Just The Two of Us

Race Cars and Birthdays

This little guy turned 5 on August 20th:

Jentzen is a pretty cool kid.  He's all boy.  He loves cars.   I was plenty excited to make Jentzen his birthday cupcakes, which I had decided would be a car.  Not just any car, a race car:

RW checked it out while they were in-process:

RW: "Sorry Babe - that looks nothing like a car."

He revised his findings once I had the back spoiler on.  Apparantly that made all the difference, in RW's book.

I drove the finished cupcakes over to Karen and Nathan's house, where not so ironically, the birthday boy resides.  This was no easy feat, as one must travel 2 or 3 miles on a very bumpy gravel road to get to aforementioned home.  I was just happy the cupcakes made it there relatively unaffected.

The kids immediately swarmed my car, Jentzen quite eager to see "his" cupcakes.  When I lifted them out, sufficient "oohs and ahhs" ensued.  However, it was Jentzen's comment that really made me laugh:

Jentzen: "WOW Deb!  Did those take a super long time to make?  Did they take lots of extra focus?"

Why yes, Jentzen, yes they did.  But I'm happy you like them!  Sweet Speed.

4 Bucks and a Weird Guy

On Saturday night RW and I took the Bike and ventured downtown for the first Vikings game of the season.  Well, technically the "season" hasn't actually started, it was a pre-season game. Whatever it was, we were there.

Seeing as we go to every game, we've got the parking situation down pat.  No $20 "Events" parking for us.  Nope, we bring our load of 16 quarters, and park on a side street a couple of blocks from the Metrodome.  Saturday was no different.  We pulled over next to an empty meter, and started extricating ourselves from the motorcycle.

Pulling up, we had both noticed a gentleman sitting on the grass next to the sidewalk.  I vaguely took notice of him, figuring that since he was wearing scrubs, and since we were parking in front of MN's largest county hospital, that he worked there and was enjoying a break outside.  Looking back, I'm fairly certain I was wrong.

Seeing as we were standing directly in front of him, we both greeted him.  He said nothing, but looked at us with wild, crazy eyes. RW and I glanced at each other, and then we noticed his feet.  They were both completely bandaged.  He started scooting forward, towards our bike.

He stopped about a foot away and watched RW with a certain intensity as he got out our game tickets and locked things up.  Not so ironically, RW was also watching him with an equal or greater intensity.  I, the brave woman I am, had backed up, far, far away.  Ok, it was only about 10 feet or so, but still.  I was beginning to think that perhaps we should have chosen a different meter, but seeing as I had already deposited the weighty quarters from my pocket into this meter, I was willing to chance it.

Watching RW, Weird Guy suddenly spoke.

Weird Guy: "Can I have those glasses?"

RW: "Nope, I need them."

Weird Guy: "Can I ride on your motorcycle?"

RW: "Uh, no."

Weird Guy then started scooting himself right on up to the motorcycle, and started stroking it with his hands.  I was watching this, frozen in my dumbfounded curiosity (still from my safe distance, of course).  I heard RW:

RW: "Hey! Don't put your hands on the exhaust pipe.  You'll get burned."

This didn't stop Weird Guy from putting his hands on either side of that exhaust pipe. 

RW walked over to me for quick spousal conference:

ME: "What do we do?  Do we call the police?"

RW: "I'm not really sure.  I think he's a patient here."

ME: "Let's go into the hospital and find Security."

Galvanized into action, we hurried toward the building, furtively glancing behind us to see what Weird Guy was doing.  Of course, in a pure Murphy's Law sort of way, the door to the hospital was locked.  The sign stated that we needed to go to a different entrance, on a different street.  We quickly walked towards the end of the block, hoping to find an open entrance. 

By the time we got to the cross street, we stopped and turned to see what Weird Guy was up to.  As best as we could see, he had now pulled himself up and was either standing next to the bike or sitting on it.  This, I could tell, was a little more that RW could bear - seeing Weird Guy on his shiny, red, beautiful bike. I whipped out my phone and handed it to him, and soon RDub was talking to the police dispatcher.

Feeling appeased, knowing that the fine Minneapolis police department would soon arrive, we walked back past the bike, and on towards the Dome.  As we passed, we saw Weird Guy stretched out on the street next to our red, shiny bike.  Suffice to say, if one chooses to pay only 4 bucks for parking, one must be prepared to get what they pay for.  We're good with that.  

Entering the pressurized Metrodome, the strong air current whipping my hair around somewhat like a finger in a light socket, we took our extra $16 bucks and marched ourselves right over to the concession stand near our seats.

Parking: $4

Food: $16

Downtown Experience: Priceless...?

 

A Love Story

You may remember that my parents just celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary.  I came across a note that my dad wrote to my mom on her 72nd birthday, 9 years ago.  It pretty much sums up everything I could explain about their marriage, and so many things that I hope RW can say about me when I'm in my 70's.

My parents - they weren't ones that just stayed together only because they were supposed to, or because it was the right thing for the kids, or because they stood up before many people and God to make vows to each other.  Although all of those things are very important, they have one big thing that makes it all very special - they genuinely adore each other, even after 60 years.

In my dad's words:

To Bonnevieve: 

On your seventy-second birthday. 

After we have been dating for fifty-four years.  (Remember the Sportsman’s show fifty-four years ago last evening?  A yellow rose;  many unspoken dreams?)  Each time we are together it is still a special “date.”  So many wonderful times! 

You have been and are a wonderful wife.  An encourager.  An absolutely outstanding manager.  Without your frugality and careful planning we certainly would not be able to do what we have done.  A wonderful mother.  A trusted advisor.  A five-star housekeeper.  An accomplished lover.  A great cuddler.  You have had a vision for marriage that has made our home wonderful for me.

In short, you are my greatly loved wife, the light of my life, my favorite sweetheart, my best friend.  You own all of my heart.

Happy birthday!!!

Wow.

Birthday Bliss

Today I turn... [gulp] 40.  How did that happen?  I mean, trust me, I understand that this is the preferred alternative to NOT turning 40, but still.  Where did the years actually go?

Instead of focusing on the fact that I am now completely and solidly middle aged, I am sitting here remembering birthdays gone by.  Well, that and awaiting my dinner that RW promised he'd be making me.  It's now 7:29p and there is positively no action happening in the kitchen.  To be fair, he is outside assembling a piece of furniture that got delivered today, so I'm sure he feels that too, is a birthday gift to his girl.  Meanwhile, I'm hungry and perhaps a little bored, therefore the birthdays of years past.

Some may dispute the possibility of me actually remembering this, but I can promise you, I remember my 2nd birthday. Yes, 2 years old.  I remember sitting in my high chair with the metal tray, just to the left of the kitchen door, looking out over all of my very old brothers and sisters who were seated around our very large dining room table.  I remember this birthday because I was not allowed to eat any of my birthday cake until I finished all of my dinner.  I watched my brothers and sisters eat their MY cake until the call of the sugar became too much to bear, and I shoved those 2 or 3 peas into my mouth.  The fact I even remember this must mean I am scarred for life, right?

The next birthday that made an impression is #6. My big brother David drove me from Minneapolis to Chicago in a rented van, and then we flew home in a 747.  My first flight.  He even, in true David fashion, talked our way upstairs on the 747 into 1st class.  Hard to forget that.  I may have only been 6, but trust me, I was old enough to see the difference between economy class and 1st class.

My Sweet 16 birthday - oh I remember that one.  Well, Sweet 16 was spent in a place far, far away called Wewak, Papua New Guinea.  That wasn't really the best day of my life, as I was.. uh.. not really the most loved team member by our leaders - they celebrated my 16th birthday by giving me KP (kitchen patrol) duty.  Nice, I know.  I had that effect on them.  

However, my 18th birthday got considerably better.  One of my brothers - I do have 6 of them - but this one was still David - took me to China for breakfast on my 18th birthday.  Go ahead - try to figure that one out.  This is, 100% true. And it was actually the country of China, and we were only there for breakfast.  My brother's good like that.

I have a feeling I'll remember this one too, if only for the fact that RW is actually trying to follow a recipe and make me dinner. The recipe is out of this book:

So far, dinner looks like this:

I'll be sure to let you know how it all turns out.  However, I'm fairly convinced it will be memorable.  And David?  I'll let you take me to China any day... 1st class preferred.

Loaded

The other night (it was about 6:30p), RW decided that he was bored.

RW: "Let's go check out the Apple store" [Just to be clear, Apple, as in the brand name, not apple as in what you pick around these parts at this time of year]

ME: [more than a little curious, as my 4.0. birthday is marching towards me at a faster-than-desirable pace] "What do you want to look at?"

RW: [cryptically] "I just want to see what they've got."

I certainly wasn't going to pass up on the opportunity.  I had a feeling that RW just may be in the purchasing mood, and clearly I didn't want to squash that in any way, shape or form.

It being a beautiful evening, we decided to take the bike.  Again to be clear, this is not the kind of bike that you must pedal.  This one has an engine.  We gathered our things, put on our helmets, and settled in to enjoy the 20 or so mile drive to the mall.

Once we'd arrived at the Promised Land of the Apple store, we quickly lost ourselves (and clearly, the time) amid all of the cool things that surely we could put to good use in our home.  I was still wondering if RW was here to buy me a birthday present, but he wasn't completely forthcoming about that until we had been there a good 1/2 hour.  I had been bugging him about an iPhone for the past 4 or 5 months, but seeing as that wasn't agreed upon during our 2011 Spousal Budget Negotiations, I never really pressed it that hard.

RW: "Let's get you a new computer."

ME: "But we didn't agree on a new computer during our 2011 Spousal Budget Negotiations. OKAY!  Sounds GREAT!"

And we got about the business of picking out a new computer and oh, while we were at it, a new printer as well.  And let's not forget the new software, as we were going from a PC to a Mac.

By the time we were all sorted out and had 2 [large] boxes and an extra bag in-hand, it was well after 9p.  As we toted our [again to be clear, LARGE purchases] through the mall, RW was wondering how we were going to get this stuff home.  Let's not forget the beautiful evening = bike ride to the mall.

We got to the bike and RW got to work.  Out came the straps.  Out came the bungie cords.  Up went my brand new iMac [gulp], strapped to the back of the bike.  Then came me.  Then came the printer, slapped down on my lap.  Finally RW jumped on, and we zoomed off.

Now had we been in, let's say, Vietnam or China, this probably wouldn't have fazed anyone else on the roads.  Cruising down 494, however, engendered not more than a few incredulous stares.  Unfortunately you can't really get the whole picture here, as we aren't actually on the bike anymore, but you can perhaps get a sense of it all:

But as they say, all's well that ends well, right?  We made it home, the iMac in one piece.  And clearly, RW continues to live by the motto: "You can always fit one more thing in."  Or in this case, "on".

Best Buddies

This is Zeke here, guest posting again.  This week I want to tell you about one of my bestest buddies.  Every week She (I'd call her my mom, but I've heard her say she doesn't like that.  Something along the lines of me being a dog and her not being a dog)  and I go for a very long car ride.

I always know we are going for a car ride because She gets that thing she calls a "handbag", my leash, and her car keys, and then looks at me.  I get very excited, because I usually know where we are going. I like going there, even if I do have to sit in that car for an hour.  It seems like longer, especially since I can't see out the windows as well as I can in the truck.  Usually I try to get Her to drive faster by whining and crying and giving her pathetic looks.  It doesn't work, but I'll keep at it.  Someday she will cave, I know that about Her.  When the whining and crying doesn't work, I'll stick my nose under her arm, trying to flip it up so she will pet and comfort me in my car-trial.  Unfortunately I get yelled at when I do that, something about it being dangerous and don't I understand she's driving, yada yada yada.

But eventually the car-trial is all worth it, because we get to my friend's house.  I actually have 2 friends that live there (I'm quite popular like that) and I like them both very much.  She calls one of them Mom, but I prefer to call her Grandma.  Grandma always puts Cheerios in a bowl for me to eat.  I do enjoy that. It's considerably better tasting than the dog food She feeds me every day.  When I run out of Cheerios, Grandma always pours me more and talks very nicely to me.  It's such a breath of fresh air to finally be treated with the respect that I deserve.

Anyway, once Grandma is done talking nicely to me and showing me my Cheerios, I run down to the basement to choose a toy or three. I need to have a toy because my bestest buddy will throw it to me.  Once I get the toy, I run over to Grandpa, the friend I'm really there to see.  Grandpa loves me.  I know that Grandpa struggles with his memories - I think he's lost most of them.  I would think he'd be able to find them again, but She and Grandma get sad when they talk about it, so I guess he can't.  Although Grandpa has trouble remembering most other things, he always remembers me, even my name!  Like I said, I'm popular like that.  I do make an impression!

When I get tired out from playing with the toy or three, I know that I can always rest on Grandpa's lap:

 
When I've regained enough strength to flip over, Grandpa will rub my belly, like a good friend does:

 
So now perhaps you can understand why Grandpa day is my favorite day of the week.  Cheerios, toys, and belly rubs.  Life just doesn't get any better than that.

Until next time,

ZeketheFreakRatTerrier

Burnt Offerings

And this is pretty much why RW does most of the grilling at our house.  See what happens when I venture into territory that clearly does not belong to me:

 
Thankfully the old adage "It's what's inside that counts" still rings true:

 
It tasted just fine, although I cut it with the grain instead of against it.  I can see it was an all-around bad cooking hour.

I guess I'll be sticking to the indoor cooking.  RW can have the outdoors all to himself!

Picking Sides

Since we're all friends here, I am going to let you in on a little family secret.  Not naming any names, but snoring just may be a bit of an issue around these parts. RW claims that goes both ways, but since I haven't heard it myself I am choosing not to believe him.  Denial is a powerful thing, and helpful in so many ways, not the least of which makes me look better here.  So there.

About a week ago I was deep into my book, trying to get tired enough to actually turn the light off and go to sleep.  The clock was tick tick ticking ever closer to morning (ok, it was only about 11p, and our digital clock doesn't actually tick, but still.) and I was wide awake.  Not cool.  Not cool at all.

RW, on the other hand, can read about 4 sentences, mumble something about his eyes not staying open, and catapult into dreamland, all in approximately 2 minutes of time.  This is great for him, however for me, in addition to trying to overcome general sleeplessness, now I get to listen to RW snore.  This does not aid in my quest for blissful unconsciousness.

On that particular evening, the noise was getting louder.  I tried a little kick to the shin (more of a love pat, really - I promise).  No cessation of sound.  I tried the next thing on my repertoire - I loudly reshifted my entire body and adjacent pillows.  Nothin'.  Moving on down the list, I engaged a slightly sharper kick.  This resulted in RW moving his leg as far away from me as is possible in a king-sized bed, but in a feat of epic proportions, no change in the decibel level. Impressive, really, how he can compartmentalize like that.  Seeing as nothing as of yet had worked, I was forced to employ the big guns:

ME: [loudly] "Honey!  Get on your SIDE!" 

Like everyone else, RW doesn't snore when he's sleeping on his side.  However, I hesitate to move to this step, as this irritates RW.  It seems that he doesn't appreciate being woken up in that manner.

RW: [mumble mumble - groggily raises his head and looks at the bed on either side of him] "I AM on MY side!" [speaking as indignantly as one can, being half asleep]

And with that he dropped back down on his back and continued snoring.

I do believe RDub misunderstood what I was telling him to do.  And for what it's worth, I've never told him to get on his side of the bed.  We are more meet-in-the-middle kind of folks.  And for the snoring?  Well, if I had to choose the side of the bed I'd go with, I guess I'd go with the side that snores.  Life will be less lonely that way.  Oh, and I like him, too, snoring and all.

Cutie-Pies

Tonight we get to go to a little retirement party for a beloved co-worker of mine, which means... cupcakes!  I had these ones picked out for Janet long ago, a beautiful lady - they just seem like they fit her, except the part where she actually doesn't eat sugar.  Other than that, she seems like a bake-sale kind of gal.

Seeing as it was made apparent that given the retirement, she would no longer ever work on her birthday (yeah, I'm a pro at logic like that), I knew the retirement hurrah would be the perfect opportunity for these particular cutie-pies.

While the cupcakes were baking, I got on the business of sorting.  Sorting colors.  To be more precise, I was sorting M&M's BY color.  Good times.

 
This was just slightly disappointing, as I really only needed the red ones and blue ones.  Coincidentally, did you know that blue dye is much, much cheaper than red dye?  I didn't know that either, but considering that there were a bazillion more blue ones than any other color, I came to that conclusion (again, I'm a regular pro at that kind of logic.  Just ask RW).

So after the 3 hours it took me to eat the green, orange, yellow and brown ones.. (KIDDING!  I actually didn't eat a one), I got about the decorating bonanza.  Although it didn't really feel like a bonanza, as I was by myself.  Unless you count the dog, but he really wasn't much fun.

So I present to you, Janet's blueberry and strawberry pies:

 

 
I thought they looked okay... but then RW came home and opened the fridge:

RW: "OH!" [looking puzzled]

ME: "Do you like them?!  Aren't they cute?"

RW: "Ummm, yeah?"

ME: "What?"

RW: "What are they?"

oh dear... I have failed miserably if one can't even tell what they are.

ME: "They are miniature pies!  Blueberry and strawberry!" [like, duh?]

RW: "Oh, I can see it now.  But they are way too fat for pies. The fatness threw me off."

Whatev, RDub, whatev!  Janet will enjoy (looking at) them (you know - that whole sugar thing), and the rest of us will enjoy eating them.  Sweet slices.

This Old House

Anyone who has lived in an old house (old, as in 100+ years) understands that nothing is ever a quick little fix.  You start repairing one thing, and it leads to a lovely and most unwelcome domino effect of other things you must fix in order to repair the original thing.  I'm guessing that this is why RW is reluctant to take on house projects.  He has a more realistic vision of what is involved than I do.

However, I am ever the visionary (of the finished product, that is), and have no shortage of projects for RW.  Unfortunately, they all end up involving the dreaded domino effect.  Take for instance, this summer's front entryway project.

It all started last March at my mother's 80th birthday party, when little nieces and nephews thought it was a good idea to kick the screen out of our screen door that leads to the porch:

 
As the door was old and decrepit, I wasn't fond of the idea of just replacing the screening.  We clearly needed a new door.  However, the 100+ year old door frame was not a standard size.  It would not fit a new door.  So RW had to widen the door frame...

.. which meant he had to fix the step,...

... which meant he had to widen the steps...

...which meant he had to build an entirely new decking to fit the steps...

...which meant that now the steps were too high to be without a railing. 

...So now add a railing and spindles to the little project to replace the door.

...And, now that the door frame was wide enough to fit a standard size door, this meant that the 2 windows next to the door would not fit in the frames...

... which means RW got to build new frames for the windows. 

Sounds like fun, doesn't it?  And I wonder why he is so reluctant to get sucked into my vision.  Actually, I don't really wonder that. 

So now we have 2 new window frames in process:

 
 
And a new door to hang...

 

... and newly built railings and spindles to prime and paint:

 
... which leads me to my question.

Do we paint the railing and spindles the color of the house (green), or the color of the trim (white)?

 

  Help!  And meanwhile, I'm fairly certain that RW will be giving me the big ol' eye roll next time I suggest a home-repair that will surely only take a few hours of his time.  I mean seriously... how long does it take to install a new storm door?  Oh well...after all, a girl can dream.