reminisce – Page 8 – Life in the Cheese Drawer

my first email

January 9, 2013 kate Comments 1 comment

apparently i’ve run the well dry on childhood memories and have skipped over HS to college memories. maybe i’ll revisit HS when something relevant comes up (which, something just did since i was looking at basketball photos today, but that can be tomorrow).
i didn’t grow up with the internet. pfft, i barely grew up with computers. we had apple lisas in my gradeschool library where we played number munchers and oregon trail, then tried to learn keyboarding somewhat (michael steihm excelled – he had a computer at home).
then in jr. high, we had 5 macintoshes in the back of our english class which we would occasionally use, mostly recreationally. enter high school and my first exposure to windows 3.x. we used them quite a bit, but no computer at home and still no internet. i remember in my junior and senior year, you could go to the principal’s office and use the one machine that had a modem hooked up. i know a couple people did, but i think it was mostly to look at college websites.
enter college. suddenly i had the internet at my fingertips. and email. and all this stuff. and no one i knew had internet! waah what is a suddenly immersed tech person to do?? well, the gal next to me looked at me and said she didn’t have anyone to email either. so we emailed each other.
and that’s how i met melissa.

TMI Tuesday: 90s edition (read at your own risk)

January 8, 2013 kate Comments 4 comments

the tmi to inevitably come is not my own tmi. it is a witnessed tmi. so you have that to look forward to.
i think the first time i went to the gay 90s i was 20 years old. i was hovering between 19 and 20 and finally landed on 20 due to hazy memories that procure i was not living with angie at the time, which means it was either summertime or it was junior year in college. plus i was wearing a ’99 pinestock shirt. 20.
and even though i’d only been to the 90s once with angie, i will always associate it with her and branden. definitely branden.
the previous year, angie and i had taken to going to first street station (now rumrunners) on 18+ nights (thursdays?) because we were cool like that. a couple times branden drove up from hutch to join us. afterward we would go to the killer perkins and then go home. so when branden called and told me about the 90s in the cities, i was intrigued.
90s had 18+ on sunday nights, which was also their drag show night. being a sheltered central minnesotan, i was pretty pumped to see a drag show. so started a sunday night trend.
alas, angie didn’t join us again, but other people did. lisa, branden’s friend from pelican, megan, kerin, the gays, ben, liz (who subsequently got us kicked out and temporarily banned), random friends of lisa, and branden, always branden (TIL HE MOVED AWAY!! CURSE YOU TONTO!).
we went during the summer, fall, winter, spring. there was a parking lot 2 or 3 blocks away that served us well, but in wintertime it was an awful trip to the front door in your clubbing clothes (which, in those days, consisted of shiny pants and a tank top – at least i didn’t have cold legs). you waited in line and handed the bouncer your $5 to get in.
the point of going to the 90s, besides looking at the drag show (roxy marquis!!) and bopping up and down in the rave/electronic music dance room, was to people watch. a lot of straight people went to the 90s and it was always fun to see what interactions happened. then afterward, an inevitable trip to sex world, the porn store to end all porn stores.
there was the time i lost my keys (thank god someone actually found them on the floor and handed them to me as i was yelling at the bouncer who was attending the leaving crowds). there was the time branden went in/out the wrong door in the men’s bathroom and walked into an orgy of gay porn. there was the time roxy sang “beautiful people”. there was the time we ran into the gays post-fallout.
and THEN there was the TMI time.
the bathrooms on the first floor in the back of the rave room were pretty grody. i didn’t know where any other bathrooms were for a long time, so that was the one i went to for probably 75% of my trips to the 90s. the walls were graffiti’d and gross, the lighting was dim, the floors wet and soupy, and toward the end of the night the toilets were always clogged. ugh.
so me and my girl(s) (who it was at the time, i’m not 100% – probably lisa and megan) went to use the bathroom. we waited in line. got to the front. i stepped into my stall and locked the door behind me, ready to behold the clogged toilet.
and clogged it was — with lady sex juices!! ack! sitting there on top of the mass of floating toilet paper in stagnant pee-colored water was a wad of TP with huge chunk of lube shining in the dim light.
well, someone was getting lucky tonight.
i put a square of TP over it, did my business, and got out of there. i didn’t tell anyone about because i knew it would gross megan out and i just forgot about telling lisa later (she might’ve appreciated it).
so…
i look fondly on my 90s days, and i certainly wouldn’t mind going back again sometime soon. the drag shows were awesome. people watching was awesome. if branden called up and said, “hey! 90s!” i’d say “yeah! let’s go!” but i’d definitely use the upstairs bathrooms.

christmastime

December 21, 2012 kate Comments 0 Comment

my dad wants a presentation of sorts on christmas eve from my siblings and me. he asked us to share memories of living in austin, so i wrote about christmas. this is a surprise for my mom, so don’t tell her!
i’m waiting for christmas to come – my decorations sit in boxes in a truck 45 miles away and the perfect tree is waiting for me to find it. i’m getting antsy. i sit in the finnegan living room, the last setting my memory reasonably recognizes as a part of my youth. my house is gone; an aunt and uncle are gone; my parents live 4 hours northwest; the friends are elsewhere; i am gone as well. even the finnegan living room has changed: its furniture has been replaced and new rugs line the floor. but it remains steadfast and secure in my memory as the place where i almost caught santa claus – my first christmas memory full of excitement and hope, that little tug at the concave place between your heart and your stomach from which butterflies burst.
memories of the house i grew up in started off yellow, and early in my life, a brigade of painters came and changed it to red. when we moved, it became known as “the red house”, mostly by my brother who was 6 at the time. christmas, of course, moved with us. when we moved, i was 14, so the mystery of santa claus was long found out and the time of your life when christmasses start to blend together a little bit had started.
the red house sat on a slight incline in the almost-country amidst a slough of trees, some of which were planted with christmas in mind. every year we opened our driveway to those who would cut their own christmas trees, and every year my siblings and i would watch remorsefully as car after car drove in and out with a tree strapped to the top or thrown in the back of a pickup while our living room sat bare. in the wallace household, advent is a big deal. but then, so is christmas.
the preparation and waiting for christmas was just as important as christmas itself. when advent started in late november or early december, my mom pulled out the advent wreath candle holder, a brass circle with 4 spots for candles. in those days, where evergreen boughs were plentiful, we would line the circle with greenery. three purple candles and one pink candle went in the wreath, and daily advent prayers commenced. at the time, the waiting and anticipation was torture, but looking back, the waiting was the best part. what’s christmas without the tingle of anticipation, the jolt of fluttering in your chest?
we watched the trees leave the yard, and soon enough we were able to trudge through the snowy fields to find our own tree to drag back to the house, leaving a tell-tale trail of branch marks in the snow behind us. we set it up in the living room in front of the windows or front door (which no one used), watched our parents fight over lights and tinsel, then were able to hang decorations. the matchbox mouse, jingly raccoon, angels, fabric ball ornaments from 1978…they all went on the tree or hung from the corkboard over the couch one by one.
some presents appeared. the pink candle on the advent wreath was lighted. carols from the readers digest LP collection played more frequently. christmas was coming.
when christmas eve arrived, a flurry of activity ignited as preparations for the buffet began. food was cooked and displayed, dresses were unfurled, luminaries were colored and lighted to line our long driveway, lights on the outside trees were plugged in, red cake recipes were perfected. the evening flew: relatives came and went, chet atkins played on the record player, and lights and laughter punctuated the nighttime darkness. after the kitchen was cleaned, dresses were exchanged for pajamas, and it was time for stockings.
the last holdout in the christmas season decorations, the stockings lived in a christmas box until right before bedtime on christmas eve. after all the hubbub of the buffet, finally it was time to put out that final symbol of christmastime. then bedtime.
like falling asleep to the smell of pumpkin pies baking the night before thanksgiving, falling asleep christmas eve was excruciating. tossing and turning, adjusting the blankets, counting sheep – nothing truly worked, even now. you fell asleep when you did, letting the anticipation and anxiousness for the next morning flow through your body until your mind had quelled enough to let itself burrow into a slumber.
and then it was christmas.
early christmasses were always defineable – the year i got my bigwheel. the year i got the guitar. the year i got my bike. if you ask me what i got for christmas 5 years ago, i couldn’t tell you, but i do know that the feeling of christmas maintains year after year. perhaps it is a sign of goodwill and maturity that a person doesn’t remember the material goods of the season, that it is about the people you embrace and the feeling of christmas hope.
so often they say christmas is all about children and that’s what matters. i beg to differ – christmas is for everyone. perhaps there are some who don’t want to admit to it, but everyone, young and old, gets excited about christmas. even 30 years after hearing jingle bells and almost catching santa claus, there is nothing that will take away that feeling of excitement at christmas and that little hope tug in my chest.

commence

November 1, 2012 kate Comments 3 comments

hello and welcome to kablpomo 2012. henceforth, i’m hoping to have many pictures, lots of food, and tons of anti-hfcs/monsanto rage.
but first, a story. a tale of wonder and delight, snow and ice, electricity outage, and halloween treats.
yes, it’s been 21 years since the great halloween blizzard of 1991. what makes this worse than it actually being 21 years ago is the fact that i think 1991 was 10 years ago. ack, my youth.
but to get back to the matter at hand.
halloween was not the most anticipated holiday at the wallace farmstead, if only because our mother doesn’t like it. but we would dress up and terrorize the neighborhood for candy. granted, i was getting a bit old for halloween at 12 years old (ONLY in the traditional trick or treating sense; if it weren’t frowned upon, i would STILL trick or treat), but i was still in the age range where it was acceptable.
it was deliciously cold that year – there is a picture of us trick or treating at our aunt and uncle’s house with winter jackets over our costumes. after the regular halloween festivities of placing carved pumpkins on the fenceposts at the end of our long driveway, scouring the neighborhood, and then coming back home to sort through our candy and listen to our dad read the classic donald duck comic book about witch hazel, we went to bed.
i don’t remember much about the lead-up to the storm. it must have been predicted – we must have had some knowledge of a storm coming – my parents must have stocked up on milk and bread like every person does before a big storm. but i don’t remember it. i do remember looking outside in the middle of the night during the storm and seeing one of our cedar trees, which was in the shape of a cone, split into four separate parts, almost parallel to the ground where they were once perpendicular.
and unlike the majority of the state, which got bucketloads of snow, we got 3 inches of ice. when we woke up the next morning, the ground was a giant skating rink, the power was out, and our mom was in the kitchen with the gas oven open to heat the room.
when the power went out at our house, the kitchen was the place to be. in fact, the kitchen was the place to be when the power wasn’t out. the house was old, drafty, and must have lacked quite a bit in the insulation department. during the winters, we would race downstairs with our school clothes and get dressed over the heat registers.
so, thanks to the gas stove, we were able cook food and keep warm. thanks to the cold outdoors, we were able to keep our food cold. thanks to my aunt and uncle a mile and a half up the road, we had running water (they must’ve been on a different power grid because their power almost always came back before ours).
but this didn’t deter my dad from deciding we needed to take a trip into town. (this was also the case of the great state school closing of 1994 when gov. carlson deemed it too cold for school. we bundled up and drove into willmar to go grocery shopping.) my dad and i got in his orange and white pickup and drove into austin on the icy roads. downed trees and powerlines littered the streets, and it was eerily silent. we soon headed back.
after two days of gorging on halloween candy and huddling in the kitchen (and watching the mice scurry across the living room ), the power came back late in the day. we were saved! the roads cleared, the downed trees and powerlines cleaned up, it seemed like a storm had never happened. and the poor tree made its recovery soon enough.

in which there is a bike, and a little autumnal talk

October 14, 2012 kate Comments 1 comment

About a month go, I found a bike at Goodwill for $15. I’d been thinking about getting a bike for quite some time; the last time I owned a bike, I was 14 years old.
I shoved the bike in my trunk and took it home. After a new seat, raising of the seat and handlebars, and a good dose of WD40 (not to mention a frantic phone call to my brother when the handlebars seemed to have broken), I had a decent bicycle for a total investment of $35. It wasn’t the best bike out there, nor would it beat any land speed records, but for what I needed it to do, it was great.
After tooling around St. Joe a couple times, I had a sudden thought: I spend half my week a mere 50 miles from the best biking trail in the state. It’d been years since I’d biked the Root River Trail, but I knew the best time to do it was in the fall. So I did the next logical thing: I called my dad.
My dad’s bike very well could be the only bike a thief would pass over to steal mine, but it served the same purpose – it gets him around on two wheels. Growing up, he had been the one to drive us to the southeast corner of the state, back end of the vehicle filled with bikes, and set out from Fountain or Lanesboro for an afternoon of biking the trail. So when I called him and explained my idea, he was more than willing.
Now one point of the excursion, of course was to take a bike tour; the main point, was to see the leaves in all their splendor. Unfortunately, it’s been a pretty cruddy year for leaf exposition. The drought, along with the early spring, made for very odd leaf-viewing opportunities all across the state. As it was, we scheduled our jaunt the weekend before the normal peak viewing.
The day before, the wind howled all day; wind speeds were 2-30 mph, and I just groaned at the thought of all those leaves breaking their arborly restraints. But I hoped for the best. I borrowed a jacket from my aunt (highs in the upper 40s-low 50s) and zipped to our rendezvous point that morning.
And so we took off from Fountain, the trailhead (depending on who you believed), on a slightly windy, chilly Friday late morning. The sun was out, but it did little to cut the chill when we started pedaling the asphalt.
I remembered nothing about the trail since the time I’d been there before. I knew it had been a while since I’d biked it, but I thought I would remember something – no. But it was ok, because that made it an entirely new and lovely experience.
The trees were mostly bare, but there was an occasional pocket of color bursting from the brown, slumbering deciduous or the dark green pines. Leaves littered the trail from the previous day’s housecleaning, and they made a satisfying crunch under my bike tires. Once we came upon a section of trail that was entirely covered leaves with not a trace of asphalt peeking through – a yellow leaf puddle.
And all around us were the trees, devoid (mostly) of their dress. The crowded the trail, creating a tunnel for bikers. Once in a while, the branches overhung the traill, and I can only imagine how lovely it would’ve been with yelloworangered leaves overhead. And then some sections were spooky, with skeleton branches looming black overhead against the blue sky.
On the first leg, the trail hugged a hill so that one side of us opened to a great expanse of horizon as the trees allowed. We were able to see smoke rising from Preston, about four or five miles south. During those times when there was a considerable slope to my right, I made sure to keep my eyes on the road.
Fountain to Lanesboro is almost 12 miles, interrupted only by a few roads, a few farm fields, and a few old railroad bridges, one of which was a truss bridge (with a steel top on it). We passed a cattle farm and hear low moos and rustling of animals. A crop farm was nestled in a low valley, hillsides securing it in its place. Past relics of farm with pastures long gone to seed spotted the trail, driveways where machinery sneaking over the trail to the fields the only reminders. It seemed intrusive to coast past the fields, especially when it cut into a field with only the dirt driveways the get across, then I remembered this was a railroad long before the current farmers were even born.
And if there was a moment I forgot this was an old railroad, there was soon a bridge to remind me. The old ties still straddled rivers and roads and low spots, and I raised my rear on entrance to the bridges as the bike rumbled over the ties. Often we’d stop on the bridges, peering over the tall sides to what lay below.

The day slowly warmed, and by the time we were closer to Lanesboro than Fountain, the air had probably warmed a good five degrees – but I was still glad for the borrowed jacket and my stocking cap. It was deceptively decent out when we stood still on the bridges, but once back on the trail, the wind cut through the warmth.
A little warmer and a large chunk of the trail behind us, the sides of the trail rose as we biked through a slab of granite. Then our downhill descent became a plateau and then an upward climb. After 10 miles of descending into the valley, now it was time to work for our destination.

And work we did – a few more bends and one interruption* later, we rounded a hill and there was Lanesboro, its entrance a truss bridge over the river itself. We coasted over it and parked our bikes (sans locks) an hour and a half after starting. My legs were a little jellyish, but it didn’t last long. Soon we were regaling our journey to Paul H. at a local eatery.

The lack of leaves was a disappointment, but leaves do not an adventure make. The company and nostalgia alone, even though I remembered nothing of the trail, were worth the journey.
*We got stopped by a Minnesota Monthly photographer taking photos for next year’s trail edition. Look for a bright red jacket in the mag next fall!

well

July 31, 2012 kate Comments 3 comments

living in austin again is really weird. i know it’s always weird to go back to the town you grew up in, but seeing’s how it’s austin, i think it’s doubly weird.
austin was on a decline even when we lived there. it seems to be stuck in the 50s, and every new, shiny thing that comes along really sticks out like a sore thumb. because of that, i realize that people who’ve never lived there are going to bash it. i’ll defend it…but only half-heartedly. yes, austin is that bad.
the only redeeming, charming quality about the town, a mcdonald’s circa 1950 itself, was torn down and replaced by a newly remodeled version. but that seems to be its only new thing in the town proper…even the target, which was built after we moved away, is in dire need of remodeling.
then when i drive through the town, i can point out and remember places that i frequented when i was young…and they aren’t there. people too. aunt mary’s gone, squire’s gone. the empty shells of their houses remain. the place where my aunt kathleen bought me a perm is defunct, as is the place where i got my ears pierced.
i drive past the place where the red owl used to be, and the tiny strip mall that also housed the liquor store my mom took me to, where i dipped my hand in the cold water of the liquid cooler next to the check-out counter, and they’re no longer there – nothing but grass.
harry’s cafe, where my aunt colettie and uncle squire would take us for breakfast on sundays? empty. the bakery where we would stop for doughnuts and long johns on our way to todd park on saturdays, an almost religious ritual? nothing but a derelict building alongside an equally run-down road. even jerry’s other place, which had survived long past our move, is now closed.
kentucky fried chicken? gone. no longer is the building where both my parents stopped one evening, separately, to pick up supper – an odd and expensive treat for a poor family of 6. the weird gas station home across the street, of course, is still there, except i think it’s a car dealership now.
drive out to the mall, and there’s a new super walmart, fancy shops lining the opposite side of the street – a caribou, a gas station, maurices, a couple fast food places. but venture to the mall itself, and it’s so empty you could hear a dime drop from the opposite side. it’s a weird day when shopko (the bastion of slow, uncrowded shoppers everywhere) is the busiest place in the complex.
the worst, of course, is driving past the old homestead and not recognizing it at all. i wandered around my cousins’ place (they bought the land after we moved, burned the house down, and built a huge place), and it took me all i could do to recognize the large oak tree that was the main focus of all our playing while growing up. trees have grown up, grass has filled in, others have been cut down, rearranged, replaced.
but the tree remains. running my fingers along its bumply trunk, wondering how old it actually was, i realized that i was no long an austinite, but i will hold on to what i can. i will defend. and i will recognize that tree.

on being silent (or, a list for my cousin sam to emulate)

July 19, 2012 kate Comments 0 Comment

my derry family reunion is this weekend, and it’s the only vacation i get this summer due to new job. needless to say, i’m pretty excited about it – the lake, the people, the fun. we all need more laughing in our lives, right?
i’ve been to every derry reunion. i’m really the only cousin who can claim that since i was born the first year the reunion was conceived. and there were some things i learned as i grew up alongside the reunion. some things from which certain cousins of mine would definitely benefit.
1. hush it up. if your (then) 3-year-old cousin molly falls off the top bunk, get her to quiet down as quickly as possible. if you’re the oldest one there, you’re going to be blamed.
2. if you’re 7 years old with a side of family who you don’t really know that well and you fart in a room full of said family, don’t own up to the fart. just let them accuse each other. it keeps you from being ridiculed for farting and puts on a show as well.
3. there’s something to be said for nor standing up for a cousin, especially when it means taking your husband’s side instead. sorry, sometimes blood doesn’t come first.
4. sometimes, but only sometimes, it is worth it to speak up with a much needed “this is ridiculous” when an uncle needs to stop beating a dead horse.
5. and above all, silence is golden. if you are at the nightly bonfire and you don’t say much, people (especially if they’re drinking) will not notice you’re there. you can learn a lot, see a lot, hear a lot. plus you get to stay up hours after all your other cousins and siblings have gone to bed. sometimes being in the shadows can be a good thing.

A Bathroom Review: or why I don't mind a porta-potty

May 24, 2012 kate Comments 2 comments

I originally published this in 2007
Some people are very particular about where they do their business. I know people who wouldn’t do doodoo in a portapotty to save their life. But when it comes down to it, poo is poo, and the end result is always the same: a pile of crap you’ve gotta put somewhere.
For summer 2003, my dad planned a canoe trip to commemorate the bicentennial of Lewis and Clark floating up the Missouri river and back down the Missouri river. He commissioned my uncles Jon and Greg, cousin Karl, and my brother, Charlie, to go with him. After much advice from me about packing (I had, at the point, been on one canoe trip in my life, which was one more than he) and cajoling from my mom, he gave in and let me come too.
Looking back, it wasn’t a bad trip, but it wasn’t the greatest. There was a profound lack of estrogen in the company, my bro was a whiny little bugger, and the whole thing kind of seemed haphazardly thrown together (my dad didn’t pack any bowls…. or spoons…and the menu for night two was stew). What was most inconvenient for me, however, was the lack of bathroom facilities. Guys have it easy most of the time. Girls do not.
Now, I’d been on trips where the plumbing hasn’t been the greatest. Numerous times I’ve been in campgrounds where there is a portapotty type wooden building with a deep hole and a place to plant your butt to do your business. I’ve been out in the Boundary Waters where the facilities are much more open – no building whatsoever around the deep hole in the ground, but there was a place to sit. At the times of these trips, they didn’t seem like the best facilities in which to do a necessary deed.
But this canoe trip was entirely different. For starters, we didn’t stop at pre-assigned stops where there might be a building with a hole and a place to sit and all that jazz. We decided to stop at random spots. For the most part, I held it as best I could. But inevitably, ya gotta pee.
First, let me tell you about a latrine. It is literally a hole in the ground that you dig with your collapsible shovel. You choose a spot that is far enough away and shielded so that people don’t have to listen to you or watch you, but close enough so that it is easy to get to. You dig maybe a foot and a half down, and a foot diameter hole. The ousted dirt goes right next to the hole and the shovel stuck in the pile of dirt so that once you’re finished doing your thing you can cover it up with dirt so the next person doesn’t have to look at it or smell it. Of course, this isn’t the easiest thing to do because you’d have to dump a lot of dirt in to cover it up, so it’s not to uncommon to smell or see past duties/doodies when your turn finally comes around. Also at the latrine site is a roll of TP and very large bottle of Purell. Once you’re done with your camping site, you shovel the rest of the dirt in the hole and pack it all down.
The first night we stopped on an island with waist-high yellow mustard weeds all over that we had to stomp down to set up camp. Thankfully, it wasn’t raining, so this was easily done. That night, my cousin Karl was in charge of latrine duty.
It was a good latrine for the first night. Karl found a low-lying branch that was perfect for sitting on during your time in the latrine, and there was even a handy little jutted out branch that the TP roll fit perfectly. That night was a learning experience as I sat on a bumply branchy woody piece of log to do my business. Not the most pleasant experience, but the better of the two nights we camped on the river.
The next night was also an island night. After a windy day of canoeing into the wind, a sudden storm popped up and we had to find a place to camp – fast. A little island with no trees was the choice. We camped on the lower part of the island, and the latrine for that night was on the upper part of the island, behind the biggest bush (well, the only bush). Charlie was on duty that night, and he was very proud of the fact that he found the bush.
Except…. this was literally only a hole in the ground with no convenience of braches. You had to remember the TP and Purell when it was time to go. Everyone peed before the rain hit that late afternoon, but the next morning the latrine was a soggy, muddy mess. And I almost fell in.
There I was, in the best position I found for latrine business: one leg out of shorts, squatting as best as possible, legs as far from the edges of the latrine as possible. In the mud, it was even worse. I had to keep my pants out of the mud and keep me out of the mud. As I finished my business, I suddenly lost balance and started slipping on the mud toward the latrine. I could see my possibilities flash before my eyes. On the one hand, I could fall into muddy, poopy, icky latrine, or throw myself the opposite way onto my pants and into the large prickly bush covering me from peering eyes. So little time, such a harrowing decision. I chose the bush. My pants were all wet, and I lost my shoe for a moment, but I was unpoop-scathed.
That day as we floated down the final leg of our journey, we stopped for lunch at a designated rest stop on the river. And I have NEVER EVER been so thrilled to see a hole in the ground poop-station. There were walls. There was a door. There was…. an elevated place to sit. There was even a roll of toilet paper on a holder. For that moment in time, I think I reached nirvana. Sure, it was stinky. Sure, it was probably dirty as all get out. But it was bliss.
That night we reached the end of our river journey with flush toilets and a comfortable place to sleep, not to mention other people and a place of commerce to buy junk food. The next night I spend a half hour in the shower at my aunt and uncle’s house washing away the five days of grime that had built up on my skin. Besides a horrendous sunburn on my chin and thighs, I came away relatively happy that I went on the trip and with a greater understanding of the uses of sunblock.
Despite the scenes I witnessed, despite the ongoing bets of when my brother would give up and start crying and throw himself into the river, and despite my awesome blistering chin, when people asked me about the trip, the one story I inevitably told was how I averted the disaster of falling in the latrine. Then I explained that I will never, ever fear a portapotty.

i forgot

April 29, 2012 kate Comments 0 Comment

when i was young, going to the austin public library was like a magical field trip. the way i remember it, the children’s section was in the middle of this large room where bookcases went up to the ceilings, and skylights in the ceilings let the sun in to shine down on my 5-year-old head as i sat in the small children’s section on small chairs at small tables, pulling books off short shelves that made a semi-circle that cordoned off that section. all around me were books, and a winding staircase led the way to the upper loft-like level where more adult books were waiting for me when i grew a little older. plants, tall windows, sunlight and books.
i think i abandoned the public library when i went to school. the gradeschool library wasn’t as as magical as the public library, but it still contained the magicalness that is books. the biggest obstacle at the gradeschool library was not being able to check out books i wanted to when i was in 2nd grade. apparently reading beyond my grade level didn’t matter the the stick-in-the-mud librarians. but once able to move to the big-kid books, oh i could get lost in the stacks.
when we moved to new london, we started to frequent the public library more – my guess is because it was 5 blocks down the road as opposed to 5 miles in town. saturday became library day – everyone minus my dad would go to the library, where we each had our own card, and choose our books for the week. yes, the high school had a (bigger) library as well, and i would check out books there, too.
and that was it for my public library days. at st. ben’s, i had access to two university libraries, and i did very little reading for fun those days (school always getting in the way of learning, sheesh). it wasn’t until after i graduated from st. cloud state that i started reading for fun again in an intense way. and read i did. i bought books from amazon, half, goodwill, savers, half-price bins, full-price bins – anywhere i could get my hands on them. and not just good books – i bought bad books, too. sure, there are always a few gems in the mad rush to find 99¢ books at goodwill (“a walk in the woods”, anyone?), but most are stinkers.
and then about a month ago, i thought, “how much money have i spent on books?” i couldn’t tell you. but when i realized that last year i read 60 books, and the average cost of my books is about $4 a book, that’s a chunk of change. and me with an expansive library system in the area.
two weeks ago, i went to the waite park library and got a library card – my first one since i was 18. i was on my way to work, so i didn’t check out any books that day, but i quickly went online and put a couple books on reserve. i picked one up last wednesday and read it, then yesterday i went to the st. cloud public library to drop it off and browse.
I FORGOT.
I FORGOT.
i FORGOT how AWESOME the library is. i FORGOT how wonderful library books are. i FORGOT the smell of books, even in the new library, and how they fill your nose with paper and slight must. i FORGOT the plastic wrappers around the hardcovers, and how it just screams that you, yes YOU are a library user and proud of it. i FORGOT.
i went home with 4 books. no paying, no questions, no wondering what you’re going to find in a stack of books. i went for specific things, and i found them. after i finish them, i’ll take them back and get more.
why did i wait so long?