The New Resolution

Almost every hotel you visit now-a-days features a little sign in the bathroom about saving the environment. If you want to use your towels again and forgo new towels thereby helping out the planet, leave your towels on the rack. If you want your towels replaced, throw them on the floor. So, what do I do every time I’m in a hotel, I put my towels on the rack. And what does the hotel do every time my towels are on the rack, they take them away and leave me fresh towels! Drives me nuts, but my apathetic and scared of conflict self has yet to mention this to any of the hotels in which I’ve stayed.

Well, no more. I’m a little late getting to the party, but better late than never. My New Year’s Resolution for 2009 is to take a little control of the situation and try and end this maddening practice. I’ll be back with updates throughout the year. Stay tuned, I’m sure the updates will be riveting.

Three Cups of Tea

I just finished reading Three Cups of Tea, a book detailing the work of Greg Mortenson to build schools in Pakistan and Afghanistan. I can’t recommend this book highly enough. The book itself is well written and engrossing, and the story of Greg Mortenson is amazing. His determination and personal sacrifice has helped kids in the poorest, most out of the way places get an education that they are hungry to receive. He has internalized the idea that these kids are no different from his own except with respect to their opportunities and put that idea into action building schools. I’ve always thought that trying to combat terrorism with guns and ammunition seemed counter-productive or at least lacking. Mr. Mortenson is pointing the way to a brighter future for all of us, one school at a time. Read this book and then help out with his cause!

Larger Than A Compliment

I’m not big on doling out compliments. If I give someone a compliment, it’s usually because they have done, said, worn, or whatever something so big and beauteous that I can’t keep my pleasant feelings to myself. I’m also not a person that talks about her kid in an overly positive way. In fact, many times it’s quite the opposite. I talk more about Mazie’s failings than her successes; it’s a Midwestern thing or at least that’s what I tell myself. Honking Mazie’s horn is like honking my horn and therefore it shouldn’t be done regularly. There is a fine line between proud and pompous and I am careful not to overstep.

All of the aforementioned is just the background for what I’m about to report…

My child, Mazie Kaye Thingelstad, has been the cutest, funniest, sweetest, most well-behaved kid for the last while. She has been a sheer pleasure to be around. Not all the time, all the place, after all she’s three. But, for the most part my child is in a stage of contentment that I find bewildering and lovely. She says funny kid stuff, she does funny kid stuff. She listens and does as she’s asked. She pees and poops in the toliet, she gets her own water out of the sink and climbs into the car by herself. Other than the endless three year old question of “why”(which I know is her just being inquisitive, but I still find annoying), she doesn’t do much that isn’t grand. I’m counting my lucky stars and I know my number will be up soon, but for now my Mazie is the rockin’est preschooler I know.

A Tale of Three Buses

Once upon a time there were three buses. Bus number one was a lovely white bus that drove Tammy and Rosalin to Liverpool. It did its thing in the nicest of ways, driving straight down the road, stopping once for a break and then driving straight again. Quiet, reserved, well-maintained, nothing short of a perfect bus and a perfect bus ride.

Bus number two delivered Beatles Fan #1 (Rosalin) and part-time Beatles fan (Tammy) to many historic Beatles sites around Liverpool. Pennylane, Strawberry Fields, Birthplaces, Childhood homes, Tammy and Rosalin saw it all. But, unlike bus number one, bus number two was not a nice bus. Vomit had been recently deposited into a seat a couple ahead of our traveling duo and the stench of warm, slightly sweet retch was never far. It was an old bus, not much kept up, with torn seats and no air flow, but only Tammy seemed to mind. Even the poor women whose job it was to sit on the recently cleaned, but still wet, vomit seat did so with a smile on her face.

Bus number three was a pretty white bus. It was however a double-decker bus, which in Tammy’s troubled mind meant an all-the-better-to-tip-over-bus. The driver was a shrunken old man who had a bad-tempered shrunken old woman as his working companion. She never drove, nor did it seem her job to keep him awake as he drove, so other than being bad-tempered it’s unclear what it was her job to do. The 7 hour overnight bus trip back from Liverpool on bus number three was horrible. The bus was quite full when our fearless team boarded and they ended up sitting facing backward. Unlike the trip to Liverpool the trip back included stop after stop and seemed to pass through roundabout after roundabout. There was much jerking, turning, speeding up quickly and slamming of the brakes. Combined with the ever-entertaining but never peaceful contingent of traveling family sitting facing our team who enjoyed snacking and pop drinking and giving much helpful advice to fellow travelers and the lack of comfortable seating, sleep was difficult. Tammy and Rosalin found the whole thing giddily funny, but they were so glad when the bus returned safely to London.

All three buses lived happily ever after. The end.

The Fat Lady Sings….again!

When last I wrote it was Saturday. Today it’s Sunday. Yesterday I was wrecked with the perilous decision, to race or not to race. Should I risk life and limb for the sake of my investment and pride or should I stay home and wallow in the safety of my large butt. I was teetering on the edge; the weight of the decision pressed heavily on my heart. I felt a strong need to compete and yet I also felt the persistent voice of reason that cried to compete in my current state would humiliate and possibly lead to some sort of paramedic rescue. I know I left everyone on the edge of their seat, and so without further ado I give you the conclusion to The Fat Lady Sings…

Me and my fat butt got ourselves to the start line! That’s right, I raced the race and I’m alive to tell the tale. It turns out that the course was so short I had nothing to fear. I nearly missed the race altogether as I got a late start, took a wrong turn and didn’t show up until 15 minutes after the gun shot had sent the first wave of swimmers into the water. Fortunately, there were 17 waves and I was in the 16th, so I made it to the start line just in the nick of time. I got to the beach and it was go time.

My performance wasn’t great, but I swam the swim, biked the bike and ran the run and tonight I am happy. I guess the moral of the story is get your fat butt out there and just do it! Just in case there are any doubters, here are my official results.

The Fat Lady Sings

Okay, it’s time to publicly admit it, I’ve been getting fat for awhile now. For those who’ve known me a long time, the ever-changing size and shape of Tammy is just part of life. Sometimes I’m fit and fabulous, other times fat and flabby and most of the time somewhere in the middle. I am a yo-yo constantly moving in one direction or the other. It seems the six week road trip didn’t do anything for my already expanding mid-section. I’ve been doing far too much sitting and eating and not nearly enough sweating. It’s a constant battle for me and as of late, I’m on the losing team. But fear not fair reader eventually I will fight my way back to a nicer weight and size.

This week I’ve returned to exercise and what a return it’s been. After a 10 week absence, much has been lost, but still a little remains. My body is sore, but happy to be in use again. I signed up to do a triathlon Sunday (as in tomorrow) many, many months ago and I’m just stupid enough to still be considering showing up at the start line. I’m stubborn, stubborn, stubborn and the fact that I’ve already paid money to race makes me all the more determined.

To be continued…

Winnipeg Wrap-Up

We spent last weekend at the Winnipeg Folk Festival. This was my fourth year and in some bizarre and strange way, this may have been my favorite festival. The weather was most unpleasant for almost half of the time, with one day of 50 degree, windy, rainy storms from morning till night, the mosquitos were out of control, it felt like we hardly heard any music and I was showerless from Thursday afternoon through Sunday evening. Despite all of this, I found myself sitting back and digging the experience.

I throughly enjoyed my first visit to the festival when we camped in the family campground, but the last two years were a bit lackluster for me. We took Mazie when she was one, stayed in a hotel and while it was really nice to shower each day, hoteling the festival lacks something. Last year, we camped, but in festival campgrounds (i.e. the party campground) because you can walk right from the campground into the festival and I foolishly thought that it might be fun to stay up late and be young again, but alas it wasn’t. This year we returned to the family campground, with family and friends in tow, and the the magic returned. Long live the Winnipeg Folk Festival!

Yum!

It struck me that while we were on our trip I spent a lot of time writing about restaurants and food. Here at home I also pay a lot of attention to restaurants and food and so it seemed only fair that I yap a little bit about some of my favorite places to dine here in the cities*. I am devoting this post to my number one, top dog, king of the jungle, favorite restaurant, Yum Kitchen and Bakery. It’s casual food, done right. The place is always hopping, but it’s not hard to find a table. It’s set up counter-style, where you order and they bring the food to you. Everything is good (except the burger), some things are really good, it’s affordable and the food is made from scratch. It’s the kind of place where most anyone can find something they like, including the kids. In fact, it’s Mazie’s favorite restaurant by a landslide. She can’t get enough of their macaroni and cheese. The place is frequented by little old ladies, hipsters, business types and lots of families. The only group that I’ve yet to spot is the little old man club. They are located on the verge of Minneapolis in St. Louis Park, so both suburbanites and city folk feel at home. If you’ve never checked the place out, give it a try and let me know what you think.


* I guess I should preface my food writing with a few caveats: I am a picky eater. I don’t (in general) like chain restaurants. I try to dine in places where they offer organic, local, and/or sustainable food choices. I wish more restaurants offered grass-fed beef!

The man in the pants

Jamie has always wanted to be the “man in the pants”. The ultra-cool-without-trying yoga guy who wears billowy poet shirts made of linen and pants much the same. The guy has a beard and is strong and calm and so laid-back and full of wisdom. He is SO not that guy and it’s funny to me that he wants to be that guy, cause he’s SO not that guy.

Just the other day I realized that Jamie also wants to be the “man with the cigarette”. The guy that operates heavy machinery and speaks in short grunt-like sentences. The guy that doesn’t need any direction or help cause he knows exactly what he’s doing; he’s done it a million times before. We are replacing our driveway (cause it’s crumbling and sad) and when the guys drove up to start working, Jamie began calling the action, play by play. He was like a kid in a candy store, so excited by each move they made. Then Jamie pulled out his trusty camera and gorillapod and got to work time-lapsing the rip-out driveway process.

Jamie is that guy. He is the quintessential technology guy. He loves it so much that sometimes it scares me. But he’s also the guy so passionate about living life that he regularly wishes there were at least three of him so that he could accomplish all that he has interest in doing and exploring. I’m sure if there were a couple of extra Jamies, he would master the “man in the pants” and the “man with the cigarette”. He’s just that kind of guy.

Dog Days of Summer

The dogs were away and then the dogs were back. Now the dogs are here and I am once again cohabiting with Mr. Exuberance and Ms. Strange. I didn’t miss the dogs much at all on our trip and I was close to frightened of their impending arrival. My heart picked up the pace when I saw the Pets Are Inn van approach. I was in near panic mode when the back hatch opened, but once I saw that mangy little Izzy and the over-excited Chase, I was happy they were home. I guess they truly have become part of the family. Welcome home guys!