Oh For Fun!

Don't Forget

Ooooh.  I almost forgot about you today, Oh For Fun! 

In honor of almost forgetting to blog during Nablobleepbloolaa, I will tell the story about the day I forgot to practice.

There has only been one day in my life when I forgot to practice.  Don't get me wrong, there have been many, many, many, many days when I didn't practice, but all of those days (except for one) were days when I chose not to practice.  I only forgot once. 

In 1998, the year after I graduated from college, my New Year's Resolution was to practice every single day.  I accomplished this goal (incredibly) until May 21st.  I practiced every day, and then I would put an actual star on the calender to mark my achievement. 

In mid-May, Ashley was visiting and we were having a rollicking vacation.  We decided to take a unscheduled road trip to Oberlin. Like a good little solider I practiced on the day we left, I brought my viola along, I practiced on the day we spent in Oberlin, and then.....sigh......I FORGOT to practice on the day we drove home. 

I was truly devastated.  I still get a little sad thinking about the end of the streak. It would have been so fun to be able to say, "I practiced every single day of 1998".  But, because I was having such a ridiculously good time with Ashley, I just simply forgot to practice on May 21st, 1998.

When we got home, and I realized what I had done, I had a hard time recovering.  I was really bummed.  I remember coming back into my bedroom after being in the kitchen, and finding Ashley giggling near my calender.  On the day for May 21st, the first day of the year without a star, she had written, "Hey....Nobody's Perf!!!!"

For some reason, that made it all better, and rather than feeling upset, we howled with laughter. 

Such is the awesome power of Ashley's love.

I still have the calender.  The memory of that day with Ashley is worth much, much more than anything I could have accomplished by practicing.  I don't forget the important stuff.

Dad and Sports

Kevin over at BfloBlog wrote a very nice post today about the happiness he felt watching his young son engaged in a hockey game. I don’t have any kids, so naturally my thoughts drifted towards my own father; in particular the memories I have about him surrounding sports.

Some of you may be surprised to hear that I was a rabid Minnesota Twins fan growing up. I slept with a baseball under my pillow for the duration of the 1987 post season. I know how to keep a baseball score sheet. I cried when Tom Brunansky was traded to the Cardinals in 1988. I can rattle off the names, numbers and positions of long ago forgotten Twins (Steve Lombardozzi #4, or Randy Bush #25, anyone?). Although my sports fandom has been dormant for the better part of a decade now, I do have a history of this, and I believe it’s in my blood to enjoy sports.  Sports, particularly baseball were lovingly bred into me by my father.

I had the quintessential American baseball experience with my father. Some of my best memories of him are of the nights we rode our bikes downtown to the Metrodome (I know, the Dome. So wrong.) and sat in the cheap seats in the upper deck behind center field. Once as a young child, when I asked if he thought someone would hit a homerun to us, my father replied, “If someone hits a homerun into this section, I’ll take you to Disney Land tomorrow.” I, of course, spent the remainder of the game willing someone to hit me a homerun, to no avail. My very favorite memory of a baseball game with my father was a game in which the Twins scored 6 runs to come from behind in the ninth inning. The game was at night, I don’t remember the opponent or the year, but I couldn’t have been more than nine-years-old. Just the fact that we stayed in crappy seats through the ninth inning when the Twins were down by five runs, says a lot about our devotion. We had ridden our bikes to the game, (which is weird considering we had to bike home in the dark), and rather than getting me home and into bed, by Dad took me to Bridgeman’s where we ate a full meal and rehashed the game. It must have been far past my normal bedtime, but I don’t remember being even slightly tired, and I distinctly remember happily humming to myself on the bike ride home. I also remember standing next to my mother (who was sleeping) in their dark bedroom, and telling her all about the game when we got home.

We didn’t just watch the Twins. Many a weekend afternoon were spent with my Dad and my sister watching the Golden Gophers at the University of Minnesota, which is where I learned about baseball played outdoors, with wind, and sunshine, and rain. The Gopher field is also where I first got to sit close enough to learn the hard way to watch out for line drive foul balls. (No, I didn’t get hit, but pretty. damn. close.)

My father died in 1993 when I was 17-years-old. I think a large part of why I lost interest in sports is because it just wasn’t the same without him. I have thought about him so often over the last few months as I have meticulously studied hockey. I swear, one of the most comforting things in the world is the sound of televised sports in the background as I putter around my apartment. My return to the world of sports fandom is probably one more step in the relationship I have with my father; a relationship that did not end when he died.

I’m not sure if he ever watched hockey. I kind of suspect that he didn’t, because I don’t ever remember hockey being on our television. It would have been so fun to reverse the roles, and to teach him about a sport. One of the very best things about my father was his obvious interest in the things that Ellie and I loved. I’m sure I could have made a diehard hockey fan out of him.

Baby Mattie

Look at this baby.  This is three week old Mattie Cecilia, Debby and John's beautiful new daughter.  I met her this afternoon and she was a perfect little lady.  She didn't make a peep and she slept the entire time.

While I held Mattie, Debby kept me laughing hysterically with stories from her delivery and the first few nights at home.  Debby has such a wonderful disposition for motherhood.  Everything that doesn't make her cry, makes her laugh!

Look at Mattie's long fingers.  She'll be a musician for sure.

 

Lucas

I went to visit my new baby friend Lucas this afternoon.  He is small and nice.  As a group, I would say that musicians are a little bit on the slow side when it comes to getting married and having kids.  Because of my stunted social pool, Lucas is the first baby I will get to hang out with on a regular basis.  I'm pretty psyched to have a new baby friend.  He's very cute and tiny.  I have never met a two day old person before- have I mentioned that he is very small?  Quite small.  Small and sleepy.

Heh.  Hi, little man.

Right as I was leaving Janz woke Lucas up so he could eat dinner.

Check these two out!

Living outside the womb is sleepy.

Christmas Day in Palm Beach

Ellie's Day!

Today is my sister Ellie's  28th birthday.  Happy birthday lil' sistah!  Ellie is a free-spirited, creative, kind, talented, and beautiful gal.  Let's all toast to Ellie's Day!

I love you Ellie!

I love you, Mom!

I mean honestly, what is not to love?

I have the best mother.  She doesn't really cook, and she can down a gin and tonic like a professional, but at the very core of her personality is the quintessential Mother.   Lois has my back.  You might not even know her, but Lois probably has your back too.  My mother's love taught me that no matter what, I will always be okay.  I am certain that sometimes I take this love for granted- and that is the beautiful privilege my mother has provided.   My mom kicks ass.   She is beautiful, fun, hysterical, smart, goofy, wise, and loving. 

I love you Mom!   

Happy Mother's Day.

My Brother Aaron

About five years ago my mother found us a new brother.  His name is Aaron, and I love him tremendously.

Here is a picture of Aaron:

I know that you will find this hard to believe, but Aaron is gay. 

When Aaron and I hang out there is usually a lot of snacks and hysterical laughing.   Last summer we almost died in a fiery car crash because we were laughing so hard that neither of us could see or breath.   I had just told the story about the time Ashley brilliantly mixed a few metaphors and told us that she "really needed to lay it on the nail."  (She got tangled up in a combination of "lay it all out on the table", and "hit the nail on the head")  So then Aaron and I started trying to mix metaphors which lead to the single funniest thing that anyone has ever said:

"She is dumber than a box of fine tooth combs."

I realize this isn't that funny to you now, but the laughing, oh, the laughing it caused that night. My stomach still hurts thinking about how hard we were howling.  There was desperate gasping for air and screams for mercy.  One of us would momentarily recover, only to be sucked back into the laughing abyss by the contagious shrieking of the other. It was one of the greatest laughs, EVER. 

And just in case you are wondering, we were stone cold sober at the time. 

There is nothing dumber (and funnier) than a box of fine tooth combs.  If you can't see that, than you must not be my new gay brother Aaron.  I love you, Aaron!

         

p.s- Someday, if you are a good little internet, I will tell you about the Scandia Bake Shop and the magical/delicious things Aaron and I found inside.

Pin Heads

My mother is a nurse in a special care nursery.  She takes care of premature babies, most of whom are just a few pounds at birth.  Lois spent hours knitting tiny baby hats while sitting with my Grandmother during the last weeks of her life.  Last night, when we arrived back in Minneapolis, my mother opened a bag and all of these itty bitty hats came out.  They are so sweet.   I put an apple in the picture for scale.  These hats are for very small little heads.  So cute. 

Here is a picture of the apple wearing a hat:

Isn't that little guy cute?

Delicious!

Comfort Food

Taking this picture of the food at my Grandmother's funeral was probably not my most appropriate move ever, but let's face it, I crossed that line a loooong time ago.  After her very lovely service we all enjoyed ham sandwiches and potato salad in the church cafeteria.  Just in case you can't tell, that fluffy white mound in the lower middle of the plate, that dear reader- is FRUIT SALAD!   If you look carefully, you can see the tiny bits of fruit cocktail gasping for air under the Cool Whip.  Yum.

This trip has been amazing.  I think my Grandmother would be happy to see how much fun her family had while celebrating her life.  We have so many dynamic, lovable people in our family- I am so in love with the Cotas and the Reinarts and the Kuhrys.   We are so blessed.  I love you Gramma.

.............................

Things actually uttered by my mother in the last two days:

Oh for fun. (obviously)

Oh for sweet.

Oh for interesting. (!)

Oh for cute.

I am sure there are more, but I can't remember them right now.  I might have to cool it on the mother mocking.  Lois reads this blog and I am concerned that she will start censoring herself as a result of my constant teasing.  When I first started college everyone made so much fun of me that I can no longer call a sweet carbonated beverage by its real name- pop.  What if my mother stops saying "Oh for (something hilarious)"?  That would be a terrible tragedy.  On the other hand, I believe the world needs to know what Lois has to say.  It's a real pickle.