Beautiful Day

The band U2 made it famous. At least it seemed based on the thousands of 40 somethings surrounding TCF Stadium on the U of M campus yesterday evening prior to the concert. Jon and I loitered across the street as we could clearly hear the band and see them on the large screen without having to invest the $200 just to reminisce our young life together.

One thing you learn quickly as a student at the U of M is how to navigate the system and find the hidden treasures such as free parking and hidden restrooms. We giggled as we walked through the campus holding hands like we were 19 again. Watching the other Gen X’ers pay $20 for parking and standing in a line 100 deep just to use a port-a-potty made me feel that my student loans a 4 ¼ year degree at a Big 10 school worthwhile.

The juxtaposition of the old and new landscape on campus was far more interesting than watching a band of old men play the same tunes I jog to on my iPod. The streets I spent so much time on in my young life are now riddled with Starbucks and other chain restaurants. But the mall holding the most prestigious old lectures halls hadn’t changed a bit. We had to sit on one of the long granite benches and admire the architecture and thousands of minds that had been shaped in the stone hot rooms. I felt as small in the vast beauty of the surroundings as I had so many years ago.

Thanks to my husband’s internal weather radar, he advised we move along after a few songs. We arrived home prior to the storms that washed out the other middle aged fans fun. Although it was so much fun to have a rare two hours alone with my hubby, the real Beautiful Day was today.

Beauty is not definable. That’s why it’s so intriguing. My gut tells me that most people would think that beauty means being an attractive person or an image such as a stunning sunset over the ocean. But beauty is so much deeper than that. True beauty has no description. You just know it when you see it.

Today was a Beautiful Day. A sunny, pleasant day at the Slice of Shoreview. There was a cool breeze, blue skies and no rain. I took my youngest son Eli and his friend “DQ” for an afternoon of goofing around at the community festival playing carnival games, eating junk and hanging out with his friends. Although I’ve been coined ‘a cool mom’ by my boys, I attempted to give Eli a bit of freedom – trying not to lurk about. But I have to admit, I was only steps away most of the time attempting not to stalk my own child.

As much as I’ve tried to give Eli his space, my motherly intuition told me not to leave him today. It’s a tough time in our lives as he’ll be going to middle school in just a few short weeks. Three years after his diagnosis with Type 1 Diabetes, I know that its time to let go a little and give him some freedom to begin managing his disease on his own. But as a mother, it’s just so difficult. I still know the consequences of even a small mistake, but I also know that its time for me to grow up along side him. So for a few minutes, I contemplated leaving my young man at the festival with his cell phone and a few dollars. But, something in my heart said no! Don’t leave him. I’m not sure if it was God or Mother’s Intuition, but I stayed with him…at least in eye’s shot away.

Thanks to my intuition, it was a Beautiful Day. I thank the Lord that I was there when his blood glucose hit 25. The lowest it has ever been. The scariest it has ever been for me. After quick thinking, a lot of sugar and the calm voice of my husband on his cell phone, he is just fine.

My words to all of you today. Always, always, always follow your gut!!

So in the words of U2:

It’s a Beautiful Day.

Don’t let it slip away.

To write or not to write? That is the question.

Many of you have asked why I’m not blogging. I’m flattered that you enjoy my writing. It’s my true release. The characters and stories are still in my head screaming to be let out on paper. Some fiction and some real. I’ve dabbled a bit with editing my novel - even went as far as posting the first chapter to a forum of writers for a critique. That was a big step for me as I exposed my true passion to professionals.

The reviews were mostly positive. I was told by professional writers that I have raw talent and beautiful voice. Although my first time writer mistakes were revealed, most critics begged me not to give up. So I won’t. That said, my blog will have to take a nap for a few more weeks while i pull out the novel and continue the painful process of editing.

I have a few stories tucked away that I’ll pull out and post in the near future.
Thanks to all of you for your support.

Love,
Kris

What happened to A&W? An Easter question.

The windshield of the SUV fogged as Owen and I drove past the boarded A&W on Rice Street. It was cold and drizzly for a late April evening. We were on our way to watch Eli play a Little Baseball scrimmage. I wiped the windshield with the single Dollar Store glove that remained in the truck. The rest of the winter outerwear was already tucked into the front closet – not to be revealed until November.

“Owen, look! My A&W went out of business,” I whined.

“No mom, it’s always closed during the winter,” he corrected. It was a favorite summer spot for the boys to grab a quick cold root beer float after a game or long bike ride. One of the few drive-up restaurants left in the state.

Wiping a larger spot on the window to get a closer look, the small restaurant was clearly closed for good. The windows were boarded and a “For Lease” sign hung from the front door. My heart sank to think that another landmark from my childhood was about to bulldozed to make room for a shiny new CVS or Jimmy Johns. The landscape of north Rice Street had changed dramatically since I was a kid. And I hated it.

I have very few memories of childhood, yet walks up to the Marketplace with my best friend Kari are cemented in brain. We would scrounge up a few quarters out of my Dad’s top dresser drawer and skip to Dubers Department store to buy Willy Wonka candy. We were so young and life was so simple.

But the A&W had special meaning. It was the special Easter stop. The ritual was the same each year. Mom, Dad, sis Kath and I would attend Good Friday service at Prince of Peace Lutheran Church. The church was tucked just inside the heart of Roseville. Adjacent to central park. We grew up in the traditional Lutheran church. There weren’t many surprises. We sat is the same pew and sang from the same green hymnal week after week, year after year. Good Lutherans always sit in the back of the church. We were no exception.

Prince of Peace wasn’t the glamorous church in Roseville. It was modest and traditional, unlike the other large Lutheran churches that boasted the coveted production of the Passion Play and 5,000 seat sanctuary. As children of the church, we were expected to sit still, pay attention and sing loudly. There was little to entertain us as church is today. No live animals at Palm Sunday service, angels flying through the smoke-filled rafters and Jesus ascending into the sky as my children are accustomed to at church today. Church was simple. We were simple people.

Good Friday service included somber music and quiet prayer as we mourned the death of Jesus Christ our Savior. Tradition included silence as we exited the church and gathered our small family into the baby blue Malibu Classic. Out of respect to Jesus, we girls were strictly forbidden to speak in the car until we arrived home. For me, it wasn’t a problem being a quiet person by nature. Kathy, a bit rowdier by nature, attempted to get me to laugh out loud by making faces at me the entire journey. After a loud snort, my mom would give me ‘the look’ from the front seat. She couldn’t help but smile.

On Good Friday, we never went directly home after service. Dad made the traditional stop to the A&W on Rice Street. The empty gallon jug sat in the front seat between Mom and Dad. There was a 35 cent discount for refilling the root beer jug, so each year my Mom stored the empty vessel with the Easter decoration. Mom would quietly whisper to Dad as we approached Rice Street. “Don’t forget to stop at A&W. We have to make root beer floats while we color eggs.”

We sighed pulling into the oak tree lined street knowing that we only had a few more seconds of silence left to endure. The house smelled of vinegar and hardboiled eggs. My Mom cooked two dozen eggs earlier in the day to make sure that we would have plenty of left overs to make deviled eggs for Easter dinner and a week’s worth of egg salad for my Dad’s lunches.

The evening included the four of us dying eggs and sipping A&W Root beer floats out of tall gold glasses. We giggled wearing goofy bunny ears as we raced to make the most colorful and creative eggs. Kathy was the all time winner of “The Great Colberg Easter Egg Decorator.”

Owen laughed as I told him the story of my childhood as we passed the old restaurant. And I giggled last night as I watched my two sons color eggs with my Dad and Kathy, sipping root beer floats out of the same tall gold glasses. The A&W wasn’t out of a jug, but my Dad wore the Bunny ears and there were plenty of left over eggs for lunch. I hope that these great memories are as wonderful for my sons as they are for me.

See my facebook page for the photos.

Road Trip: Irish in the Windy City

We arrived downtown Chicago just in time for the St Patrick’s Day parade. It’s not an urban legend – they do color the river green. Owen and Jon decided to explore the city immediately while Eli and Hotel Snob decided to enjoy the Fairmont and its lovely view from our hotel room. After nearly eight hours trapped in the back of an SUV, I was ready for a fluffy bed and a comfy robe…compliments of the dreamy hotel.

Sighing deeply, I sucked in the warm air of a bathroom that included a deep soaking tub and separate shower. They beckoned me. “Soak, dear lady, soak!” screamed the bottle of bubble bath. We left our master bath stripped down to the studs for a quick remodeling job that has taken far longer than anticipated for a women who lives with three males. I entered the quiet sanctuary.

“Mom, look at the people out there with Green beads and hats. Let’s go. Let’s go,” squealed my little man. Good bye bubble bath. Hello windy city.

After spending far too much money on green garb, we spent the afternoon walking, shopping and laughing at the world around us. Pent-up stress washed away with the waves of the green river. For the afternoon, we were Irish.

Owen, my foodie, searched his ‘walking GPS app’ for the closest 5 star restaurant. Oddly enough, it was right in the lobby of our hotel. Fine dining is an imperative when traveling – even with the kids. And my kids have earned the right to eat well while on vacation as cooking is not one of my gifts. Part of the fun is watching the restaurant staff squirm as our quirky little family orders a sophisticated meal although we are clearly tourists – all dressed in Shamrock Chicago-wear. None-the-less we giggled our way through the Foie gras, Gnocchi with Parmesan foam and bacon infused ice cream with molten lava flourless chocolate cake. Not ten minutes after the enormous bill arrived Owen said, "Mom. I'm hungry."

It was a perfect day!

Road Trip - Day One

At 4:40 am, the dirty white SUV pulled out of the short cul-de-sac. I’d been out of bed for exactly 19 minutes. I’d gathered the belongs packed the evening prior and nudged the sleepy 11 and wide eyed 15 year old boys into the cool truck. My hubby entered the vehicle at exactly 18 minutes after the warning bell sounded from the annoying cell phone. His tardiness due to ensuring that everything, including the pug, was in order for our four day trip.

Spring break road trip. This is what the boys coined the 7 ½ hour car ride to Chicago. I dreaded the voyage for months. As a young girl, my parents ensured that I’d step foot in each of the continental 48 states. For weeks and sometimes months, my mom and dad would tuck me into the back of the Malibu Classic as we traveled the country stopping at every road trap possible to enhance the travel experience of a very young girl. The travel bug stuck with me, yet the distaste for spending more than a few hours in a vehicle at one time.

The mix of rain and snow fell on the truck as Jon pulled onto the freeway. The wind from the unexpected storm squealed through the windows as the SUV fled to from lane to lane. I had two choices: close my eyes and drift into a faint sleep or white knuckle my way through the storm. After a brief prayer for safety, I laid my tired head next to my warm young son and fell asleep. Jon and Owen, my two brave men, sat in the front braving their way to our destination.

I awoke about 3 hours later to see my fifteen year old son driving the roads of Wisconsin. “Oh dear Lord, not now.” I prayed. It was time for the white knuckles – yet the snow had subsided. Jon sat shotgun toying with the radio station. He had no concern of the young man’s driving skills. “What next?” I thought. On a well needed vacation, I decided to take a deep breath and pick up the People Magazine to immerse myself in the trouble of Charlie Sheen. At least he isn’t on an 8 hour road trip with a fifteen year old driver.

Jon decided it was time to take the wheel after the third toll road and suburban Illinois traffic heating up. Just in time for a quick bite to eat. The dreaded buffet…Hotel Snob’s nightmare. I was able to dissect that mass amount of canned food to find a few leafs of greenery. “On vacation…this if for the kids. Suck up the germ-a-phob for just awhile.” I thought.

Stay tuned for the green river adventure. Coming soon!!

il dolce far niente.

The sweetness of doing nothing. One of my favorite Italian sayings. A craft that Americans haven’t embraced. I’m no exception – with a life stuck in overdrive. Having the grand pleasure of spending time in Italy with my husband, we were able to experience a small taste of this lifestyle. Particularly as our bodies had not quite adjusted to the time change and Jon’s stomach didn’t appreciate the stores and restaurants being closed during the afternoon. Our convenience-ridden ‘have to have it right now’ lifestyle didn’t align well in Italy. Yet, it was a powerful awakening to the beautiful life of simplicity.

This weekend was brutally busy. It launched with a Friday evening pizza party followed by seven basketball games and little league baseball tryouts. All while my husband was on duty volunteering for the local basketball association. It was the typical mathematical exercise of determining precisely how to be in two places at once. Little did I know at the time that my years of College Algebra and an MBA would be put to use in everyday life. (Two Grayson vehicles leave the garage at the same time. One heads to the high school the other to the middle school….You get the drift.)

Sunday afternoon at 2:00 the madness was over just as the snow began to fall. It was clear that it would be a no plans afternoon. It took just minutes for the flurry to turn to a near white-out. The couch and the warm pug sat there calling me, “Sit down, relax and curl-up.” So I did.

Take time to celebrate the sweetness of doing nothing. Here are a few of my favorites:

1) Sitting in a hot car in the middle of July. Sucking in the steamy air. Who cares if people stare at you as if you’re nuts? Winter in Minnesota is far too long not to enjoy a good car sauna.

2) Waking up early to watch my children sleep. Although they are 15 and 11, they still sleep like infants. It’s more relaxing than Yoga and a perfect time to reflect on how very special they are.

3) Lounging on the couch with a big bag of popcorn and a Soprano’s Marathon. There is nothing more exciting for a writer than to escape into a world so unfamiliar. The stories develop like wildfire.

Remember. Live simply and enjoy the small things in life. In just a few years, my precious children will be adults. Someday I will look back on the madness with envy and wished I could have it for just one more day. I’m blessed with this time in life and savor every minute of it.

Hotel Smell in a Can

Have you ever wondered why hotels all smell alike? I’ve stayed in hundreds of hotel rooms for business throughout my career yet never really thought much about this. But this morning when I finally cracked open the black TravelPro carry-on from the trip to Phoenix this week, the smell exploded into my bedroom. It infiltrated the contents of the small case. My clothing, shoes and even the small make up case smelled of stale sterileness. Is there such a thing as "Hotel Smell in a Can"? I pondered this thought for a few minutes.

As I unpacked my belongings the scent reminded me of a time where business travel was a way of life. Being away from my family for days, sometimes weeks at a time. A time when my self-worth was based on the number of first class upgrades I’d received for the year and the “oh so close to Platinum Status” that allowed me to board the steel vessel before any of the other less experienced business travelers. A life that appeared glamorous and shiny from the outside. A life that I look back now on as empty and unfulfilling.

I have to admit that I still like the finer things in life. It’s a recognized character flaw. But what I’ve learned over the past two years is that it doesn’t matter whether you are in the Four Seasons in Maui or the Motel 6 in Detroit, the smell is the same. The sterile smell of loneliness.