Babysitting

One of the interesting things about marrying so young is that, in our late 50s when many of our friends are becoming first time grandparents, we are already greats. Our two great grands are aged 2 1/2 and 1 1/2 and they are here for the day.

I remind myself I am not a rookie. I have four kids, six grands, and (over a 20 year span) close to 100 who have passed through here as foster kids.

But it has been a while. And I'm going it alone for half the day, due to a husband who has graciously become chauffer for my 92 year old mother's many medical appointments.

Little Man loves Go, Diego, Go. He had a dvd. By 11 A.M., I know it by heart.

Little Man is over the back of the sofa. Rescue in order. He goes over the back of the chair. Rescue again. He opens the pantry and emerges with a box of Lucky Charms. He only eats the marshmallows. (I, in a momentary burst of wisdom, had a lock put on the pantry door when the contactor built it 14 years ago. Today, after checking every key on my ring to make sure I still had the one that fits, I used the lock.)

The Princess, who is afraid of our dog, is now attached to my side. Little Man, who is not afraid of the dog, is trying to jump over it. The Princess learns to say "Doggie says Woof." Once, she is brave enough to fleetingly touch the dog. After that, The Princess resumes being afraid of it.

The Princess calls me Mom. Her brother refers to me as Vikki. Vikki is his auntie and she showed up about noon so that he'd get us straight in his mind. Now he calls us both Vikki. (I'm actually far better with that than Vikki would be if he called her Grammie.

We have noodles and strawberries and chicken for lunch. (This is starting to come back to me.) Other than forgetting to put a bib on The Princess, lunch was a cinch.

And now, it is nap time.

I think I'll take one.

Walkin' in Memphis

What a change it has been, back in the land or 10,00 (frozen) lakes.

Yes, I admit, I am a Minnesota girl, through and through. I will also admit to appreciating the 60-degree (that’s above zero, folks!) weather we experienced in Memphis.

We sat at a table at a sidewalk café, sipping our sodas and marveling at flower boxes already sporting pansies and petunias. Back home, flower boxes are still covered with some inches of graying, late-February snow.


We strolled to a nearby park where statues honor Jefferson Davis and other Civil War era names not among the top heroes of old in the northern states.

Then we rode the trolley. The Memphis trolley line is a great way to see the downtown area. One trolley makes a loop, and for a dollar each, DH and I had not only a good view of Memphis, but also the attention of drivers who knew the answer to any question we came up with.

One afternoon we took the trolley to the National Civil Rights Museum. This eye opening tribute is built onto the Lorraine Motel, which is the site of the 1968 assassination of the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.

I was amazed and ashamed at how recently groups of Americans have been mistreated buy their government and fellow citizens and I recommend this stop for anyone traveling to Memphis.


We had been told one trip to Beale Street for authentic barbeque is mandatory. We obliged by spending Saturday evening in an establishment with the curious moniker of: PIG… pork with an attitude.

Pig did not disappoint.

At some point, a thin gentleman with gray hair reaching midway on his back took the stage. He had a black felt hat, sunglasses, and several guitars. Blues tunes poured forth from that point.

We don’t have blues cafes in Eagan, Minnesota. This was pretty cool. Had I carried my camera, I would have joined the guy on stage long enough for a photo so I could jokingly tell my daughters I was part of the show. Unfortunately (fortunately for the thin guy with the gray hair) my camera was back at the hotel that evening.

I saw my first robin of the year on the grounds of Graceland. Our daughter had told us we had to see Graceland for the tackiness factor alone. She was right. Unabashedly “hip” in it’s day, now from the 12 foot white ornate sofa in the living room to the green shag carpeting and dark, overly carved pieces in the jungle room, the “mansion” now has an eerily thrift store feel about it.

Elvis’ airplane, named the Lisa Marie, could have come direct from the set of a 1970 bachelor film. Beyond that, one can see from the gold plated seatbelt buckles to the gold faucets in both bathrooms, Elvis spared no expense in getting this aircraft to meet his specifications.

The staff at Graceland does an excellent job of getting large numbers of tourists through the grounds. The entire tour is organized and every employee courteous and knowledgeable.

Memphis, I have discovered, is a fascinating destination. The fact that it pays homage to the diverse likes of Jefferson Davis, The Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., blues music, barbeque, and Elvis, speaks for itself.

Coming soon..hopefully

I admit it. I have Spring Fever, and I have it bad.

Don't get the wrong impression. I'm the first to be dreaming of a white Christmas. I'm even up for an occasional January flurry.

But by February I'm so looking forward to signs of a changing season.

My first child was born in February. I remember looking out the window of my hospital room in Minneapolis. The houses in the neighborhood were gray. The snow was gray. The cars in the street all seemed to be coated with late winter gray perma-grime. The sky was even gray.

I was a new mom. Things should be beautiful everywhere! (There should be a law...right?)

When the brother-in-law toting a spring-like hyacinth showed up, you can believe that lovely purple plant went on the window ledge in short order.

Every other visitor commented on that plant. Spring was in the air in that little room.

We dressed that baby in several pink layers for the trip home. We dressed the hyacinth in several layers of paper and it came home, too.

Fast forward to 2008. (February 2008)

It's been cloudy for a few days. When the sun finally peeked though this afternoon, it was a click your heels in the air moment. (Side note to physical therapist: Don't get worried. I didn't actually do it.)

Sun! Now, no disrespect to Punxsutawmey Phil intended, I'm ready for the whole thing.

Light jackets.

Puddles.

Buds.

Robins.

Even pastel M & Ms.

Bring it all on.

caffeine

Some mornings are just like that.

Awareness comes in layers and with the last one comes the realization that sleeping in might not be a bad way to start the day.

The next thought is always a mental check of the calendar and remembering I have a breakfast date with my hubby.

So I leave the comfort of a warm quilt, grab my towel, and sprint down the hall to the shower.

And while the hot water finishes waking me, I'm mentally making the next move (coffee!)

At home, coffee is all about the electric pot, French press, or the Starbucks window. And the coffee is so good!

But we have spent some time camping over the last several years. The best time of day just has to be early, when it's all about wood fires, coffee and bacon. Can't you smell it?

We sit close to the fire, having brewed our morning pot in enamelware over an open flame. And it is so good!

So here's a little know fact. I was not a coffee drinker until I was in my 40s. As any of my friends will attest, I've made up for lost time.