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.

A Different Christmas Season

December 26, 2010

I'd coin 2010 the year of guilt. Not that I'd make Santa's bad list or anything like that. But if I had to rank my behavior this year, it would be around a 3 1/2. When I started this blog about a year and a half ago, my goal was to simplify life. And for awhile, I was darn good at it. But, old habits die hard and they come back from the dead pretty quickly.

To be honest, going back to work after twelve months of unemployment was a difficult transition. Jumping back into work was easy; just like riding a bike. But finding balance in my life wasn't. All of the cards played in my favor. A commute less than two miles from home, my youngest son's school right across the street from my office and a job with flexibility. It was more than I could ask for...near perfection.

Strangely, my entry back into the work force came with an enormous sense of guilt. I was ready to go back, my kids were prepared for me to go back and the checkbook screamed for me to go back. So what was the problem? The fear of losing all that I learned about life and its real purpose.

Guilt kept me real. It allowed me to enjoy a normal work week. It ensured that I'd be there for my kids 100%. And I was...most of the time. Sure there were no more gourmet four course meals at 6:00, but they didn't miss my cooking as I never quite mastered the skill. They were happy with even a frozen pizza, so long as I was there to make it for them. My kids just want Mom. I made sure that I spent time with each of them together and alone.

My writing has suffered since my return to work. It had to take a back seat to life even though it pains me. Its my true escape. The release of my true creativity. My novel sits there waiting to be edited and the hundreds of stories in my head continue to prod me to be let out. Sleeping has been difficult as the characters continue to develop new story lines and lives of their own when I finally let the analytic side of my brain take a rest. I'm committed to placing writing as a priority for 2011.

But this holiday season, guilt has taken its toll on me. Its built like a brick house with one heavy stone layered upon the next. I feel the weight pushing and pushing until it nearly paralyzes me physically and emotionally. Although the weight is so heavy, a simple feather can knock me over. With each time, the tears come to paralyze me again.

The fa la la la la and Jolly ole Saint Nick weren't inside me this year. I heard no Christmas carols even though they surrounded me. I made methodical plans and lists to ensure the perfect gifts for my loved ones. But again, paralyzed at the thought of actually purchasing them. One Friday morning, I sat in the parking lot of the local mall and watched the shopper go in and out with smiles and bags and bags of Christmas cheer. With list in my hand and a day off of work, I sat there in the SUV just staring at the sure madness inside the square, glittery facade of materialism. I couldn't get myself to leave the vehicle. Paralyzed again. There would be no lists checked, presents purchased or responsibilities completed that day.

So you are probably thinking right now...what the hell is wrong with this lady? Should we take her to the looney bin? A question I've asked myself a hundred times. But no. I'm just fine. I've learned to put things into perspective. I'm the mother of a child with a chronic illness. Each morning I wake up and say the prayer, "Dear God, please help me keep my child alive today." and "Dear God, please give me the strength to be a great mom to both my children."

This past week was riddled with two very serious day's attempting to keep my child alive amidst people who "just don't get it." Amidst a society that's measured on wealth and materialism. Although on Christmas Eve this year I wasn't able to participate in the traditional festivities, I had the blessed opportunity to hold my sick child and thank the Lord for the birth of his son, Jesus Christ our Savior.

So while I held my son and ate Chunky Soup out of a can, I had no guilt. The best gift of all.

Nurture your plant and it will grow

Something occurred to me today while I was throwing old coffee grounds into the kitchen garbage can. The grounds landed directly onto a plant that my husband gave to me as a gift for my birthday just a month ago. The plant was dead. Not surprising as I’ve killed every plant I’ve ever owned. For some reason, I paused. As I looked into the dirty smattering of waste, for the first time I realized that for as long as I can recall, my husband has given me a plant for every birthday, valentines day and anniversary. He often gives fresh flowers as well, but always a plant.

Plants are living things that need to be nurtured and fed to survive. It doesn’t take much. Just a little attention, good lighting and water. Yet as hard as I try, I just can’t keep them alive. Is it because of my busy life? Is it because of my dedicated focus to my children…and waking every day with the prayer, “Dear God…please let me keep my child alive today,”? Is it because I just don’t have a green thumb? The questions burned my head as I poked at the brown, wilted leaves, wondering if it had a chance.

The answer is simple. It’s a complete lack of attention.

So what does this all mean? As I look at the dead plant, a chill runs through me. Is the plant is a metaphor for marriage? If you don’t nurture it with a little attention, it will wilt away. Is this the reason why my husband continues to purchase me these lovely living things? A symbol and reminder to focus on nurturing our relationship.

Why did it take me so long to finally “get it”? The next plant will live on…just like my beautiful marriage.