis. My hotel is in Rochester (the home of the Mayo Clinic), while the station is 30 miles south-west in Austin. Minnesota is largely rural - farmland, lakes, rivers, forests. The highway between Minneapolis and Rochester is a four-lane, although not an interstate. Very rural. Other than a few truck stops and farmhouses, it's very empty and dark. And humid in the wee hours of a July night. Humid enough that visibility was getting poor - not because of atmospheric fog, but because the windshield was fogging. I put on the defroster thinking that would help, but it got worse. With visibility steadily decreasing to the dangerous state in the dark, dark Minnesota countryside, I finally ran the wipers and it occurred to me - the cold air inside the car was causing condensation on the outside of the car's windshield.

That's a lot of humidity. Still no rain.

In which I spend the week in the Spam capitol of the world and then go on vacation

My work sent me to Austin, MN in June (and I'll be back for two weeks in July) which is the home of Hormel, the maker of Spam. That's the pseudo-food product, not the incessant advertising that fills up your in box.

Austin is a small mid-western town, and that's about the best that one can say about it. It seems that the town lives and dies on Spam - if not the manufacturing of the stuff, the tourism surrounding the phenomenon. Valiantly maintaining my "no Spam" position, I did manage to get out of there without visiting the Spam museum, but it was too close for comfort.

The local watering hole that seemed the friendliest to the non-native was the Applebee's, which I'm sure got a significant revenue boost that week due to our presence in town. This is Dayton-Hudson territory, so the Target was just a nice walk from the hotel, which was good since I was far from home while Chris was holding down the fort in Denver with a huge task on his hands - he was singly packing for Yellowstone.

When I left for Austin, I owned one pair of jeans. As the Yellowstone departure date drew closer, I determined that I was in danger of being hosed in the clothing department. I spent two nights perusing Target; the second with a clarified mission - to find something not too hideous to put on my behind in the wilds of Wyoming. In short I failed. Having gained 30 pounds, I'm not too keen on anyone seeing much of my behind, nor what's between it and my ankles. Target seems to think that we all look great in Capris, and they were awash in the things. I look hideous in them. I realized about an hour too late on Thursday that there was a Sears between Target and the hotel. I left the station late on Friday feeling the doom of too few pants creeping upon me.

Through the miracle of cell phones, the internet, and an hour's difference in time, I was able to direct Chris to the correct style, size and color of jeans in the Park Meadows JC Penney from 1500 miles away. Hurray! I have pants! Not only that, but I have shorts, too! Much relief and gratitude.

But wait, there's more!

Chris posted a spreadsheet that we could both access through Google, and with a packing list, he was able to pack everything we needed to camp, and to purchase other last-minute necessities for both our households (Perry's and Bays') on Friday night. I have to hand it to him - he did a beautiful job of pulling it all together, even without my help. I admit I was worried - not being in charge, not pulling my weight on this project.

I got home at about 11:30 Friday night; I had to pack my duffel before going to bed. We got a late start (no surprises there) on Saturday morning, but I was surprised that the drive took 14 hours. I thought it was 8 or 9.... We didn't have to pitch tents in the dark after all (a relief), and other than leaving the camp late every morning, we had a totally wonderful and relaxing time. We got to see some new things, but mostly took the Perrys to our favorite places.

I'll not write a travelogue, since Chris has and most of the gentle readers of the Out Basket already read Born Too Late, but allow me to mention a highlight or two.

Upper Geyser Basin, although well-known and frequently overwhelmed with people, was a delightful (if long and tiring) walk. Meeting our old friend Ron St. Amand on the boardwalk was very cool. Grand geyser performed beautifully for us - I'd never seen it play before. I wish I'd had more energy to see Black Sand Basin that day, but it will be there next time.

Mammoth Hot Springs is always a feature of our trips, because one can really see geologic change on a human scale there. The terraces are always different from year to year, and it's fun to see how the boardwalks have been moved by the Parks service to provide access. This year we took the Upper Terrace Loop Drive which we had not done before. I highly recommend it; some real gems lurk back there, notably Orange Dome.

For the first time, this year we went to Norris Geyser Basin, perhaps the hottest area in the park. In contrast to the relitive constancy of Upper Geyser Basin, Norris is highly variable. The springs change position and activity almost overnight; the colors of the thermophiles change; the geyser play starts and stops without warning. It's positively primeval. We didn't get a chance to walk the back loop as a storm moved in on us. We adjourned to Whisky Flats for lunch and then to the Firehole Lake Drive which we have done in year's past. Firehole Lake Drive is a much-overlooked side trip. The geysers are spectacular - not necessarily in size - and the lake and cascades are beautiful and fascinating. The iconic White Dome geyser is on the Drive, as is Great Fountain, with 100-200 feet eruptions and one of the most beautiful terrace structures in the park. White Dome erupts frequently and so we got to see it play, but Great Fountain requires more patience than we had that day.

Chris has already proposed another trip to Yellowstone, with the specific intent to see wolves. He figures that we should get a cabin for that trip, which would eliminate a lot of the housekeeping that is required camping in bear country. It would mean a dedication to getting up early and being in the Lamar valley at dusk instead of dinner. Of course there will be optics to purchase, and the means to eat out a lot more than we normally do, so this is something that we'll really need to plan financially.

Other than holding an endless fascination, Yellowstone is one of those places where there's always something more to see and more to do. It is one of our favorite vacations, and I'm hoping to return next year.

In which we celebrate our freedoms

July 4, 2006.

Chris had to work of course, so Mother and Evan and I spent most of the day together. We hung flags at mid-morning, and then I went to the grocery store for the makings of a holiday dinner.

I'd decided on kabobs, corn on the cob and a red, white, and blue fruit pizza for dessert. We used sirloin steaks and chicken breasts cubed. The meat was marinated for two hours in olive oil, lemon juice, salt, pepper, and fresh oregano. The oregano was tricky to find, wedged between melissa and sage, both of which seem intent upon taking over the garden. We skewered the meat with red, green, yellow, and orange peppers, Vidalia onions, and Flavorino tomatoes halved. I basted the kabobs with the marinade while they were grilling. Although we forgot the corn, we served the kabobs with a grand tossed salad.

The fruit pizza is a large sugar cookie made to the size of a pizza pan. We used Toll House sugar cookie dough. Once baked, it's "sauced" with a block of softened cream cheese to which sugar, vanilla and a little lemon juice is added. Then slices of strawberries and bananas are arranged on it with blueberries. You can use any fruits, but the red-white-blue theme seemed appropriate for the day.

We had Copeland, Sousa, and the 1812 Overture (which isn't about the War of 1812, by the way) for dinner music. After supper, we lingered a bit over the pizza, watching TV and doing a little holiday-related web surfing. We quickly turned our attention to the weather, as the skies darkened prematurely.

Chris and I lived in Kansas long enough that we tend to look for bad weather rather than hide from it in the basement. I noticed quite a lot of rotation in the clouds, although there was nothing organized enough to mean anything of significance. Chris, who had ducked back inside, then came out to announce that a tornado warning had been posted for central Arapaho county, which is of course miles and miles east of us. Besides, no sirens had sounded. (We live in Arapaho county, but it's so long east to west that saying that someone or some thing is in the county is rather meaningless as far as pinpointing a location.) Nevertheless, the rain had set in behind the storm.

We had decided on Highlands Ranch's show, which happened to be very near the Tattered Cover - and instant bennie for us book-o-philes. Chris and I seem to be grabbing on to any occasion to "dress up" and so after a quick shower (the lightening strikes illuminating the bathroom were motivational) I donned a long black skirt, black camisole and shrug, and my new top hat. Chris wore his top hat with his Father's Day black dress shirt and silver spider cufflinks. (I'll post pics later.) Without a lot of confidence that the rain would cease, we made a valiant effort to get to the fireworks show. Alas, the rain proved to be too much, and the crowd was sent home to return the following night when the weather would hopefully be better.

There were sucessful displays that night; we could see them from the hilltop cemetary near our house. We viewed the displays from that vantage point last year, but the "overview" isn't very satisfying to me; I want to have the 'works over head, huge and loud!

Independence Day is a deeply moving holiday for me. I am painfully reminded that our freedoms (at least the ones we're supposed to have) came with the price of blood, that those lives were given in a love of Country - our culture, beliefs, and heritage - rather than in support of a government of questionable morality. This in part defines me as a patriot rather than a nationalist. As a patriot I hold very dear the notion that dissent is one of the great strengths of our county's people. It was dissent that sparked the American Revolution; it is dissent (and a nominally free press) that creates change and reveals and opposes the corruption, cronyism, and hypocracy of Government. Never before in my adult life has this seemed more vital nor more precious to me. Certainly that is due to the current administration, but also to my concerns for the future as a parent.

I had a tough time talking through the emotion when we were hanging the flags on Tuesday. As a parent I wanted to communicate to Evan how very important this all is; why we respect the flag as a symbol of our heritage, and what "freedom" means. Later, under clear skies Wednesday night under the "rockets' red glare" (ok, they're mortars nowadays), I'm choked up with the depth of emotion. "The Star Spangled Banner" does it; "America the Beautiful" does it, even with the Christian notion of God's grace; "The Grand Old Flag" does it - heck, even the "1812 Overture" does it; it's about war and love of Country prevailing over agression, after all.

I suppose the freedom to dissent from the sartorial norms of one of the most affluent areas of the state spoke volumes about the Bays family's attitudes about the holiday. In a development like Highlands Ranch - which actually elected Tom Tancredo to office - the formality of our attire in respect of the day was in marked contrast to the informality of the attire of most of the rest of the crowd. Teeny-boppers, Biffs and Buffys, people to whom success is a right rather than an accomplishment, and those who wear the flag as a symbol of inclusion likely sat down that night to see a good show. I went because to feel the "bombs bursting in air" provides a visceral understanding of what a life is worth.

Besides, I really like the sparklies.

In which I try to catch up a little

Nearly a month ago I made my last post. In that month, I've been to Topeka KS and the Spam capitol of the world - Austin MN - made major progress on our camp bed, taken a vacation, and celebrated our freedoms. I came home this past weekend to a yard and gardens overtaken by weeds, and so I've spent a little time pulling.

Since I usually write detailed posts, I have to admit that I'm a little overwhelmed by all I meant to write, but never got down into the computer. Perhaps this time I'll simply relate that a lot has happened in a month, and only write about not writing. Maybe some subesequent posts on vacation and the Fourth will appear later....