Running into Kirk

On Saturday, I was transported back to Newton, NJ, circa 1991 or so.

After teaching Jazzercise (because when you run into people from high school, you always hope that you are really, convincingly smelly...), I stopped at IKEA to pick up a present for our neighbor's daughter's college graduation party. It had been my intent to go in and buy a gift card because who really knows what a 22-year old girl wants except to decorate her own space like an adult? Of course, once I got there, I was overcome by both a desire to shop and an unexpected sappiness that had me buying things and subsequently adding the accompanying labels:

- A mirror (so she can always keep sight of what matters)
- A set of candles (for when she needs to shed a little extra light on things)
- A glass jar (for spare change or wishes or whatever...)
- A bamboo shoot (for luck) - and a vase to put it in
- A basket (for when she needs to get her shit together)
- An IKEA stuffed heart with arms (for when she needs a hug)
- A pair of rubber gloves (for when life gets messy)
- AND, a gift card.

Anyway, I had just made it to the cashier and was wondering how much my purchase would amount to and if/how much I was still going to put on a gift card. I'm sure my brow was furrowed in the most lovely way because I have not worn my glasses in a long time AND I was trying to do basic addition in my head when I heard from behind me, "This may be a long-shot, but Colleen???"

And, there was Kirk, Newton High School class of '86, former next-door neighbor to Lori, my best friend from childhood. The guy who could stop a kickball game dead in the water when he'd kick the ball down the hill onto Main Street. The kid who did not (to the best of my recollection) get angry when, during an adolescent party of some sort, my dog Ping Pong peed on his leg - right in my parents' living room for no apparent reason. The boy who cleaned out his middle school locker and offered me a small wooden "C" that he had probably made in Mr. Beierle's wood shop in 1982 because he liked the Cincinnati Reds or something. (Said "C" is sitting on my dresser - and I don't collect a lot of stuff, so I can't really say why it's still there.) He is also the same guy who built a very cool pasta company in Eugene, OR after he moved out here, and recently sold it... which brings me to the next kind of weird part of the story.

I have been aware of Kirk's Rising Moon pasta since I first ventured out to the Pacific Northwest, although I don't remember exactly how I knew. I knew he was in Eugene, and even once walked around what I think is/was his neighborhood there with my old boyfriend whose brothers lived nearby. His sisters lived within blocks of me when I lived in Portland, and I saw them now and then... but I hadn't been in touch with Kirk directly. Last month, I was in the natural food section of Fred Meyer, and I opened the frozen food case and, I kid you not, a package of frozen Rising Moon ravioli bonked me in the head. I looked on the back, just to check in with Kirk, and I noticed that the label no longer said that the company was in Eugene, but rather was located somewhere in Connecticut or something. It struck me enough that I came home and Googled. The Rising Moon website looked way more "corporate" than I would have expected, which caused me to Google Kirk himself. This led me to his family website which includes an invitation to send off an email, and I did. So, last month, Kirk and I communicated for the first time after nearly 20 years.

And now, here we are, in IKEA at the checkout line. As we're going through the "Wow!" "I can't believe it!" stage, the kid at the cash register totally gets into the discussion and starts talking about coincidences and when he was in Europe and how he ran into the same person he knew from home three different times, and if you are at all familiar with the lines at IKEA, you'll know that they get LONG - especially at noon on a Saturday. So, anyway, I saw Kirk. He still has that kindness in his eyes and in his "aura" that probably kept him from freaking out on my head when my dog peed on him. When all was said and done, I looked back at where the line had been when the reunion began and there was only one person left in it, and sadly she was in a wheelchair and had a lot of stuff on one of their carts with the funky wheels. So, she was left to serve as our captive audience. If I knew who she was, I'd apologize, but it feels good in a "It's a Small World After All" kind of way to reconnect with the occasional person who knew me "when" back in Jersey. And, when that kind of thing happens and I can look back and feel pretty happy about the last couple of decades, life must be okay.

Potty Chairs and a Walk in the Park

Today I went to Lewisville Park with the girls, once I decided that we needed to escape the confines of the abode.

Not to get side-tracked, but speaking of abode, it rhymes with --- commode! Yesterday I got Ellie her own little potty seat (which ROCKS), since she has arrived at the age where she is obsessed with all things potty. She had found Mags’ old potty seat in the garage and had taken to pulling it out in the driveway and crying until someone pulled down her pants and allowed her to sit upon it au naturel. Problem with that was that we have been unable to find the little “bowl” – so basically, had she released the golden stream, she would have been peeing on the stones in the driveway – which, although it seems kind of old-world European, is really not the best overall solution – for our family anyway, not to judge anyone else who may really be into peeing outside. So, Ellie has a potty seat. Guess who is (was) DYING to use it? It’s not me or Jay. So, this morning while I was still allowing my first burst of caffeine to launch me into the day, I had one of my “Where is Maggie” moments. I found her in the bathroom draped in toilet paper, “wiping her butt.” Alas, no telltale crap was in the toilet, so I asked where said crap happened to be. She told me that she had left it in Ellie’s potty. And she was telling the truth. Anyway, I made her swear that she would not use the potty seat again – although I will give her a “pass” if Ellie is in the room at the time and Mags is willing to do a demo.

At the park, we played on the “merry-go-round” and the swings, and Mags wanted to go down the giant slide. This is not a slide built upon soft, shredded rubber from discarded tires, constructed of kid-friendly materials or surrounded by protective netting. This swing was undoubtedly put in place when the WPA carved out the rest of the park – when the West was wild, Sasquatch fished in the river and kids had hard heads. There are not “steps” – there are thin, rounded metal “rungs.” It sits upon hard-packed dirt that you could bounce basketballs upon. It is TALL. And my daughter wanted UP. And, up she went - with me behind her trying not to say the words “scared” or “careful” too much or too loudly, and wondering if she happened to misstep what the probability was that we would both plunge to the crusty earth below and break our backs. She said she wanted to go down “lots of times,” but I think I got her to stop at 4 because she had to pee. She also made me follow her down each time (since I had climbed up behind her every time anyway) and it was totally fun. Then, she wanted Ellie to have a turn – “Carry her up, Mama!” Well, no. But, Ellie did enjoy sliding down the 5 feet or however high I could lift her up from the ground at the side of the slide. And, when Ellie went down, Mags waited at the bottom to give her a sister kiss.

Following the playground, we went “bush-whacking” down below a foot bridge to play in a brook and continued on to a clearing at the river’s edge. It was there that Mags lost her little twig/”fishing pole” and I had to keep my terror down as I told her about what happens when things float down the river and how we have to just say good-bye and wish them well because we CANNOT go in after them, under ANY circumstances. When, in my mild panic, we hiked away from the rushing water, I took a different route than on the way out, leaving us farther down the rocky brook-bed than I would have liked. Mags was having a hard time, but was clearly into the adventure of it all. I was carrying Ellie, which made it hard to help Mags much. At one point, she stepped wrong in her big pink rainboots and fell on her knee. She pouted a bit, but once I congratulated her for being an “Explorer” like our spunky Latina cartoon friend, she pushed on. Near the end, I heard her say, “Come, Little Maggie. Walk on the rocks with me. You can do it – I know you can!” (Which sounds a whole lot like the mama duck in Little Quack, and if you are not familiar with that book, you should go to the bookstore soon.)

Dooce Deserved Matt or Meredith

Heather Armstrong/Dooce/Blogging Idol was on the Today Show today - Here's the link. I never watch AM television, but I knew it was coming so I caught it online. They had her stuck talking to Hoda Kotb and (for the love of God) Kathie Lee Gifford, who, for some reason, has been resurrected and put back on TV.

Kathie Lee, who admits to being scared of computers in general - let alone blogs - is a curious choice as an interviewer for the segment, and I especially appreciated where she told Dooce she was uncomfortable with the idea of putting information about one's children on the internet. Umm, okay. Because what measures did Kathie Lee take to protect her children during their delicate and often embarrassing formative years? Oh, right... She talked about them EVERY MORNING ON NATIONAL TELEVISION. It was a long time ago, but please. Kathie Lee, can we spell "hypocrite"?

Granum Tealight Holder

I got these at IKEA on one of those trips where I convinced myself I deserved a treat. At $2.99 for all five, it doesn't actually count as a splurge, and I like how they look in our half-bath off the kitchen.

Panties and a Proud Mama

Today, the girls and I were out running errands - mostly centered around their wardrobes: dropping off old clothes at the resale store, exchanging t-shirts at the mall, picking up a free pair of panties at Victoria's Secret - oh, wait, those were mine. But now that I mention it...

Every few months the nice people at Victoria's Secret send me a coupon for free panties. I know and they know that the plan is that I will walk into the store fully intending to get only that pair of panties and be so overwhelmed with the beauty and desirability of the lingerie that I will be compelled to spend my Jazzercise paycheck for the month on bras and teddies and teeny tiny thongs in addition to the one pair of cotton panties that they are using as bait. However, I like to play the game, too. So today, I brought both girls in there without any restraints - no strollers, no straight jackets - Nope, FREE RANGE CHILDREN at Victoria's Secret. Interestingly, nobody tried to convince me and my 32A's that I needed a new bra. Nobody suggested treating myself to a nightie for Mother's Day. Nobody inquired as to whether or not I might like to try a new fragrance (which, by the way, they do display well within the reach of toddlers. Fools.) It was simply, "Oh look, I see you've brought two little helpers along!" Yep, gimme the panties and I'll have them out before you count to five. And did Ellie look cute walking out with the little pink bag.

But, I digress - my moment of Mommy pride came after the panty pick-up. Maggie said (inevitably) - "Mama, I have to go to the potty." So, we walked to Nordstrom because they have clean toilets and getting there did not require passing the mall's indoor play area. We went in, Mags went into the stall, locked the door and took care of business all by herself. As I told her and will repeat whenever I tell this story, I probably will not be more proud the day she graduates from college.

New Favorite Pizza in Portland

The girls and I met Jay for lunch at Mississippi Pizza in North Portland today, and it is now my official favorite Portland pizza - thin crispy crust and yummy toppings in a pleasant and roomy space...

I've got some pictures - I'll post them later. More details, too. Right now I am typing with a kid who needs a new diaper sitting on my lap, and it's kind of killing the blog vibe... but I am very excited!

Edited: Here are the pictures: A demure Mags out front, and that girl's alter-ego in the next picture. Ellie, very serious about her pizza. And, finally, the view of downtown Portland near the pizza place. It's not far from the bar where I went drinking with Linda last month.

Maybe the Start of a Sad Country Song?

Dispute at Gas Station Leads to Man's Arrest

In one of the most enjoyable articles I've read lately, Columbian Staff Writer John Branton explains a story which starts with a man's car breaking down. Then, he's "flipped off" by a guy at a gas station. By the end, he has lost both said car and his large pet pit bull - and he's been arrested. (Take that song idea and run with it, Toby Keith... Don't worry about giving me any credit...) Makes me happy to live where these types of events are shared with us in the "Neighbors" section of the paper.

Here's my favorite line: When O’Keefe drove past, O’Keefe “flipped him off,” Fullbright said. He added that, in his view, the disrespectful gesture called for a smackdown.