Tag Archives: Featured

The Baboon Congress

Tomato-zilla 2

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Today’s post is from Renee in ND

Well, as I promised, here are my photos of our tomatoes, plants and fruits. You can see that the plants are as tall as I am. They are ripening quickly, and I think I will be up really late the next few nights canning and making tomato sauce. So there, Sherrilee!

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We planted 16 tomato plants this year-far more than any couple with grown children who live hundreds
of miles away should ever plant. 8 Brandyboys and 8 San Marzano II’s. Husband likes to roast and then freeze the San Marzanos. Daughter has a particular tomato sauce that she likes me to make and freeze.

The two largest tomatoes in the photo each weigh over a pound. I have lots more, just as large, ripening as we speak. I am a quietly competitive person. I want to win, but I rarely admit it. I wrecked my right foot in a 2k run-walk several years ago because I was determined that I would reach the finish line before the heavily pregnant marathon runner. I had bad shoes and pushed myself and now I have a large bunion on my right foot that gives me twinges at times.

I want to grow the most and the biggest tomatoes. It was nice to see the variety of tomatoes that Sherrilee grew, though, and maybe I need to rethink my priorities. Maybe I need to grow unusual tomatoes. Hmm? We’ll see.

At what do you have to win?

Baboon Achievers, Songs

Back In The Saddle Again

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My friend Mike Pengra is very good at his jobs. He has several, but for the most part they all boil down to doing the same thing – Mike makes other people sound better.

As a producer, editor, music-picker and scheduler, Mike supports classical music programming at Minnesota Public Radio, and is the lone human behind the robot-powered rootsy music stream, Radio Heartland.

He’s also the drummer in a band called City Mouse.  In the music world, the rock band drummer is a character who is both essential and undervalued, so the role suits Mike well. He makes everything OK and distributes the credit elsewhere. Somehow people feel more competent when Mike’s around, and he’s too kind to reveal that it’s his doing, not theirs.

This is why everybody likes Mike.

Mike and I worked on Radio Heartland a few years back, and for a good stretch before that we were teammates on the weird three-legged stool that was the MPR Morning Show, Mike playing the silent partner like the multi-talented Silvester Vicic and the saintly Nora McGillivray before him.

Mike contacted me a few weeks ago and said a group of demanding baboons had made a bunch of music requests, and he wanted some help feeding tunes to them.

I don’t host radio shows anymore, but I was happy to oblige this time, knowing that as soon as I walked into Mike Pengra’s studio I’d become two times funnier and at least ten times smarter.

And believe it or not, that Mike Pengra magic still works.

You can listen for yourself to a Baboonish Request show today at noon, and again on Sunday evening at 7.

 

 

The Baboon Congress

On Flight 666 to HEL

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today’s post comes from tim

i am superstitious.

i heard the comment that i never miss a day on the blog and sure enough i missed two days in a row for the first time in however long because of the stupid busy schedule i had in front of me.
i went to the saints game the other night with my kids and my son said the pitcher had a no hitter going through 3 and sure enough the next pitch was hit for a bloop single into right, then later he said the pitcher had not had someone get a good swing at it the whole night and the next pitch was a home run for the bad guys.
we won the game but only because my son shut up. im convinced.
i will not do the number 666 or i will pass on an opportunity if it is there or be suspicious if it shows up.
13 gets my attention
heres a news item  remember from a while back when a friday the 13th happened.

(NEWSER) – Would you board flight 666 to HEL on Friday the 13th? For superstitious travelers, that might be tempting fate. But Finnair passengers on AY666 to Helsinki—which has the 3-letter designation HEL—don’t seem too bothered. Today’s flight is almost full. “It has been quite a joke among the pilots” says one Finnair veteran, who will fly the Airbus A320 from Copenhagen to Helsinki. “I’m not a superstitious man. It’s only a coincidence for me.”

The daily flight AY666 from Copenhagen to Helsinki falls on Friday the 13th twice in 2013. Some airlines, like Scandinavian Airlines, take superstitions seriously and don’t have a row 13 on board. However, the negative connotations are a relatively new phenomenon for northern Europeans, and Finnair and other regional carriers like Norwegian and Estonian Air keep row 13. As one expert on comparative folklore points out, “Less than 100 years ago, the number 13 did not have this sinister meaning; it’s quite recent in the north.”

id knock on some wood, turn around 3 times and throw some salt over my shoulder. my kids say break a leg before they go on stage, i notice baseball players who wont step on the line going on or off the field.

you?

The Baboon Congress

Joy Garden

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Today’s post comes from Jacque.

Several weeks ago I was posting replies on the Trail Baboon from “art camp.” My intention was to produce a blog about this experience immediately.  However, when I sat down to write it I was greeted with a case of writer’s block, at least on that topic. Rarely am I speechless, but there it was, speechlessness. Now the words are flowing again.

The class was held at Maureen Carlson’s WeeFolk Center for Creative Art in Jordan, MN where she has studio space and a dorm on the second floor.     The class itself was taught by artist and teacher, Lindly Haunani from the Washington DC area.

The art medium of the class was polymer clay, a material with which I often work.  It is small, portable, and requires ordinary tools to shape it.  When you go to an art store or an on-line site to purchase polymer clay, it looks like this, sold in little bricks:

Premo ClayFrom the bricks of clay we formed a blended color palette with a technique called “Skinner Blend” which was the color basis of our project of the week, “Joy Garden.”  My blend looked like this:

Skinner blend Palette

Lindly taught us her techniques and allowed each of us to create our own version of a Joy Garden. I had a photo of an unusual tree stump which inspired my work that week. The stump is at the local dog park where I found it, then snapped a picture:

tree stump

The human figure in the stump inspired this figure made from polymer clay. The stump at the base of the Joy Gardener is a reproduction in polymer clay of the stump in the dog park:

unnamed (2)

Other students in the class produced projects in the same theme.   However, each project reflects completely individualized ideas which inspired the projects, the styles, and color palettes.

What inspires you to create?

Poems, Words

Why I Don’t Eat The Coleslaw

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Header image by Amanda Wood via Flickr

I have been thinking about and reading lately the voluminous works of Ogden Nash, a silly poet who was taken seriously. How he managed to become widely known by working in the disrespected field of light verse is still perplexing. Nash died in 1971. There has been no one like him since.

You hardly hear about Nash today. People have a way of vanishing. Even the most accomplished artists and statesmen can quickly become inconsequential, postmortem.

But during the many hours I’ve spent standing in the supermarket checkout line, one thing I’ve learned that you can stay relevant if you manage to perish under a cloud of suspicion.  If you can’t do that, at least make your exit in some unconventional and potentially memorable way.

It turns out Nash died after eating “improperly prepared” coleslaw, although few details about the incident are available online. The official cause was said to be Crohn’s Disease, aggravated by side dish.

Here is where we might identify some fame-extending mysterious circumstances. How could Nash, a well-known hypochondriac, so casually imbibe a lethal helping of such an unhelpful multi-layered vegetable?   Was he force-fed into oblivion?  Or was it intentional?

In pursuit of the truth,  the public demands a dogged persistence.
But all it will get right now is doggerel.

Did Ogden Nash know?

Did Ogden Nash, with his last breath,
decide to die a funny death?
His final meal – some stringy gabbage
hid the reaper ‘mongst the cabbage.
Did fate, ironic, choose to slay him
with this side of gastro-mayhem?
Or did Nash select this gaffe
to seal his doom with one last laugh?
One last punchline – Woe betide
all those who chews coleslawicide.

Describe the circumstances of your ideal, intriguing death.

The Baboon Congress

Melons to Medora

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Today’s post comes from Renee in North Dakota

Husband and I recently volunteered to provide Friday supper and Saturday breakfast and lunch at a retreat for approximately thirty people affiliated with Western ND Synod of the ELCA. The attendees were candidacy committee members and spouses, candidates for rostered ministry, seminary faculty, and the western ND bishop and synod staff. The retreat took place at the Badlands Ministries Bible Camp near Medora in the ND Badlands.

The camp is about 10 miles south of Medora in a new location near the Bully Pulpit Golf Course. Medora has no grocery store, so we hauled in everything we needed for the weekend meals. We had never seen the kitchen at the new retreat center, so we also hauled in all the pots, pans, and cooking equipment we might possibly need. It proved unnecessary, as the kitchen was marvelously equipped, but we were prepared for anything.

We started planning the menu weeks before the event, choosing quantity recipes that could be prepared ahead of time and frozen. This was our penultimate menu:

Supper

  • Charcoal grilled hamburgers from grass-fed SD Lutheran Herefords, with all the trimmings
  • Potato salad (Mrs. Untiedts’ recipe from the Grace Lutheran Cookbook from Luverne)
  • Coleslaw (Mrs. Iveland’s recipe from the Grace Lutheran Cookbook)
  • Watermelon
  • Breakfast
  • 3 kinds of egg bakes from Duluth’s own Beatrice Ojakangas’ casserole cookbook
  • Cantaloupe and honeydew melon
  • Toast
  • Homemade jelly
  • Juices
  • Coffee

Lunch

  • Smoked brisket
  • Butter chicken
  • Curried mixed vegetables
  • Rice
  • Naan
  • 2 peach crisps
  • Pecan bars

We also had a variety of chips, dips, raw veggies, fruit, quick breads, sodas, water, and unlimited coffee for people to have between meals. (And butter. Lots and lots of butter. And ice. 60 pounds of ice to keep the sodas and water cold in a large cooler.)

 

I had a strict food prep schedule for the weeks before the retreat, with multiple lists for what we needed to do. We were well on schedule, not even daunted by our dishwasher breaking and being unusable for the two weeks prior to the retreat.

The week before the retreat I got irrational, worrying that we didn’t have enough food for lunch on Saturday. This worry coincided with a monumental decision by husband about bratwurst. Husband is from Sheboygan, WI. He is a slow and deliberate thinker. After twenty eight years of ND bratwurst, he announced that he would now only eat bratwurst that were authentically local Sheboygan brats, like those from Miesfeld’s Market in Sheboygan. What is more, he decided that the only buns worthy of such brats were the hard rolls from the venerable City Bakery in Sheboygan. That led me to say, “Why don’t we phone Miesfeld’s and order some brats for the retreat! You can grill them the night before!”

Fifteen pounds of Miesfeld’s Grand Champion brats were duly delivered by air freight, along with three dozen City Bakery hard rolls. Husband lovingly grilled the brats over charcoal, staying up until 2:30AM tending the fire. “I always thought I could grill brats in my sleep, and now I know I can!” Later that morning we loaded everything in our van and headed to the bible camp.

We really didn’t need quite so much food, as several people backed out of attending at the last minute, and the thirty people we catered for turned into eighteen very well fed souls. I am happy to say that all the dishes turned out the way we planned, and it was all good.

We loaded up the van with the leftovers on Saturday afternoon, giving away what we could, including seven melons that we couldn’t possibly finish ourselves. It is good we bought a new freezer. We call it the Lutheran freezer. It is full of Grand Champion bratwurst and hard rolls.

Husband is content.

Describe a memorable feast you provided, or consumed.

The Baboon Congress

A Very Happy Birthday

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Today’s post comes from Jacque.

I found my perfect communication medium when I discovered texting. I was not an early adapter, but once I tried it, the medium became mine. It is succinct and I can look at it when I want to and respond (well maybe, usually). That is all I want from most communication, especially when simple things are involved.

And then there are the emoticons. I realize that many folks abhor those little ditties, but I adore them. This morning I saw a girl wearing a T-shirt displaying emotion-identifying emoticons labeling the emotions in French. How engaging! And clever. And sappy, but I don’t care. I love them.

Back to texting, though.   I am the first to admit that texting is not worthy of communicating about more complicated matters. The issue of more nuanced conversation set aside, the following text sequence between my son and I occurred recently (backstory—he has ADHD and struggles with organization. If asked to do so, I will help):

Son: I would like to rent a car for a week. Are you available to help me out tomorrow evening? I also need help with the upcoming move. Need a mover and cleaner.

 Me: My birthday is Friday. If I do this then I want LOTS of attention, a very large gift acknowledging that I am the world’s best mother, as well as undying gratitude and my say forever. Those are my terms.

 Son: Sounds reasonable enough.

 Time passes. Said services are arranged.

Thursday afternoon at 2:00 pm there was a knock on my office door. When I answered it standing there was this:

Balloons

The balloon bouquet is 8 feet tall accompanied by the following card:

Note

I was happy. He was happy. Texting rules.

What is your favorite mode of communication which does not occur in person? (Hint: Alpine horns, Scottish pipes, smoke signals, yodeling and drums all count).

The Baboon Congress

Toddlerhood

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Today’s post comes from Barbara in Robbinsdale.

I was helping my mom clean out her bedroom closet the other day, and we came upon an envelope with pages she had jotted down in pencil between 1949 and 1951. I was the elder child, and “got her to myself” for four years before I was de-throned, and she had time to do this:

Autumn 1949 (age 1½)

Sang “Ho Ho Ho” (Up on a Housetop) when she heard Mother singing. Puckered up lips till she looked like a fish.

Heard soap opera [on radio] in which someone was crying “Oh, No, No!”, so she had to say “No No” for about two minutes straight.

Her first movie “Adventure in Baltimore” when actress said “up there” emphatically. Barby thought she was saying “upstairs”, so she said it too (ah-dee).

First time she attended church service, good for the first half hour, then started crawling under the seat. Began to dance to the organ music when we walked in.

Runs along behind me and laughs when I’m wiping off clothes lines.

Found a wash cloth and started dusting the furniture with it, wood, upholstery and all. I thought it was plenty smart of her till I picked her up and she wiped my face with it.

One day when I took her upstairs for her nap, I put her in the rocking chair while I changed the sheet on her crib. When I was almost through she jumped out of the chair and walked downstairs as fast as she could, chuckling all the way.

Threw her toy doggie down the basement stairs, then went down after him, saying all the way “Hi Dizzie.”

Winter ’49-’50 (20 months)

Found her down on the floor saying “Hi” to a box-elder bug.

After watching me peel potatoes one day when she pulled a chair up to the sink, she tried putting the peelings back through the peeler.

Decided a graham cracker cookie tastes better if she pulls it apart, licks off the frosting and throws the cracker on the floor.

Winter 1950-51 (age 2½)

Asked where Grandma Sterling was, and when I said “In Sioux City” she said “No, she’s in da picture”. I guess Grandma can’t be both places at once.

Her prayers at age 3: “Now I lay me… God bless Mommy and Daddy and Grampa and Grandma Britson and Grampa and Grandma Sterling and all da people in da world, and da babies and da chickens.”

Sings and plays: “do-re-mi-fa-sol-la-ti-do”. Her repertoire: nursery rhymes, Christmas songs, Frosty the Snowman, Here Comes Peter Cottontail, I Love You a Bushel and a Peck, Zing Zing Zoom Zoom My Little Heart Goes Boom.

An oldest child may also find more photos of themselves than the younger children.

What evidence or memory (yours or someone else’s) exists somewhere that you were a toddler?

 

Uncategorized

Free-Range Kaleidoscope

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Today’s post comes from Clyde.

ThomasMy last guest blog was rather drab, don’t you think? Those photos of foggy Lake Superior were nearly monochromatic.

Beer Guy

However, we did have our moments of color tucked in here and there in our ten days of family celebration and travel. Sometimes, delightfully, in unexpected places.  For instance there was Thomas, when we did not even know he was in town.  And our local ballpark beer guy, who leads the crowd in his own cheer. Yes, the ball park is so small that it has only one beer guy.

 

And many more.

What is your color palette?