Tidings of Comfort and Joy

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Merry Christmas! Ho! Ho! Ho!  And fresh little springs of Mistletoe -

Chocolate goodies for one and all!  And multiple trips to the shopping malls

Glass balls fall each day from the tree   - We chase down the dog, pleading, “Give that to me!”

A piping hot cup of Hot Buttered Rum – That sits here beside me while this letter gets done.
Carols play on the radio – I look out the window and wonder ‘bout snow.

Is it coming or will it not?   It’s okay by me – cuz’I likes it hot.

We go over the river to St. Cloud this week. (Kayla’s a grad. Isn’t that sweet?)

They’ll give her a paper (that cost 40 grand).  We’ll all go to watch it and give her a hand.

She’s learned all they taught her (and might study more). But Pharmacy school is more years (like 4!)

She’s been selling drugs at a job that’s part-time. Legit!!  At the Wal-Mart (but I read your mind).

Kirstin still studies for nursing someday.  And she did alright while Ben was away.

They spent six long months while he was deployed - but he’s back in the states and she’s over-joyed.

And even better he’s flying back home and she won’t have to spend her Christmas alone.

It will make the whole holiday having him here … And together on New Year’s they’ll toast a whole year.

Kyle’s a junior at ole’ Brainerd High. If you saw him now – I swear you would die –

The hockey boys made a sort of a bet … about growing their hair and it’s still growing yet.

They slather the mousse and the spray all about - Its way worse than girls before they go out.

They talk styles and product (I know – I’ve heard!) ...The shears are on standby just waiting the word.

In March Kirk turned 50 he’s showing some wear – mostly memory and hearing.  (He’s still got his hair).

In June we were married for twenty five years. Celebrated in style with pizza and beers.

Just like it started way back in college … but oh now we have so much more knowledge.

We flew to Las Vegas with some friends this fall. We walked most the strip - hardly gambled at all.

Saw a few shows and took in the sights – And it’s true those fountains are way cool at night.

Most of our weekends this summer and spring - we spent up at mom’s helping with things.

The boys fished a little and hunted some too – They don’t have to look hard there for something to do.

In September she left us after such a good fight – And Christmas this year just hasn’t seemed right.

So here’s hoping your shopping is almost all done. And you find some time to fit in some fun.

Friend us on Facebook (or just stalk our site).  Check out our photos and what people write.

Its okay – There’s no need to feel bad if you do. (Chances are we have done it to you).

So Happy Holiday! May your wishes come true …and only the best things in life come to you!!

May your cheeks all be rosy - your Christmas cards done.  (May I recommend the Hot Buttered Rum?)

The Helmbergers

It's a Hard Knock Life

I probably have the perfect job.
I don't have to crawl out of bed, get dressed, brush my teeth, fight with my hair and report somewhere to punch anything to prove I was there.

Basically I can plan my job around my life and once in a while I walk to the mailbox to retrieve a paycheck - not a large one mind you, but one that gets to be semi-rewarding when I pool a couple together.  Also fortunate for me is the gift of a husband that has been willing to get out of bed, brush his teeth and do all of that other stuff so that he can actually leave the driveway and go to a real job.

Although my freelance writing doesn't always pay spades in hard cold cash I'm still rewarded with the opportunity to meet some pretty cool people and have some pretty great experiences.  It is an interesting gig this opportunity to write in my den in the dead of winter and on the front porch in the summer. People always ask - How do you know what to write about? Do they tell you what to do?
Sometimes they do. Sometimes I have an idea of my own and once in a while I get a phone call from someone who knows what I do and has a possible idea for a story. More than once a stranger in a store has come over and told me about something interesting and I've done a story on it.
I've written about food, shoes, the flu, high school graduation, camping equipment, walking trails, dogs, cats, grilling, babies, senior citizens, summer, fall winter and spring. I've wrote about thank-you notes and buying new cars. Garage sales and formal dances.
I've done several pieces on my own family and I've interviewed lots and lots of local residents. And now I'm writing a story about writing stories.
Just because I really do like to write I'm willing to do research on home flooring and school lunches.
I've interviewed child entrepreneurs and successful musical artists and couple of summers ago I, a non-swimmer, learned all about the world of sailing and a national race that was happening locally. Last winter I, a non-ice fisher person, drove 90 miles to talk to a well-known ice fishing expert. I have learned a lot sharing other people's expertise. Last fall I spoke with elementary school children diagnosed with Diabetes and was awed by how brave they handled their situations along with daily self-administered insulin injections.
Recently I took an assignment from a magazine in St.Cloud for a cover story about a young female BMX racer that has a great possibility of qualifying for the next Olympics. I interviewed her by phone in Baxter while she was at her home - the Olympic Training Center in Los Angeles. She was packing for a competition in South Africa.
How cool is that?!

Sometimes the world of freelance can be a little frustrating too. Often I get paid six months after I write an article and sometimes stories get killed altogether. After I've done the interview. After I've taken the time to sit down and write the article making sure I've met an editor's deadline. That's the not so fun part. Because even though I've done the work I might not see a dime. But it's something I know can happen.

I also write this blog. The one I don't update nearly enough. But Ive already made myself a promise to do better. That's what New Year's resolutions are for. (I'm also resolving to cook better, clean more thoroughly, exercise more often and a multitude of other things.)
Besides, I have interviews to do, topics to research and articles to write in my jammies.
I am going to be very busy.

I've got to remember...tis now is December

The tree is up.
Just one.
The one in the basement with the bulbs my kids have made and collected over the years is still sitting untouched at the bottom of the stairs beside the fireplace.
I will get to that one I swear I will.
Christmas is happening in baby steps this year.
I'm slowly getting in the mood.
Maybe it's because we don't have snow friends say. Truthfully, that would be cause for jubilation and celebration not disappointment.
And I'm not even very excited by that.
Grateful.
Just not excited or filled with jubilation and celebration.
Like normal.
Usually by this time I have my cards ordered, written, and stamped. Decorations sit on every shelf and flat surface and I've already played the holiday CDs multiple times in the kitchen CD player.
It will come.
I have two presents bought and wrapped and under the living room tree.
But it's December and there is so much more to do.
It's a start.
This year there will be no Christmas Day trek to my parents for a second celebration.
Their home is closed up until spring arrives.
Nobody is there.
We've locked the doors and the windows. We've turned down the temperature to a safe winter setting.
Already it doesn't feel like 'home' to me. It's nice to go there but it's just a gathering place for weekends for my brothers and I and our families.
It is definitely December.
Already we are a handful of days in.
And I know...I know...I am almost 50.  A grown up.
So this is the weekend I will dig through the other totes of decorations and lights.
I will put some more things up.
I know where the CDs are. I might even play them.
All of the songs except one.
The dumb one.
...I'll be home for Christmas.

Las Vegas Baby!

We came. We saw and darn it we gambled about a perfectly good $100 away. (Obviously we didn't spring for airline tickets to Las Vegas for the high rolling.) We went there for relaxing and good entertainment, laughs, and to spend some time with our good buddies and enjoy sunshine and 70 degree temperatures for one last time this year.

It's pretty well known among my friends that I'm not an enthusiastic flier. I'm getting better at it the more I do it but I still like to ensure a relaxing time on the plane by having a toddy before I get on.

Even though no one else felt it necessary to join me my entourage supported this weakness and helped me find a cold beer at 7 a.m. before the flight out (for the record there was another lady sitting down the bar from me with a 7 a.m. glass of wine - I hear ya sister - Salute!)  and a Bloody Mary at 10 a.m. before the return flight so both went incredibly well. Which is good because, for some reason, it didn't occur to me that we'd be looking at mountains, lots and lots of mountains, underneath us a great deal of the way. (I've seen those movies - I knew airplane pretzels and beef jerkey from my carry on backpack wouldn't keep us alive for double digit days if we went down in the Rockies.)

While we were in Vegas since we didn't gamble a whole lot we decided to do other things with our cash like treat ourselves to a once in a lifetime, wallet busting, authentic French meal. The waiters pulled out our chairs, put my jacket over my backrest for me and then waited for us to be seated and gallantly opened and placed our napkins in our laps.

It was pretty un-Pizza Ranch-like ya'all. I was kinda glad my kids weren't with. We were at a Bed and Breakfast out East one time and they thought having a mint leaf in our water was so exotic it made them giggle. Although we were surrounded by professional artwork by Picasso the room was so dark the waiter brought a small flashlight over for the table next to us to order wine by. Michelle and I would have liked wine with our fancy schmancy meal but when the menu came in the way of a catalogue with no prices and offered mostly by the whole bottle we figured we might be out of our Barefoot Moscata comfort zone.

Before we ordered we were allowed to sample a 'gift from the chef,' which came in the way of a small, lightly breaded morsel on our plates. "Tator tot?" I quizzed my fellow diners. For over a hundred bucks a person they thought likely not. My husband picked at his and declared it flaky. He took a bite and said, "Hmmm I think it's fish." 

"Aahhh," I said, nodding, "Fish stick." Although it was doubtfully perch, crappie or bullhead.

As for the fanciest and my most expensive dinner ever - My friend Michelle and I gave a thumbs up to the dessert and entree (young fallow deer...sorry little buddy...but you were tender and delicious), but thumbs down, enthusiastically, to the Pate' course (translation: goose liver). I know it was chef Julianne's specialty dish but a savory cheeseball with a Triscuit would have been just fine, really. Squash soup though? That was surprisingly enjoyable especially for someone who doesn't even like squash. The next night we were back to steak and garlic mashed potatoes - THAT I understand.

While we were in Las Vegas we saw shows that delighted and entertained.

We saw this one

 A Cirque Du Soleil that was mesmerizing to watch and had fun ushers too.

Although it was hard to get the song, "All You Need is Love" out of my head the rest of the night.

And we also saw this one: A comedian Kirk loves that brought his A Game that night. My side hurt.

No fun ushers but our table was three back from the stage.

I'm pretty sure he was talking directly to us the whole time.

We toured the strip a little everyday. The buildings and architecture are fabulous and because it was Halloween we were treated to all kinds of other sights as well.

 Michelle and I even stumbled upon a real live Betsy Johnson fashion show in progress with a catwalk and models. We're pretty uptown sometimes. 

And Bob and Kirk?

 Well, interestingly enough, they stumbled upon an Oompaloompah while we were in the Sugar Factory buying rope licorice.  Here's something you don't see everyday in Brainerd - but I'm guessing you probably do in Las Vegas.

Still, I couldn't love this picture more.

It was a great three days. We walked until we were limp, ate until we gained weight and gambled just long enough to come home with money still in our pocket.

Okay winter.... bring it!

 

It's coming... It's coming and I can't even stop it

It was painful to turn the calendar to October. November will hurt even more.
I suspect I'm one of those people that falls into the deepest of funks when the winter months arrive. I hate the snow. I hate the cold and more than that I loathe the feeling of being a prisoner in my home.
Oh, sure my son's hockey games and the 'parent meetings' before the puck drops help a little - but one can't really do that every...single....day. (Or shouldn't at least - since it's code for 'have a beer before the game').
I knew I should've learned to ski. I should have embraced snowmobiling at high speeds in below zero temperatures, or at the very least I wish I would have learned to enjoy the feeling of frozen snot on my scarf.
But no sir, not me. None of that happened. My distaste for all of it only settled deeper in my heart at each arrival while I fantasized of becoming a snowbird in my senior years.
But then, my snowbird years are probably still down the road a good chunk and October is already almost half way gone.
But on a bright note I did realized today that I do, however, enjoy winter as a spectator.
I like to watch other people ski. (Ideally with a novel in my lap and a cup of something hot in my hand). I also often jump up to look out of the window and watch as a madcap snowmobiler flies past the driveway at an unsafe speed.
And the pictures we take in the winter - those are admittedly breathtaking. Just beautiful.
There's no denying it. Winter. Is. Pretty. It's mere weeks away.
And that feeling of frozen snot...haven't really found an upside to that yet.

A bogged down blog

Blogging is hard.
My blogs, for awhile, have been far and few between.
Not because I don't have fantastic ideas about what to blog about because I do. I really do.
But this summer while my mom was sick my heart just wasn't in it.
The options were to blog about dark things and depress everyone else or just stay idle for a little while which is what I did.

But.... I think I'm ready to get back to the life of writing and writing well (or, you know,  standard, like I did before). So the plan is to update my blog a little more timely once again. At least weekly and we'll see what kind of excitement pops up that might require a more frequent random post.
It's good to be back.

Modern fashion meets inappropriate exposure

I owe an apology to another mother somewhere out there
It's not my fault. I can honestly say that.
My daughters try to dress me.
I know I'm too old to do it.
I know I'm too lazy to do it.
But sometimes I do.
In the name of fashion I occasionally don the trendy low rise jeans. The only real annoying thing about them is that they do require hiking up pretty often.
They are actually pretty comfortable though although they don't give me support in the exact place I need it (ahem - a little higher above the waistline of the low rise.)
But other than that - designers I salute you! Nice going.
Oh - except for the fact that the low rise has a tendency to become v-e-r-y low rise.
For instance, say, if you're bending over in the aisle of the local retailer on the bottom shelf for a jug of laundry soap and you feel a cool breeze below your back but above your thighs and there is a possible-nay-probable chance that a boy,  say about 10-years old, may have been schooled in what the butt crack of a middle-aged woman might look like.
If that was your son - I'm sorry.
I'd like to say it won't happen again but other 10-year olds consider yourself warned. They were capris and it's summer. They'll be appropriate for another four months.

We might still have a little work to do

If you never use the stove you never have to clean it

Martha, Rachel, Paula and Giada...  I’m not worthy and I don’t pretend to be.



I’m not a cook.
I preheat, reheat and nuke almost everything.
From scratch? I create nothing. Trust me. It's better this way.


It’s not my mom’s fault. She cooked every single day.The closest McDonald's was not only 15 miles away but her cooking was better than anything they would have passed out of a window in a bag at the golden arches. We were the recipients of  home cooked meals whether we liked them or not (and some I didn't - Spanish Rice, potato pancakes). I can count on my hands the number or times we went out to eat while I was growing up and I'm aware that it’s a little humiliating my kids' daily language includes the phrases Footlong, Whopper and Big Mac and they're not talking about a day on the lake fishing. 
You want to know what killed cooking for me? Thanksgiving, Christmas and other assorted family gatherings. All of the high-pressure-in-the-kitchen events that mean eight hours worth of cooking followed by 20 minutes of eating and three hours of clean up.
Well, that and the nightly exchange while my kids were growing up of:


Kid 1, “What’s for dinner?”


Me, “_____________,” (anything other than pizza)


Kid 1, “Ick.


Kid 2, “Gross.”


Kid 3, ”I’m not hungry.”


Hubby , “I had that for lunch.”


The good news is just because I don’t particularly like to cook doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy purchasing things to do it with. I definitely like to look like I like to cook – because so many of my friends actually do. If there’s a Pampered Chef party within 50 miles I’ll be there. The kitchen supply area of my local retailers? Love it… almost as much as jewelry department.


I like pots and pans and cookie sheets; baking stones, cool looking cutlery and anything else you can stir, whip and blend with. I am also a fan of gadgets that need an outlet to operate. I like my electric knife, my electric can opener, and my waffle maker. I do have illusions of grandeur and fantasize about setting a table with a spread
made for a king. And should I ever be in the mood to do so I like to have all of the necessary equipment to accomplish that.

Thanks to my many novelty cooking accessories I can core an apple in two seconds, create a beautiful colored sugar display on the top of a cake and press a cookie into more than a dozen decorative shapes. I have a tool to make rosettes and one to bake bread in the shape of a flower. I can make homemade beef jerky, chop coffee beans and create a vat of homemade salsa in 12 minutes flat.
And someday I just might feel like doing some of that.

I actually give the illusion that a real cook might live in my home. I have a steamer and a counter top grill and a food processor. In my kitchen hangs a sign that says Bon appetite. Enjoy your meal!  HAH! 
But I'm an imposter in a lot of areas. I also own a lot of wine glasses but I’m more of a beer drinker.


My grandmothers used to be able to whip out hot main dishes, salads and desserts for three dozen people without even breaking a sweat. A Sunday afternoon found hot food for dozens without so much as a trip to the gas station for sour cream. It boggles the mind.


A few years ago I joined a dinner group with some friends. I thought I might pick up some tips and possibly form a real interest in creating fine cuisine. Plus, my husband was impressed and it sounded pretty cool to say, "Oh, I can't. I have dinner group tonight.".
I think I pulled off a pretty good acting job and I managed to stay under the group’s radar for quite a while. No one threatened to out me if I didn’t start pulling my own weight and initially they were kind enough to put the new girl on wine and bread detail. I tried to offer witty dinner conversation to make up for my lack of edible contributions and the first few months they praised my bread and wine selections and it was enough. After a while though I was asked to prepare real dishes. I crammed with the Food Network. I watched the ladies and gents who haphazardly tossed ingredients into cookware with nary a care. Then it occurred to me why these people liked cooking. A) Awesome kitchens, every one. Magnificent refrigerators and ovens and stoves with not one item still cooked on them from the last use because B) They never clean up. I think I could be in the mood to cook fabulous multi-coursed dinners every night too if a crew came behind me and mopped, wiped and scoured everything I touched. Also how cool if my ingredients were already miraculously pre-measured in cute little bowls and an example of my creation already made and ready in the oven!
Some of my dinner group assignments had ingredients I’ve never even heard of and required visits to markets I’d never been to. How did I know File Powder wasn’t pronounced the way it’s spelled? (Feel-ay?? Really? Sorry. Kraft doesn't make that.) My desserts that were supposed to raise didn’t and the things that were supposed to melt in your mouth stayed firm and required being spit into a napkin. They never really asked me to leave but I started to get the feeling that witty dinner conversation might not be enough.

At least I try to please. The first month I was married I made pork chops and vegetables for the hubby. I remembered he didn’t like cooked carrots and when I realized the only frozen vegetables we had were mixed  I picked out every … single… carrot. Love or ludicrous?
I do think it's important for everyone to have a specialty - even the inept.  A go-to recipe to be prepared in a pinch. I make a fair tasting goulash. That is mine. And the other litte secret weapon in my back pocket?  Cheese. There’s a gourmet dish at my house we call chips and cheese. And almost everybody loves cheese and crackers. And a cheese ball? Yes! You can slice cheese, melt cheese, and cut it into squares. Sigh. The perfect food.
The good news is I suspect that I’m not the only lazy cook in America. Convenience foods are becoming even more….well, convenient …and there are happily more shortcuts out there than ever. You can buy garlic already diced. Dinner salads in bags already made and frozen vegetables all cut up and in the bags for steaming. I’m surprised I didn’t invent them.
Luckily for me my husband does like to cook and so all of those nifty things that I’ve purchased to look like I know what I’m doing actually do get used. He makes homemade soups. He smokes and grills delectable meats and he sautés and marinates them ahead of time. I’m a lucky, lucky girl. And so we both use our strengths … I set the table in an eye-pleasing manner, open something cold from the basement fridge with a really cool bottle opener, set out some napkins and he does the cooking. 
Now, where do I find one of those clean-up crews?

I think that about sums it up

Hear me roar

I'm currently on day six of having no voice, hacking like a goose and living on the sofa under my electric blanket. (BEST invention ever...after the heated car seat.)
Not sure if I should just chalk it up to cold and flu season or if I've just been gifted my own special form of bug that was designed to cut me off at the knees and hit me where it hurts the most - my voice.
Anything but the voice. I would bargain away a couple of fingers to only have my voice back (I know...careful what I wish for. But I'm not wishing for it - just saying it would be easier to work around.)
Speaking of -
It's not quite the situation for someone to be in that does a great deal of business on the telephone. Whether it's scheduling interviews, doing interviews or just trying to communicate with my daughters away at college or my daily phone call to my mother it's been a pain in the neck to not be able to speak.

Kirk...well he's doing just fine with my not speaking. In fact - Happy early Valentines Day to him.

Say Yes

The veil changed everything.

We weren't even wedding dress shopping.

We were looking for bridesmaid dresses, deciding on a color - hence a color theme, and maybe, just maybe, if there was time, thumbing through the wedding dresses for another day and a return trip.

And...well...just like always, one thing lead to another and we were so efficient on finding both the bridesmaid dress and a color they both loved that the next thing you know both of my daughters, the older and maid-of-honor, and the younger, bride-to-be, and myself were tromping around the bridal shop with our arms loaded with gowns which, by the way, when multiplied by five or six in an armload equal about two to three hundred pounds of satin and tulle.

 She tried on gowns that were lacy, gowns that were slim fitting, some gowns that were ivory, and lots that were white. Gowns that had beading, some that had embroidery, with straps and strapless, with and without trains. Some looked better on the hangers and some that we didn't like that much on the sales floor actually looked ten times better and wonderful when she put them on. We ooohed and ahhhed over lots of them. Some felt so soft and exquisite. Others felt stiff and uncomfortable but apparently these weren't the reactions she was waiting for.

"This is supposed to be like Say Yes to the Dress!!" she finally exclaimed after about a dozen gowns had been put on and then removed. She stared at us. "Nobody has cried at all yet. What are you people looking for?!!"

Daughter number one and I looked at one another, "I dunno," said my fellow audience member shrugging.

I shook my head. "I love lots of them. You look beautiful in all of them. I just haven't seen one that made me explode into tears yet."

She sighed taking another gown off of a hanger.

After an hour and a half or so we narrowed it down to five that we wanted her to try on a second time so we could give them another look. From there we whittled the possible candidates to three.

She was pretty in each one, any could have been her gown - but still I didn't choke up with the much anticipated tears. Even I started to wonder about my lack of emotion.

What kind of mother was I??!!

I cry at cell phone commercials, Kleenex tissue ads and anything with babies. Why wasn't I ready to run out into the street sobbing at the sight of my baby in a wedding gown? The price tags alone should have at least been cause for a little blubbering. But nada. Nothing.

She stood before us in a dress that we were pretty sure was going to be the one. It had everything she loved. It had a long train, a little gathering on the side, lots of crystal beading on the bodice and it was puffy at the bottom - it was everything she ever loved about the gowns Cinderella and Belle from Beauty and the Beast had worn. All the things that made her sigh as a child, and walk up and touch the television screen fantasizing about what it would be like to be a princess and own a gown just like the one she was wearing right now. In this bridal shop. In Little Falls.

We knew it would be the one she would pick. And it was the one she should pick.
It was perfect.
"I think this is the one," she announced a little hesitant chewing on her bottom lip. Then she walked over to study our faces. I tried to squint so she might think I was starting to tear up.  But she sighed and turned away. "That show is stupid," she mumbled. "This isn't anything like that."

"Do you want to try a couple of veils to see if there is anything you like?" asked the helpful attendant from the shop seeing someone should break the silence.
I said yes, that would be a good idea, besides we were accomplishing so much else. She came back with a couple of different styles and handed them to me.
I took one from the assortment and walked over to my daughter, in her perfect wedding dress, and put it in her hair. I draped it carefully along her sides and stood back to see how it looked.
And it happened.
The "Say Yes to the Dress" moment we'd both been waiting for.
I couldn't have said anything if I'd have wanted to. She smiled at me sweetly and then triumphantly.
I looked over at daughter number one - whose eyes were misting up as well. 
She looked at me and nodded, "It's her dress," she said whispering.
And we all said Yes.
To the Dress.
The dress she was married in two weeks ago.







Kirstin and Ben

  

The little brother









The sister