Dream of Conciousness

So, I am shipwrecked with my friend Brent on a small desert island. Like Far Side cartoon small, a mound of sand with a single palm tree in the center. We are discussing what we are going to do next, finding fresh water and food, shelter, and for some reason, what we're going to do about bathing. Because finding a way to take a hot shower is chief among Brent's concerns. (Which, by the way, not super practical, buddy.)  So we're on our tiny island for an entire day before we notice that we are, in fact, only several yards away from a larger island.  One that is clearly inhabited.  We wade through the ocean to this other island and are greeted by an enthusiastic blonde who invites us in to the camper in which she lives.  Brent promptly goes to check the showering facilities, asking about the varying temperatures as he heads to the back of the RV.

Our hostess points out to us a fresh water spring a ways down the beach and tells us to go look in the bird shed to see the birds.  Being the incredibly unobservant people that we are in this dream, we suddenly notice a medium-sized wooden shed with a thatched roof right next to the camper.  And it is full of birds. We walk through with the blonde, and laugh about how the peacocks look at us when we say "peacock".  The blonde then tells us that this isn't actually all the birds and there will be more when night falls and "The Estate" opens its gate.  I ask several times what kind of birds the have on The Estate until she grudgingly tells me they have an emu.  I don't know why she's so hesitant to share this information, but clearly it is troubling her.  Evening is upon us and an emu does indeed wander past our campfire.

The next morning, guards dressed in black uniforms, who are from The Estate, come to escort us on what they are calling a field trip.  I, untrusting of these strange, armed men, do not want to go.  I am not really given a choice, though.  We are brought to a school bus, on which are several of my other friends.  I find a seat, next to my friend Stacey, and suddenly notice that Brent, who was right behind me, is now missing.  I am very concerned, and point this out to several people, but no one else seems to care.  I keep talking about how my friend isn't here and I don't know where he is for our entire three minute bus trip, until we arrive at what has been dubbed The Factory.  The Factory is, you know, a factory.  It sits about two hundred yards from a gigantic freeway overpass that is not connected to a freeway.  It is just an enormous, unnecessary, concrete bridge.  Just on the other side of it is the beach.  We are escorted into a large, empty hall and asked to stand against the wall in a line.  It is now that I notice Brent, in an Estate guard's uniform, standing with the other guards, evidently just making small talk.  Betrayal!

There is a growing feeling of unease amongst all of us who are on the field trip to The Factory.  Suddenly, there is a diversion around the corner, and all of the guards but one race to see what has happened.  Brent then incapacitates the remaining guard and tells us all to run; there is an ocean liner waiting for us.  All of us (there are about 50) run towards the shore in a huge cluster, knowing that as soon as we get to the other side of that oddly placed freeway overpass, we will be safe.  I stop running and just stare at the herd of people fleeing for their lives.

And then I woke up.

Analyze that, please, Freud.

The Rainbow Connection

One of the more interesting aspects of my job is...hmm...well, let's call her Judy.  She is the devoted grandmother of one of my babies.  This particular baby comes only once a week, on Mondays, and Judy always picks her up.

Interactions with Judy are always unique.  She has a very...dominating...demeanor.  The volume of her voice is permanently set at a level that sounds as though she is trying to have a conversation in a crowded bar on a Saturday night.  When she's not talking, her face looks like she's trying to get peanut butter off the roof of her mouth with her tongue.

Like I said, unique, but this most recent Monday, we moved to a whole new level.  Judy arrived at about 4:30.  She was talking on her cell phone when she flung open the door and yelled "Where my baby at?  Where my baby at?" She saw her granddaughter, and came into the room, leaving the door wide open, oblivious to the fact that three babies were crawling rapidly towards the newly discovered escape route.  She stopped in the middle of the room and started raising the roof with her hand that wasn't clamping her phone to her ear.  "It's Granny!  It's Granny!  Granny's in da house!  Granny's in da house!  Granny's in da house!  Hey, girl!  I'm picking up my grandbaby.  Hey, Boo!  Come here, Boo!  My God, y'all got babies up in here!"

Having a strange woman suddenly standing in the middle of our room screaming was, understandably, startling for some of the babies.  One of them started to cry and crawl frantically towards me, her eyes pleading and wide.  Judy's response was "Oh, you shut up over there, crying for no reason."  I, with much restraint, replied "I think you startled her."  I was ignored, as Judy had decided to continued with her phone call, bark orders at my coworker, admire the other babies in the room, and make nonsense noises at them.

So what follows is pretty much verbatim.

No shit.

"No, man, no.  Where her pacifier at?  I don't know.  When you coming?  You coming, right?  When you coming?  Oh, you on Facebook?  I don't really know how to do that.  Oh, look at these babies!  Look at that little Chinese baby over there!  They even got Asian babies in here!  Look at you, girl!  Doo doo doo da da blah blah blah!  Deedeedeedeedeedeedee!  My name be Kitty Katrice on Facebook.  I be too scared to put my name on there.  I ain't got no pictures or nothing.  Where's her pacifier?  Nothing on there.  Kitty Katrice.  Yeah, man, I be on there, but I don't know what I'm doing.  Ooooooh!  Look at that little black-ass baby over there.  Just black as he can be!  Hey, man!  Hey, man!  Deedeedeedeedee!  Are all her bottles in there, girl?  I've got three friends on Facebook, man.  Look at that little black girl trying to get away from me!  She saying 'Who that loud woman over there?'  Oh, girl!"

At this point, one of the other parents enters, to pick up her "little Chinese baby". 

"Ooooohhh, girl!  That your baby?  She so cute.  Ooooh, you tiny, girl!  I be talking to her, making her smile!  She so cute!  She so little!  They got Asian babies in here!  They got black babies in here!  They got everything!  It be a rainbow up in here!  Yeah, man, you look me up on Facebook."

She, having had all of her granddaughter's items diligently collected by my coworker, buckled the baby into the car seat and made her way towards the door.  Since we have a no shoe policy in the baby room, the other parent's shoes were by the door.

"Girl, look at these little shoes!  That shoe disappears when I put my foot over it!  These your shoes, girl?  Little Asian shoes!  Oh, my God, it be a rainbow up in here.  Bye all you babies.  You all have babies everywhere in here!  Y'all have a good week ladies!  Bye, now!  It be a rainbow in there, man."

Then, in a whirlwind of blue flip-flops and black weave, she was gone, leaving us convulsing with the laughter we were trying so hard to hide.

In which Elizabeth has the busy social life she has always dreamed of...

It has been unseasonably warm for March in Minnesota.  I'd say the average temperature in March is in the low 40s; yesterday it was in the 70s. And, while I'm not particularly affected by inclement weather, if you take into account the added benefit of daylight saving time, the sun sets later and people (meaning I) feel like they (meaning I) can actually go out and do things after work instead of just hunkering down in their (meaning my) apartments (meaning apartment). So here is the past week in many photos and few words. Please note, I NEVER do this many things.

Exhibit A. Wednesday:

Impromptu picnic on the lake with friend, followed by a screening of We Need to Talk About Kevin at the Lagoon.  On their marquee, they abbreviated it to We Need to Talk About Kev.  It seemed...casual...considering the content of the film.

Exhibit B. Friday:

Off work at 12:30, picked up friend, followed by a couple hours in Prospect Park and another impromptu trip to the lake, this time to watch the sunset and befriend the ducks and then go out for Thai food.

Exhibit C. Saturday:

St. Patrick's Day celebrated with Mexican food, a movie, and a Strongbow.

Exhibit D. Sunday:

Brunch with friends, followed by a sketching class with said friends, followed by impromptu trip to lake, also with said friends.  The evening was spent with another friend on what started as a hunt for brownies, but turned into a St. Anthony Main photo walk.  On which we randomly saw a couple of my favorite fellows, who had just been to a movie in the area.

So, it's been good. I know that I've let the blog fall into disrepair, and I wish I could promise it'll be different this time, but I've got weather to enjoy now.  So, until inspiration strikes again...

The Long Overdue Christmas Post

I know, I know. It's been a long time. But here's the thing. I don't know what to write about Christmas. I didn't know last year either.  But what I will say is that Christmas was delightful. New Year's is another story, but oh...Christmas.

I love Christmas. And just in case anyone is reading this who I haven't forced to listen to White Wine in the Sun, you should listen to it. No, really. I'll wait.

...

So good, right? It is my favorite Christmas song. Maybe just my favorite song.

I started with baking what I think is technically known as a "metric shit-ton" of cookies and then drove all over the Metro area delivering them to friends, who very graciously allowed me to intrude upon them pretty much unannounced. It was a good night.

Then it was out to Ortonville for some family time. A lot of family time.

Interspersed with all the craziness and cooking and tantrums and games of monster vs. super-monster vs. super-duper-monster were the little quiet moments that are my favorite things about being alive.

Like seeing so many watercolor sunrises and sunsets, it was hard to keep track of them.

A walk on a frozen slough with Ricardo and Mother.

Finding the nativity set I made when I was little. Its shoddy/adorable craftsmanship never fails to reduce me to tears of laughter.

Setting out all the presents after the littles had gone to bed on Christmas Eve.

Waking up early on Christmas day, but waiting until I heard the pounding of little feet running down the stairs to get up.

Just my mom and dad and me in the kitchen, finishing up the filling for the chicken pot pie.

Teaching the little ones the art of setting a table for company.

Cat (and dog) naps.

Another walk on the frozen slough, but alone and at night. And because of the cracking and shifting ice and the howling coyotes, it sounded like a Stephen King horror novel. Alone. At night. In the very, very dark. It was exhilarating. But the best part was climbing back up the hill towards what will always be my home.

You know. Quiet little moments like that.