Becoming Pears and Apples

 

Little Waves on the Big Lake

In a nod to the death of songwriter Gordon Lightfoot, I felt the need to get out and see the Big Lake (gichigami or great sea in Ojibwe). Hampered by a fractured foot, I took these shots from an overlook on the North Shore. Even from that distance I was invigorated by the breeze (and spray) off the lake.

Digging Out

 One good deed reaps many rewards: Captured these images while clearing my neighbor's back deck after our latest substantial snowfall. I intend to make some holiday gifts of them.

Hartley Pond

Hiked with a friend and her dog up Rock Knob and over to Hartley Pond Wednesday, embracing a stretch of nice fall days we're having in Duluth. The seasons before and after winter always seem so fleeting in the Northland. 

 

Rock Knob

 The view from Rock Knob on the old Hartley Farm. 

Bagley at its Best

 

One of my favorite local escapes in all its Fall glory.

After the first snow

The season's first 2 inches of snow that fell this morning got me outdoors in a panic to photograph fall colors before the opportunity disappears, which can happen overnight in the Northland. Above, the Chester Park neighborhood reservoir road that reminds me of "home" in West Virginia. Below, fall foliage enhanced by the sun's light.

Broken Cups

The delicate blue cups fell out as I opened the cupboard, cascading onto the counter, bouncing then breaking on the unforgiving slate floor. One handle landed on the stove top all they way across the kitchen.

The falling cups brought a cascade of tears from my eyes.

They were my grandmother Susan's cups, part of her set of daily dinnerware.

Fostoria Glass Company, which had a plant in her hometown of Moundsville, W.Va.,  launched a line of melmac dinnerware in the late 1950s. They came in pastel yellow, pink and blue.

My mother Edna had the "Kismet" patterned plates with solid blue cups and bowls. (I still have her platter and serving bowls.) And I had a full eight place-settings of Grandma's "Meadow Flowers" plates with solid blue cups and bowls.

I vowed when I received them, that I would use them on a daily basis. And we do. Now my full place-settings number five. We are a family of three. We will survive. 

Chicago Adventure: Trying New Things Together

Whether eating real ramen for the first time or riding the elevated train, the best thing about our Chicago adventures was sharing them together.

Chicago Adventure: Walking From D (Dinosaurs) to W (Centennial Wheel)

We explored farther afield our second day in Chicago, walking two miles south from our hotel to the Field Museum and 1.7 miles north and east from our hotel to Navy Pier. Our 13-year-old, who has no problem running 13 miles in a half-marathon -- complained about these distances most of the way. Thankfully, he found distraction in photographing the Chicago skyline, railyards and Trump Tower, watching skateboarders in Grant Park, tipping a street musician who was playing his saxophone in a Museum Campus tunnel, and avoiding goose poop on the lake walk along Du Sable Harbor.

At the Field Museum, we were captivated by the Evolving Planet exhibit. Different this time to our visit five years ago was Sam explaining to me the parts and work of human cells, genes and DNA. We spent the majority of our time looking at the trilobites, fossils, dinosaurs, giant ground sloth and Neanderthals. We were disappointed that Sue was away but happy to learn she is receiving some scientific updates like the addition of her gastralia (breathing ribs) and re-positioning of her arms and wishbone along with a new display space.

Tom was able to join us for our Navy Pier adventure, which included viewing the Chicago Skyline from atop the Centennial Wheel and winding our way back to our hotel via a route that took us past the Chicago Tribune and -- to Sam's happy surprise -- Trump Tower. (We aren't sure why he wanted this photo, but he was able to secure it.)

Chicago Adventure: Art and More Art

Over the past 13 years, my family has explored children's museums, toy and Legos museums, science museums, air and space museums, natural history museums and zoos. We've visited a mint, an open-pit iron mine, an underground iron mine, the National Mall and even that goofy Mystery Spot in Michigan's Upper Peninsula.

But we had never taken in an art museum beyond seeing the Mounties at the Tweed. So I was surprised on this trip to Chicago that one of the first things our recently turned teen wanted to see was art. Specifically, he wanted to visit Cloud Gate, aka The Bean, and Crown Fountain at Millennium Park, which he had learned about in 6th grade art class with Mrs. Hannu. But he also didn't balk, much, when I suggested, well maybe insisted, we visit the Art Institute.

We had fun interacting with and photographing the reflective bean and the enormous wall of glass bricks that projects faces of native Chicagoans. It was good to be outside. Being hearty Duluthians, the brisk wind off Lake Michigan didn't deter us. But it did keep the crowds away and make it easier to slip inside the Art Institute on the pretense of getting warm.

One hour or two? A compromise. Four exhibits or six, and a trip to the gift shop? Another compromise. Instead of standing on the stairs while I use the restroom, go look at the glass paperweights. I was beginning to think this would be a trying experience. But when I entered the hall, my son was eager to show me the paperweights he liked best.

We both were in awe of the Hall of Miniatures, European and American rooms crafted on a scale of one inch to one foot. And he was absorbed in photographing exhibits in the Hall of Medieval and Renaissance arms and armor. I sensed reluctance when we moved on to paintings, but then we happened upon some Van Goghs. We had recently watched the Dr. Who episode of "Vincent Meets the Doctor," so we had to explore that room and a few more.

I was looking forward to examining some architectural works by Frank Lloyd Wright, but I could tell he really wanted to head to the hotel for a late afternoon nap. And who wouldn't after boarding a plane at 6:30 a.m.?

We made a quick stop in the gift shop. Realizing we had missed Andy Warhol, Edward Munch, Edward Hopper's Nighthawks, the Chagall windows and more, I almost headed back into the museum. But common sense prevailed. He had visited his first art museum and, for the most part, enjoyed it.

Chicago Adventure: Navigating the Big City

Navigating a big city in itself can be a grand adventure, and our first tag-along on Tom's annual MBAA International Conference was just that.

Since Tom had stayed at the hotel several times before, we relied on him to get us from Chicago O'Hare to downtown Chicago, er, The Loop. We took the L, boarding an empty train car that filled to capacity with morning commuters on the 45-minute ride.

We exited the Monroe Blue Line station on Dearborn Street, momentarily turned around, until a fellow passenger pointed us around the corner and in the right direction to our hotel. We walked down Monroe Street quickly, our bags rolling and bumping along behind us.

Hopeful the elegant and historic Palmer House Hotel would accommodate an early check-in, we passed through the glass entrance doors and made our way to the marble registration desk. They were happy to assist, and we were in our room and unpacking by 10 a.m.

After a quick brunch in an eatery linked to the hotel, Tom walked us in the direction of Michigan Avenue and the Chicago Art Institute. A brisk wind made us return to the hotel for Sam's winter coat and the address of a nearby comic book store before we set off on our own. Tom needed to prepare for his first of two presentations that afternoon.

L train cars rumbled on the tracks overhead and we caught sight of a kippah-clad jeweler behind a case of uncut diamonds on the few blocks walk to Graham Cracker Comics on Madison Street. I filed a mental note of the location of nearby Pizano's Pizza, its signs touting deep-dish Chicago-style pizza. After a half-hour perusing Graham Cracker's impressive inventory, Sam selected several comic books and most likely lost his room key when pulling out his wallet to pay for them.

At Madison and Michigan, we found ourselves across from  Millennium Park. Sam wanted to see The Bean and the wall of faces, you know, where the projected faces of Chicagoans spit water out their mouths, creating a fountain people can walk through. How did he know about these public works of art? Sixth grade art class with Mrs. Hannu. We had fun taking photos from outside and underneath the reflective bean-shaped Cloud Gate as named by the artist. Crown Fountain, however, doesn't start flowing until May, but we had its massive glass brick walls all to ourselves to explore.

The cold made it easy to convince Sam to accompany me to the Chicago Art Institute. In fact, he suggested we hurry there. We discovered many treasures unknown to us (see Chicago Adventure: Art and More Art post). On our way back to the hotel, he spied a sign for Friends Ramen, an eatery we would try the next day.

But what and where for dinner? Deep-dish Chicago pizza, was on our list. We wandered into an  Italian warehouse style restaurant across from the hotel and decided it wasn't for us. We had something a bit more homey and traditional in mind. So, onward those few blocks again to Pizano's. Our waiter, "The Chach," was a true character, calling Sam either Samuel or Minnesota and referring to Tom as Dad, and he brought us an unsolicited deep-dish cookie sundae for Samuel's "birthday" and our "anniversary." The restaurant, too, is part of a colorful history that involves step-brothers vying for claims to the best, if not original, deep-dish Chicago pizza.

Best Passover seder yet

As the first night of Passover approached, we found ourselves stuck in urgent care waiting to learn if our son had broken his toe when his foot connected with a metal door instead of a soccer ball earlier that day in gym. We realized he was in too much pain even if we did get free in time to make it to a friend's seder.

Arriving home around 6 p.m., my husband and I kicked preparations for our own mini-seder into high gear.
Fortunately, I had made matzoh ball soup, charoset and almond macaroons the night before. And I had most, though no chicken or lamb bone, of the ritual foods for the seder plate.

While my husband carved and charred a wooden bone (it's the symbolism that counts) for the plate and copied off a "two-minute" haggadah from The Jew in You, I heated the soup, set up the seder plate and pulled together the saltwater, parsley, horseradish, charoset, matzah and four cups of wine we would eat and drink during the ritual blessings and readings.

Our "festive meal" that followed consisted of the soup, matzah pizza and macaroons. Hey! I can't be expected to pull off a miracle.

Our seder and meal were completed in about an hour's time, and we retired to the living room in pajamas to play "Exodus: The Game of Passover." From my son's laughter at some of his Dad's trivia question answers, despite the pain, I knew that this Passover will be one we always remember.

Bit by the Cougar: A Boy Develops a Passion

My son and his running buddy, both 12, have been training many weeks now to run Grandma's half-marathon later this month. They have completed short runs and long runs, including two 10-milers, and cross-trained diligently.

This weekend, Sam returned to his running roots: the Congdon Cougar Chase, held annually at Lester River Park.
Sam ran the 1K in kindergarten, 1st and 2nd grades. In later elementary grades he joined the school's running club, trained and ran the 5K. 

On Friday, Sam ran the Congdon Cougar Chase's 10K. He finished in 50 minutes and 40 seconds, placing 2nd in the male 12-17 age group and 10th overall. His running buddy placed first in their division, 9 seconds ahead of Sam. Their mile times were 8:32 and 8:33.

Community

I just returned from walking to the end of the block with my son as he headed out to his middle school bus stop this morning. When I sat down at my computer, I found this in my file of blog posts I never posted. I wrote it in June of 2015. And I wish I could share it with Dara and Bryan, but I seem to have lost them as Facebook friends. 

With the end of the school year, I’ve been particularly reflective on the evolving and transient nature of “community.” 

For the past five years, we’ve enjoyed the company of a wonderful family at my son’s bus stop. The location of the stop has changed three times. (One year we were even at a different stop but could wave to each other when we headed downhill for home and they headed uphill for home.) Other children came and went for various reasons – moved from the neighborhood, changed schools, used a different mode of transportation. But this family with three girls and my family with one boy remained.

Although a year apart, Sam regularly sits with Stella, or instigates a chase with Ruby or Elsa by swiping their backpacks, or plays whatever game evolves during the wait for the bus each morning.

I knew the dynamic would change next year. Stella would head off to middle school on a different bus. Sam will be getting rides to school for safety patrol. But we’d all still see each other in the neighborhood. 

I learned yesterday, we won’t. Stella’s Dad got a job in Pennsylvania, actually a couple of hours from my mother’s home. They’re moving this summer. And our bus stop community will be no more. I’m happy for the family – better job, better opportunities. But I’m sad. We will miss them.

Reliving my childhood summers

Our annual visit to West Virginia resembled my childhood summers in many ways:

• Riding bikes in the early morning or late evening to the John Marshall High School tennis courts (freshly resurfaced with new nets and fence this year) to play a few sets.
• Swimming or just cooling off from the hot mid-day sun in Glen Dale's municipal swimming pool.
• Biking out Little Grave Creek Road or into town. (The bike trail along the Ohio River between Glen Dale and Moundsville didn't exist back then.)
• Checking out a big stack of books from the Moundsville Public Library. (They didn't have movies on DVD back then.)
• Gathering with the cousins to play cards at my Mom's house. (We played sports and games outdoors instead of Canasta at the dining room table.)
• Reconnecting with my brother Mike and my best friend from high school Letitia.

With my mother's pronouncement that she will be ready to sell the house in two years and move to Duluth to be near me, my opportunities to "go home again" are nearing an end. Mom may change her mind several times between now and then. At 86, we all know maintaining the house and acre of land with it has become "too much" for her.

 I'll be happy to have her nearby rather than 1,000 miles away. But I will miss recreating my childhood summers for my son. We have been blessed to be able to do that for 11 years and --  hopefully -- a couple more.

Sliding into summer at Sweet Lake

We spent the first couple days of Sam's summer break at Sweet Lake -- paddle-boarding, kayaking, swimming, reading in the hammock, listening to the call of the loons, watching a great blue heron glide across the lake. I'd describe this trip to the cabin as a relaxing, gentle start to summer.

A precious present

Our last family visit with my sister-in-law Cathy and brother Mike, Arlington National Cemetery, July 2015

It turned out to be a more important trip than any of us realized.

I wanted to show my son our nation's Capitol but I didn't want to short-change our annual summer visit to my Mom's in West Virginia. I called my brother to see if Mom could stay with him in Arlington -- IF we could convince her to accompany us to D.C. At 85, she had sworn off any more travel. But for some reason, she agreed to go.

Josh and Erin, National Zoo, July 2015

Tom, Sam and I spent four days in Washington, seeing the monuments on the National Mall, visiting the Smithsonian museums and Bureau of Engraving and Printing, getting time with extended family during meals and visits to the National Zoo and Arlington National Cemetery. Mom got to spend a lot of time visiting with my brother and his wife. I was glad we made the trip.

But now, even more so. My sister-in-law Cathy died last Monday from an illness not fully diagnosed. She was 62. Her passing came as a shock. Although she had been struggling with health the past few years, symptoms would be treated and activities resumed. On Saturday, we believed her latest struggle, with pneumonia, had turned for the better. On Sunday, it turned for the worst.

I'm grateful we made this trip. My family is too. We had four extra days with Cathy - a precious present.

Pizza and Beer Night Out

My brother sent our son a Hanukkah card and some money, with the message, "Treat your Mom and Dad to a beer and pizza night. Use the rest of the money on something for you."

He first tried to fulfill his uncle's wish by handing us a beer out of the refrigerator and offering to bake us a Red Baron pizza from the freezer. Neither we, nor his uncle, would have any of that idea.

Finally, on the eve of returning to school after the Christmas/New Year's break, he treated us to a "Spanish Chicken" pizza at Pizza Luce, a downtown restaurant he'd never eaten at before.

Delighted with this variety of pizza and the idea that we can get pizza somewhere else besides VIP (onions and mushrooms) and Sammy's (white sauce), he has decided we need to try out a different pizza establishment every month -- until we find our most favorite.

Of Clocks and Clockmakers

Our pendulum clock died shortly before Christmas. Its mechanical heartbeat ceased. Its chimes that resounded at the top and bottom of the hour were silenced.

The absence of a clock ticking in the house was unsettling. Not to mention that my husband, who can become minutely focused on any project at hand, would lose all track of time.

We knew we wanted another pendulum clock, preferably old and preferably oak. A search of Duluth antique stores turned up nothing. An effort to find "the Clock Man," a dealer who used to have a nice collection of clocks at Father Time, failed.

In our effort, we found Al Hazebroek, who has cleaned and repaired clocks for more than 30 years. He and his wife are downsizing. He invited us to his home to look at some clocks with which he was willing to part.

We liked several, but chose this old schoolhouse clock. It was made by a Duluth man named Wittala or Wuotala, according to Al. I googled Duluth clockmakers by those names and got a hit for a John Leonard Wuotila. His obituary said he inspected arriving foreign ships as a plant protection and quarantine worker for the USDA. And, among many other things, he enjoyed making clocks.

It has taken us a while to get used to our new clock's tick and chime. It's of much better quality than the one it replaced. And I really like the fact that it's locally made.