The shoe store

I literally stepped back in time today at Allen's Bootery in Moundsville, W.Va.

The light blue leather and wood chairs my son and I sat on were the same ones I sat on when I was a little girl trying on shoes 40 years ago. The store still carried Stride Rite children's shoes and Buster Brown socks.

My 4-year-old son was a model of good behavior, patiently allowing the store clerk to measure his foot and following her directions to stand and walk over to the mirror in each pair of shoes he tried on his feet. We settled on a pair of Navy blue and neon green Stride Rite tennies, which he said "felt" the best.

Already sold on his choice, his eyes lit up when the clerk told him the green "slime" on the side glows in the dark and that the shoes, officially called "Snot Rocket Slimers," are advertised on Nickelodean.

My shoes never had such cool names. And I never took them to bed with me to see if they glowed in the dark.

Summer traditions: going to Grandma Edna's

Every summer we spend a week or two at Grandma Edna's house in West Virginia.

We've gotten the 1,000-mile trip (one-way) down to a pretty slick routine.

We drive across the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, stopping for lunch and play time at the waterfront playground in Marquette. We cross the Mackinac Bridge and stay overnight in Mackinaw City, usually at a different hotel, but always take an evening stroll along the beach by the lighthouse and fort.

We do a hard day's drive the second day, down through lower Michigan, across the Ohio Turnpike to Akron, then south and east. As we cross the bridge into West Virginia, I pop John Denver's "Almost Heaven" into the CD player. My son and I belt out the words.

But each year is different, due to the developmental changes in our son, now 4.

This year he's more observant of the world around him and much more articulate.

Among the highlights: taking pictures with his new digital camera ($6 on closeout at Sears) of the Mackinac Bridge as we crossed it, discerning Mack trucks from Peterbilts ("Cars" is one of his favorite movies), lots of comments about how long it takes to get to Grandma Edna's house, and his scream of delight and huge smile when he learned we were only 30 minutes away.

Summer traditions: bicycles and airplanes

Traditionally our first bicycle outing of summer is a short one. But it's a trip we repeat several times over the summer.

We load an assortment of airplanes -- balsa wood gliders, plastic war birds, foam passenger jetliners -- into my son's bike trailer. We also pack peanut butter sandwiches and fruit for lunch, or supper, depending on the timing of our ride.

We bike up to the UMD campus. We always swing by the "hotdog man" statue (not it's official name, but the map "Sieur du Luth" is holding sure looks like a hotdog to us) outside the Tweed Museum. Then we cross over to the "wild ricing moon" sculpture at the new science center.

We launch airplanes from the hill, eat dinner, take in the quiet of the campus, then head back home.

Summer traditions: beach babies

We spent an idyllic morning at the beach this week with our sister-in-law and twin nephews.

Lake Superior was warm enough (sort of) for wading and splashing. Conditions on the beach were great for building a sand castle with water-filled moat. And the twins have a newly constructed swingset in their backyard.

Lunch was quickly thrown together: tuna salad sandwiches, grapes and leftover broccoli and bow tie pasta. And we were home by nap time.

I'm sure we'll get some warm water sometime in August.

Summer traditions: baseball

One of our best summer traditions (OK, two years in a row now) is taking our son to a Duluth Huskies game, which we did last night.

We sat in good company, ate hotdogs and Cracker Jacks, and rooted for the home team, of course.

We left after an exciting fourth inning. The score was 3-2, the Huskies trailing the Beetles. The evening held all the promise of a good game. But it already was a half-hour past bedtime and our son wanted to go home.

The highlight for him was getting a free bobblehead of the Minnesota Twins bear upon entering the ballpark. When I tucked him into bed, he shined his flashlight on the bobblehead which he had strategically placed so it looked down on him from his dresser. A big smile crossed his face.

Whoops!

We captured the wrong villain last night.

My husband checked the trap around 5 this morning. Instead of the fish-killing, lillypad vandal of a raccoon, he found a black critter with distinctive white stripes.

Although the fellow most likely is one of the seven thieves who made off with my butternut squash a couple of weeks ago, we decided it would be best to let him go. We just couldn't settle on whose car to use to transport and relocate him.

As he waddled under our fence and into our neighbor's yard, we determined that the skunks don't live under our shed. They're simply unwanted guests from time to time.

We'll reset the trap tonight in a different location.

The trap is sprung

The varmint who has been raiding our pond visited again last night. But, alas, he eluded capture.

We believe he either pulled the trap down from the bench or knocked it off. In doing so, he sprang the trap. He sampled some spillage of the delectable bait (can of tuna fish) inside, but couldn't get what remained in the trap.

After foiling our trap, he went for a moonlight swim in our pond. This night, however, he didn't feast on any of our remaining goldfish.

We have discovered his point of entry into our yard. Tonight, we will place the trap more strategically and at ground-level.

I can only hope he doesn't follow my blog.

The trap is set

A friend dropped off a live trap last night so we can take care of our raccoon problem. (See "Call in Hercule Poirot" and "More destruction" posts.)

Not wanting to deal with relocating a live raccoon before teaching summer school this morning, my husband waited to set the trap until tonight. Just minutes ago, he was outside baiting the trap.

He laid the trap on the bench of our pergola. Our fear is that if we place it on the ground, we'll trap one of our seven skunks.(See "Stop thieves!" post.) And that could involve a rather stinky relocation, not to mention breaking up a family.

Of course, we could end up with a friendly squirrel or the crow that eats breakfast in our birdbath every morning.

We'll let you know how it goes.

More destruction

Our pond was raided, our fish terrorized again last night.

The varmint finished shredding the lilypad I just re-potted. He didn't get any fish.

But this time he left behind some clues: raccoon footprints -- really big sticky ones -- heading from my neighbor's broken hummingbird feeder up onto her deck.

We're now calling on friends to loan us a large live trap. This one's a big one.

Call in Hercule Poirot

Two nights in a row, our pond has been raided.

The night before last, the miscreants overturned our potted lilypad and bit the head off one of our goldfish. We found the body and head floating in the pond.

Last night, they struck again, shredding all of our lilypads and killing three more fish. It appears one of the casualties -- a 3-year-old coy -- was feasted upon by something with very sharp teeth. Our prize coy -- a hefty 5-year-old -- was swept out of the pond and onto the patio about two feet away. Either overlooked or forgotten, he likely suffocated.

My husband took pictures of the evidence before putting the bodies on a paper plate and serving them to our neighbor's cat.

Our theory is raccoons. But we'll have to call in one of Agatha Christie's famed detectives to be sure.

Stop! Thieves!

My clothesline reverie (see "Hanging out the laundry" post) was disrupted a couple of weeks ago when I stepped out onto the deck, full laundry basket in hand, to witness these guys.

Seven -- count them -- seven interlopers were lolling in my backyard, enjoying the sunshine and checking out the sights. Or so I thought.

A few days later, I was showing my garden to some friends who had stopped over for a surprise birthday party. I was speechless to behold two big holes in the ground right where my butternut squash had been.

I haven't seen the skunks since, though there have been reported sightings of them around the neighborhood. The skunk posse charges $65 to trap the first one then $50 for each skunk after that.

Hanging out the laundry

I really enjoy hanging laundry out to dry. In fact, I find that if I approach it in the right frame of mind, it's a task that can restore my soul.

There are plenty of practical benefits:

• You don't waste energy by running the clothes dryer.
• Clothing and bedding smell fresher.
• You can forgo ironing and put clothes straight into drawers or closets.

And then there are the non-tangibles:

• The peaceful nature of hanging the clothes out on the line. As you bend and stretch, you can't help but notice, even relish the warm sunshine on your back, the caressing breeze on your arms, the sounds of nature around you.
• The sense of accomplishment in a job completed and even done well. I consciously group similar items and colors -- the family's pajamas, my son's t-shirts, pants -- on separate lines, giving the clotheslines an order.

But to capture the non-tangibles, you have to stay in the moment. You can't become overwhelmed by the number of items you need to hang. You can't let your mind race ahead thinking about what you'll do next. You can't worry about running out of clothespins or line.

Of course, summer only lasts a few short months here in Duluth.

Roller babes

My son and I really get a kick out of this video. Check it out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XQcVllWpwGs

Delivering the deliverables

I'm officially fully unemployed again.

If you recall, I started a contract writing job about six weeks ago. At 4:30 p.m. Tuesday, I "delivered the deliverables," as per the contract language, by deadline.

I give my first venture into reporting and writing for a client (as opposed to a newspaper, magazine or wire service) about an 87, a solid B. I've always been a hard grader.

The topics I reported on and wrote about -- such as the pressures facing Lake Superior and the North Shore -- were important and interesting. I learned a lot about the area's ecosystem, met a lot of great people who care passionately about the big lake and its inland natural areas, and spent a gorgeous day out and about in Grand Marais.

My "employers" were easy and fun to work with. They contributed creatively to the process of determing my budget of stories and suggesting potential angles and sources. The editing process went smoothly, which isn't always the case even when working with professional journalists.

My learning opportunities came in the areas of pricing and efficiency. The prices per story I initially quoted were a little low, given the hourly wage I had hoped to achieve. I hadn't estimated adequately the amount of reporting time spent in finding and connecting up with the right sources, or considered that some of the stories would have additional chapters to pursue. I also hadn't taken into account the long-distance phone calls and road trips.

And if I do this type of work regularly, from home, I'll need to move my computer from the living room desk to the guest room desk, get a better phone there and consider signing up for some sort of call waiting or voice mail feature.

But overall, I'm happy. The deliverables, actually six stories and some siders in journalism lingo, are quite good, if I say so myself. I'll come under fire of the critics in a couple of weeks.