Pajama Talk

We need to talk about pajamas. I don’t mean night shirts, nightgowns, or boxers and tee shirts; I mean 2 piece pajamas – usually flannel - with either a draw string waist or an elastic one. A button up top is a given. But not the kind with built in feet – those are too hard to wear when you are driving a car, especially the kind with the little plastic bumps on the soles.

My mother has accused me of wearing my pajamas a little too much. I have been known to get in to my pajamas far before bed time and to stay in them well past noon. I have cooked meals in them, gardened in them (but only the back garden), walked to the end of the driveway to pick up a poorly tossed newspaper, and on our first Christmas in London I went to my next door neighbor Jane’s house and had coffee with she and her husband that cemented our relationship.

And yes I have thrown a coat and boots on and worn them to the grocery store – but only before 9 am. Not that there are any set rules and regulations regarding improprieties and pajama wear like there are with white shoes after Labor Day, but I do have some self respect.

And then of course there are the Pajama Adventures I have had with my jet lagged kids in various parts of the US where we sneak out of the house or hotel and look for trouble (and donuts) between 5 and 6 am in pajamas. Everything is a little more fun if you do it in pajamas. I wore my summer stripped pj’s to visit Lincoln’s house in Springfield, Illinois at 6 AM one early summer morning. I wore my yellow sunflower set to Hapgood Pond in Peru, Vermont in August. And the tropical flowers pair I wore in a memorable swim in the Pacific Ocean in San Diego with the boys when they were no more than 5 years old – the swim was unintentional but when they both went in…how could I stop myself?.

My mom has commented that I am the only person she knows who has worn out pajamas. But considering how much I wear them, that is to be expected.

And then there was last weekend. We were staying with our friends in Zumbro Falls, Minnesota, population 177. 5 of those people are my friends Doug and Pam and their 3 kids. I hadn’t seen Pam for 20 years and she still looks 23. We parked the Big Pig in a snowstorm Friday night next to their new house – their new house because the old house was damaged by a tornado.

Saturday morning I walked across the muddy driveway in my pajamas (of course) and boots around 9 AM to hang out, drink coffee and have breakfast. I walked in and Doug said, “Did Pam loan you her pajamas?” I was wearing my Gnome pajamas. Pam was wearing hers.

There are some friends you don’t see for 20 years and those years just dissolve away over a cup of coffee in your matching Gnome PJ’s.

Schadenfreude

Schadenfreude – malicious joy in the misfortunes of others," 1922, from Ger., lit. "damage-joy," from schaden "damage, harm, injury" + freude, from O.H.G. frewida "joy," from fro "happy," literally "hopping for joy."

I love this word. I love the naughty, guilty pleasure I get when I feel a pang of schadenfreude. Perhaps you will feel this way after you read the following. But please know, I am laughing. Don’t feel guilty! You have my complete blessing.

So there we are camped in the Wal*mart parking lot…again -- this time in Grand Forks, North Dakota.

This is a familiar parking lot. We stayed here 12 days before on the way up to Churchill, Manitoba and we liked the neighborhood so much we thought we would drop by on the return trip. Splashers of the South Seas Water Park is just down the street. The Red Lobster sign shines a nice red glow in the front window of the RV. And the trees that are planted in the parking lot in an attempt to make it not look like the vast parking lot that it really is, are skinny and losing their leaves but appreciated.

Parking Lot, Sweet Parking Lot (if I knew how to embroider, that’s what I’d be putting on one of our pillows).

After a nice swim at Splashers, a dinner of left-over’s and an exciting game of Clue we are all snuggled into our beds.

Then at 3 AM a loud beating of hands against the side of the RV wakes us all up.
Funny how we are thousands of years from cavemen but our responses are programmed just the same.

Evan wakes up yelling, “Get out of here!” I wake up silently thinking to myself, “If we hide, they will go away.” We hear the drunken voices and laughter of teenagers as they continue their weaving path across the parking lot. We are fine.

Simon makes his way into our bed 2 minutes later, “What was that noise? I had a bad dream. Can I sleep with you?” We move over.

Josh makes his way back 4 minutes later, “The tree branches look like a hand and it’s scratching against the window.” We move over again.

If we all sleep on our sides we fit, but nobody sleeps.

I contort my body so I can climb out of there.

Are we seeing the humor in this people? We have a small double bed in the back of an RV with a family of four all sleeping together in the Wal*mart Parking lot in Grand Forks, North Dakota for god sakes! It is 3 am and I am in my fashionable flannel Target gnome pajamas crawling through arms and legs and twisted blankets in a room no bigger than the bed.

I make my way to the front of the RV to sleep in Simon’s pull-out couch bed in order to go back to sleep.

Sleep. Ya, right. 3 AM. Awakened by hooligans. Who am I kidding? I am not sleeping. I am lying in the RV making lists of what to worry about next.

1. Carbon monoxide poisoning. We will be found by the Wal*mart greeter three days from now;
2. It is cold outside. The gray and black water it the RV holding tank will freeze, the pipes will burst and an ugly stinky rain will pour down around the RV;
3. We run out of propane and we freeze to death;
4. The gang of skinny, pimply-faced Grand Forks teenagers returns to finish the job they started;
5, Josh and Simon are scared for life due to RV trip, never get jobs, live at home forever hating us the whole time;
6. Even worse -- Josh and Simon love being home schooled and this is my life forever.

I hear the tree hand that Josh mentioned. Yep, it is scary. I peek through the window to make sure the bad guys have left. Nothing out there but a vacant parking lot. I put my cell phone and keys right next to me as I sleep so I am ready for a quick get away.

I make a mental note to explore over-the-counter, organic, non-addictive sleeping aid options.

I fall asleep.

Churchill Manitoba - Worth The Schlep

I have never been to a town I have never wanted to live in more than Churchill, Manitoba. It is early October and the snow is on the ground, the wind is whipping off the Hudson Bay at 40 mph, the architecture is double wide mobile homes. The tundra is vast and flat with little to break up the scenery than the left over rocket silos from a forgotten mission of the US during the cold war, huge grain silos down by the Port of Churchill, the Bear Jail, and the abandoned dreams of a man who was building a Rock Castle.

What is it like for the 942 people who live here?

The tourism industry is what brings in the business. Polar bears in October, beluga whales in June and July and viewing of the aureole borealis from November – March. Reason enough to warrant the 10 hour drive to Thompson and then the 18 hour train to Churchill?

Even with these negatives the answer is: YES. Go to Churchill if you can.

(Side note: There are sleeper cars available for an extra $400 per person – we didn’t fork over the equivalent of 2 weeks on the road for the sleepers and it took a day for this 47 year old body to recover from lying sideways on a metal plank. At one point Josh was woken up by an inebriated gentleman wanting to make sure he knew the end of the world was coming in 2012. Josh assured him he knew about the Mayan Prediction, rolled over and went back to sleep after, in the words of Josh, “He had a most interesting and creative use of swear words I have ever heard!”)

Our dog sled adventure was at 1 PM on Sunday so plenty of time to hang out in pajamas playing scrabble, holding RV Elementary, writing blogs and reading.

We were picked up by the lovely Jennifer from Blue Sky who gave us a running commentary on life in Churchill. www.blueskymush.com She came to Churchill on a three week nursing contract seven years ago, found dog sledding (and her future husband Gerald) and her life was turned upside down – for the better. She was a wealth of information and the perfect host.

We traveled out from Churchill to Blue Sky’s place and parked in front of their permanent tent in front of the sign “Dog Sled Parking Only – violators will be peed on”.

Not a poodle or Chihuahua in the mix – all gorgeous huskies,

Now, I like my dogs as well as the next guy. I grew up with a royal standard poodle and we are definitely going to get a dog once we are settled and have a yard but I never would have ever considered a husky. What lovely dogs.

I have to say I was a little worried thinking how could dogs be excited to pull fat tourist around in the snow all day – but no! They are all so well taken care of and loved and anxious as anything to be chosen to saddle up and take us for a ride. While there wasn’t enough snow to use the sleigh, they have specially designed carts on wheels so we could still have the experience. Simon and I were first up which was certainly the fastest ride of the day zipping around on the course through the tundra with the incredibly knowledgeable Gerald, the Musher.

It was so quiet. And watching the backs of the dogs it was as if they were pulling a feather. The ride was quick – but so memorable.

Afterwards we spent time getting to know the other dogs in the yard including Isobel the Blind Snow Dog as well as having a chance to hear Gerald and Jennifer tell us stories over hot chocolate and cake about their life where moose, polar bears and wolves play a pretty regular role. In fact, it is common to hear shots around town as the Bear Police keep the polar bears out of town.

Any bear that is caught in town digging through trash cans is tranquilized and brought to the 24 occupancy Bear Jail where they are kept, without feeding except for water and snow, until the Hudson Bay freezes. The Bear Jail is right on the shore of the Hudson Bay so the Jailers just open the doors and the bears run out and head up to the Arctic Circle straight away.

Yesterday we were off again on the Tundra Buggy with Brendon who, as a Churchill Native, was able to spot a polar bear with his eagle eyes miles away. I am happy to report that the Polar Bears are healthy this year do to the later break up of the ice this past spring. They had an extra couple of weeks to fatten up on seal. We saw our first polar bear – a 2 -3 year old male – messing about on the rocks. Later we spent the better part of an hour with a very large male who spent most of his day napping. Occasionally he would wake up, acknowledge the 4 tundra buggies gathered around him and then snuggle down for another nap.

It was wild to watch him and wonder what it would be like to have that thick of a neck and to enjoy the cold.

I spent an hour at the Churchill K-12 grade school where there is an adult swim from 5 – 7 pm. As I was walking in I saw the large posters on the wall announcing the finding from the Sustainability Study that was conducted by the University of Winnipeg along with the Churchill community. One of the things that struck me was the list of hazards - high winds, tornados, draughts and floods, snow, hail, ice storms, fog, polar bears, chemical contamination from the ports.

While I am having trouble getting my head around Northern Canada – the loneliness, the barren tundra, the nomadic culture, the houses up on blocks so they can be easily moved – I have an incredible respect for the people who live here and the challenges they must face.

With all that said, I am so glad we are here.

Notes from a Moronic Hippie

Have I mentioned we live in a 29 foot RV? Have I mentioned my older son is now my height, can pick me up, wants to start his own country, has designed his own religion and is demanding his own space? His own space in the RV. I want my own space in the RV too!

I love this age. I love all the ages my kids have been. Just when I think, “I am done. He is launched.” Oops.

Yesterday we drove from Grand Forks, North Dakota to Winnipeg, Manitoba and today we are doing the bone crunching, butt numbing 450 mile drive up to Thompson along Route 6. This is the most rural of places I have been since I lived in the mud hut in Sobela, Mali in West Africa…but that is my next book. Thompson, Manitoba is where the road ends and we get on the train for the last 500 miles to get up to Churchill so we can see the polar bears!

It is 175 kilometers between towns. And the towns are so sad. Corrugated metal houses. Used cars and refrigerators in the front yards.

People drive in the middle of the road along Route 6 to avoid the particularly big pot holes. It isn’t an issue to drive in the middle of the road since your can see a good mile in front of you so you can get over when the other car headed the other way over the course of the hour is upon you.

Half way to Thompson and it is 1:30 in the afternoon. Boys have been plugged into Ipods watching movies (all educational of course) and listening to Weird Al since 10 AM. We stop in Grand Rapids to do a little bike ride along the one road through town along the Saskatchewan River and have a spot of lunch at the one restaurant run by a man from Shanghai, China. When I told him I was in Shanghai in 1982 he said that was the year he was born. I thought he looked familiar.

After lunch we pull the bikes off the back of the RV, take our helmets out from the basement of the RV (alright, it is just a storage space but it feels more spacious to call it a basement) and we take off ignoring the yells of protest from our almost teenager. “I don’t want to go on a bike ride in this moronic town. I am freezing. How can you do this to me? You and Dad are such morons. Where is my free will? You are such hippies! I hate this Jesus loving town!”

I go back to the RV with Josh to dig out gloves and a scarf and to take the blows from today’s outburst. Evan and Simon take off on their own separate bike race through town.

We discuss what a hippy is. Josh describes a hippie as, “Someone who brings their own snacks to public events.” I try not to laugh. He tries not to laugh. I suggest that bringing your own snacks is just good planning from an economic and health stand point. He calls me a hippie again with such disgust it is as if it is a swear word and when he spits it out of his mouth it leaves a bunch of dirt.

But he doesn’t ride off. He wants to talk. He wants to get me going. He wants a real discussion. He wants a reaction.

So I give him one.

So I says to the guy I says, “When I think of a hippie I think of someone who goes against the grain. A counter culture type. A person who marches or skips or hops to the tune of their own drummer. I will take this as a complement and will wear the sobriquet as a badge of honor.”

“When I grow up I am going to buy a ranch in California and declare it my own country and I won’t pay taxes to the insane American governement,” says Josh.

“And when you grow up and they take you off to the Federal Pen I will visit you every Sunday and make you hand made stripped shirts,” I retort.

I am reminded of the book The Runaway Bunny that we use to read when he was 3 and 4 about the renegade baby bunny who wanted to make his own way in the world and where ever he went, his mother followed.

Too bad I can’t just give Josh a carrot and everything will be better.

Yes, it is hard to be 12... And yes, it is hard to have embarrassing parents.

But Josh, if you are reading this, isn’t it better to be embarrassed by your parents in Grand Rapids Manitoba where you don’t know anyone than at a Middle School in Anytown, USA? Hmmm, next year I think we will park the RV outside of your new school and paint it with peace signs with a big banner reading, We are Josh’s parents and we are moronic hippies!

If we aren’t embarrassing our children, we aren’t doing our job!

Coming to Grips with my Minnesota Nice

Here we are in Minnesota. We snuck in through the southwest corner along highway 90 from South Dakota. But then we quickly took a right hand turn and ended up in Spirit Lake, Iowa for the night, camping along the lake shore at an Iowa State Park. Close enough? Heck no!. Iowa is not Minnesota thank you very much!

However, Spirit Lake was beautiful and the smells of autumn were everywhere – the fallen leaves mixed with the smell of the fresh-water lake with a hint of stinky dead Walleye fish brought back memories of a life I had forgotten about for decades.

The next day it was back in the Big Pig headed north along a dirt road through harvested corn fields to pop out back in Minnesota again.

What is it about this state that just feels so comfortable? I was born in Minneapolis and lived here until I was 12 then moved back for college. It just feels like an old comfortable pair of shoes. And isn’t that we are all really in search of? Good conversation, a strong cup of coffee and comfortable shoes?

There is something called Minnesota Nice and if you ever met anybody from Minnesota you know what I am talking about. That voice over the phone when you know the person is smiling. The way the lilt in the voice goes up at the end of a sentence. The hint of a smile. The wry sense of humor. Good, down to earth people. Mostly over 6 feet tall, blonde and with large rear ends but that is for another blog…

Passing the towns of Blue Earth and Albert Lea we then turned north to head up highway 35 to Northfield. You might be thinking to yourself, “Why does that town sound so familiar? “ And slowly it comes back. Shoot out. Younger Brothers. Jesse James. Brad Pitt. Yes! It is where Jesse James and his gang had their last bank robbery attempt thwarted by a band of Swedish and Norwegian town’s people (Q: What do you call a mixed marriage in Minnesota? A: When a Swede marries a Norwegian) and the bank clerk Joseph Lee Hayward who refused to give up the goods!

Fast forward a good one hundred years and Northfields’ motto is now: Cows, Colleges and Contentment. Northfield is home of the most celebrated Norwegian Lutheran college in the world (albeit, there isn’t much competition) -- St Olaf.

Stop laughing! I can hear you through the internet!

No I am neither Norwegian nor Lutheran. But brother did I ever want to be my freshman year. I mouthed along with the Lutheran Apostles Creed and ate my leftse and fruit groot with the best of ‘em. You betcha! But never the lutefisk. God forbid! Not the Lutefisk (raw fish soaked in lye). Each Passover the Gifelte Fish reminds me of it….

I called ahead to arrange a tour of St. Olaf since in the 25 years since I had been there I knew it had changed quite a bit. We were met at the Admission Office by the lovely Amy from Claremont, CA. Already I knew something was up. She had brown hair!

Turns out she had read about St. Olaf in a handbook called Colleges That Change Lives. Dare I say it? The college I went to 25 years ago had disappeared and in its place was a much cooler (dare I say edgy?) place with great art installations, inspiring architecture, and the feeling of student involvement everywhere. While I attribute St. Olaf with giving me a fine education and introducing me to a global vision of the world (I spent my junior year in Chiang Mai Thailand on a program through St. Olaf) it was always a bit of a smirk, on my resume. But no more! I am embracing my inner Olaf!

From Northfield it was up to Eagan, Minnesota to stay for 6 nights with most hospitable Barb and Scott in their beautiful spacious house! What a treat!

I did 29 loads of wash. I showered two times a day because I could. I did somersaults in their living room. Simon and I rolled all over the house with their dogs and we didn’t bump into anything.

There were doors! Doors. What a great invention.

After 2 weeks non-stop in the RV I have a new found appreciation for the mundane.

We also spent a wonderful afternoon at the Baken Museum which is housed in the old Cornelius House along Lake Calhoun. When I was growing up the Cornelius Family house was known far and wide because they gave away full-sized candy bars at Halloween. Very important.

But now it is a cool museum devoted to how electricity interacts with human bodies…think Frankenstein. Think pace makers.

After 6 wonderful days playing with friends and family and renewing ties that were never broken but felt wonderful to retie and hold in my hands, we left yesterday.

But cha know, I’m a Minnesota girl. I love claiming it as my home. I love the accents, the beer, the tater tot hot dish, Garrison Keillor, the huge oak trees that arch over the streets, the plaster cast replicas of Paul Bunyan and Vikings, the Twins.

I love the people. There is something called Minnesota Nice. And ya know, that’s alright by me.

Bye now.