Birkie Regrets

Posted on February 20, 2015 by Molly

Finishing in the 2012 Birkie

Birkie Fever. It’s all around us. The excitement, anticipation and tension fill the air. But not in this house. Last year was the first time we skipped the event since our initial Birkie in 2009. (Okay, I skied the Korteloppet that year, graduating to the full Birkie the following year.) But that was different, as we were out in Colorado skiing. A reasonable trade-off. This year we’re home. And living in Duluth and active in the Duluth XC Ski Club, it feels like everyone but us is heading for Hayward.

Uncertain of our winter plans this year, we didn’t sign up for the Birkie. We thought we might try something different – a new race, or perhaps more travel. As the winter progressed without snow, it seemed like a prudent decision, and even the races we did enter lost their appeal. As the Mora Vassaloppet approached, we found it hard to justify driving two hours each way to ski a few kilometers around and around on lake ice. We skipped that favorite race. The appeal of winter and skiing was hard to sustain.

On the positive side, I haven’t had to worry about getting in loads of K’s on the trails, building up to the hilly 51k race. We haven’t had to drive miles and miles chasing snow. I could bury the anguish over lack of snow by running the lakewalk. So it certainly has reduced the stress in that department.

But now with the Birkie a day away, I can’t help but wish I too were waxing my skis to perfection and setting out to ski with the thousands of other participants. I miss the challenge. I miss being a part of it all.

Registration for the 2016 Birkie is bound to be open soon. There’s a high likelihood I’ll trade my regrets for next year’s Birkie Fever.

The passing of a generation

Posted on February 17, 2015 by Molly

Losing a parent is never easy. It means accepting that the constants in our lives – the parents who have always been there for us – are vulnerable and human.

Burying the first parent leaves an imbalance. The pair becomes one, and the sense of loneliness and loss is palpable. In many ways, it strengthens the parent-child bond. The parent who never handled finances before now needs help. The parent who never cooked in his life really enjoys sharing a home cooked meal. They come to depend on us just as we once relied on them for life’s basic necessities and the bonds of love.

As long as one of them was still alive, we could still visit the family home. We could still keep alive some of the traditions they established, even if they no longer understood or were aware of the meaning. But still we carried on for them.

When the second parent slips away, the tie is severed completely. It feels like a layer of childhood has just been peeled away, exposing the raw exterior of adulthood. For those of us who have been the “sandwich generation” we just lost one piece of bread. Life will never be the same.

My dad died almost 21 years ago. Mom was lost to us through Alzheimer’s years before her final exit, which was over three years ago now. Closing out her estate made it all so final.

But Rich’s father was still alive. We continued to have a link to the generation above us. As recently as this past Christmas we made sure to be with him for the holiday, delivering his favorite julekake for breakfast. A tradition that goes way, way back and he passed on to us.

His recent death brought that to an end. No longer do we have any parents on this earth. Two of them lived long enough to become great-grandparents. We had a good long string of generations going. We were very fortunate. We spanned close to a century. Suddenly, that range is a lot narrower.

It’s still to soon to comprehend. Life’s balance has shifted. But I don’t feel it yet. I’m still contemplating the passing of a generation.

Fire and Ice

Posted on February 10, 2015 by Molly

There are a number of factors that go into selecting the route for my morning run. How fierce is the wind? What direction is it coming from? Do I want to do hills or not? Has the lakewalk been plowed? Is there likely to be ice melt? How far do I want to go? All are serious considerations.

Today, the deciding factor was something entirely different. Will there be a good sunrise? An affirmative answer to that question trumped all others. I would head up the shore.

I was a bit early for Brighton Beach. The colors were pale and uninspiring as I passed along the jumble of ice crumpled against that shore. So I pressed on. I was grateful that the shoulders on Scenic 61 were less snowy than yesterday, and when no cars were in sight I admit to trespassing on the road where the tire tracks cleared the pavement.

It wasn’t long before the colors began to deepen. First a brilliant red, followed by fiery orange. Generally, I don’t stop for anything on my run. But after what seemed an eternity of gray cloudy days, I was prepared for this early morning display. My super compact camera was snuggled into the back pocket of my tights.

As the sun rose, the colors lessened, but I was intrigued with the way they reflected off the pockets of water trapped between passages of ice. I could see it better with my eyes than the camera could, but it was still worth a shot. Another trip across the road to snap a picture.

The whole display was short lived. Before long the clouds crowded in and obliterated the horizon, snuffing out the light show. But it still lit up my day. I carried the spectacle with me for miles, and it warmed me from within. There’s nothing like a good sunrise to make all feel right with the world.

How lucky I am to live in such beautiful surroundings. Not many people get to witness fire and ice in the same sunrise.

A Mighty Wind

Posted on February 8, 2015 by Molly

I could hear it howling outside while it was still dark. By morning it was gusting up to 33 mph hour. But I didn’t know that. Better not to check the weather app. I’d find out soon enough.

Very little keeps me from my morning run. Certainly not a little wind. So out I ventured. I fairly flew down the Lakewalk going with the wind, but had a hefty price to pay on my return. It was a battle just to get home, and I got plenty of sympathetic looks from the runners going the other way.

Rich had much different ideas about the wind. Clearly it was an opportunity. He was eager to see the resulting waves on Lake Superior, so after lunch we ventured up the North Shore in search of “splashing and dashing.” With the wind coming out of the NE, it brought all the ice down to our end of the lake, packing it against the shore. As a result, we had to drive all the way to Split Rock Lighthouse before we found enough open water for some real wave action. But the paths through that park brought us down to an action-packed shoreline. Just past Ellingson Island across from the lighthouse, we found plenty of wind and waves.

We were buffeted by the wind as much as the water was, and it was a tricky business picking our way across the icy, snowy rocks and standing up against the gusts. The wind was relentless as were the waves, pounding one after another against the shore and filling our ears with the roar of the water.

Continuing on to Beaver Bay, we spotted another good display from the road. It was worth stopping to watch, as the crashing water shot up high into the air above the icy rocks.

Heading back to Duluth, we were amazed to see bright sky and sunlight on the horizon. That necessitated a stop at Brighton Beach. There the wind had an entirely different effect upon the lake. The force of the wind continually pushed the ice up onto the shore, breaking it into thin sharp shards of ice, and mounding it into fanciful formations.

Over the sound of the wind, I heard something else. Looking out across the ice, I could see an icy river moving by, pushing and crunching whatever was in its way. Sure enough, the wind was continuing to move the ice down the lake, destined for another pile-up further along the shore.

It was relentless that wind. I may not have appreciated its force on me, but its fury in nature was worth venturing out to see. Indeed it was a mighty wind.

The Super Secret Birthday Activity

Posted on February 4, 2015 by Molly

We were told to be ready by 9:30am. Wear comfy clothes and be prepared to spend time outside. That was the extent of the instructions issued by my three children. The assembled multitudes included their significant others, our two grandkids, my husband Rich, and me. The occasion? My 60th birthday!

Three-year-old (almost) Mya brought me the first envelope before we left the house. Ominously, the heading of the the contents said “Clue #1.” What followed was a lengthy poem (definitely a Molly-ism) that revealed that we were going to:

“Go find the places where memories were made,
And relive the memories 60 years laid.”

Following that I opened my first real clue, which turned out to be a word game. As did all the rest. Yup, another Molly-thing – I love word games! Crosswords, cryptoquips, scrambled words and more had to be untangled before the next destination became apparent. I could see that this was going to be a fun adventure.

Piling into two cars, we proceeded to cover the city. Leaving no detail to chance, Carl had optimized our route and each of the kids contributed an equal share of the puzzles.

Favorite family spots, schools and our wedding venues were among the places we visited. Houses figured high on the list – those where I lived, my best friends’ homes, and of course, Rich’s house. We even paid tribute to my parents, in their final resting place. Their imagination was boundless. And everyone showed immense patience and interest as my stories poured out with each stop. Some scenes begged re-enactments, such as running Grandma’s Marathon past the corner where the kids always always waited with my mom to cheer me on. We got the biggest laugh out of the “nunny bunny clue.” I leave the rest to your imagination. Our final stop was at the Aerial Lift Bridge. Time for a family photo and a big group hug. A warm lunch awaited us at Grandma’s Restaurant – a fitting finish to our journey.Eighteen clues in all. Eighteen times we all piled out of the cars and posed for pictures. Eighteen puzzles to solve. Innumerable memories.

Thank you kids. It was the best Super Secret Birthday Activity. Ever.

Woman vs. Machine

Posted on January 29, 2015 by Molly

It’s been lurking in the back of the closet for years. At least 16 years, as far as I can tell. That’s how long it’s been since my children were young enough for me to sew matching pajamas, sweatsuits, leggings and Zubaz for them. Those were the heydays for my serger. Me and my machine – we spent a lot of time together back then.

Recently I pulled my old pal out from the recesses of its hiding place. Not only did I dust it off, but given its long retirement, I took it back to the sewing shop where I bought it for a good tune-up. Soon it was lubed, oiled and ready to go. I just wasn’t sure I was.

Sergers are finicky machines. With not one but four gigantic spools of thread and complicated threading schemes involving upper and lower loopers and two needles, just getting it ready to sew is a complex business. Unlike my regular sewing machine, which I can still operate on autopilot, this one was going to require a hefty re-learning process. Me and my machine needed to get reacquainted again. It didn’t help that I couldn’t find my manuals. But Google solves all, and I soon had an electronic version of my 25 year old booklets.

Once I worked up the nerve to start sewing, the real fun began. Ugly messy stitches ensued, followed by the hit or miss process of fiddling with the tension knobs for each spool of thread. It took several days, more Google searches, many scraps of fabric and lots of thread, but finally I mastered it. I had a good stitch going!

By now I’m sure you’re wondering just what could possibly entice me to resurrect this old relic and re-engage in battling with it? The obvious answer is grandchildren. But they’ve been around for almost 5 years now, and despite feeble promises to sew knits for them I’ve yet to deliver on that. No, it’s napkins. More accurately, lots and lots of napkins for our son’s wedding reception. In keeping with some homespun elements of their outdoor celebration, his fiance envisioned vintage looking napkins in various patterns. And so I volunteered. Happily. After all, I have a serger that makes fast work of just that sort of thing.

Today was the true test. I finally set aside my scraps and set to work for real. My serger hummed and stitched, overcasting each edge with absolute precision. Just as I knew it would. I created neat rolled hems on all four sides of 25 napkins with ease with my trusty machine. So far so good.

Woman vs. machine? Naw, we’re a team again. Me and my machine. And only 200-some napkins to go.

Happy Dogs

Posted on January 25, 2015 by Molly

The afternoon was gray and gloomy. What little snow we had in the yard looked crusty and tired. I’d been out all morning. So the idea of going out to watch and photograph the John Beargrease Sled Dog Race was beginning to lose its appeal. Fortunately, I didn’t let the excuses keep me away.

With the race starting north of Two Harbors due to lack of snow this year, we had to scout a new viewing spot. Yet once we arrived, it reminded me of last year’s outpost. We were at a point where the race course crossed a road and were able to peer down the tree lined trail. Our timing was good, as the half-marathon mushers were just starting to pass by as we arrived. There was a steady stream of sleds with reasonable gaps in between – the beauty of being a short distance from the beginning of the race.

One of the race officials must have been in contact with someone just up the course as he’d yell “dogs on the trail,” and sure enough a team would soon turn the corner and enter our field of view. Sometimes we’d get a double – one team just behind another bearing down the trail. It always seemed to take them a while to come into my viewfinder, and then suddenly they were past and we were hooting and hollering for the mushers. What I managed to catch in my photos each time was a matter of pure luck.

With all the teams still fresh, the temperatures mild and the trail conditions good, there was an aura of positive excitement among the teams. The dogs in particular seemed to be having a good time. In fact, they were decidedly a happy bunch. Especially after viewing all my photos, I couldn’t help but have a bit of fun with that idea. I nominated this group for happiest dog team.

There was no question about which was the happiest dog. This had to be the most delighted canine out there on the trail. Have you ever seen a bigger dog smile?

When it came to mushers, this woman’s smile was infectious.

We stayed until the last full marathon team sailed through. By then the day was darkening, my fingers and toes were chilling, and it was easy to head home. But I was glad I’d gone out to watch the race. I was a happy spectator.

Skiing with Nature

Posted on January 19, 2015 by Molly

Driving up the Gunflint Trail was like entering a new world. Moving further inland with each passing mile and leaving behind the warming effect of Lake Superior transformed the landscape into a snowy winter scene. I could forgive the trickiness of driving on a slick icy road for the benefit of the snow accumulations blanketing the woods.

Susan and I were extremely grateful for having chosen to spend our annual XC Ski Weekend together staying at Poplar Creek Guesthouse on the central Gunflint ski trails. It was the perfect destination for a winter marred by lack of snow. For three full days we could leave behind the frustrations of barren brown ski trails and revel in the deep soft whiteness of beautifully groomed trails through the woods.

I might have expected that the lure of good snow would draw crowds from the Cities to ski these trails over the weekend, but it certainly didn’t seem to be the case. Perhaps because the trail system is so extensive, we rarely saw another skier. In fact, evidence of wildlife was in far greater abundance.

My favorite time out on the trails was early in the morning. Getting in at least 10k of fresh air and exercise makes the sumptuous and generous B&B breakfast all the more delicious. So I ventured out before light to ski through the pre-dawn stillness. Each morning I was greeted by nearly an inch of new powder on the well groomed trails. It was the perfect carpet to record the previous night’s animal activity. I spotted plenty of bunny prints, watched a fox’s paws follow the ski tracks and wondered about the origins of other divots in the snow. But the best part was the musical accompaniment. Hearing something in the distance, I stopped skiing to silence the swish-swish of my skis. And there it was again. Howling. Bark-bark-bark-Oooooooh-bark-bark. Sometimes multiple Ooooooooohs in the middle. Over and over again. The song of the wolf was haunting and beautiful. And far enough away not to be a threat.

We chose the Banadad Trail for one afternoon’s ski outing. Having done it before, we knew just what to expect – endless kilometers of narrow, single classic tracks through densely wooded forest with pine branches bending low under their burdens of snowy cover. Since it is largely flat with few turns and no intersections, it is the perfect opportunity to ski on autopilot and let one’s brain loose while drinking in the peaceful surroundings. We dubbed it a “contemplative ski.” It might have been completely serene had it not been for the moose tracks. Most were made prior to the overnight snowfall, so although they trampled the ski tail, we felt reassured by the fact that the moose were long gone. Then we found the fresh tracks. Multiple moose chose to cross and follow the ski trail for a bit before wandering back into the woods. For all we knew, there were still there staring at us. But we never saw them. Susan was greatly relieved, by my camera-toting self was a wee bit disappointed.

Lest all this sound too serious, we did have our moments of levity as well. Remembering our last ski on the Banadad when Susan missed the final turn to reach the Guesthouse, I stood sentinel to make sure it didn’t happen again. No point in delaying our evening wine and cheese, after all.

It was three glorious days of cross-country skiing at its best – soft snow, endless views of an undisturbed natural environment and evidence of furry friends playing on the trails. There’s nothing better than skiing with Mother Nature.

Running Around

Posted on January 11, 2015 by Molly

I missed my run yesterday. I knew it would happen, and it was a conscious decision. That’s not a trivial affair for this exercise addict. But it was oh, so worth it.

In actual fact, I still did plenty of running. But it was in the confines of my daughter’s basement, chasing two toddlers. I may not have clocked many miles, but the tally for giggles and hugs was sky high.

Ben and the crow in the playhouse

Right off the bat we found a stash of puppets. These weren’t your run of the mill puppets, they were Shari Lewis style gems. As we resurrected Lamb Chop, Hush Puppy, Charlie Horse and the black crow, the memories came flooding back. How I loved those TV shows and Shari’s marvelous ventriloquism. The puppets joined our play for most of the morning and shared the cardboard playhouse with us. Its no-frills simplicity made for a perfect hide-out for the three of us and our puppet pals.

In fact, that led to our next adventure – Hide and Seek. There were endless places to sneak around among the boxes and storage bins in the basement. But admittedly, the playhouse was a favorite hiding spot. Funny how it took me so long to catch on. I loved searching high a low for those two little munchkins, bypassing them intentionally to drag out the hunt. But I got an even bigger kick out of it when they did the same! Kids catch on so fast.

Ben’s picture of Grammy, Mya and the puppets

I tried to capture the moments with my little camera. Catching the joy on their little faces or the mischievous glint in their eyes was next to impossible. But the camera served an even better purpose. I had let Ben take some pictures with it at Christmas time, and we all had a good laugh out of seeing the world from his point of view – looking up at everything. So when my camera emerged again, he insisted on another turn. And like before, he took some very credible shots. I like them even better than my own. Mya’s turn produced a lot of fuzz and blur, but a Grammy can’t be partial when granting favors.

Play. It’s all we did for a whole morning. It’s truly the luxury of being a Grammy. I don’t recall ever abandoning my long To Do List to just let down and play with my own kids. At least not for hours on end. And yet, it seems to come naturally the second time around.

I really didn’t miss that run. I had better things to do. I got to play.

De-Christmasizing

Posted on January 6, 2015 by Molly

It’s always a whole lot more fun to decorate the house for Christmas than it is to take everything down. Getting out each ornament and remembering its history. Finding each decoration’s special spot where it is always placed. Positioning them just so and deciding how much is just enough.

I admit that in these latter years I’ve been trimming down my decorations. I no longer feel the necessity to display every single Christmas item in the boxes. It does streamline the process. But there are some that are too special to omit. The knitted snowmen, made by a friend dating back to junior high. The corn-husk angel holding a Christmas wreath, another hand made item that was a prize for selling the most wreaths in a fundraiser. The cross-stitch bird and musical horn ornament, one I made for my Mom years ago that recently came back to me. The detailed nutcrackers, given to us by Rich’s parents in the early years of our marriage.

At this end of the holiday each item gets carefully wrapped and placed in its box and stacked in containers, the same way every year. The tree, denuded of its decorations, garland and lights, is carried out the door trailing a telltale path of dry pine needles. The house once again resumes its normal appearance, no longer decked out in red and green.

We may have stripped the house of its Christmas decor, but the memories still linger. Sitting on the couch extracting trinkets from our Christmas stockings. Gathering around the table for a big family dinner. Eager little ones finding their names on presents under the tree, and always looking for more. Joy and laughter as presents are exchanged. Just being together with family, and talking on the phone with those who call from afar.

The Christmas boxes are once again stored away. In Rich’s words, the house has been de-Christmasized. There’s a bit of peace that comes with the transformation. Yet I’m already looking forward to doing it all again.

Superior Footprints

Life and the Outdoors in the Northland

Birkie Regrets

The passing of a generation

Fire and Ice

A Mighty Wind

The Super Secret Birthday Activity

Woman vs. Machine

Happy Dogs

Skiing with Nature

Running Around

De-Christmasizing

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