Home

Last night at the Moth Story Hour I learned that next month's theme is 'Home' which is appropriate as we are temporarily (and by choice) without one.

But my story about home would not be about this temporary dislocation because although it is a small irritating burden- there really is no story there.

This is the story I'd tell about home:


20 years ago my husband and I joined the peace corps.  We had recently graduated from college and gotten married and they sent us off to live and work on the small island of Antigua in the Carribean.  Small place- Antigua.  Drive 10 miles in any direction and you hit the sea.  We moved into an apartment in the capitol city and tried to settle in to our new home.  But it was hard.  The people we lived and worked amongst did not immediately open their arms to us- they kept a distance- treated us as tourists who were just stopping by.  On the streets, in the market, on the buses- we were offered tourist prices and tourist comments, even as the days turned to weeks turned to months.

At my school, I was introduced as Mrs. Sage-Martinson.  But I had this little feminist-y heart beating in my chest and the title Mrs didn't sit right with me.  So I went on a quiet compaign to turn the Mrs into Ms.  Change is hard, and my colleagues and students had trouble.  Eventually though it caught on.  Mrs became Ms and I was thrilled.  Only before long, Sage-Martinson got changed to something easier to remember-- into White Lady Teacher.  But at least I was Ms. White Lady Teacher!

But outside of school, change was harder to drive.  Even after going to the same stall in the market time after time, I was given prices I knew were reserved for tourists.  I was touchy about hawkers shouting out to me to buy their wares, and to hurry up before my boat left town. This mistaken for tourists was really a thorn in my side. One day I was on a bus heading toward a beach when the man next to me hds a grand mal seizure.  First thing I hear is "someone move that tourist out the way!"  And I think, Yeah! Move the tourist!  No room for one here in this emergency.  Imagine my surprise when I am lifted up and moved.  Set in the far corner to watch the drama unfold.  The whole bus moves together as if a chorus.  You, FatHead, (name of driver- emblazoned on his windshield) stop the bus!  Windows pop open, women rip open the seizing man's shirt.  You- in the yard, throw me one those limes!  Lime picked, thrown, caught, cut open.  Rubbed on the seizing man (a lime cuts a fever, helps stop a seizure, did you know?  I didn't).  Man slowly recovers, lime thrower is thanked, shirt is rebuttoned, man is caressed.  FatHead told to drive on.  And I cower in the corner- in awe of this community who just helped this man through his troubles- after physically removing me.

Then one day I was walking through the market on my way to the basketball court in the center of town.  I had recently made some connections and had won a place on a women's basketball team.  So there I am  walking through town in my purple and yellow basketball uniform- the team name blazoned on the front- some local bank sponsored us.  And as I pass by a tshirt stall the woman behind the table yelled out for me to get my tshirt- to hurry hurry before the boat left.  What?  What kind of tourist gets off the cruise in a purple and yellow full on uniform?  Sponsored by a local bank?  I look at her, only to have my surprised tripled!  The vendor calling to me was none other, than Mrs. Mathews, the teacher I sat right next to in the staff room during my prep.  So I call back, "No Mrs. Mathews, my boat doesn't leave for a while yet." This stops her and she looks at me close.  Sees me.  Chuckles.  Says, "Oh, it's you Ms. White Lady Teacher."  I walk away, beaming.  Recongized.

And one day- I'm heading toward my regular market stall, hoping to grab some fruit before heading home.  I pick up some grapefruit. "You don't want those. Your husband just bought some." I reach for guavas, "No, he got those too- but he forgot bananas, here take these."  And the price is low, is right.

And one day, I'm riding the bus after work to our new house in the center of the island.  We've only lived there a few days- a hurricane had passed over the island and destroyed our in-town apartment a few weeks earlier. The crowded, hot bus lures me to sleep.  I drift off, jammed between two women who are singing Carribean Queen along with Billy Ocean on the radio.  When the bus stops I jar awake and panic.  Is this my stop??  I start gathering my goods and making noises like I want to get off.  But the women pat me back down into place.  "No no- not your stop.  Settle."  So I settle.  Two minutes later FatHead stops without me calling out.  The whole bus turns to look at me and they smile.  Here.  Here is my stop.  They usher me off the bus.  FatHead does not drive on.  My busmates lean out their windows- they point down the dirt road- the only road in sight.  They smile, nod, "That way honey, that way." I thank them and head off down the road.  50 yards later I look back. The bus is still there.  People are leaning out, pointing to the left- "Turn there honey!  Turn there!  Almost home!"  I smile, wave, and someone gives FatHead the command to drive on.  He does.  I turn left, walk down the lane, and I am home.

StorySlam

A couple years ago I heard about this organization called "The Moth".  It was based out of NYC and it's mission was to grow the art form of story telling by hosting Story Slams- storytelling events based on the poetry slam model.  People gather together, a few volunteer to tell a story in a finite amount of time and then they are judged.  There is a storytelling winner.

Well, I like story telling and I like competitions, but I never dreamed those two interests would overlap.  I mean, competitive storytelling?  Who would have dreamed.  But it is a reality- and now there is a satellite operation here in St. Paul.  I took my dad to one of the events last spring as the theme that night was 'fathers'.  It was sweet.  A sold out event- people paying money to come together and listen to everyday joes tell their tales.  And then judge them.  That night the stories were poignant and funny.  My dad and I laughed and cried and a few times laughed until we cried.  I decided that someday I would return and put my name in that hat to see what would happen if I got picked to go up on the stage.

Last night I did just that.  Amy and I bought tickets for the November event- and I learned that the theme was "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles."  Wow.  Right up my alley seeing as I have a tale (or two) about a certain large orange van that went travelling down the highway without me.  But I was nervous.  The room was full.  My estimate is 300-400 people.  And even though I'm quite comfortable in front of a classroom full of teens- adults scare me.  But I threw my name in that hat and listened nervously through the first 6 storytellers.  There was one who really stood out- the rest were nervous and lost their threads here and there.  Then my name was called and I got up there and did it.  I only had five minutes- and that's not much time to tell a bunch of strangers about how your parents abandoned you, twice.  But I got it in.  Made people laugh.  Had some laughs myself.  And ended up with a second place finish.  I do believe I may do it again.

Living with Kato

Sometime in the past few weeks Theo and I got into the habit of trying to sneak up from each other.  I spent 10 minutes the other day trying to stifle my giggles in a closet as I waited for Theo to come into his room after a shower.  And in the end I missed my chance.  He came in and left again and I had to come out.  But it was still entertaining.  And I got him later.  I can't tell you how many times one of us drops out of view and starts crawling.  About 98% of attempts are unsuccessful, but when you do get a good one, it's so worth it. I do admit that it doesn't mix with bedtime so well, but I don't let that stop me.

Think before you act

At an event at the boys' school we were supposed to write on this paper 'something you are good at'.  Faced with that question, a marker, and a line of people forming up behind me waiting for their turns, the only thing I could come up with was 'squats'.  Really?

Still loving my kids' school!

This fall I admit I was a little nervous that my little sixth grader was going to be in a 'crew' (homeroom on steriods as it has been described by OPEN teachers) with high schoolers at OWL. But the first day he came home and declared how much he loves it. He eats lunch with a mixed-aged group and loves that the high schoolers know he exists. And yesterday he was rambling on about school and said, "Then there's Frances (11th grader). What I love about Frances is that she is not afraid to tackle social and racial issues head on. She is always looking for solutions." Wow. What a great thing to notice about a fellow student- and how cool that she is friends with my 6th grader. 

The other day I dropped the boys at school at 7:30 am.  Jon was set to drive them back out to Hudson at the end of the day- around 2:30.  But Theo wanted to stay and help out at the open house for prospective students.  So, after school he went to archery for a couple hours and then he helped set up for the Open House.  Around the dinner hour a group of ninth graders tucked him under their wing and took him through the skyways to a food court where they all got some dinner.  I picked him up, tired but quite happy, at 8:30pm.  Can't believe I can leave my youngest downtown St. Paul for 13 hours and know that he is in good hands the whole time.  Love it.

Making the most of our exile

This weekend Theo and I cranked up my dad's Best of Abba CD in the boom box (yes, boom box) and did some interpretive dancing while playing pingpong.  Caused us both to get the giggles.

The bronze gnome!!

Earlier this fall the boys and I entered a little contest I had read about in the paper.  First we (and by we I mean the boys) had to solve 12 online riddles.  They involved codes and clues and some need for deductive reasoning.  Once we got through all 12 we qualified for the real money round- a chance to win $10,000 for the charity of our choice (Open School) by solving 12 riddles at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts.  We showed up the day of the contest to find out that out of the 35 teams, only two included kids.  We were undaunted.  We took almost the full two hours and solved all but one clue.  We decided to turn our sheet in with the final clue unsolved as we just couldn't crack it.  Only one team ended up solving that one, and they literally turned in their form as the buzzer rang.  When we saw them turn in the full answer sheet we knew we were out of the money, but we were thrilled to find out that we did take third, earning Open School not $10k, but a wonderful bronze (painted) garden gnome.  It proudly sits in the Open trophy case.

I admit that in the thick of the competition I got a little sweaty.

Transitions

So this fall we finally pulled the trigger on our remodel project.  So just a two months in to the new school year, we packed up everything in our basement and kitchen and stashed it in my parents garage.  And then when my parents headed to Florida to escape the Minnesota gloom of November, we packed ourselves up and moved into their place in Hudson.  The boys have done wonderfully with living away from home- from the vast majority of their toys, their clothes, their friends.  It helps that my dad's workshop is a kid heaven, and that there is a ping pong table in the basement here, but the dislocation and the driving do get old.  Here's hoping that it's all worth it in the end.

From where did this man-child come?

Good lord he's gotten old.  And tall.

Dress up day

Theo's school had their spirit week.  A dress up day was involved.  Theo took it seriously.  Cords, a suit coat, button down shirt, and a bow tie.  And, he combed his hair.  This is my kid who would wear sweatpants every day if we allowed it.  I did start the fall by lying to Theo and telling him that Open's dress code did not allow sweatpants.  It worked for a week or two, but then he busted me.

Oh boy

Theo is always telling himself stories.  His imagination is a thing of wonder.  But sometimes I get a little nervous.  Like the day he fasioned a whip out of some duct tape and then sidled up to me and asked me to help him test it by whipping him with it because, "you just can't satisfactorily whip yourself, you know?"  No.  I do not know.  But for the record, I obliged him.

Scary bike gang takes over University Avenue

The St. Paul Open Streets event was a hit with this crew.  Delightful day to tool around the avenue.  I was particulary pleased to see my boys identify St. Paul Open School as their 'favorite place in St. Paul' on an interactive map.  I was worried about this transition for Theo- but things have gone smoothly so far.

The Crow

The new name for our youngest son.  He likes to be called a raven.  Eli calls him a magpie.  All fit as he is unbelievably attracted to shiny objects. Picks them up and carries them around, incorporates them into the stories that are always running through his mind.  And then sets them down.  Nowhere near where he originally picked them up.  We are constantly hunting for car keys, can openers, scissors, salad tongs, cork screws, pliers.  If he sees it, he can't help himself put to pick it up.  We are currently staying out at my parents while our house is being remodeled.  My dad's workshop is a magpie's dream.  It will take us weeks to return all the carabiners, marshmellow sticks, hatchets, chains to their original positions.

Biking through these fair cities

This fall was another great one for biking in the twin cities.  Every fall (and every spring) I am newly awed by the options for biking.  On a early September ride I went up the river, around the lakes, and back down the creek.  I saw people biking, running, walking, rowing, swimming, fishing, roller blading-skaing-skiing, and yes, pickle balling.  You were all looking good out there Twin Citians.  Oh- did I mention the fire fighters doing pushups by the lake?  All this was just after sunrise on a wednesday.  I think that this scene rivals the 'dawn patrol' of dumb old Southern California.
And this particular ride was topped off with some nice police officers trying to catch speeders coming over the Ford bridge.  As I rode by they gave me a hearty cheer and told me they clocked me at 22 mph.  I totally appreciated the cheers- but I think if you are pulled over any time soon you should ask them about the accuracy of their equipment.

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Reading under heavy guard

It was a rainy Saturday and I drifted out on to the back porch to do a little reading.  At one point I looked up to find that I was being guarded.  Theo was sporting some chain mail, a tunic (with a rainbow medal, curiously) a shield, sword, pike.  No words were exchanged.  He stood guard for several silent minutes and then disappeared, back in to his own world.  I was pleased to see my newly minted middle schooler journey back into the make-believe for a brief minute.

Eli S-M: Winner

Eli and his documentary-making mates were invited out to speak to the Anoka branch of the Daughters of the American Revolution.  They presented their documentary and answered questions.  Proud mom moment, to be sure.  To see those guys up there, sporting dress shirts and ties on a their own accord, standing tall, wowing a crew of women with their mad research skills.  The highlight of the evening was the nametag they gave the kids.  Eli's read:  Eli S-M.  Winner.

No doubt.

One foot out my door

Late summer Theo had a middle school orientation.  The bus was to come for him at 6:45 am.  I wanted to walk him to the bus stop.  He would not let me.

Westward Ho!

In late July, the SageMarts packed ourselves into our new larger car and pointed it west.  Our first stop was Theo Roosevelt National Park.  We had heard rumors that this park is not to be missed, and I have vague memories from childhood, but when you look at a map and see it there on the western border of North Dakota with the endless flat plains of Montana stretching out behind it, you doubt.  Or at least I did.  Which made the stay there all the better, as it is truly a beauty.  The landscape, the light, the animals that roam all about your car as you drive the ring road.  Then there's the river right below the campsite- a river that may or may not have any good fish in it, but makes me yearn to learn how to flyfish.  I was surprised by that.  We didn't spend much time there, but were grateful for the chance to hike the windy hills and lookout for prairie dogs, wild horses, mountain goats, buffalo.  They all followed their stage directions and appeared for photos on cue.  

After breaking camp on a sunny morning we plodded across the endless expanse of eastern Montana, to roll into the foothills outside Glacier National Park as the sun was setting.  We stopped into a restaurant that was renowned for its pie.  It didn't disappoint.  In the pie department.  An impressive dust storm blew through town as we dined.  The wait staff pulled down the windows but not before all meals were lightly dusted with grit.  As the sun went down and the wind howled, we made our way to our campsite with in the park.  It was not an auspicious beginning.  But we got the tent up before the rain.  And by the tent I mean our glorious new super structure.  Perfect place to play a game or two of wizard as you wait out the rain.  The morning dawned gray- with a low low ominous sky.  The perfect setting to take the boys over to the visitior center and introduce them to the BEAR DANGER.  By watching a video that talks about bear maulings.  Didn't do wonders for Eli's desire to do some hiking.  In fact he was determined to stay put and not venture outside the buiding until we pulled up in the car and pointed our car out of Glacier and away from the bears.  

We managed to get him on to the shuttle bus and headed out through the clouds towards a 'popular hike'- a code we used on Eli to mean that there would surely be no bears.  And there weren't, right then.  And the sun came out, and it was so dang beautiful that we all finally relaxed.

The next 10 days were spent hiking and camping and animal spotting (yes, bears.  Grizzlies even).  The boys were fabulous hikers, as long as you let Eli do all the talking.  He was convinced that keeping up a steady patter would keep away bears, so before we started every hike he choose a topic.  And then he talked. One day I think he talked the entire 8 hours we were hiking.  Luckily for me that topic was about what JK Rowling should do for a sequel to Harry Potter- a topic I understood.  When he got into his sci-fi fiction world he was creating in his latest novel or how he was going to build his game board for "The Dystopian Wars" I was lost.  Well, I wasn't lost, because the trail was clearly marked, and I found out quickly that Eli wasn't looking for a conversational partner.  He just needed to be making noise to ease his bear fears.  

There was one hike where bear fears (I admit I had them) were supplanted by falling off of cliff fears.  Although in the end it was bears that were the most real that day.  We took a boat to a trail head where about 30 of us headed off into the woods.  Which, in the start were not woods, but neck high berry bushes.  With berries.  Ripe ones.  Perfect bear habitat.  Which was proven when we came around a corner and saw a mama black bear and her cub just off to the left.  wow.  But once we emerged UP and out of the berries we crossed through a forest, and out on to the rocky hillsides.  Mountain sides.  Up and up for hours- then across a goat path to a ladder, up that to a natural tunnel just larger than me and my back if I bent myself double.  The tunnel was a little clausterphobic, but I longed for those confines when we emerged on the other side, perched on an inches-wide ledge, a chain drilled into the rock on our left, and open air falling down down down on our right.  Once we were across, I couldn't fully relax as there was the knowledge that to get back to the boat we had to cross back along the edge, through the tunnel, down the ladder, and eventually back through berry-land.  The lake at the end of the hike was glorious- but I admit the view was somewhat colored with fear of the return.  

When we got back to the chain-ledgy part, I went first so I wouldn't have to watch my kids.  As I got on to a patch of somewhat stable ground I stopped to wait for my family.  There was a young couple there waiting to go the way I had just come from.  I told them I couldn't watch my boys- would they keep an eye on them?  The woman agreed and gave me a play by play- "They are doing great, coming along, looking good...oh...oh... I can't watch...wow....looking away."  Didn't help me.  I did resist the urge to shove her over the cliff, because I realize she was trying the best she could.  

Long story short.  We made it.  Hard work.  Jon and I were kind of stumbling by the end, our legs so tired from going up and then the down- which was easier on the lungs but did our oldish knees in.  We emerged from the berry bushes with a half hour to spare before the boat returned.  Shortly after we arrived there, a man came out behind us, sweating, hyper, wild-eyed.  He had just surprised the mama bear who took a charge at him.  He was able to whip out his bear spray and give her a shot, so she turned off before giving him a swat or a bump or a bite, whatever her plan was.  I have never been happier to get on a boat.

The rest of the trip was less eventful.  Filled with lovely hikes under blue skies, campfires, and nightly laughs in our new lovely tent.  We ended with a somewhat thrilling raft ride down the Flathead river.  Just the right amount of controlled chaos for all Sage-Marts.  Theo upped his adrenalin levels (he yearns for more of that than I do) by 'riding the bronco' through the last set of rapids.  It was a delight to watch him up on the bow, our paddlemates cheering him on as he raised one arm in the air and rode those waves.  It is an image of my sweet guy living large and carefree that I hope to carry with me the rest of my days.

Looking back, I can hardly remember the rain or the mosquitoes

That's the power of DuNord.  While we were there I know that we were busy swatting pesky little flying bastards, and dashing for cover from incoming storms, but once we return to the hustle of our daily citified lives, all that remains of our trip up north are memories of escapades on the lake, laughs with friends, baking in the sun on a rock before jumping off a 'cliff', and the intense competition in the DuGa pit.

This vacation never gets old.  We are truly blessed to be able to share this week away with so many great friends.  The boys disappear into a jumble of kids set free.  All electronics are left in the car and they turn their attention to more basic elements- fire and water.  And they are entertained for hours.

The drawbacks to having a child with a large vocubularly:

He looked over at me the other night as I was wearing my reading glasses and told me I looked 'matronly'.  Damn.  I know he's right too.

20 years. Holy Cow.

Jon and I have now been married for over 20 years.  How in the world did that happen?  To celebrate we joined our good friends the Petersons (who have also been married for 20 years) and jetted out to Maine and Acadia National Park.

We rented a little cabin like place right across the bay from the national park.  The place came with a kitchen, a lovely back yard that overlooked the bay, several kayaks, two friendly Maine Coon cats, and a sweet little landlord named Bruce.  He had a great look that included white tube socks pulled up nearly above the knee.  We spent the days on trips to Bar Harbor, Acadia, and whale watching.  It was just the right mix of great scenery, good laughs with old friends, and good eating.  We have plans to return for our 40th anniversaries.  Can't wait!

Big Agnes Envy

After camping with the LGs and watching them live it up in their damn hotel-like tent, we couldn't deal with our little backpacking gig any longer.  We went almost directly to REI and got ourselves a big one.  Not bigger than Big Agnes, but close.  We couldn't be more pleased.

Water....

This past June we took our annual camping trip with good pals the Leone-Gettens.  Despite some questionable weather, we decided to go through with the original plan to head north to Scenic state park.  When we pulled in, both dusk and a storm were approaching.  The undefeatable LG's piled belongings into a canoe and pulled out for their island campsite.  We played it safer and camped next to our car for the first night.  A stormy night ensued.  The thunder was astonishing, but the rain and wind didn't feel dangerous and we awoke to sunny blue skies.  And mosquitoes.  In numbers that were truly astonishing.  We decided to rent a canoe and paddle over to see if the LG's had survived the night.  When we arrived they were just rolling out of Big Agnes, their new, fabulous, gigantic tent.  Wow.  The whole island campsite was lovely, but we couldn't take our eyes off of that tent.  It's pull was so magnetic that we decided to unstake our claim by our car and set up camp with them on the island.  It was cozy out there- the bathroom was a 'throne' within a couple yards of both the tents and the firering.  The kids rigged up some ropes and draped tarps and life jackets around the toilet to lend a little privacy.  A little.

We spent the next few days exploring this north central portion of our state- an area I had never been to before.  We were impressed by the BWCA-like scenery (there is a reason that park is called 'Scenic State Park'), the mine-tour at the next state park over, and the mosquitoes.  I have to admit, they were impressive.  During the day they weren't too bad, especially if you stayed in the sun and kept moving.  But at night, they gathered between our rain fly and screen- we were safe from their blood sucking ways, but the buzz.  Good lord.  It kept me up at night.  There were times when I swear they were going to join together and lift our tent into the air...  And our tent was so cozy/tight that it was almost possible for the mosquitoes to bite us through the screens.  I'm sure some of them did.  That was not the case in Big Agnes.  They reported hardly hearing a buzz.

A highlight of the trip was playing the 'word game'.  As a group we choose one word that was off limits.  No one could say it.  And if you did say it you were 'it' until the next hapless person uttered the word. The stakes were high, too, because whoever was it when we pulled out toward home on Sunday would have to buy ice cream for the whole crew.

We choose the word 'water'.  Wow.  It is unbelievable how ofter you say water when on a camping trip!  And once you know you are not supposed to say a word, the temptation to say it becomes unbearable.  At one point, MaryBeth got confused and was sure the off-limit word was "lake" and so asked who wanted to paddle across the 'body of water'.  She was being so careful, only to become it.  The baton of being it seemed to pass almost by the minute.  Not only is water an important word while camping, everyone became crafty, finding ways to trick others into saying it.  At one point I was intending to ask Theo to meet me at the car to grab a pair of shorts, but because I was working so hard to NOT say water, I yelled out, "Theo, come over here and grab a pair of waters."   Seriously.

In the end, I lost.  Of course.  But it's not so bad to have to buy your good pals some ice cream.  Especially after a long weekend of highjinks and laughter.

Of lightening bugs and the Xbox

Theo loves the Croixathlon.  He has a real sense of ownership of the race, as he should, as he is a key volunteer.  This year he came out to help the evening before the race and talked me into letting him spend the night at camp, rather than at my parents' house with the rest of us.  He and the Neske Boys (they deserve the capitalized title, believe me) spent the night at Julie and Dave's house.  Dave is the camp caretaker and they live in an old farmhouse off on the edge of camp grounds.  He has an XBox, and usually not many people to play with.  Enter the four boys.  They spent hours in combat on the screen until Julie (my old boss and one of the loveliest human beings on this here planet) lured them outside around midnight... She wanted them to come out into the prairie to witness the lightening bugs.  We see one or two in our postage stamp cititified yard on a rare night, but Theo says this field was alive and glowing.  He really was awed.  After running around and capturing some in jars, they went back and settled into sleep, their jars of lightening bugs flashing in the corner of the room, the coolest night light a  boy could ask for.

Croixathlon XIII

Another Croixathlon went off without too many hitches.  There was the fact that the heavy spring rains totally swallowed camp's beach and we had to make up a plan B the night before the race.  But we did and the race was on.  Every year as we get close to race date I swear I will never ever ever do this again.  But then the race happens and it's so amazing to see the smiles on the faces of all the competitors and I'm suckered into considering another one.  This year we reprised the pirate theme and I think Amy brought it to a new level by biking in her beard, sword at her waist.  She wasn't doing the race- just checking on logistics as the race got underway.  We are talking about chaging the event to a fall duathlon in the future to compensate for the tricky spring water levels as well as the heavy use of camp during the summer... In any case, I think the pirate theme is here to stay.

There is no finer bunch of scalawags in this land

I am sure of it.

Goodbye golden locks...

Theo decided to chop off all his hair the day after he completed elementary school.  Part of me was sad.  But not for long.  He had a brief flirtation with product, but when he figured out that styling took effort, that went by the wayside.  Now, of course, he hasn't gotten it cut again since the early summer, so we are heading back to the wavy long locks, but I liked this brief interlude.

The Mighty Manatee

This past spring my eldest son joined his school's Ultimate Frisbee team.  The OWL Manatee.  Now, some people misunderstand Ultimate Frisbee to be Frisbee Golf. These are not the same things.  Frisbee Golf is like golf, but with a frisbee.  Ultimate Frisbee is like soccer and basketball and football all combined. Without the contact of football, thankfully.

OWL's team practiced and hosted games down on Nicollet Island- a good use of one of our fair city's little, underutilized gems.  They'd walk there after school, across the mississippi and down a huge flight of stairs.
Then out on to this lovely green space where the kids spent the afternoon running after a frisbee.

There is much to love about Ultimate Frisbee.  Great workout.  Great ethic of sportsmanship and self-refereeing.  Add to that OWL's multi-ethnic, multi-grade team and you have yourself a great place for your kid to hang out.  I love that the Hmong teammates brought baggies of rice along for energy snacks and these became communal- kids grabbing a handful of plain rice on the sidelines to get that energy boost for the second half.  And that Eli learned that some kids had to miss games in order to undertake family obligations- like fishing.  The comaraderie on the team was lovely.  The skill level was decent- bordering on very good when all pistons were firing.  The parents along the sidelines were sparse, but dedicated- although not crazed or given to yelling at or to their children.  We were led in some cheers by James who, with his southern accent, had us rhyming 'train' and 'thing'.  It worked.

The up and down season ended with the boys taking third in their division at state.  They looked like the bad news bears out there on the field with their random red shirts and team members ranging from minute 7th grade twins to large bulky seniors, but they had some skills, lots of dedication, and really, no expectations but to have fun.  What more could a parent ask for in her kid's choice of sport?

Love is the Law!

I know I am 6 months behind the news on this one.  This spring when love became the law I was too immersed in life to get to this old keyboard.  But I'm still thrilled.  And still getting a little teary when reading stories about this new development in MN law.  The pictures and stories from August 2, the first day gay couples could legally wed, brought tears to my eyes.  I can not believe that just one year ago today I was absolutely filled with dread as I waited for election night news.  I was sure that MN was going to pass an admendment against gay marraige.  What a difference a year makes!!!

Time warp

Earlier this spring when Theo and I were coming home from DC our flight was delayed.  Actually, it was cancelled after delaying it in 15 minutes increments for hours.  Hours.  In the end, after sitting sitting sitting we had to sprint to a cab to a different airport to a flight that was just about to shut it's doors when we ran up into the gateway.  But we got on, got a seat, and had a fine flight.

When we arrived in Minnesota we went out to the curb to wait for our trusty driver, Jon.  While waiting a large, boxy, sedan pulled up to pick up the elderly gent waiting next to us.  Out of this solid vehicle from the early 90's stepped a small woman- probably in her late 70s.  Wearing a purple velour pantsuit and black leather driving gloves.  She ran around the back of the car, popped the trunk, literally threw the huge waiting suitcase in, hastily motioned the man into the front seat, and pulled the hell out of there with a bit of flourish.

Made the whole earlier flight delay worthwhile for me.