The Bee

This weekend I made a realistic to-do list, and Matt and I did nearly everything on the list. Even though it was "realistic," the tasks were not small ones.

I had to tutor a student, go to my office for a couple hours, cash checks at the bank, and jog a couple miles. Check, check, check, check. Matt and I cleaned the kitchen, used 1/2 of all the ground cherries from Thorncrest Farms in salsa, and rode 21 miles on the Cannon River Trail. I know, impressive, right?

On top of all that, we followed through on eating one of the three melons we got this week, fixed the screen that our beloved Bernie busted through, and made banana bread cupcakes for 31 teenage boys.

So, when late afternoon came around, and I wanted to take a break, I did. I got myself a beer and a book, and I went outside to sit on our patio. I hooked the dogs up so they could enjoy the weather too --- winter's coming to Minnesota very soon, and we want to hold onto every moment of late summer. Immediately, a bee started hovering around my Corona (probably the lime's fault). Thinking I was smarter than him, I sprayed myself with bug spray and opened my book. Happily, I took a swig of my beer...

... and found myself with the bee in my mouth. He panicked, I'm sure, and stung me inside my upper lip.

So much for a well-deserved rest!

When I posted this as my status update, a friend of mine responded. She and I recently and unexpectedly lost a very good friend, a friend who was well-known for her mishaps. Andrea simply wrote, "that sounds like a Kristen story."

And then I smiled, and I didn't really mind having a swollen lip anymore because I knew Kristen would have just toasted her Corona and enjoyed the moment, mishap and all.

Dreading Unpacking

This is what we left behind....

Well, we did leave these two behind, too, so we can't avoid the unpacking for too long!

Summer Travels

Well, Matt and I have been feeling kind of cranky because we don't have any exotic destinations planned for this summer. We didn't take any trips over the holidays in 2008, but we did take a big trip to Hawaii in March. That should satisfy most normal people, but I always want more adventure. Alas, there will be no super adventure this summer.

Instead, we are spending time with family and friends. I'm pretty frank with everyone: I don't believe visiting family is the same as vacation. But this year, I spent nearly a year away from the east coast, and I've missed it.

First we are DRIVING with TWO DOGS to Massachusetts and Connecticut to see my family. Driving with the pooches will surely provide some interesting tales to tell, and if it doesn't, all the creatures great and small at my mom's house (3 cats and 3 dogs with my sister and me in town) will surely inspire.

Then (after DRIVING back to Minnesota with TWO DOGS), we are flying to Walt Disney World in Orlando to see Matt's mom and family. Matt's cousin planned the trip and asked for all of us to consider joining her and her family. Now, I haven't been to Disney World since I was 12, and while I am definitely intrigued, I am always a little unsure of traveling in large groups. But, my long simmering desire to return to Journey to Imagination, the Land of Tomorrow, the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, and the Mexican restaurant at Epcot (as well as see family, of course) won out! I'll be stepping on that light-up floor piano and making hand shapes in that needle table before you know it. I have some Disney nostalgia, and seeing how things have or have not changed since the 80s will be fascinating, I'm sure. I'm curious if Land of Tomorrow (or Tomorrow Land?) has changed...

And finally, we are heading out to Portland to see some dear friends who have just recently had a baby! Hopefully, some of my other college compatriots will join us. I've never been to Oregon, but I am thrilled to see D.Baby and knock another state off my list.

So, the summer isn't poised to be full of exotic adventures, and we will definitely be staying state side, but as I write this out, I feel a little guilty for whining and a lot more grateful for the time we'll have to get away from school for a little while, be home, and see the people we miss so much.

A Quieter August

Everyone knows that I have a hard time staying put and enjoying the calmer times of life. Hence, I travel every break and most of the summer. I love to travel, but I tend to miss the little things about life at home that make "home sweet home" so sweet. I like to buck my mom's advice, but I think she taught me a good lesson this summer.

Sitting in her new glassed-in porch, she said several times, with a cup of coffee or a glass of wine, "See how something so simple can be so beautiful. I could be anywhere in the world right now." Sitting out in the lawn chairs in her yard, she looked up in the sky and said, "Look how big and beautiful the sky is here.... a little like how it must be out west." I didn't really think the sky looked that big, but it was beautiful and the weather was perfect (and the wine or coffee was hitting the spot), and, this time anyway, I knew better than to ruin the moment with my sarcasm. After all, it was pretty nice to just sit there and be content.

So, I came home to Faribault with two little more widely opened eyes and tried to find the beauty around our little apartment in Mackall Hall in Southern Minnesota.

We planted tomatoes. We only had two plants, and both were cherry tomatoes, so we didn't have much fruit, but they tasted perfect. Matt's little red ones fared much better than my little bell-shaped yellow ones. Our basil plants and peppers didn't fare as well, but lucky for us, a generous neighbor replaced our teeny basil plants with a three footer!

We also planted wildflowers from seed and waited patiently for some to bloom among the weeds. Nervous to confuse a weed with a wildflower, I let the weeds bloom, too. After the flowers finally opened, I felt a pang of sadness when the turbulent August weather took it's toll.













We explored Minnesota with friends, starting the day at the farmer's market on Lake Street in Minneapolis; armed with a semi-random assortment of tomatillos, beans, chilies, cheese, and eggplants, we headed up to Chisago City. We explored the St. Croix River wineries, picnicked with our morning finds, and shopped in downtown Stillwater. The little book store had a friend of mine's book on display, the candy store was chock full of taffy, turtles, and sour patch kids, and the fancy paper store, Pulp Fashion, gave out free coffee and had a room equipped with a flat screen tv and recliners for the bored companions of shoppers!
Near the end of the summer, as school was gearing up, we carved out a day for the State Fair. A summer in Minnesota just isn't complete without a trip to the fair and a bellyful of snacks-on-a-stick. For me, the fried oreo was a thing of beauty.

And then, of course, there are the dogs. To travel, we had to leave them behind for 5 weeks this past summer and 5 weeks the summer before. It only takes a few days away for me to pine for their company. We spent afternoons at the dog park in Dundas, watching Hideki and Bernie lead the pack as they leap through the grass.

And so I realized that my mother is right. There's beauty even here at Mackall Hall in Faribault, Minnesota, and it's time I slowed down to take a look.

Livingston, Guatemala

Last week, my husband Matt and I spent the day in a small Garifuna town on the coast of Guatemala. Livingston is not accessible by roads, so everyone and everything must be brought in by boat. We took a short boat ride past beachside homes, complete with thatch-roofed bungalows. When we pulled into the harbor, we were met by a lush green coast, small sailboats, several water taxis, and brightly colored buildings. Local men gathered around the water taxi stand, waiting for charges. Sure enough, one soon came trudging down the main street. A young American man, with a heavy khaki pack on his back and several weeks' facial hair, emerged from Livingston, ready for his return to Puerto Barrios and his next stop. I was instantly jealous and thought back to my days hauling a khaki army-navy pack from Munich to Athens and back again.

Before we headed up the hill that the backpacker had just descended, we wandered through a local park where three giant crocodiles were kept. We had to stare at these three animals for several minutes for a sign that they were real, for they appeared to be more like animatronic monsters on a Disney ride than living breathing manifestations of the underworld. Eventually, when I stared long enough into the desolate stone pit the crocs called home, I saw movement in the nostrils. Matt remained convinced the crocs were not real.

Definitely real, however, was a lonely dog sunning himself on the basketball court. Once he saw us, he stretched and followed us up Calle Principal. Soon enough, he was met by several other local dogs, and together they wandered the streets as though they owned them. The streets were lined with brightly painted shops stocked with soccer balls, fruit, and embroidered cloth. Bright fuchsia rhododendrons, posters for Gallo beer, and beach umbrellas adorned the main street. Matt and I happily stopped for both coco locos, a combo of rum and coconut juice served in a matcheted green coconut, and Gallo beer, Guatamala's beloved brew.

I didn't know of the Garifuna before visiting Central America. The Garifuna people here in Livingston are a unique culture in Central America. Living on the Caribbean coast, they are descended from Africans who escaped slavery and intermarried with the Carib Indians of the island of St. Vincent. The Garifuna were deported to Roatan, one of the Bay Islands off the coast of Honduras, after they tried to rebel against the British on St. Vincent. Today's Garifuna are a people who represent a combined African, Carib, Mayan, and European ancestry and cultures. Walking through Livingston, this vibrant, complex culture was immediately apparent.

Once we walked to the top of Calle Principal, it was clear that Livingston was not a quiet or simple town. Indoor recess at a girls' school carried through the streets, and scooters sped past us. Police with automatic weapons slung across their back drove through town in a pick-up truck just as women carried baskets of fruit on the tops of their heads and elderly men wheeled bicycles with milk crates full of glass bottles. Two school boys caught my attention. Both wore Spiderman backpacks and neatly pressed school khakis. One boy walked with a stiff limp, and both boys' attention wandered from checking us out to checking out the noisy recess in the gym above their heads to checking out the pack of mutts following us through the town.

We stopped for mid-morning Gallo beers at a small pub with a traditional Garifuna band and dancers. The five men in the band traded instruments back and forth - maracas, drums, a turtle shell, and a conch shell - while two women and four young girls performed traditional dances. The girls danced to tell the story of the hard work of women while the older women wooed the pub crowd with fancy hip and foot work.

As we descended Calle Principal and returned to our boat to return to Puerto Barrios, I bought woven grass earrings and a roughly carved dugout canoe, and Matt collected quetzales and centavos. Much like the water taxis drivers at the dock, the policemen relaxed outside the station, no longer burdened with weapons. Instead, they traded police patches with another American couple. Two local teenage girls in flip-flops and sequined tanks began to climb the hill, and the not-so-lonely dog reappeared with his pack to lie back down in the heat of the afternoon.