tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39870638842426088992024-03-13T12:51:35.257-05:00Lars and AddieWherein arts and crafts, home renovation, politics, writing, family, and food are considered. Although not necessarily in that order.Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.comBlogger156125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-39866278190357686112011-07-22T09:16:00.004-05:002011-07-22T09:19:10.714-05:00Moving...I have a new blog here:<br /><br /><a href="http://rhenatan.blogspot.com/">http://rhenatan.blogspot.com/</a><br /><br />I'll be focusing more on actual writing of actual words over there. (I'm trying, trying, trying to do 500 words five times a week.)<br /><br />I MIGHT update here too sometimes, but will be more often over at Rhena Tan. Change bookmarks! Come follow me!<br /><br />Thanks!!Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-1844774254554271242011-05-07T16:41:00.000-05:002011-05-07T17:14:29.956-05:00Stuff My Husband Says About the 5K That I May or May Not Have RunAs I approached a long flat, curve through the University of Minnesota campus a thought occurred to me, "Can I finish this thing? What if I need to start walking? Would it be such a bad thing to start walking?"<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgejN97pBySkp_TVg0SrbLP57DQN2WAK0H7Mm-J-QGcEv7D1Sw6U74VrQRYZl3iVV8VL7hOYdtBv90b4QsCnGJjBZCTZhoktxiw0FWmwylzJ2Vaf6jIup3PKlG_aJnDreC0iAKOwdzeXcw/s1600/bib+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgejN97pBySkp_TVg0SrbLP57DQN2WAK0H7Mm-J-QGcEv7D1Sw6U74VrQRYZl3iVV8VL7hOYdtBv90b4QsCnGJjBZCTZhoktxiw0FWmwylzJ2Vaf6jIup3PKlG_aJnDreC0iAKOwdzeXcw/s320/bib+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603231847658808738" border="0" /></a><br /><br />A few weeks ago, I ran my first 5K, an inaugural event at the University of Minnesota that began next to and ended inside the new football stadium. In the days leading up to the run, I was nervous. I'd only been running for eight weeks or so and, while I'd run 3 miles before, I wasn't sure what would happen in an official "race." Would I burn out in the first mile? Would it be too hilly? Would I embarrass myself? I had to remember that I was running for me, I was running to meet my own goals and against my own best times. And so it was entirely in jest when, the day before the race, I asked my husband, "What if I win the whole thing?"<br /><br />Without missing a beat, he replied, "I'll suspect drug use."<br /><br />He paused.<br /><br />"If you win and they come to me and ask, 'How did she do it?' I'll say, 'Test her for drugs.'"<br /><br />He had a point.<br /><br />The morning of the race, he drove me to campus, our 15 month old blabbering away in the back seat. "We forgot the camera," I told him.<br /><br />"Oh, yeah, I meant to grab that," my husband joined in my lament. My dream of the sweaty, tired but happy post first 5K shot was gone.<br /><br />I hopped out near the stadium. They'd park and grab some food while I warmed up and figured out where I needed to go. We'd meet up again at the end of the race, after they'd watched me cross the finish line on the big screen on the football field.<br /><br />I warmed up a little. I peed. I joined the throngs heading to the start line. I found a spot at the back amidst the strollers and, as it would turn-out, the walkers. This run wasn't chip timed, so I set up my Nike+ and found the music I wanted to listen to. The race began. It was anticlimactic. Those of us at the back walked a good distance to the start line. I took off at an easy trot as I crossed the line and started passing walkers and stroller-pushers. The volume on my iPod was too low and I knew that turning it up would involve a lot of fiddling, so I let it go. I listened to feet hit pavement and conversations around me. A little boy (yes, there were children in this 5K) was telling his friend, "You can do it!" I considered pacing myself to this duo if only for the little nuggets of encouragement.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-UpUPk8H6nAAYQFCN70Lu0g2j_UemgzGlkWcj2V0zfI5jbYYXIVxrLXAKIX14xysJ3WoY6oG1CRzCCPaX9d7EKox5w3l1Btg8in0gFcoXKyafiM90eDIENVzzS8ejwzBt3CUrkTpNhJI/s1600/bib+1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-UpUPk8H6nAAYQFCN70Lu0g2j_UemgzGlkWcj2V0zfI5jbYYXIVxrLXAKIX14xysJ3WoY6oG1CRzCCPaX9d7EKox5w3l1Btg8in0gFcoXKyafiM90eDIENVzzS8ejwzBt3CUrkTpNhJI/s320/bib+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603231843409836530" border="0" /></a>I found a stroller pusher to pace myself to: a dad in a bold blue t-shirt that was easy to find. I kept him in the corner of my eye. At the halfway point, water and sport drink tables lined the student quad area. A decidedly unbusy medic team sat near the tables. "Wow," I thought, "Nice of them to have these things at this race, but if you need water and a medic on a 5k in the middle of campus, you're probably in a pretty bad way." But I stopped that thought as soon as I had it. No need to get cocky. What if I end up needing a medic?<br /><br />And so it was that as we rounded the last long curve that I found myself wondering if I did, indeed, need to start walking. My iPod told me I had 1.5 K left. I can do this, I thought. I keep the stroller pusher in the bold blue shirt in my sights. There was a slight slope down to the stadium. 400 meters left, my iPod told me. "I'm doing this," I thought. I still had some energy in my legs and some hope that I'd finish in under 34 minutes. I pushed harder around the outside of the stadium.<br /><br />And as anticlimactically as it started, the race was over. I'd crossed the line. "Congratulations," a voice said over my headphones. "This is Lance Armstrong. You've just completed your fastest mile." 9:40. Or something like it. My iPod offered to send my run to Nike+ as there was a wifi signal. I sent it. Later on in the day, I found it was lost in the internet-ether.<br /><br />I searched for my husband and Ada as I grabbed a banana and bottle of water. I found them, staring up, hopefully, at the big screen.<br /><br />"Eric! Eric!" I called. He'd missed me crossing the finish line on the big screen.<br /><br />We headed back to the car and I checked my time. Under 34 minutes, or so I remember now. With no pictures, no Nike+ record, no witnesses, I might not have even run that race.<br /><br />But I know I did. And I know how sweet it was.Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-81078419277002376792011-04-01T12:19:00.006-05:002011-04-01T12:58:32.560-05:00Spring Break DC '11!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3l0h8rkuokBfn6YoEJ_Lq4qPQ059-jcNkZO_bL7fQHUIH_pc42XHtAnUoXhxeK_13v9VaVnv__oDTuyMo0feuYKB2P71bVQquEBb0wtIvYpKS4wHKLrs5DtkwY0c0WJQ4f5RU6dKCTeo/s1600/Pete%2527s+Run.jpg"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></a>Ada and I went back to visit my parents and brothers in DC last weekend. The day I arrived my mom said to me, "Think of this as your vacation." I promptly changed into a bikini, slammed three shots of tequila, and ate six crispy cremes.<br /><br />Not really.<br /><br />First, I went for a run. My first one outdoors. It's warm enough to do that in DC right now. It is in Minneapolis too, but not at 6 am: the time that our family schedule permits a run. Running outside, in the breeze, on the concrete kicked my butt. But it was also glorious: the sun was out, the daffodils were in bloom, and the puddles were few.<br /><br />Granny and Ada and I also took a walk together, went to the zoo, and hung out at their house.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEietL_1A6B-JNY_Qxqx2_2GmwkS3u5aX1gH7iwSx851YxCv3kr_MS_1nGb2gjPR3uttlAdi3-RTCRxdnuzJlSQhyhfyvI0KNtd5bJ7A9KKuyK26FVfiZMD9xvgNuCo2gdGEMzIOk-itpXc/s1600/G+and+A+on+bridge.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEietL_1A6B-JNY_Qxqx2_2GmwkS3u5aX1gH7iwSx851YxCv3kr_MS_1nGb2gjPR3uttlAdi3-RTCRxdnuzJlSQhyhfyvI0KNtd5bJ7A9KKuyK26FVfiZMD9xvgNuCo2gdGEMzIOk-itpXc/s320/G+and+A+on+bridge.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590666404945209074" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVudKIeXXZsSAnpkghkPi9Jx1zHfdxK3kRHh9c1s95fajuK3ETNN6PxXxAfvMKmrhDQFu7xwgtfpqKdQRx7s96u9LNWjzxzkn0vWrfxx6mhUQN-rERTb9TAJee6j0yzKUQ6Yp4AQH3tZc/s1600/G+and+A+by+swamp.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVudKIeXXZsSAnpkghkPi9Jx1zHfdxK3kRHh9c1s95fajuK3ETNN6PxXxAfvMKmrhDQFu7xwgtfpqKdQRx7s96u9LNWjzxzkn0vWrfxx6mhUQN-rERTb9TAJee6j0yzKUQ6Yp4AQH3tZc/s320/G+and+A+by+swamp.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590666401847239842" border="0" /></a>I love DC. I love staying a few blocks from a huge national park. Ada loved being near a playground with swings<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9DoZicrgMrNabf2nBiSmbt6Cs0A4f8tquxDuyEDVhO4GQ7QA1j0Autrxiej4RW7mwQ02vVyhOvCOUszrc_5qU3rbFsBM-payNG0tqzPuiAW2QVGGFHSo7o_J-tJV7ZO_PvievpgWqSlM/s1600/Ada+on+swing+with+Granny.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9DoZicrgMrNabf2nBiSmbt6Cs0A4f8tquxDuyEDVhO4GQ7QA1j0Autrxiej4RW7mwQ02vVyhOvCOUszrc_5qU3rbFsBM-payNG0tqzPuiAW2QVGGFHSo7o_J-tJV7ZO_PvievpgWqSlM/s320/Ada+on+swing+with+Granny.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590666388189927282" border="0" /></a>... until she realized that said park also had wood chips.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgF_Ws2_GxBh1Xke8CoKcqZUwo3gTRNaJqWfCgVAo0wxejqp5NvfP55DSDnS9bmQHZaPsXYei5PWWXTPPnoBRO1zE8f7nlZ12uN6D6EFEz36UtI4aP73ou7aiNN892Ylf9bWROS1WXWYo/s1600/Ada+with+wood+chips.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgF_Ws2_GxBh1Xke8CoKcqZUwo3gTRNaJqWfCgVAo0wxejqp5NvfP55DSDnS9bmQHZaPsXYei5PWWXTPPnoBRO1zE8f7nlZ12uN6D6EFEz36UtI4aP73ou7aiNN892Ylf9bWROS1WXWYo/s320/Ada+with+wood+chips.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590666393853908002" border="0" /></a>Fascinating.<br /><br />We chose this weekend to visit because my little bro, Pete, was running his second half marathon.<br /><br />He rocked it. He rocked it really, really hard.<br /><br />He picked me up at 5:30 at my parents and we headed down RFK in the dark. (Why must so much running take place in the early morning?) I stayed with him (mostly wide-eyed, taking in the thousands of runners out that morning) until he joined the herd and then waited at the start line to try to catch him passing. I could not.<br /><br />Once the race had started, I figured I had enough time to ride the Metro to the mid-way point (actually about mile 7.5 out of the 13.1 miles he was running) to cheer him on there and still make it back to watch him cross the finish line. I knew exactly where I was going, I already had a ticket, and I was lucky enough to catch each train. I was walking toward the intersection, thinking about how I could stand there for about 20 minutes before I had to turn around to make it back to the finish, when lo and behold! there was my brother in his red, white, and blue American Cancer Society race shirt.<br /><br />"Go! Pete! Go!" I shouted, still a good 20 feet from the intersection. He was sailing. "Run! Pete! Pete! Run!" <span style="font-style: italic;">I'm going to miss him!</span> "Peter!" Finally he turned and pumped his fist once, twice before he was out of sight again.<br /><br />I turned around and headed back to the Metro once again catching all the trains. I made it to the finish line to catch those finishing at under 1 hour and 35 minutes. I was watching these early finishers roll in, when I caught sight of, once again, a blurry red, white and blue figure, head shorn, racing sunglasses glinting in the light. <span style="font-style: italic;">Is he really already finishing?</span><br /><br />"Pete!" I screamed. "You're almost there!" Those around me turned at my piercing shrieks. Pete did not. He sprinted across the finish.<br /><br />1 hour, 36 minutes, 29 seconds. He shaved 11 minutes off of his last time and averaged 7:25 minute miles. (He also raised over 2 grand for cancer research.)<br /><br />Way to go, little bro, way to go!<br /><br />My lesson: when trying to get from RFK to Columbia Heights as fast as possible. Try running. It might be faster than the Metro.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3l0h8rkuokBfn6YoEJ_Lq4qPQ059-jcNkZO_bL7fQHUIH_pc42XHtAnUoXhxeK_13v9VaVnv__oDTuyMo0feuYKB2P71bVQquEBb0wtIvYpKS4wHKLrs5DtkwY0c0WJQ4f5RU6dKCTeo/s1600/Pete%2527s+Run.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3l0h8rkuokBfn6YoEJ_Lq4qPQ059-jcNkZO_bL7fQHUIH_pc42XHtAnUoXhxeK_13v9VaVnv__oDTuyMo0feuYKB2P71bVQquEBb0wtIvYpKS4wHKLrs5DtkwY0c0WJQ4f5RU6dKCTeo/s320/Pete%2527s+Run.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590666588981548786" border="0" /></a><br />With Granny still on Ada duty, I was able to get out for a cup of coffee with one of my oldest, dearest friends (whose baby kindly slept through our entire visit) without having to entertain Ada at the same time. It was luxurious. On my last day in DC, I made it out to the park for one more run. Three miles up and back to the horse stables, where the equine beasts were standing in the sun and a few of the younger ones were nipping each other's knees (didn't know horses do that kind of thing). A lovely visit overall, and <span style="font-style: italic;">almost </span>long enough to do all the things (writing and fabric shopping and sewing and knitting and reading) that I'd love to have time to do at home, <span style="font-style: italic;">almost</span> long enough to start to take granny for granted. I'll have to save that for the next one.Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-20139800944681029122011-03-23T09:49:00.005-05:002011-03-23T09:58:22.214-05:00Sewing and Running<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWMEYPmloK_GSjjM9iX08vLw_I61AhBDkc3qhwg3_6fehGa-Z-TGDmSCscGr9bVgBqQlWRMLu4jCbX9y15jUdZDIB6r-SSBp4GUMUXAnLiku_bEQntH7lIrZw61U2fwW-QyP9BWnmFre8/s1600/Nike+%252B+7.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWMEYPmloK_GSjjM9iX08vLw_I61AhBDkc3qhwg3_6fehGa-Z-TGDmSCscGr9bVgBqQlWRMLu4jCbX9y15jUdZDIB6r-SSBp4GUMUXAnLiku_bEQntH7lIrZw61U2fwW-QyP9BWnmFre8/s320/Nike+%252B+7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587288001654224882" border="0" /></a><br />Yesterday, I rewarded myself for sticking to my six-week "run for 30 minutes" program with a Nike +. It's mostly a glorified pedometer that is wirelessly linked to your iPod. You can track distances, time, calories and a soothing voice interrupts your music (or in my case audio book) to tell you when you're half-way through. Apparently there are also coaching options, but I'm not that advanced yet.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiL1uqlioyULb7lbHLbwOrFqbyc4qoK0DvNHFt3F1CDUUHOqatIrLPz_UAWUjUUzoT0BgakH2BtV_FSEM5qfZMrxO6tDvf-hkTCAcaai-SR5aGEoewOm9U61d1POVHnEHy8hpasq75nDY/s1600/Nike+%252B+6.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiL1uqlioyULb7lbHLbwOrFqbyc4qoK0DvNHFt3F1CDUUHOqatIrLPz_UAWUjUUzoT0BgakH2BtV_FSEM5qfZMrxO6tDvf-hkTCAcaai-SR5aGEoewOm9U61d1POVHnEHy8hpasq75nDY/s320/Nike+%252B+6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587287991262048210" border="0" /></a>It has to be attached to your shoe to work and most Nikes have a spot built into the sole where the chip can comfortably sit. I wear New Balance. I looked around the web, however, and found <a href="http://www.web-goddess.org/archive.php/postID/6190">this pattern</a> at the Web Goddess Blog.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaDjYw9aN4TklC2kEBceWHSrC0MQDe740ugWVE8OR58wC6WVjcPp3QjZsd1TKgyUq26ktVqgBtatJlZJkn1O-xDDcnmxPoVT6O_4ECgqkxvQ7N3rDAqXmeZu1FvqJSAQUPWovpQRp8HVc/s1600/Nike+%252B+5.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaDjYw9aN4TklC2kEBceWHSrC0MQDe740ugWVE8OR58wC6WVjcPp3QjZsd1TKgyUq26ktVqgBtatJlZJkn1O-xDDcnmxPoVT6O_4ECgqkxvQ7N3rDAqXmeZu1FvqJSAQUPWovpQRp8HVc/s320/Nike+%252B+5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587287859426352370" border="0" /></a>I grabbed fabric from my scrap stash and some velcro and did a really down and dirty Nike + holder.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFdYpc3_iIMgiwnJxvUSQ9jvDJyjuIqWnLSJkX38axaPVPaXo2rfNjsBiXwBDE1vSwTrvxJquaf1FjESMY4U_grUzr9Qe12pATj2VyNtTWUwws25NpPWFpsUcqGnu8WCmMbeBpkHPyibI/s1600/Nike+%252B+4.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFdYpc3_iIMgiwnJxvUSQ9jvDJyjuIqWnLSJkX38axaPVPaXo2rfNjsBiXwBDE1vSwTrvxJquaf1FjESMY4U_grUzr9Qe12pATj2VyNtTWUwws25NpPWFpsUcqGnu8WCmMbeBpkHPyibI/s320/Nike+%252B+4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587287851033805314" border="0" /></a>It's not the prettiest thing I've made....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQIFheJOYevo5bsWDC0d8C-pulzFHSqzTMj4Oep9VG5Y_XdM8YqA8Z18WuQpBi09CgtIa-jUjQ71wqSSbdmDL3ug5mfi4zSMbDJ1xWgsHrUpBkR6D3G_wJsfMYwz4-bXdEcWQJet0opzQ/s1600/Nike+%252B+3.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQIFheJOYevo5bsWDC0d8C-pulzFHSqzTMj4Oep9VG5Y_XdM8YqA8Z18WuQpBi09CgtIa-jUjQ71wqSSbdmDL3ug5mfi4zSMbDJ1xWgsHrUpBkR6D3G_wJsfMYwz4-bXdEcWQJet0opzQ/s320/Nike+%252B+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587287845496879010" border="0" /></a>... but I used it this morning and it seems to have done the trick. I might sew closed one end of the tube so it looks a little "neater." Or maybe I'll work on my speed so I can run so fast that no one will notice.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8BQOqMALMOHuZE23T-SFuFEws5FJQkQGf7e-h-lVBlPMwkSHUiL8-K0oaKd-1Qd0WqkxQHNsj6TJZf1ucqHh2cjUm1w01iLn-2_nDo4i9OkSwjYw12hOVgCsQpBWccmH5Z4lcnGEoEg/s1600/Nike+%252B+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8BQOqMALMOHuZE23T-SFuFEws5FJQkQGf7e-h-lVBlPMwkSHUiL8-K0oaKd-1Qd0WqkxQHNsj6TJZf1ucqHh2cjUm1w01iLn-2_nDo4i9OkSwjYw12hOVgCsQpBWccmH5Z4lcnGEoEg/s320/Nike+%252B+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587287838738645538" border="0" /></a>Don't ask why I used chicken fabric. Maybe I was thinking "Chicken Run."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrF4hmWyiTo6PPP0BjlXesdrJiKVlmK1jm4JMTyn5iTPiu_ItW7KpKq3WlPZpSOIvEPRhbq7hAhLOJPVaWYiDUmkpkr6QGtg07YN1bhxoARhpv01hri6yredINYntaTf5BWKjGG7HALkw/s1600/Nike+%252B+1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrF4hmWyiTo6PPP0BjlXesdrJiKVlmK1jm4JMTyn5iTPiu_ItW7KpKq3WlPZpSOIvEPRhbq7hAhLOJPVaWYiDUmkpkr6QGtg07YN1bhxoARhpv01hri6yredINYntaTf5BWKjGG7HALkw/s320/Nike+%252B+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587287834119412018" border="0" /></a>I might see how one in vinyl works for some weather proofing and durability.<br /><br />Until then: sewing and running, together at last!Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-9346828926860318412011-03-21T09:37:00.004-05:002011-03-21T10:09:39.471-05:00I Did It!This morning, the room still middle-of-the-night dark, my husband tapped me on the shoulder.<br /><br />"It's 6:30," he said.<br /><br />I rolled over, tried to ignore him.<br /><br />Then I remembered why he was waking me up. <span style="font-style: italic;">This is the morning,</span> I thought. <span style="font-style: italic;">I've got to get to the track so I can finish </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.womenshealthmag.com/fitness/run-walk-program">this program</a><span style="font-style: italic;"> and run for 30 minutes for the first time ever.</span> (Admittedly, my thought did not link to the Women's Health running program. That only happens on the blog.) I dragged my tired self out of bed and got dressed and watered before driving to the gym.<br /><br />On the track, I fiddled with my iPod for a little bit, delaying, it would seem, the inevitable. There would be no walking warm up or cool down as part of my 30 minutes (although I did do both just for my own comfort).<br /><br />I gradually fell into my slow pace. I watched the clock and, for the first time, I actually started counting laps. <span style="font-style: italic;">Rate times time equals distance</span>, I chanted to myself as if I was back in the tiny windowless math room of my elementary school. If I counted laps, I could figure out how fast I was actually running. <span style="font-style: italic;">Rate times time equals distance.</span><br /><br />Last night we had a few friends over for dinner. Mary is a marathon runner and her husband, Brad, recently took up running himself. The conversation turned to exercise.<br /><br />"Are you running, Rhena?" Brad asked.<br /><br />"Yeah."<br /><br />"You should run the half marathon! I'm doing it. It's June 5th." Brad's better half is currently pretty pregnant and, therefore, not training for anything other then, well, creating a human being and bringing it into the world.<br /><br />"I don't think I can do a half marathon by June 5th. I'm doing this program and I'm only going to get to about 3 miles tomorrow." It was really only a half-truth. I had no idea how far I was running, only that I was <span style="font-style: italic;">almost</span> running for 30 minutes, but it seemed like a lot to explain.<br /><br />"That's perfect," Mary said. "Most training programs start with a 3 mile base."<br /><br />"It starts tomorrow," Brad said.<br /><br />"I'll think about it. I'm really, really slow, though."<br /><br />"We're very laid back. Very relaxed," Brad assured me.<br /><br />"I get smoked by everyone on the track,"<br /><br />"So do I!" Brad nodded.<br /><br />The conversation turned towards how women runners are at their peak speed in their thirties, which, for me, is true so far. I mulled over the idea of a half marathon the rest of the evening and <a href="http://teamortho.us/Minneapolis-Marathon/">checked the website</a> when our friends had left. Could I actually do this?<br /><br />On the track this morning, mental and physical fatigue were starting to set in about 20 minutes into my run. The first two miles took me about 22 minutes to complete and I knew I wouldn't reach three miles in thirty minutes. <span style="font-style: italic;">Rate times time equals distance</span>. My legs were getting tired. <span style="font-style: italic;">I don't think I can do a half marathon</span>, I thought to myself. I imagined how it would feel to be two miles into a run, outdoors on the hard concrete with hills and the wind and the weather knowing I still had more than 11 miles to go. <span style="font-style: italic;">I can't possibly do that</span>, I thought. <span style="font-style: italic;">I'm not even going to get to a base of 3 miles on an indoor, flat, climate-controlled track</span>.<br /><br />I watched the clock and then I tried to ignore it. I tried to calculate how long it would take me to finish three miles (34 minutes? 36 minutes?) and then let go of that thought. Five minutes until I hit thirty minutes. Four minutes left. Three minutes. <span style="font-style: italic;">Wait,</span> I realized. <span style="font-style: italic;">I only have two minutes left and only a few more laps to get to three miles.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">Should I just keep going past the thirty minutes? </span><br /><br />Yes.<br /><br />I kept going. One extra lap. Another one. <span style="font-style: italic;">Three miles! This is it! I'm done!I did it!</span> I finally slowed down to a walk at 33 minutes.<br /><br />Three miles.<br /><br />I had done it.<br /><br />As I walked an extra lap and then made my way to the stretching room, I thought again about the half marathon. Maybe I can do it. If I can make it to three, I can make it to five. If I can do five, I can do seven and then I'm more than halfway there. I don't know if I'll have the time and the discipline. We'll have to see and I'll decide in the next week or so.<br /><br />In the meantime, I'm basking in the glow of passing thirty minutes, reaching three miles, and knowing that if and when I decide to run a half marathon, I will get there.Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-3499086770495035542011-03-19T09:12:00.000-05:002011-03-19T08:55:01.789-05:00Final Week of Running Program!A few months ago, I was having shooting pains and soreness in my hips almost everytime I carried Little A around. One day, I carried her out to the car and as I was putting her in the carseat, I nearly cried out in pain. I almost couldn't get myself in and out of the driver's seat because my hips hurt so badly. Having to get her in and our of her car seat felt nearly impossible. I started doing some lower back and hip stretches, but I still felt twinges and soreness at times. It was hard to sleep on my side for any length of time.<br /><br />Then I started running.<br /><br />Assuming all goes as scheduled, I'll be running 30 minutes by Monday. I wasn't able to run last weekend, so I'm one day behind on the <a href="http://www.womenshealthmag.com/fitness/run-walk-program">Women's Health program</a>. I've changed up the program in a couple of other ways. I go to an hour-long class at my gym twice a week instead of doing the at-home work-outs they recommend. I've also supplemented it with two one-hour yoga classes each week.<br /><br />Thoughts so far?<br /><br />I feel SO much <span style="font-weight: bold;">healthier, stronger, and more energized</span>. Sure, I'm sometimes sleepy in the afternoons, but I think that's just on the 5:30 wake up days. And the hip and lower back pain? Gone. Completely gone. I haven't felt that horrid shooting pain in my hips for weeks because my lower back and hips are stronger and stretchier.<br /><br />I love doing <span style="font-weight: bold;">yoga</span> again regularly. I love the hour of quiet, meditative movement in the mornings. I love that I can really feel a difference in my flexibility and my strength. I can hold <a href="http://www.yogajournal.com/poses/470">plank pose</a> longer and can move from plank into <a href="http://www.yogajournal.com/poses/469">chaturanga</a> in one fluid motion and am close to being able to move from there into <a href="http://www.yogajournal.com/poses/474">up dog</a> without putting my knees on the floor. And I'm almost able to put my heels completely down in <a href="http://www.yogajournal.com/poses/491">down dog</a> and still keep my hips lifted. One of the things I love the most about a regular yoga practice is that there are so many modifications so when I'm having a "recovery" day, I can take an easier pose. There are always options and it's easy to see your progress.<br /><br />I'm slow on the track. Really, really slow. But I'm learning that there's no shame in that. I get smoked by the other runners all the time, but I'm still running and when someone passes me on the track, I think, "Someday I'll be able to run like that." And I will.<br /><br />In the first two weeks I was having some problems with a side stitch on my right. It brought me back to 7th and 8th grade when we had to run around the block for PE and I'd end up walking because of getting a side stitch (and out of pure laziness, I'm sure). I looked around on-line to find out how to get rid of them, but I kept running through them. Apparently, it's a pretty common phenomenon for beginning runners. I focused on:<br /><ul><li>drinking loads of water, not just before a run but throughout the day</li><li>breathing as deeply as I could as I ran</li><li>not eating anything heavy the hour or so before running</li></ul>Lo and behold! The stitches have ended. I still feel a slight niggling every now and again, but I think that my diaphragm has figured out what it needs to do.<br /><br />I'll do another update or two next week when I get to thirty minutes.Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-58690613483367285292011-03-18T09:58:00.004-05:002011-03-18T16:02:41.873-05:00What's All the Buzz About?Around this time last year, Eric, Ada, and I went to the <a href="http://www.bellmuseum.org/">Bell Museum</a> for a presentation about bees. I know, I know -- not exactly a wild a crazy night out, but it's close to where Eric works, there was a display about food there at the time that included pictures from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Hungry-Planet-What-World-Eats/dp/1580086810">Hungry Planet</a> that I wanted to see and, with a new baby, we were taking the opportunity to get out of the house together for short jaunts.<br /><br />The bee presentation ended up being, well, fascinating. We learned that bees feed over about a 2 square mile area, it takes 2-3 drops of nectar to make one drop of honey, and the queen lays about 1500 - 2000 eggs in a day. The presenter showed us how they extract honey from a hive. Eric loved the science and I loved the honey.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkhOOAp2TtC44vhBaDIj0mS7LvUnoIdzHVgLKIy6cjEsYUmHvSCqLPMVIMVmJMDoQEXMengwyPtcvLXtZJeEKjgCM0iZFuOu8gLaw7y-90tS2lWfsrTSNYlWuYeQrdiDDeo8Rp_AZqjKI/s1600/bees+intro+1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkhOOAp2TtC44vhBaDIj0mS7LvUnoIdzHVgLKIy6cjEsYUmHvSCqLPMVIMVmJMDoQEXMengwyPtcvLXtZJeEKjgCM0iZFuOu8gLaw7y-90tS2lWfsrTSNYlWuYeQrdiDDeo8Rp_AZqjKI/s320/bees+intro+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585527863848683858" border="0" /></a><br />In order to raise bees in Minneapolis, you have to take a course about raising bees. Unfortunately, the <a href="http://www.extension.umn.edu/honeybees/components/shortcoursemarch.htm">next course at the U</a> was full, so we signed up for October. October rolled around, we were starting to hunker down for the winter, and when the reminder about the bee course arrived in my e-mail inbox, we were decidedly unenthusiastic.<br /><br />It's a weekend-long course! Who can sacrifice an entire weekend? Who can find that much childcare?<br /><br />Turns out, we can. We switched to the March course and traded off attending -- Eric took the mornings, I took the afternoons. It was a mad dash to exchange information between sessions.<br /><br />"Quick tell me what you learned before you forget," Eric would tell me.<br /><br />"Um, the smoker demonstration wasn't very helpful because I couldn't see. I think we'll just have to practice. Raccoons won't bother the bees. We'll just let the parent colony die in the second year. By dividing the colony in the spring, you facilitate a swarm and create two colonies. The second is called a... oh, shoot, what is it called? A divide! That's what it's called."<br /><br />We were frantic, full of information about bees and our kid as we swapped responsibilities.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj58KNH1B4tpAT4zoTH2mFSW_aFM5Oh9pfX8EdE-eP0VmPb18FmKhM5unJYvMLbU1zWfieQuRxHt2fW3IE14qMT9riSrkrvxYhmB2pCgr7uCJneF_-XAWUxoEMbcjzrySYBxeIlyMANbvs/s1600/bees+intro+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj58KNH1B4tpAT4zoTH2mFSW_aFM5Oh9pfX8EdE-eP0VmPb18FmKhM5unJYvMLbU1zWfieQuRxHt2fW3IE14qMT9riSrkrvxYhmB2pCgr7uCJneF_-XAWUxoEMbcjzrySYBxeIlyMANbvs/s320/bees+intro+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585527866970687730" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It was fun. Once again, Eric loved the science (the adult bees maintain a temperature of 90-95 degrees in the brood nest!) and I loved the honey (we got to sample ones from around the world and I couldn't believe how many different flavors bees could come up with!).<br /><br />By the end of the day on Saturday, we were texting frantically back and forth trying to figure out if this was something we'd be able to start this spring. Turns out, we should be able to. It's been a mad dash to get the Minneapolis honeybee permit and to buy the bees before the supplier in Stillwater, MN runs out of "packages" of bees, as they're called. We're taking the risk of ordering the bees before we have the neighbors sign off (we have to get 100% of the neighbors right next to our property to sign and 80% of neighbors whose property is within 100 feet of ours). We're also taking the risk in assuming that Eric is not allergic to them. He's never been stung in spite of being a country boy. I, on the other hand, stepped on a bee every summer in various backyards around the Washington, DC metropolitan area. Turns out (as we learned in the course) that bee venom allergies are very rare. A local reaction (including a lot of swelling) is not an allergic reaction.<br /><br />So we're keeping bees! Watch this spot for more updates as this adventure begins and when we have a subscription to this journal:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheOXnN-HXMeb8-Cvfm6vR1Ncgl1DRHayvuvPA5P1ibOvkoc5xYzp7j1lPw1jZRokBrzKCprBNTrJyGEGI20EZ4CFhYd0k7K8Vyv6MBRZGnEs3xXuw2QQkLqaHkITJ3zyWqYs1G44bDd6g/s1600/bees+intro+3.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheOXnN-HXMeb8-Cvfm6vR1Ncgl1DRHayvuvPA5P1ibOvkoc5xYzp7j1lPw1jZRokBrzKCprBNTrJyGEGI20EZ4CFhYd0k7K8Vyv6MBRZGnEs3xXuw2QQkLqaHkITJ3zyWqYs1G44bDd6g/s320/bees+intro+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585527872627188754" border="0" /></a>Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-23948109233630942792011-03-04T07:00:00.002-06:002011-03-18T21:27:44.948-05:00Running Through ObstaclesWhen I started this running program a few weeks ago, I knew that there would be struggles. At the time, I thought the main struggle would be getting myself up and to the gym. I thought I'd just be looking for excuses. I thought that I'd get so tired and winded by the time I was up to running for five-minute stretches, that I'd just lie down in the middle of the track and declare, "Turns out I'm not a runner."<br /><br />So when Tuesday of this week approached, I was pleasantly surprised that I was still looking forward to getting on the track. I packed up Little A, drove over to the gym, got changed, and took her up to the babysitting room.<br /><br />When I signed up for a gym membership, a big motivation was the babysitting provided. I thought it would be a good way for her to socialize and for us to have some (very limited) time apart from each other. She did well the first few times, but a few weeks into it, I could see the slightly tortured looks on the babysitters' faces when I returned to pick her up.<br /><br />"Did she cry the whole time?" I asked.<br /><br />"Not if I was holding her," they'd answer.<br /><br />She's a toddler, so technically she's old enough to just take one babysitting slot. They started putting her down for two spots, like an under-one-year old, because she had to be held the whole time.<br /><br />My husband started calling her "Double Baby." Our needy, needy Double Baby. Still, it seemed a solution.<br /><br />Then, on one trip to the gym and in the middle of a strength-training class, one of the babysitters found me. She'd been crying the whole time (Ada, not the babysitter). I had to abandon the class.<br /><br />The next time, I tried to spend more time with her in the babysitting room before I left. I even tried to run around the track pushing her stroller, but she didn't want to ride in the stroller, she wanted to walk. I left the gym, having spent an hour and a half trying to get her to 1) not cling to me or 2) at least do what I wanted her to do, like sit in the stroller. I was disconsolate. I glimpsed flashes of my old life, when I could happily attend a yoga class or go for a walk without having to account for a 23 pound Double Baby.<br /><br />We were mad at each other the rest of the day.<br /><br />The next morning, I woke up early and went to a yoga class, leaving Ada in her dad's care. I breathed, I stretched, I laid on the floor and did absolutely nothing. I didn't even think about Ada until the last few moments of class when I sat up for a final "Namaste."<br /><br />We had a much better day. I'd started out with time for myself so I was better able to focus on her when I was with her. We drew and bought a new toy and read books. I didn't resent that she was "getting in the way" of what I wanted or needed to do. As I walked with her up the stairs for the 50th time, I remembered, "She doesn't have glimpses of her 'life before.' This is all she knows."<br /><br />My gut tells me that I can't take her to babysitting at the gym for at least a few weeks (maybe a few months). She's learning to walk and teething and is, after all, a Double Baby. And, for the time being, taking her there stresses both of us out more than it's really worth. Dad and I have arranged for how I can still get my alone time each day and, thankfully, <a href="http://www.motherswhowrite.blogspot.com/">a really generous friend</a> who understands that moms sometimes need time away from kids has offered to take her for an hour here or there so that I can keep up with the running.<br /><br />Was I using her as an excuse to not run that day? Possibly. Regardless, though, we've both worked passed it. Obstacle removed. No more excuses. Run.Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-64191457893594523082011-03-02T08:00:00.000-06:002011-03-02T08:00:17.500-06:00My Friend Jess and THE Red Coat<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD0ThA7hW-dXggyZJdymk5Kx7isNz2JRTAsCMQQ8U5uZb4UOKJcwLOLW8dr2SlFncipSPr3rVgfw88TFEwoUWo1evP02JJASmcCdXP57Ex83cUFG5LR-1UDNg1S3uNTj7zR08bvSqHstw/s1600/red+coat+1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD0ThA7hW-dXggyZJdymk5Kx7isNz2JRTAsCMQQ8U5uZb4UOKJcwLOLW8dr2SlFncipSPr3rVgfw88TFEwoUWo1evP02JJASmcCdXP57Ex83cUFG5LR-1UDNg1S3uNTj7zR08bvSqHstw/s320/red+coat+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577714068239806946" border="0" /></a><br />At the beginning of winter, I found a few cute items at Once Upon a Child, the second-hand kids store. The items were cute, but kind of plain Jane.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigTKVsoqLVTEbpkyP5Q1p8S4Zll0Ry3bvA2T0_MWet-98c2BD6iHVcBR3o9_8FljRnLXPGS1rb_p4JtRGTKrSomui0U_NhMwILuaIdeE5zC3F804IKh_5gZxobGDwiCJvym8yAs8z89mI/s1600/red+coat+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigTKVsoqLVTEbpkyP5Q1p8S4Zll0Ry3bvA2T0_MWet-98c2BD6iHVcBR3o9_8FljRnLXPGS1rb_p4JtRGTKrSomui0U_NhMwILuaIdeE5zC3F804IKh_5gZxobGDwiCJvym8yAs8z89mI/s320/red+coat+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577714068696591570" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I sent them off to my friend Jess of <a href="http://www.myfriendjess.com/">My Friend Jess</a> (I know confusing: our husbands always say, "We get it! Jess is your friend!" when my sister and I talk about "My Friend Jess"). Anyway, she worked her magic and transformed some cute items into some ridiculously cute items. I had to e-mail her recently and tell her that I get SO MANY comments on this little red coat that some days, if I know I'm going to be in a hurry, I wonder if I should put Little A in it because we'll get stopped so many times. I always end up putting her in it anyway because it's warm and so awesome.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEighEQuhKWaDUb-Y9JozMZQdWD92Ju_Dzm3iM5JF5SPNrh8U8UcNH8yfYGhysyFZQ5pw5WS49wPjDV3-HFwfEBXkPKb37bi9Ph81DJiop_ymLMslD6WzEFA4iXh7vkmkoWhsKfejXvlZvo/s1600/red+coat+3.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEighEQuhKWaDUb-Y9JozMZQdWD92Ju_Dzm3iM5JF5SPNrh8U8UcNH8yfYGhysyFZQ5pw5WS49wPjDV3-HFwfEBXkPKb37bi9Ph81DJiop_ymLMslD6WzEFA4iXh7vkmkoWhsKfejXvlZvo/s320/red+coat+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577714073083051826" border="0" /></a><br />Lately, after we've had some swim time at the Y, she'll practice walking while holding my hand in the lobby (why the lobby at the Y? who knows!) and every third person who walks by comments on the coat. I have to share the love and spread the word about the awesomeness that is <a href="http://www.myfriendjess.com/">My Friend Jess</a>.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmOXV6Cm7HEsX-jYA9ZOjY8hWZxyAJN2s486aYdnpM1N930j2BXr2wrCGEtvxQco0tjXlKXgqRrV70EwV58N8sVPLtcG-k3t7Tki-EYlo2nvB9qlamXDrKvdt-LFrj_vetaWe5OPEcXXg/s1600/red+coat+4.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmOXV6Cm7HEsX-jYA9ZOjY8hWZxyAJN2s486aYdnpM1N930j2BXr2wrCGEtvxQco0tjXlKXgqRrV70EwV58N8sVPLtcG-k3t7Tki-EYlo2nvB9qlamXDrKvdt-LFrj_vetaWe5OPEcXXg/s320/red+coat+4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577714072788478930" border="0" /></a>Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-14408715186400236972011-02-28T08:31:00.001-06:002011-02-28T08:31:01.203-06:00Running at 800 FeetI've been listening to an audiobook while I run/ walk around the track. Music would be an easier way to get into a rhythm, but, honestly, when you're only running for two minutes at a time, rhythm isn't too much of a concern. Music (or silence) would also be an easier way to "clear" my head, which, from what real runners tell me, is one reason why some people run. I am not a real runner. I clear my head in the shower.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguKjABezqazZbofjiDS5XIuzoEyY5EWxan_0qJUOETG9cktAOMVNiryonELjzhkUIZCDTRbBG2YCThd8lmSBAY5Ff925dSDKCfhCz73mo2CyC8IJHueYuZZ2NGsUBSiQsRlZT0OtyO1vk/s1600/into+thin+air.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguKjABezqazZbofjiDS5XIuzoEyY5EWxan_0qJUOETG9cktAOMVNiryonELjzhkUIZCDTRbBG2YCThd8lmSBAY5Ff925dSDKCfhCz73mo2CyC8IJHueYuZZ2NGsUBSiQsRlZT0OtyO1vk/s320/into+thin+air.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577637970049926274" border="0" /></a><br /><br />So I've been listening to a book. It has it's benefits. As a non-runner running, I like to distract my mind from what my body is doing. Also, I've opted for <span style="font-style: italic;">Into Thin Air</span> (by Jon Krakauer about his ill-fated summit of Mount Everest) as my first running book. It's a great book to run to because, as uncomfortable as I am running, I often think, "At least I'm not at 27,000 feet. At least I don't need an oxygen mask... yet." This is not an ideal way to "read" a book -- I much prefer to be curled up on the sofa where I can re-read sections I like (or sections I spaced out during) -- but as I'm getting to the really gripping parts of the book, I'm looking forward to finding out what happens next. I only listen to the book while I'm on the track. Ha-HA! I've tricked myself into looking forward to running!Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-16258835722152615512011-02-24T09:32:00.000-06:002011-02-24T09:32:00.611-06:00Changes in the Air<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIjmxHNUp6o6wlXZ56IZ6QuoRzKsotQmgDrMbfuLhNhFfudvHoJK0w4PsRwrVRzcFoaJZrbkOOrI9SkYcBljjeozTgoL9SRTEuzOWKFF3gRb-3hZw4HFbyR4w-wYuTRQ-qTqUitS3DWsk/s1600/snowy+day+reading.jpg"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAuX-eii6l0cqvyYW0NTUbjk9_88rYBtNyoSWRILZcamHjXEuzfEo109Vaxuqv7p02iPmamDmDUh35Ga_paXKAt2kEFgGiMlPKj_nF7dbElJRc2H57_b7cDBEW0zjW0ZqPoAsMLA6uFU8/s1600/snow+walk+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAuX-eii6l0cqvyYW0NTUbjk9_88rYBtNyoSWRILZcamHjXEuzfEo109Vaxuqv7p02iPmamDmDUh35Ga_paXKAt2kEFgGiMlPKj_nF7dbElJRc2H57_b7cDBEW0zjW0ZqPoAsMLA6uFU8/s320/snow+walk+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576539724395220514" border="0" /></a>Last week, the weather went into the 40s, which, in Minnesota in February is a veritable heat wave. So Ada and I were able bundle up and take a walk together with the dog for the first time in months last week. The puddles were deep and sloppy, but Ada giggled the whole time, especially when she could see Juno out in front of the stroller.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMEnp9jMXzBTmQLeIsaJbWXP-XDnhzTcs4cj89NPPbg-1NpCeRrv9MojTJqelv3yg6g8EpQd-HSQmUtZJaYoEkI7DFfEJ-zpSfrCQEqHBqCWudVDYi-2CoZuPe_HTKmmR4zIx_klTbKnQ/s1600/snow+walk.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMEnp9jMXzBTmQLeIsaJbWXP-XDnhzTcs4cj89NPPbg-1NpCeRrv9MojTJqelv3yg6g8EpQd-HSQmUtZJaYoEkI7DFfEJ-zpSfrCQEqHBqCWudVDYi-2CoZuPe_HTKmmR4zIx_klTbKnQ/s320/snow+walk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576539721216788818" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Sadly, it had to come to an end and we were slammed by a storm that left a foot plus of snow this weekened. Poor Ada has been stuck inside. She's made the most of it: tucking into the easy chair with her books and "Animal Baby" magazine while the snow swirled and drifted outside.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIjmxHNUp6o6wlXZ56IZ6QuoRzKsotQmgDrMbfuLhNhFfudvHoJK0w4PsRwrVRzcFoaJZrbkOOrI9SkYcBljjeozTgoL9SRTEuzOWKFF3gRb-3hZw4HFbyR4w-wYuTRQ-qTqUitS3DWsk/s1600/snowy+day+reading.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIjmxHNUp6o6wlXZ56IZ6QuoRzKsotQmgDrMbfuLhNhFfudvHoJK0w4PsRwrVRzcFoaJZrbkOOrI9SkYcBljjeozTgoL9SRTEuzOWKFF3gRb-3hZw4HFbyR4w-wYuTRQ-qTqUitS3DWsk/s320/snowy+day+reading.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576539728253043538" border="0" /></a>Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-39535840009943181302011-02-22T09:10:00.003-06:002011-02-22T09:32:14.243-06:00Step by Step<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMtWg_Ve6D-_QNwiR46knU1FSh2BoVLzG8th7O2s4hRWttCdeMLzAJCI2H0UireCyXlGD8QOACy4R16oaADBuxRSJYpqZI4y4TVsYRQkMrcZGL7T1xrOd8Yho-QRPgYSN56BTDa5Ia7FQ/s1600/shoes.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMtWg_Ve6D-_QNwiR46knU1FSh2BoVLzG8th7O2s4hRWttCdeMLzAJCI2H0UireCyXlGD8QOACy4R16oaADBuxRSJYpqZI4y4TVsYRQkMrcZGL7T1xrOd8Yho-QRPgYSN56BTDa5Ia7FQ/s320/shoes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576532038029592306" border="0" /></a>No, those aren't new shoes. In fact, I've had them for many years. These shoes are like an old person's car -- a lot of years, but not a lot of miles. This is because I'm not a runner.... yet.<br /><br />But two weeks ago I started a six-week training program that ends with running for thirty minutes. I got this program <a href="http://www.womenshealthmag.com/fitness/run-walk-program">here</a> on the Women's Health website. The program is really gradual -- mostly walking so far -- which is just what I need. In previous attempts to become a runner, I'd go out and try to run twenty or thirty minutes right off the bat. It would kick my butt. This slow build-up will hopefully condition me so that the final thirty minutes isn't such a big deal.<br /><br />So far, it's been, well, easy. Yesterday I was kind of dreading going to the gym. We had a huge blizzard this weekend, so I wasn't able to get into the gym on Sunday. For me, missing a day or two becomes an excuse to miss a few more days and then stopping my routine altogether. As I was scraping the ice off my car, I thought, "Maybe the end of two weeks is where I always hit a wall." I got to the Y and checked my iPod (where I have the regimen set up in my iCal) and saw that I only had to run in one-minute increments. I could do this! It was as if the Women's Health program knew that I needed an easy day at the beginning of week three so that I wouldn't dread the run/ walk. Lesson of the day: it's mostly psychological.Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-32153726183986972412011-02-15T13:38:00.005-06:002011-02-15T15:07:59.415-06:00Update!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX8R1-W1yRDSYNXzfgh3oxZvVJfw4eV2mTIpIQLB1bEc6j005IPqtE87DR3wYWAgQGa8Ho4BzwM40hR9PuY4ty2pga9njGrZsbjbOjGNP_5zTD97cdOYjx4ChMkimDm6IAqTkzoK67xrI/s1600/Yas%2527s+baby+fabric.jpg"><br /></a>These fabrics....<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX8R1-W1yRDSYNXzfgh3oxZvVJfw4eV2mTIpIQLB1bEc6j005IPqtE87DR3wYWAgQGa8Ho4BzwM40hR9PuY4ty2pga9njGrZsbjbOjGNP_5zTD97cdOYjx4ChMkimDm6IAqTkzoK67xrI/s1600/Yas%2527s+baby+fabric.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX8R1-W1yRDSYNXzfgh3oxZvVJfw4eV2mTIpIQLB1bEc6j005IPqtE87DR3wYWAgQGa8Ho4BzwM40hR9PuY4ty2pga9njGrZsbjbOjGNP_5zTD97cdOYjx4ChMkimDm6IAqTkzoK67xrI/s320/Yas%2527s+baby+fabric.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574004731868418130" border="0" /></a><br /><br />... became this little quilt for a new baby, Costa, who was born to my friends in DC on Christmas Day!<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixWhTbP0SmxlqcNSTd2CHstFoQ6eYSTBkejQ0lL09TQCdT_KjeLPsFNuNlYtoP3X4kajctDopHTAkmPw2yZnKoBZwlJzRChx1Bt9GQwdym8Hlb0kywwcuT7whM6L4bqx-OkhCy6VFOYzQ/s1600/costa+quilt+1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixWhTbP0SmxlqcNSTd2CHstFoQ6eYSTBkejQ0lL09TQCdT_KjeLPsFNuNlYtoP3X4kajctDopHTAkmPw2yZnKoBZwlJzRChx1Bt9GQwdym8Hlb0kywwcuT7whM6L4bqx-OkhCy6VFOYzQ/s320/costa+quilt+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574003961110443922" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMl6BnfunleV7EaE4hV8Drdqf_4YN3KRUR1IXYlh7NfH-1hYngvEkResknWCs3PK_MLhyphenhyphenBKbln7oe9TukpjG-TZr_qyLfsQMJQpeiv-8ZOHoqbd7QsTZTQZrLJQqs6wAlONUQpxSDXCho/s1600/costa+quilt+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMl6BnfunleV7EaE4hV8Drdqf_4YN3KRUR1IXYlh7NfH-1hYngvEkResknWCs3PK_MLhyphenhyphenBKbln7oe9TukpjG-TZr_qyLfsQMJQpeiv-8ZOHoqbd7QsTZTQZrLJQqs6wAlONUQpxSDXCho/s320/costa+quilt+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574003962739153218" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx13cpT_ZrYCKDV0buUneQxp5ADiWi5aZOKJezDwxp3-7FON-Jq9kLM7qvMyR4Z01jpE5j7WWHXtcVPtTiNbmDCvehb_97HIS4P4Nhckz2hI9uimXHQPoytRGPXbY2fLv3qvtPacBVFCA/s1600/costa+quilt+3.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx13cpT_ZrYCKDV0buUneQxp5ADiWi5aZOKJezDwxp3-7FON-Jq9kLM7qvMyR4Z01jpE5j7WWHXtcVPtTiNbmDCvehb_97HIS4P4Nhckz2hI9uimXHQPoytRGPXbY2fLv3qvtPacBVFCA/s320/costa+quilt+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574003964664508818" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7D-YxCD0f-xoZK9kG6f6u0idmtwBe2g3hVh43uA65_tPlINYm-B18LWqBDIhheL11DGja2hLrMdD75e-SoTR-GbztzqHsKlDChKKCEL1jRPqJ7pEwK7l7koofM5fW1zZPxpoV6UQ8PxQ/s1600/costa+quilt+4.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7D-YxCD0f-xoZK9kG6f6u0idmtwBe2g3hVh43uA65_tPlINYm-B18LWqBDIhheL11DGja2hLrMdD75e-SoTR-GbztzqHsKlDChKKCEL1jRPqJ7pEwK7l7koofM5fW1zZPxpoV6UQ8PxQ/s320/costa+quilt+4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574003965957433826" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwZ5QHvFVxCr1adWes7lfkYpS3rYU2-KYGM1ML4tKcBXUrcGouRWLEU7cjkemWydjiRnq2nEBGmnfZLRj4he6-w-X_J775bD6LmbhSlNTUGGEWvg1zUoc5iDc7hS1f2fymmZ22zfvE4s0/s1600/costa+quilt+5.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwZ5QHvFVxCr1adWes7lfkYpS3rYU2-KYGM1ML4tKcBXUrcGouRWLEU7cjkemWydjiRnq2nEBGmnfZLRj4he6-w-X_J775bD6LmbhSlNTUGGEWvg1zUoc5iDc7hS1f2fymmZ22zfvE4s0/s320/costa+quilt+5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574003969953124818" border="0" /></a>His birth snuck up on me, so it was a quilt-as-you-go quilt to speed things up and one side was a little crooked because I was rushing too much... but I'm just saying that it's an Amish "humility" block (aren't they the ones who it is rumored always put one intentional mistake in their quilts as a reminder that no one is perfect except for God?)<br /><br />These greys....<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibD_wuuDrXnb7V1oTnt0sEQj6pIGfWBRM1yCz-x-0x-Om5p1rhxQRphvGf36nf0g1I6zQ1HAKhi-eN0oJybl8RZy1FI6TbUb-uQOdpM9oRoubJ4lIWeavPjc1sUe8tXe0OFOxHsa9oQ0o/s1600/greys+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibD_wuuDrXnb7V1oTnt0sEQj6pIGfWBRM1yCz-x-0x-Om5p1rhxQRphvGf36nf0g1I6zQ1HAKhi-eN0oJybl8RZy1FI6TbUb-uQOdpM9oRoubJ4lIWeavPjc1sUe8tXe0OFOxHsa9oQ0o/s320/greys+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574004727368585698" border="0" /></a><br /><br />... became a bowl for my brother, Pete. You can see it <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/larsandaddie/5324686289/">here. </a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7D-YxCD0f-xoZK9kG6f6u0idmtwBe2g3hVh43uA65_tPlINYm-B18LWqBDIhheL11DGja2hLrMdD75e-SoTR-GbztzqHsKlDChKKCEL1jRPqJ7pEwK7l7koofM5fW1zZPxpoV6UQ8PxQ/s1600/costa+quilt+4.jpg"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx13cpT_ZrYCKDV0buUneQxp5ADiWi5aZOKJezDwxp3-7FON-Jq9kLM7qvMyR4Z01jpE5j7WWHXtcVPtTiNbmDCvehb_97HIS4P4Nhckz2hI9uimXHQPoytRGPXbY2fLv3qvtPacBVFCA/s1600/costa+quilt+3.jpg"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMl6BnfunleV7EaE4hV8Drdqf_4YN3KRUR1IXYlh7NfH-1hYngvEkResknWCs3PK_MLhyphenhyphenBKbln7oe9TukpjG-TZr_qyLfsQMJQpeiv-8ZOHoqbd7QsTZTQZrLJQqs6wAlONUQpxSDXCho/s1600/costa+quilt+2.jpg"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixWhTbP0SmxlqcNSTd2CHstFoQ6eYSTBkejQ0lL09TQCdT_KjeLPsFNuNlYtoP3X4kajctDopHTAkmPw2yZnKoBZwlJzRChx1Bt9GQwdym8Hlb0kywwcuT7whM6L4bqx-OkhCy6VFOYzQ/s1600/costa+quilt+1.jpg"><br /></a>Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-6455496470429049652010-12-15T16:31:00.004-06:002010-12-15T16:42:32.659-06:00I'm Blogging (and Quilting) AgainMust be something about dramatic weather that gets me blogging. It's been many months since we got hit by that epic thunderstorm that Ada and I sewed our way through. Now we're hunkering down for another 3 inches on top of the 17 we got this weekend. This is how Ada feels about it.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFIVFvXE4Vtb4ByYD1nINV5SvIaAL7_6leLHTjad38de2vJl-lXVTlmio75Bwh6inH42Hpiy6lBNztrydXvvS54FcFPDG3jvIwRr5Auht8idEnouKjiukhhJtIHgqZQQdeY66rZDTrdlU/s1600/Ada+uberstorm+1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFIVFvXE4Vtb4ByYD1nINV5SvIaAL7_6leLHTjad38de2vJl-lXVTlmio75Bwh6inH42Hpiy6lBNztrydXvvS54FcFPDG3jvIwRr5Auht8idEnouKjiukhhJtIHgqZQQdeY66rZDTrdlU/s320/Ada+uberstorm+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551041853125972866" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Thankfully, I have several sewing projects to work on.<br /><br />I've washed and pressed fabric for two projects: a baby blanket (a surprise for a friend who I THINK doesn't read this) and another gift. I can't say anything else. So I'll just show you.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxdpX3kOAX09XTHY0byD7qZ1eyRbglmF9g8b0Uc7G_9wnMipG1o35LsG0FyszBnoUotQoBok2WtCkIMIS4WlsNS2gawBCRhbnjgDkm2qU2ZS8-36eVeebH-VzKKeTySNX-mtNUmT8P0fE/s1600/Yas%2527s+baby+fabric.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxdpX3kOAX09XTHY0byD7qZ1eyRbglmF9g8b0Uc7G_9wnMipG1o35LsG0FyszBnoUotQoBok2WtCkIMIS4WlsNS2gawBCRhbnjgDkm2qU2ZS8-36eVeebH-VzKKeTySNX-mtNUmT8P0fE/s320/Yas%2527s+baby+fabric.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551041233148414994" border="0" /></a>These bright ones are mostly from the "It's a Hoot" line by MoMo for Moda. Gorgeous!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtCWBaNqbjW2RCWUTcABLYRWUE5lRRykUdkvamwSI-bV2Mhr3n-ssRqAFdGL6El4mR4lKmG67IK-6CtkqmiHW46tG7q49Uj2Pn1W1au2dlo-DWoeT8JauZv7rieHYVZsbUVZk1aTJnr2k/s1600/greys+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtCWBaNqbjW2RCWUTcABLYRWUE5lRRykUdkvamwSI-bV2Mhr3n-ssRqAFdGL6El4mR4lKmG67IK-6CtkqmiHW46tG7q49Uj2Pn1W1au2dlo-DWoeT8JauZv7rieHYVZsbUVZk1aTJnr2k/s320/greys+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551041226078469298" border="0" /></a>The greys must come from the doldrums of Minnesota winter (late fall, technically, I guess). I've been really getting into greys and monochromatics lately.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-UWH9Vrua6cPckg57hI2wKy6KFbdVgOWpyQsqa5MN4oLmkdGj5zAQkd4TrmQSen-3r4DlYjnN8fdkKSSXVWJjMbyDQ6jDPd8T6L_g73gqSfzBG83MRXJjHUz0xMwePAckSP8FWRkbwUI/s1600/Ada+uberstorm+3.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-UWH9Vrua6cPckg57hI2wKy6KFbdVgOWpyQsqa5MN4oLmkdGj5zAQkd4TrmQSen-3r4DlYjnN8fdkKSSXVWJjMbyDQ6jDPd8T6L_g73gqSfzBG83MRXJjHUz0xMwePAckSP8FWRkbwUI/s320/Ada+uberstorm+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551041856271880018" border="0" /></a><br />I'll update on project progress and snow melts as they happen. (Don't hold your breath on the latter.)Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-59046026163949293132010-07-01T07:32:00.005-05:002010-07-01T14:32:44.528-05:00Sewing and Storms<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxdmg_XuSXeDB2EWDX-Fl6r-f1xOK8nwoXXP3PC6TkjWV84E7XJcSgaLSnZIswTviGfmU_dDrKwGOYFO_-o37mUQ22F-ym0GHKzJcEe_pq2YrnHsK4KM3blqKeWEh3yDHx9esAObkOcPQ/s1600/baby+1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxdmg_XuSXeDB2EWDX-Fl6r-f1xOK8nwoXXP3PC6TkjWV84E7XJcSgaLSnZIswTviGfmU_dDrKwGOYFO_-o37mUQ22F-ym0GHKzJcEe_pq2YrnHsK4KM3blqKeWEh3yDHx9esAObkOcPQ/s320/baby+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489022366587313522" border="0" /></a><br />Last Friday, a series of dramatic storms ripped through Minneapolis. Cars floated down Lyndale Avenue in a flash flood, our basement got slightly flooded, and my hair got cut. (That last one is unrelated to the storm but true, nonetheless.)<br /><br />While Ada and I waited for Dada to either call for a ride from the Light Rail station or walk in the back door soaking wet, we plopped down in the middle of the living room. She, with an array of brightly colored toys in front of her, and I, with brightly colored fabric and ribbons. I sewed (or ironed, cut, and pinned, actually) while she banged her toys around and practiced dropping and picking them up again. And we chatted.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbEapCbrZPj0xQP7_kBH81hR80uZQc1f5r484jN4WDAFK90fguEEDqGZlhyEzTyzr1ewE_NPtvo_3J3uQ1c90t2yCxB56S9cK5pwgk_qXft4ssuiIH9xtuEBx0Scb4L0Q8h3yyJYlOMp4/s1600/baby+3.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbEapCbrZPj0xQP7_kBH81hR80uZQc1f5r484jN4WDAFK90fguEEDqGZlhyEzTyzr1ewE_NPtvo_3J3uQ1c90t2yCxB56S9cK5pwgk_qXft4ssuiIH9xtuEBx0Scb4L0Q8h3yyJYlOMp4/s320/baby+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489022402069533970" border="0" /></a><br />I'm pretty sure she thought that we were playing together, which, in a way, we were. I thought that we were enjoying some mother-daughter sewing time which, in a way, we were. I hope that one day she'll be a willing sewing pupil. We can make beanbags and aprons and doll clothes together. I hope that she will learn the joy of using her hands to transform object, of making use where there was none before. I hope she will be curious about how things are made and want to make them herself.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGBLn2oD2fXS61XdICKcMUq7f21A6-ubkiYAUiD3zEKaIQcUKx_ANk5SwpTZVVXvagFDUXZ21aQ-B9dTXtvk-C2WLm8LDFrj3aBJjjM5Arwl8vquD6xQyHxBpZWFJsBNjwO09ZJTTXKJk/s1600/dots+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGBLn2oD2fXS61XdICKcMUq7f21A6-ubkiYAUiD3zEKaIQcUKx_ANk5SwpTZVVXvagFDUXZ21aQ-B9dTXtvk-C2WLm8LDFrj3aBJjjM5Arwl8vquD6xQyHxBpZWFJsBNjwO09ZJTTXKJk/s320/dots+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489022392118792418" border="0" /></a><br />In the meantime, I used the ribbons and fabric and a plastic bag to make her a new toy so that she can keep playing while I sew. Or so we can play and sew together.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh55DTEWHlaegZsuDDlmkIATxVf9QTmeI1wmWMmC1qooeKvyCTvLGgoLoT2ypYN34Zm7_RJxzbwqC5IRmq-1pyVlyEO8iCdjzKBMfI7Ntxrkkb6vgo10dMMGRIN82gvI56FFA46h1dSdBY/s1600/birds+1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh55DTEWHlaegZsuDDlmkIATxVf9QTmeI1wmWMmC1qooeKvyCTvLGgoLoT2ypYN34Zm7_RJxzbwqC5IRmq-1pyVlyEO8iCdjzKBMfI7Ntxrkkb6vgo10dMMGRIN82gvI56FFA46h1dSdBY/s320/birds+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489022382369806738" border="0" /></a>Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-31835598269327645792010-06-27T08:43:00.003-05:002010-06-27T08:45:39.451-05:00Gardening in a BoxSometimes I write things here:<br /><br /><a href="http://simplegoodandtasty.com/">http://simplegoodandtasty.com/</a><br /><br />This time it's about gardening but sometimes it's about food or farming, mostly in Minnesota. Other people write there too. If you enjoy local food, you should visit....Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-41414345839714559202010-06-23T07:00:00.000-05:002010-06-23T07:00:09.805-05:00On Growing<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyKvVxtpKS1Nz-MLR4t7tRpY2zSmotDzxampW8HfoeeQD0c8ojLRh8CoghzStovYPiOBZCZh8R6nxxgnykYhHMxxevjHt5j-Ht19PpgbMatQn2d-Vo50ogf44g7sBi4DtahFUzBFBpiLY/s1600/little+lettuce.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyKvVxtpKS1Nz-MLR4t7tRpY2zSmotDzxampW8HfoeeQD0c8ojLRh8CoghzStovYPiOBZCZh8R6nxxgnykYhHMxxevjHt5j-Ht19PpgbMatQn2d-Vo50ogf44g7sBi4DtahFUzBFBpiLY/s320/little+lettuce.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485810599114733186" border="0" /></a><br />It's a time of growth around here. The garden is lush, almost too lush, if that is possible. Our radishes are three feet tall, flowering, and threatening to shade out the zucchini. The pea tendrils are wrapping themselves around the fence and neighboring lettuce. We haven't had a chance to put up scaffolding for it to lean into and clasp. We had an early spring, which no one in Minnesota can complain about. And now we've enjoyed lots of warm days and nourishing rains. The result is that our lilies are trying to put out five flowers at once. They've toppled over with ambition. Is it possible for our garden to be growing too quickly?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7fr2p091qrDkvDxMzF1pQnUGsT_cxGF2t1JGceodINhn8I7gqT0_tmsiLEjDhk3QJ0LDA3EDTSrwjBK7rUjIQOOLdprjm_z5snKwQd8khhB7feaF4uq4RvQGmF-2t6gqTd1THogiCfVg/s1600/radish+flowers.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7fr2p091qrDkvDxMzF1pQnUGsT_cxGF2t1JGceodINhn8I7gqT0_tmsiLEjDhk3QJ0LDA3EDTSrwjBK7rUjIQOOLdprjm_z5snKwQd8khhB7feaF4uq4RvQGmF-2t6gqTd1THogiCfVg/s320/radish+flowers.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485810613324785314" border="0" /></a><br />Yesterday I laid down on the couch with my daughter. I was on my back and she was belly to belly on me, her toes reaching my mid thigh. We laid like this, me watching her, while we waited for Dada to get home from work. Her hair is still whispy but thicker than it was even a few short weeks ago. She looked around the room as I watched her, trying to make sense of the sound and sight of the shadows shifting as cars drove past our front windows. She seemed to be listening to the sound of a bird's whistle as it drifted through the window. She lifts her shoulders and belly off the ground easily now. Crawling is just around the corner. She sits up on the rug, reaching for toys and her dog without Mama's help. Sometimes, when she's in my lap while I'm sitting at my desk, she bangs her head against my sternum. Hard. It was only a few months ago that we were all so concerned about the safety of that little head that she's now using as a weapon. And she eats. A lot. I am putting off giving her solid foods. Nursing is just so easy. And giving her solid foods means we're one day closer to not nursing at all. Already I miss the way she reaches for my fingers while she's eating and grasps them tightly, so tightly, in her chubby hands.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSV8gq73hZOcW6-bEiwEIAeUtqc6s-LnSqkw0DK-kCIdy0Zp_QdFe1JhdfXqVDjyZzXg1GTVSy25bkRMMz42RGtoc2wCvbC14cwzMjNOMHI6RKwMjjV3-l1ZB7GryFsc-isCiESBcK2qw/s1600/peas.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSV8gq73hZOcW6-bEiwEIAeUtqc6s-LnSqkw0DK-kCIdy0Zp_QdFe1JhdfXqVDjyZzXg1GTVSy25bkRMMz42RGtoc2wCvbC14cwzMjNOMHI6RKwMjjV3-l1ZB7GryFsc-isCiESBcK2qw/s320/peas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485810610308847298" border="0" /></a><br />I was in the garden the other day (or was it a few weeks ago now?) weeding. It feels impossible to keep up this season. We pull up the little buggers or turn them over with a hoe, but they're growing impossibly fast. Will we ever be able to eat that much spinach? The cilantro (which is really from last year's seeds that were cast about in the wind) is knee high. Eric warned me the other day that we might have to pull up the radishes. The roots are still spindly, but the leaves and stalks are threatening to crowd out other plants. But I resist such a rash move. Surely there's time and space for all of it, right? Can't I have my radishes and peas too?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_UvMXd_ZZsI3yj6f31MLW10049Qb99BWvwblPK8zdRuL-viHc5TXq-QhLnQ3RpqXKFI1O8NvYFufoMjFNMUtKeAD5W7y_4s80fwv5K8mebMMHCb-J4TyD7VKKgWZ7kRzohosGmNzbCXk/s1600/lilies.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_UvMXd_ZZsI3yj6f31MLW10049Qb99BWvwblPK8zdRuL-viHc5TXq-QhLnQ3RpqXKFI1O8NvYFufoMjFNMUtKeAD5W7y_4s80fwv5K8mebMMHCb-J4TyD7VKKgWZ7kRzohosGmNzbCXk/s320/lilies.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485810600677439442" border="0" /></a>We're thinking a lot about growing around here: what to hold on to, when to let go. But I've answered my question. Yes, it is possible for things to grow too quickly; plants and children both. So I rub my girl's downy hair and pluck some lettuce leaves from the ground. I watch her watch me through the garden fence.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnn6HPwVA1FO0XGipbyBYE1w1B-14Kfo463_nKRj15v43PTcHlaAQ8OXaQNHLoE127UKgVeSgXPEcV6fmAkCuP_0YeUt4fZSFnkG34sQ9KyCdWeym3e9bp7gtI1Qfl6ITMi12c-GDNRoM/s1600/Ada+garden+fence.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnn6HPwVA1FO0XGipbyBYE1w1B-14Kfo463_nKRj15v43PTcHlaAQ8OXaQNHLoE127UKgVeSgXPEcV6fmAkCuP_0YeUt4fZSFnkG34sQ9KyCdWeym3e9bp7gtI1Qfl6ITMi12c-GDNRoM/s320/Ada+garden+fence.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485810583495861042" border="0" /></a>Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-87726886404322027592010-06-21T13:15:00.003-05:002010-06-21T18:14:49.507-05:00Shopping From the Edge ReduxA month or so ago, I did a little experiment in which I shopped for one month solely from the perimeter of the coop (and from anywhere at <a href="http://midtownfarmersmarket.org/">the farmers market</a>). This included: produce, meat, bulk, dairy, and bakery (which I didn't end up using).<br /><br />Here's what I learned from this largely successful experiment.<br /><br />- Shopping bulk can be a pain in the butt, but it's totally worth it in terms of savings at the register and in the wasteful packaging department.<br />- To make shopping bulk easier, have containers with you on each trip to the market. I've ended up using bulk for certain items, so I have one container already measured and marked with the tare (the weight of the container so they don't charge you for it) and the PLU (price look up so they charge you for the right item). Once I had those containers (mostly mason jars) set aside for staple items (brown sugar, sliced almonds, dried cherries and, yes, malted milk balls) refilling at bulk was almost as easy as buying prepackaged items off the shelf.<br />- I am NOT a bread baker... yet. I've now tried to bake bread three or four times with little to no success. The thing is, I've made pizza crust a bunch of times successfully so I know it's not the yeast or where I'm letting it rise or anything like that. I'm still convinced I'm going to love baking bread I just have to figure out how to do it.<br />- Shopping the perimeter meant that we had fewer processed foods and snack around the house, which was totally worth it. We saved money by not buying pricey spritzers and sodas and were (probably) eating food that was healthier for us. (OK, not the malted milk balls.)<br />- Using dried instead of canned beans is shockingly easy. Sure, it took some planning ahead because I had to soak them overnight, but they were WAY tastier and cheaper.<br />- I definitely made more items from scratch and even learned how to make paneer (Indian cheese), which was super easy.<br />- Bulk tea leaves are fancy and satisfyingly ritualistic. I was worried that I'd miss the ease and Britishness of pouring hot water over a tea bag, but I was surprised that I actually enjoyed using bulk tea on a regular basis. I just pulled out the old tea balls and away I went! A little extra cleaning up, but well worth the savings and deliciousness.<br /><br />Will we continue? For the most part, it's so easy in the spring and summer to shop from the edge because we practically live on produce anyway (and because our <a href="http://midtownfarmersmarket.org/">farmers market</a> offers SO much). I still have a bit more kitchen organizing to do, but I'll probably stick to trying to buy from bulk as much as possible.Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-35729075285557991142010-05-27T08:00:00.005-05:002010-05-27T09:21:52.145-05:00Quinoa: It's What's for BreakfastIn my last post I mentioned my trip to DC where my mom and dad live. In the week leading up to my visit, my mom asked if there were any foods she'd like me to stock up on. I gave her a list of things (steel cut oats, soy milk, yogurt, english muffins) that I've been eating for breakfast lately and my mom being my mom, she went out and bought EVERY last item on the list. I was not staying for a month and I was not bringing an army with me so, needless to say, there was an excess of breakfast foods. I did manage to at least eat a little bit of each thing and to introduce my mom (who regularly eats rolled oats) to the wonders of steel cut oats.<br /><br />For those of you who haven't tried them, these tasty nuggets of flavor and texture can be found in the hot cereal aisle (or bulk food aisle) in vintage-like cans.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0S1C-HOlEAJI_oLQwvFS0xoJ38yIiE9D8hhB3zqm3HM6rMrYTMNdK4EmqIOzr2xdKi0ynzxgqAI3jVmDG7x0fxiepw4cFU67tavScz0F42Myh2tBY4TTPq3R63h4mqM6LGCZKJjBcejE/s1600/DSC_0926.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0S1C-HOlEAJI_oLQwvFS0xoJ38yIiE9D8hhB3zqm3HM6rMrYTMNdK4EmqIOzr2xdKi0ynzxgqAI3jVmDG7x0fxiepw4cFU67tavScz0F42Myh2tBY4TTPq3R63h4mqM6LGCZKJjBcejE/s320/DSC_0926.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475954463116784290" border="0" /></a>God bless the Irish.<br /><br />They take longer to cook and require more babysitting than traditional rolled oats, but the pay-off are chewy, yet crunchy whole grains that put their mushy (processed) cousins to shame. My mom was sold.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI6GRCmz5nUvt0X915I7RL1RfmzsV2RdjR7ITXf2qRIM_Vdt8P0uc8IChphiKMiHUUs80EAoCIvuzBVg6r-P01fdmhe4x2haST3fiNzC9Uh4zTbni_W-DKDlMZMbfXpFBgf0OGJx0dFOM/s1600/DSC_0934.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI6GRCmz5nUvt0X915I7RL1RfmzsV2RdjR7ITXf2qRIM_Vdt8P0uc8IChphiKMiHUUs80EAoCIvuzBVg6r-P01fdmhe4x2haST3fiNzC9Uh4zTbni_W-DKDlMZMbfXpFBgf0OGJx0dFOM/s320/DSC_0934.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475428628008509666" border="0" /></a><br />Leave it to my youngest brother to kick it up another notch. While we were discussing the relative merits of steel cut oats, Andrew, who is a cook at a brunch place, mentioned that they serve quinoa for breakfast. While quinoa is often cooked like couscous (covered in a pan of boiled water while the grains soak up all the liquid), he said they cook theirs like pasta which makes for more consistent cooking. Cooked quinoa also refrigerates well. So I cooked up some quinoa for breakfast this morning. It took a mere ten minutes compared to the 20 to 30 for steel cut oats. I mixed it up with a little cream, brown sugar, and dried cherries. It soaked up the cream a little more readily than oats do, making it harder to play with the consistency, but the grains were delicious. They stick to your ribs a little less than oats do so they're a great warmer weather, quicker cooking alternative.<br /><br />Next up: a cardamom- anise seed addition to my morning cereal.Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-68647091837972350712010-05-25T21:45:00.002-05:002010-05-25T23:01:49.236-05:00Shopping the Edge With the Better HalfFirst, a confession. I was back in DC (where I'm from) last weekend and the shopping from the edge experiment took a back seat. I didn't do much shopping there, but the little I did do (with my mom) did violate some of the rules I've laid out for myself. The night I made pizza for my parents, I did a pretty good job: only the pizza sauce and olives were from a center aisles. But when I was shopping for a party that my parents were having for their newest granddaughter, I was less able to adhere. It's not my household (anymore) and, thankfully (for my parents) I'm passing (slowly) out of the stage in which I think I know more than they do. Besides, they conserve in other ways like doing all their dishes by hand even though they have a dish washer.<br /><br />In my absence, my husband was instructed to at least try to keep our house a center-aisle free zone. It was a risky maneuver.The first time we went shopping together, he asked if he had to adhere to the rules when he was shopping. "Do what your conscience tells you to do," I told him. "You don't want me to do that," he retorted. "My conscience will let me do pretty much whatever I want to." Clearly I'd forgotten who I married. My husband's mantra is, in the famous words of South Park's Cartman, "Whatever. I do what I want."<br /><br />But to my pleasant surprise, what the old man wanted to do this time was actually participate in the experiment. I expected to find telltale frozen pizza boxes and soda cans in the house, garbage, or recycling but instead E stuck with eating leftovers, frozen pizza crust, and grilled burgers. His veg intake might have been a little low but so was his consumption of over-packaged, processed foods. Yay old man!<br /><br />The good news is that we're down from averaging about three bags of garbage a week to two. But the biggest difference is probably in the number of items we're putting into our recycling bins. Yes, you say, but recycling is good! And reducing is better!Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-66599754937424826002010-05-12T16:30:00.000-05:002010-05-12T16:25:07.774-05:00Shopping From the Edge: First Trip to the Coop<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxW2Y-mC9AQGZ42vF6stTwkr7JJ_cB7umdcBEkm_E8OY1dyqIQsFnhlsfHW5QkrGDr_lF0Cpd0KPrk1zg7PtIK09EcdFhPb4DsyYgroWQM-uNxkUUHhopI1NmaPGdkRFxunoBnU1B8TCo/s1600/DSC_0884.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxW2Y-mC9AQGZ42vF6stTwkr7JJ_cB7umdcBEkm_E8OY1dyqIQsFnhlsfHW5QkrGDr_lF0Cpd0KPrk1zg7PtIK09EcdFhPb4DsyYgroWQM-uNxkUUHhopI1NmaPGdkRFxunoBnU1B8TCo/s320/DSC_0884.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470496389671336674" border="0" /></a><br />By far the greatest success of this first trip to the coop was purchasing both brown sugar and dried cherries in bulk for two reasons: I remembered my containers from home and it couldn't have been easier. In fact, I love that I don't have to deal with moving the brown sugar to a more resealable container because it's already in a mason jar.<br /><br />Mason jars, which I do sometimes use for actual canning, make me feel warm and fuzzy and nostalgic for a time that I have no memory of. They make me want to grow and ferment things and store items in my pantry that I bought out of a bin at The General Store along with a few yards of calico, a spool of grosgrain ribbon, and penny candy. The make me want to hold chicken eggs up to the light to determine whether they've been fertilized. In fact, I have so many mason jars used for so many different things in my kitchen (making yogurt, storing food, growing sprouts), that sometimes I have to remind myself that I do not live in a little house on a prairie.<br /><br />I have to admit that my first trip was rough. I was tempted by each of the middle aisles, especially the one that has bars of really dark chocolate. I was panicked that I would be hungry for a snack and there'd be nothing to eat at home, which, of course, is silly because there's always cheese or yogurt or fruit. I even perused the bulk section for snack foods. I was impressed by the array of items I'd never noticed before: all shapes of pasta, olive oil and maple syrup, and more types of teas than even in the tea aisles.<br /><br />I will return to the bulk section. And I will like it.Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-36879162204470364812010-05-10T21:21:00.003-05:002010-05-10T21:48:06.171-05:00First Mama's DayIt turns out that even when you do things like entertain yourself by placing your daughter's shirt part-way on and then taking pictures, you get spoiled for one special Sunday in May.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlp68WR5IzKP-PJ1OE6WG6GfFladVHbbKmyM9X3gZhEn0pKx6w3RQjaaGNodbt2pVZyYKGxC9fd6JT7cwJ3nZUcyPe0zl7u7pZc2XxjNv8GadMKuLoponIavlXMyRjS2onEJjvVqg1_M/s1600/silly2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlp68WR5IzKP-PJ1OE6WG6GfFladVHbbKmyM9X3gZhEn0pKx6w3RQjaaGNodbt2pVZyYKGxC9fd6JT7cwJ3nZUcyPe0zl7u7pZc2XxjNv8GadMKuLoponIavlXMyRjS2onEJjvVqg1_M/s320/silly2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469836079953282002" border="0" /></a><br />In our house, this means that husband wakes up early to go to the coop to buy fresh ingredients for breakfast which includes a bowl of fruit; light, lovely pop-overs; my favorite tea AND orange juice; and Eggs Benedict replete with the best darn from scratch Hollandaise sauce you've ever had (which says a lot since you order it almost every time you go out for breakfast). I'm wondering if I should be worried that my current reign as Queen of the Kitchen might be threatened by my husband who until now has specialized almost exclusively in baked goods. (Although this might have been his crucial mistake: now that I know what he's capable of, I might be demanding more food stuff drenched in Hollandaise.) To top things off, he only bought one thing (the English Muffins) that was in violation of my current "shopping from the edge" experiment.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin8VA2HAEIBSnyInHWnGiHpBcc1a7v3yR20Z7E_5fxyrzNU3_4gA6L0JXwh4UpLLEi_ieXGLy_-QpN5XG7Y4J9WpevGY6ayfgKEzpk6RnILOP_rXFhOQes1x3_UKLHI40gjiXjHEFULB0/s1600/breakfast.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin8VA2HAEIBSnyInHWnGiHpBcc1a7v3yR20Z7E_5fxyrzNU3_4gA6L0JXwh4UpLLEi_ieXGLy_-QpN5XG7Y4J9WpevGY6ayfgKEzpk6RnILOP_rXFhOQes1x3_UKLHI40gjiXjHEFULB0/s320/breakfast.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469836065018787954" border="0" /></a><br />I even got to enjoy a little of the New York Times (Sunday!) in bed before the little bug woke up, rolled over, and won (demanded?) my attention.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwngmHyoea0L0N83R_tdIRR_ujNiMV2tdJGnkXXlvL6ENxIVByIINPa-NxhEpWxnujljtzNNrvcMYDTgZbgh3n6Ci7ePiccz3yfa2TRYZ2KwtNMYw4Rx6jbB00FUDhmVROVxZQCTwfXKA/s1600/in+bed.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwngmHyoea0L0N83R_tdIRR_ujNiMV2tdJGnkXXlvL6ENxIVByIINPa-NxhEpWxnujljtzNNrvcMYDTgZbgh3n6Ci7ePiccz3yfa2TRYZ2KwtNMYw4Rx6jbB00FUDhmVROVxZQCTwfXKA/s320/in+bed.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469836068308697010" border="0" /></a><br />I only had to do ONE load of diaper laundry the whole day, had a lovely scenic paddleboat ride down the Mississippi River with my best guy and my best gal AND got to take a nap.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtpjYh5J3vH_6xjPBFNltkV3mXjET1iG6bA7v9q-d2vhCoV3CuYMJ5v3S7OcXkvivHfa9frUuJj8CiA9sygkI8iDHavSfMzprrJGEPnyLFaBp9F1fmc8bgmaYjxOeS0saXG_aejad168/s1600/silly1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtpjYh5J3vH_6xjPBFNltkV3mXjET1iG6bA7v9q-d2vhCoV3CuYMJ5v3S7OcXkvivHfa9frUuJj8CiA9sygkI8iDHavSfMzprrJGEPnyLFaBp9F1fmc8bgmaYjxOeS0saXG_aejad168/s320/silly1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469836077919692178" border="0" /></a><br />I might even have more kids just so I can get multiple special Sundays each year. That IS how it works, right?Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-14230881777491044702010-05-06T09:25:00.002-05:002010-05-06T09:57:32.995-05:00May Food Experiment: Shopping From the EdgeFor four consecutive weeks (beginning this past Tuesday) I'm shopping exclusively from the perimeter (and the bulk section) of my coop (and, of course, the Farmer's Market). What do I hope to accomplish by doing this?<br /><br />1) Healthier Eats. Even at the coop, where they stock the shelves with local and generally more healthful foods, the aisles in the middle of the store are filled with items that are more processed than items on the perimeter. Some "health experts" even advise avoiding those middle aisles to lose weight. Since I'm breastfeeding right now, losing weight isn't a goal as much as eating healthy, but if that ends up being a side effect, I probably won't complain.<br /><br />2) Less Packaging Waste. I'm going to be shopping from the bulk section a fair amount and hopefully I'll get better about bringing containers from home to pack in the store. Right now we average about three kitchen-sized bags of crap that we throw out each week (plus our recyclables). I'm hoping to see a decrease.<br /><br />3) More "Experimental" Cooking and Cooking From Scratch. Most of the items I'll be buying will be raw ingredients, which means if I'm craving, say, granola bars, I'm going to have to figure out how to make them myself. Amongst the other items I'm going to have to learn to make from scratch: polenta, pizza sauce, vegetable stock, mustard, and mayonnaise.<br /><br />4) Less Food Waste. I find that the more involved I am in the process of making food, the less likely I am to let it go to waste. So, for example, I might let a container of Chinese take out sit in the fridge until it grows alien life forms and has to be tossed, but my homemade yogurt is a precious, precious commodity that I will not let go to waste. I also hope that by learning to cook more from scratch, I'll be able to cook more meals just with what I have available in the pantry and fridge without having to make extra trips to the grocery store.<br /><br />What, exactly, will I be "able" to buy. Produce, eggs, milk, butter, (and cheese -- I could perhaps learn to make it , but that's a little too hardcore for me), meats and fish, and whatever is in the bulk section plus whatever I can get at the farmer's market. Even though the frozen food section is on the perimeter of the store, I'm going to be skipping that part (especially since I can get fresh produce these days). I'm also going to skip the bread section and learn how to make bread from scratch.<br /><br />What do I anticipate happening?<br />1) By about week 2, I'm going to wonder, "Why the hell am I doing this?"<br />2) I'm going to love baking my own bread, but it's never going to be as good as the bread from local bakeries and it's never really going to be time effective.<br />3) I'm going to succumb to desires for: cereal, pre-made chicken stock, and condiments.<br />4) I'm going to be forced to organize my kitchen to stay on top of bulk food purchase.Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-22201305759927990102010-04-07T17:36:00.002-05:002010-04-07T17:37:52.160-05:00Hall and Oates Lives!The Bird and the Bee have a kick-ass cover album out. Here's one performance - not great quality, but I love that Inara George is super preggo here. The rest of the album is great. As Eric pointed out last night, "Hall and Oates just put out hit after hit." And The Bird and the Bee did them one better.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Q5Fegj1xMGM&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Q5Fegj1xMGM&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3987063884242608899.post-69825344042830621552010-04-02T11:07:00.003-05:002010-04-02T11:13:56.098-05:00A scene from "More Things My Husband Says"<span style="font-style: italic;">Late winter. Eric, the tall, dark-haired husband sits in a cushy red rocking chair next to a sunny window. The newborn baby resting on his shoulder, nuzzles his neck. His wife sits on the edge of the bed.</span><br /><br />Eric [<span style="font-style: italic;">laughing</span>]: It feels so funny when she roots around on my neck, looking for a nipple.<br /><br />Wife [<span style="font-style: italic;">distracted</span>]: Mm-hmmm....<br /><br />Eric: What if she finds one?<br /><br />Wife [<span style="font-style: italic;">attentive</span>]: What?<br /><br />Eric: What if she finds a nipple on my neck?<br /><br />Wife: You're so weird.<br /><br />Eric [<span style="font-style: italic;">concerned</span>]: What am I going to do?<br /><br />Wife: You're so weird.<br /><br />And scene.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR0zK5Gb4hgyBf4rtb7q-o6PnL9m3ZqQHPFfMH5pgy6jqd8WImVgWPiuATk02-bDXXLQXWSKkzsdzdId_Brzi0Xj_pmklzRB5euJI2qcgcg7mXaF8TVxr-qq8yQrb5KcywqgBe_XfN3so/s1600/DSC_0887.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR0zK5Gb4hgyBf4rtb7q-o6PnL9m3ZqQHPFfMH5pgy6jqd8WImVgWPiuATk02-bDXXLQXWSKkzsdzdId_Brzi0Xj_pmklzRB5euJI2qcgcg7mXaF8TVxr-qq8yQrb5KcywqgBe_XfN3so/s320/DSC_0887.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455573849114646882" border="0" /></a>Rhenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11860412613495772492noreply@blogger.com1