Family Moment

 

These family photos were taken on the final day of our summer vacation at the cabin on Sweet Lake, less than a month before dropping Sam off at the University of Minnesota in the Twin Cities for his first year of college. It was a bittersweet respite, with Sam struggling to "be with" us while trying to stay in contact via sketchy WIFI with his friends. I was sad that I couldn't get him or Tom out to kayak with me on the lake more, a sacred ritual for me. On the water I watched the loons guiding their chick, reminded of my similar role as Sam's mother. I am conflicted by my fear of that ending while excited for his new beginning. 

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.

Motherhood in all its messy glory

Oxygen in the morning sun.

That’s how this “simple” post started and was supposed to end. But upon opening the photos I uploaded to my computer, my “obsessive mother” trait kicked in. The photos showed, at most, a model of an oxygen atom with 6 protons, 6 neutrons and 8 electrons.

My son had rushed to complete his model after an overbooked weekend of camping and playing piano in a music festival. He painted the protons, neutrons and electrons last night. His Dad was helping him assemble the model when I got up this morning. Had he left out a couple of protons and neutrons? 

There was nothing to do now, as the model probably was already in his science classroom. And I would be wondering all day if he had made a model of an unstable atom. Then it occurred to me that I could count the number of shish-kebab sticks that had held the foam balls he had painted. I found them – all 24 -- in the kitchen trash. The model was spot-on.

One of my most difficult and important responsibilities as a Mom is to make sure that “obsessive mother” trait gets curtailed before it impacts my son. I’m working on that.

Bored to Creativity

Scouts on Mondays, piano lessons Tuesdays, bar mitzvah studies Wednesdays, ski cadets Thursdays and Saturdays, religious studies and services on Saturdays -- not to mention piano practice, violin practice, a monthly camping weekend. My son's extracurricular activities can become quite the treadmill. So when he declared he was spending Sunday inside and in his pajamas all day, I was pleased at his self-proclaimed need for a break.

By late afternoon however -- even after a trip outside, in snowpants over his pajamas, to work on his snow fort -- he declared he was bored. He implored we move to another neighborhood so he could be near his friends who "all live near each other and never get bored." I suggested he go read a book, play with some of his toys or play a computer game. When he continued his boredom rant, I responded with a list of thank yous he could write and chores he could complete.

He finally went upstairs, taking along a copy of "The Pocket Guide to Mischief." He returned a couple hours later with a big bag of rubber bands. By the final minutes of the Packers-Cowboys playoff game, he had made a rubber band ball and a list of materials he'd like to get from Michael's and the Dollar Tree.

Having Martin Luther King Day off from school, we made the trip for craft supplies then went for lunch at his grandparents'. They supplied an old skillet and heat gun so he could begin making this Army man clock, as well as some flour and Elmer's glue for making a stress ball. He and his Dad finished putting the hands and timer on the clock this evening.

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.

Karma on the race course

Sam wasn't quite tall enough to drive a go-cart at the Minnesota State Fair last year. Which is why it was first on his list of things to do this year. He had a great time and drove quite well despite the "accident."

An adult apparently didn't comprehend -- despite the signs on the track and list of rules at the entrance -- that the go-carts are not bumper cars. The man rear-ended Sam, causing his cart to spin around and crash onto the guardrail. The man drove off laughing and shouting, "got you."

Karmic justice was swift. Two ride workers ran out onto the course, stopping traffic right in front of the man as he completed a lap around the oval. They pulled Sam's car off the guard rail, turned it around and got Sam back on course right in front of him.

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.

Schooling for life

During our visit to West Virginia, my brother Mike gave my 11-year-old son some tips on shooting pool. He also introduced him to two-handed euchre and "Shut the Box," a traditional English pub game of dice and numbers.

I must mention that after 10 rounds of Shut the Box, Sam wanted to modify the rules to include the use of subtraction in eliminating the numbers. By the following day, he was advocating the use of algebraic formulas. None of which his Uncle Mike would allow.

Obviously, my son doesn't yet understand the importance of keeping your drinking games simple.

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.

Happy I live in Minnesota

DFL caucus-goers search for their precinct rooms at Duluth East High School on Tuesday./ DNT photo

Looking at my state's caucus results today, I'm happy to say I live in Minnesota. That more voters in our state chose Bernie Sanders over Hilary Clinton, says to me our DFLers are aspiring. That they chose Marco Rubio over Donald Trump or Ted Cruz, says to me our Republicans are more rational.

Tom and I stopped in at our precinct's DFL caucus last night at East High School to cast ballots for a presidential candidate. Sam, 11, listened from the backseat while we discussed Hilary vs, Bernie on the drive there. Walking the few blocks away we had to park, we talked about him looking for campaign buttons and stickers. Entering the crowded lobby and hallways, the energy was palpable. It was a good energy, not angry.

We waited in line to get into the busy, crowded classroom where our precinct's caucus was being held. Our neighbor from across the street registered us. Another person I recognized loaned us her pen. As an election judge serving my precinct's voters for the last nine years, these actions represented an odd "turn of the tables" for me. I had never participated in a caucus before, although I covered them once as a newspaper reporter.

We chose to vote and leave rather than participate in the caucus discussion. Tom needed to get back to his work, it was a school night for Sam.

Bernie Sanders and Hilary Clinton laugh during CNN debate.

Once home, Sam put the Hilary sticker he had scored on his water bottle, and wished he'd gotten a Bernie sticker too. (A caucus worker fashioned one out campaign literature and masking tape, but it wasn't the same.)

On his way upstairs to bed, he quietly told me he voted for Bernie Sanders in his school election. I had heard him earlier in the week speaking against Donald Trump because of the things he had said about Muslims, building a wall around Mexico, and because "he lies." He showed me Bernie's "A President who will:" campaign literature in explaining why, pointing to "Act to Stop Climate Change" and "Make public colleges tuition-free" bullet points.

I have to admit I didn't vote for Bernie, choosing the DFL candidate I believed more "realistic" in her campaign goals and in winning the presidency. But I love that my son chose him. I hark back to Paul Wellstone. And I hope that some day, I again will choose the "idealistic."

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.

New Rebel Forces

Tom and I accompanied this motley crew and others to Star Wars: The Force Awakens up at Lakes Cinema last night. I'm not so sure I'd want to meet up with these guys on Mos Eisley.

Paying It Forward

Six years ago during holiday break, my son started learning to ski. In the photo at top he is being helped by a Chester Bowl ski cadet.

In the image at bottom, he now wears the green jacket. On Saturday, Sam began his official duties as a ski cadet, helping others learn how to ski at Chester Bowl's week-long ski camp.

I'm incredibly proud that he has chosen to be a ski cadet. As such he needs to log 50+ hours on the hill. Already, he teaches non-skiers how to side-step up the cordoned-off bunny hill, catches them at the bottom, and helps them get back up if they fall. He accompanies beginner and intermediate skiers on the chair lift then skis down the hill with them, slowly following or leading, if necessary, or skiing alongside at their speed. Later on in lessons, he and other cadets will guide lines of new skiers in snake formations down the hill.

Outside of ski camp and Thursday night ski lessons, he will help other skiers on the slope -- retrieving runaway skis or dropped ski poles, assisting someone who's taken a tumble, going for aid if someone is hurt.

There are some perks. On days he's on duty, he receives free meals at the hill. And he gets to ski for a lot longer time than in previous years. But the best perks are mine and Tom's. We get to watch our son take on more responsibilities and make a contribution of his own to the world.

Happy Hanukkah

One of my favorite holiday moments is of Sam and his friends lighting hanukiyot together.

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...

So how do you bring a new generation up to speed on a movie series they didn't grow up watching? In discussing the new Star Wars movie that's due out next month at our son's soccer games this fall, we realized that several of his teammates hadn't seen the original three or later three movies. The solution, a Star Wars movie marathon sleepover, developed from there.

Last Saturday, we hosted six boys for a viewing of the six movies on the big screen at our synagogue. They spread out camping mattresses and sleeping bags on the floor and settled in for the shows. In between they played Paintball together on networked computers, enjoyed pizza, snacks and breakfast, and got about three hours of sleep.

Good thing we decided to start with the original three movies, which lead into the new one. We ran out of time midway through the second of the later movies. The boys have a solution to that: have another Star Wars movie marathon sleepover. However, it might be a while before my husband and I fully recover.