girl at large

Anticipation Is Exhausting

Stella was soooo looking forward to the wedding, and then, three minutes into the ceremony, completely konked out.

Ruby's New Cousin

Quite possibly the cutest pictures I have ever seen! Welcome home Zepper! My brother Thomas has a dog, I couldn't be happier for him. Tom's lucky, he can bring him to work and his apartment building is very dog-friendly--he had no excuse not to have one. I don't know all of Zepper's story, he was rescued, but I'll post more when I learn more.

All I know is, I'm thrilled for my brother (he's going to have so much fun, and learn so much!) and can't wait to kiss that freckled tummy.

102nd Thing To Do Whilst Not Smoking

I had given Mom a small set of drawers to use during her stay. Today, as I fidget for more to do, I tackled emptying them out so they can be moved to storage. Here's what I had to triage; some items destined for the trash, others to Goodwill, and if I can locate her particular Greek isle, to send back to her aboard Daste:

-package of Hammond's Old Fashioned Peppermint Sticks
-6 magazines and catalogs
-half pack of Extra Winterfresh gum
-bottle of MucinexDM
-Mission Impossible II DVD
-piece of Japanese printed silk fabric
-one black sock
-two bras
-one pair undies
-half pack of Kleenex
-temporary wrap-on sunglass thingies from the eye doctor's visit
-a pair of gloves
-one brown sock
-one black sock that does not match the other black sock
-one airline travel pack (sleep mask, toothbrush, toothpaste, socks)
-Tea Tree Oil spot stick
-tweezers
-Portland walking map
-wood-handled back brush
-3 euros, twenty US cents

Did I mention this is a small set of drawers? (very small--only 12" wide, 14" deep, 26" high) Oh, mom.

A Broad Abroad

Mom's in Greece!

In Touch

Check out Mom's new blog!

Bachelor Aid

Tom adjusts to the new location of 'his spot'. Ruby stands guard.

Before

After

Tom's new place is great, big and light and roomy. All the family pitched in to send him furnishings--from Grandpa's prints to Mom's rug to John and Molly's redo of the chairs to Aunt Peg's couch, table and bed. He worked on Friday, so I spent most of the day cleaning, organizing and arranging furniture...sounds so familiar. Was I on a break or still at work? I have a problem--even 1000 miles away, I still want to put things in their right place.

Favorite conversation with my brother (aside from The Lightbulb Story):
Tom: sniff, sniff "Did you wash my sheets or something?"
Me: "Yes, I washed your sheets, the toss pillows covers..even your duvet cover."
Tom: "You can wash those?"

Did we not grow up the same house? At least I was spared the Easy Mac--he had that for lunch when I was out enjoying my time in LA...by visiting a furniture factory.

New Years in LA

I flew down to Los Angeles today for a visit with Tom and Mom (who came down to spend Christmas week with her boy)----it's warm and sunny and we're all free from work....so where did we go?

The Grove.

For those who haven't been, my only advice is to treat it as if you were an alien visiting a new planet, just observing the behavior and habitat of a strange species.

You don't even want to know.

"Who ever gets f###ed first, wins."

Haven't We Discussed This Before?

Mom: I picked up your dog's doodle today.
Me: "Doodle?"
Mom: Yes, her, you know...doodle.

A woman who rates her farts at night from the other room ("That was a TEN! Did you hear that one Kate?") has to use a euphamism for the dog's business?

Family Holiday

Stella, Peg and Mom
Thanksgiving 2007, Portland

Family Time

Turkey Coma

Last Minute

Today's last minute grocery list:

-Ant traps
-Booze
-Flowers
-Spray Bottle
-Vinegar
-Fire Starters

That's exactly the list Mom gave me. Sounds like a Holiday with the Adams Family.

It's the little things.

Mom: I just want you to know I picked up your dog's poop today. (grossed-out face, tongue sticking out).
Me: You walked her? That's great, thanks. Wait, haven't you always picked up after her?
Mom: No, I never told you that. I always left it, acted like I didn't see her doing it. It was France, no body cares.
Me: Well, this is Oregon, you have to pick up!
Mom: I know, so I did. It's in your kitchen garbage.
Me: What??! (grossed-out face, tongue sticking out)

Welcome! (I think).

Mom has arrived! In less than 24 hours she managed to:

-comment on the size of my breasts, the shape of my eyebrows and the 'cuteness' level of my butt.
-find the only dusty spot in the house. Who wipes down the top of the refrigerator?
-use more toilet paper than is allotted the average Ukranian village in a month.
-spread debris through out my previously tidy house, including balled-up kleenex, empty cigarette packages, boating magazines, gloves, and what looks like a personal support garment.
-insult my television. Can appliances have hurt feelings?
-wear a red "Wisconsin" sweatshirt, momentarily throwing me back into 1991.
-out-crass the crassest person I know.
-make dinner of an unidentifiable meat package left in my freezer since move in day.

Oh Mom, so glad to have you here!

Spruced Up

Before/After

The house is nearly complete, the spiffing up as far as it's going to get before the family arrives. The spare room got the biggest make over...

Still didn't manage to make that much room in the closets, and the storage space is overflowing...nothing worse than having the extra room to store stuff I no longer need...I wonder what is in those boxes way in the back anyway?

Before/After

Before/After

holiday countdown

Only a week left until M-Day, when Mom arrives to spend Nov, Dec, and part of Jan with me. In my rush to get the house spiffed up, I've neglected to consider the number of people coming for Thanksgiving, expecting to enjoy a hearty holiday meal, and not expecting to sit on the ground to do it. There will be 5 1/2 of us (including my 3 year old niece, the half in that number) and my little kitchen table barely seats 4 for grilled cheese.

I also just remembered that my brother will be bunking here, and if he's to sleep on the couch, I'm short a blanket. BYOB?

It was suggested that Mom and I bunk together, giving Tom the single bed in the study. But that's just not happening. I pre-paid a pedicure appointment for Mom so I don't have to give her a foot rub (sticking her feet in my face, 'here, rub my feet'. Sure mom, but can I finish my Wheaties first?), I'm surely not going to let her crawl into bed with me. I love Mom, but she farts. And then giggles. And then asks if I can smell it.

I'm sure they are all here to see me and enjoy the warm company of family, but in my heart I know they will leave thinking "Can you believe all the dining chairs didn't match?", "I see she didn't get the curtain rods hung in time, her life must be a mess" and "Who serves pumpkin pie indian style on the floor?"

Portrait

This sibling portrait arrived with the skaters painting--the frame needs replacing, but the faces are the same. It looks good above the fireplace, but it's strange to see us looking back at me. On occasion, walking by it quickly, I get the eery feeling that I'm in the old house, that it's 1989 and I'm grounded.

Skaters

Mom had this painting sent to me last week (thanks Uncle Bill). It hung for years in our entry hallway in Fondy, then in Mom's apartment on Diversey, then at Grandma Mickey's while Mom's been abroad. I'll be lucky if the plant next to it will last a fraction of that time. I've always loved this painting, feel very luck to have it in my home. I should know more about it ---anyone know the story?

It looks fantastic in the living room, I could look at it for hours. It's starting to feel like a permanent home here, one little piece at a time.

vroom vroom

Tom called the other day, something he doesn't do very much. I'm never home according to him, as I cannot easily be reached. I will not get a cell phone, don't bother bugging me about it. So, I called him back, hoping it wasn't bad news.

It wasn't.

He got a new car. A Lotus Elise!

boo!

Cleaning out my computer files, I found this copy of a funny IM conversation I had with my brother a while back. Enjoy.

tnoe@mac.com: hey, do you know how to pronounce Hibou, which I think should be french for owl
Katemikkelsen: ok, that's the strangest question
Katemikkelsen: if it is french, then drop the H "eeebou"
tnoe@mac.com: like boo
Katemikkelsen: still say the "i" , but pronounced like our "eee"
Katemikkelsen: so "eee-boo"
tnoe@mac.com: right
tnoe@mac.com: is it boo or bow
Katemikkelsen: boo
Katemikkelsen: bou = boo
Katemikkelsen: beau=bough
tnoe@mac.com: like a ghost
Katemikkelsen: yes, like casper
tnoe@mac.com: thanks
Katemikkelsen: it's not coming up in my dictionary
Katemikkelsen: where is this from?
Katemikkelsen: oh wait, it's L'hibou...yes, owl
Katemikkelsen: have a good one
tnoe@mac.com: you too, thanks

Happy Birthday Noodle!

Mom is so proud.

My brother Tom on Ring My Bell. Can you get a Drunk and Disorderly fine online?

It's hysterical---note the correlation between taking shots and the use of the word 'dude'.

Dr. Scavenger

Passage from Dad's recent e-mail:

..."Spent the day yesterday building a cold frame with is a box covered by a window you use to grow vegetables when it is too cool for a regular garden. Found the window at a curb side in Waupun. Picked it up in my black suit and truck at 4am hoping no one would see their surgeon at work."

Not surprising, this from the man who sent me an entire roll of photographs of his corn growing!

Happy Mother's Day!

Hooked on Hokey

I knew I did good when the phone rang and it was Grandma Eileen (of the Long Distance Is So Expensive generation)! She loved the lacey crocheted table cloth I finally finished and mailed off to her, knowing she's the only one who would appreciate the extra-large-doily look. It's a shame this style of crochet is out of vogue (or is it? or is it just to me?) because it is so fun to make---thread is easy to work with and the complicated pattern details are very rewarding to master.

Christmas is in the details.

I was up at 6am. Not to prepare treats and holiday surprises, but because the goddamn phone rang...
Mom. Getting an earlier flight. Arriving at 1:30 instead of 4:30. Throwing out of whack my carefully drafted do-nothing-until-absolutely-necessary Cleaning The House for Company Plan. Crap.

Keeping in mind the Theory of Good Enough (more on that later), I quickly edited the list of things required for Visitors. Out the window--defrosting the broken freezer compartment of my undersized refrigerator. You see, it's broken. It's been broken for months. I have a mini glacier in my mini fridge. Every few weeks, when the door won't close properly, I hack at it with a butter knife, breaking free chunks of the white stuff to fall, avalanche style, to the floor. Ruby loves these moments--a little violence leading to something new and interesting to eat off the floor. Dogs love that stuff. Eat it right up.

Five hours later, surveying my freshly tidy five hundred square feet with a little bid of pride, the mini fridge was now a major worry. She would find it. She would open it. She would see. And she would squeal, "Kathleeeeen! WHAT is THIS?"

I shook my head to clear it of neurotic thoughts, reminding myself that this is a woman who ashes her cigarettes in decorative pottery. She would be reasonable, see that the fancy bed pillows were just the right shade of aqua, the picture frames dead-on straight, the lightbulbs all optimum wattage, the bathroom bleached top to bottom. She's a reasonable woman, she would understand that one small oversight in a busy life is allowable. It is BROKEN after all.

------

She is not a reasonable woman. She is still captive to the Mother gene. The offending fridge was found in the first 2 minutes. "Kathleeeeeen!" Mom spend day two (while I was working), in my apartment, all day, defrosting.

She ashed in my pots.

Christmas is for the Dogs

Throughout the family holiday, Miss Ruby never lacked for her favorite thing; a warm lap.

Merry Christmas!

Tom, the Tattooed Elf

Tom and Devon, the Threes of Us, I better get baking!, Traditional Christmas Jammies styled for the Italian life, and Tom Injures Self with Own Gift.

Rockin' Christmas

Mom rocks out....thanks to her new iPod Shuffle from Tom and Devon...already thoughtfully loaded with a hundred of her favorite tunes...no techknow required!

Put a bow on that, I'll take it!

Mom's going home to her own gift....Marco (scroll down), her new boaty hired-hand.

wake up call

Well intentioned, but far too early....the phone rings at 7:30am today:
-"Hyeowullo?"
-"Hi Kate! It's Dad! Happy Birthday!" (with far too much enthusiasm for this early)
-"Whoueitkd?" (clearly not clear-headed, asleep and deeply troubled by Spanish Coffee intake night before)
-"Oh, is it early?"
-"Yes"
-"Did you go out last night?"
-"Yes"
-"Are you off work today?"
-"Yes"
-"Oh, guess you could sleep in then!" (with laughter)
-"That was the idea"
-"Happy Birthday!"
-"Hurempht. Thanks" click.

all those teeth

I've neglected to properly label this photo---I forget sometimes that I have 'readers' outside the immediate family. So, for Dawn ("Did you find a vintage photo or something?") and Mike (Who ARE those people? They look FABULOUS!")---
Aunt Grace (recently passed, see previous entry), Grandma Mickey (she of the eleven children), Aunt Marie (still partying past midnight at 90) and Uncle Bill.

Too early an exit...

The trouble with burying someone better than yourself is the feeling that you have so much more to accomplish. By the standards by which Aunt Grace was eulogized, I have a long way to go to be the person I want to be.

1923--2005

Housing, racial equality activist

By Andrew L. Wang
Tribune staff reporter

November 26, 2005

When Grace Mertz's son searches for his mother's name in newspaper clips of protests and strikes in Evanston in the 1960s, he doesn't find much.

But anonymity didn't stop her from speaking out against inequity--whether it was housing discrimination or racial prejudice, school segregation or lack of minority voting rights.

"Every time it says `local Catholic organization,' that's my mom; every time they describe a march as `mostly Negro,' the `mostly' is because of my mom," said her younger son Thomas, a historian. "When you read between the lines, she was there."

Mrs. Mertz, 82, died Wednesday, Nov. 16, in Evanston Hospital from complications of skin cancer.

She was born in 1923 to a working-class family in St. Louis. Her father, a steelworker, died when she was 5, "leaving behind a pregnant wife and three daughters," her son said.

"They made do and scraped by," he said.

With a loan from a relative, he said, Mrs. Mertz graduated from Sacred Heart Academy in Springfield in 1940. But without money for college, she moved to Joliet and began working as a stenographer at a procurement office for the War Department.

Later, the man she worked for was transferred to Oak Ridge National Laboratory in Tennessee, where the Manhattan Project was in progress. Mrs. Mertz followed her boss there.

After the war, she returned to St. Louis and found work at an advertising company, where she became one of the few female media buyers for the firm and later handled its radio advertising account for Anheuser-Busch, her son said.

About a decade later, she met her husband, Edwin, on a business trip to New York. The couple married in 1957, her son said.

They lived in New York and San Francisco before settling in Evanston in 1962, when they bought the home they lived in the next 40 years.

In Evanston, Mrs. Mertz, driven by her Catholic ethos and informed by the poverty she had experienced, became an activist.

As president of the Christian Family Movement at St. Athanasius Roman Catholic Church in Evanston, Mrs. Mertz wrote letters, circulated petitions and organized protests decrying housing discrimination against African-Americans, her son said.

In March 1965, as Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and other civil rights advocates walked from Selma, Ala., to Montgomery for voting rights, Mrs. Mertz and her friends chartered a bus and drove with about 40 other activists to join the march.

In the early 1970s, her son said, Mrs. Mertz spearheaded an effort to build mixed-income housing on the site of Marywood High School, an all-girls Catholic school that closed in 1970. Mrs. Mertz found investors who agreed to buy the 9.5-acre plot, but the plan failed before the sale was completed because the City Council blocked the rezoning. Still, her son said, it was not a total loss.

"She had raised enough public interest to the point where there was no way it could be used for market-rate housing," her son said. Instead, the city bought the land; the building is now used as the Evanston Civic Center.

In the 1970s and '80s, she also served on the board of Evanston Neighbors at Work, a group that helps seniors find low-cost housing, and as director of Evanston Meals at Home, a meal-delivery service, her son said.

In addition to her husband Edwin and son Thomas, Mrs. Mertz is survived by her older son Michael; sisters Marie Neu Liendecker and Mickey Quinlan; brother William McMullan; and three grandsons.

Services have been held.

----------

alwang@tribune.com

Copyright (c) 2005, Chicago Tribune

Despite myself.

Damn it, I'm happy. Portland, more clearly than ever after some time in Smogville, is becoming a very liveable, enjoyable city with lots to offer. My job is good, I like what I do and I seem to not suck at it. I've had the chance to travel to see beloved family recently. Friends have journeyed here to see me. My dog still greets me with enthusiasm. I'm not painting, but I'm ok with that--it will come back, when I have the time and inspiration in the future-and I like that, I like that it's my little thing to pull out when it pleases me and me only. I have friends all over the world, most of whom keep in touch regularly with stories of adventures great and small. My little apartment is looking like a proper home, only a few projects remain and who wants to be short of home improvement projects anyway? My health is good; a good friend just the other day said I look great, that despite what I say about living here, it must work because it looks good on me. Ha ha. I think I finally let the boy go, so I'm ready for the next new boyfriend (that was only five years in the making). With the good job and new wheels, I have new freedoms to enjoy and adventures to plan. I was even recently paid to write about my crocheting hobby (and the resulting bersitus). So, I'm good, I'm ready..bring on the next big thing!

Ok, so it's good here. I'm happy. Damn it.

I did too.

Rumor has it that my brother Tom enjoyed my visit.

la famille

the love, the love, the love

vroom vroom

My brothers new baby.

dropping in on friends

Mom and Bert update, including a pic, from fantastic Charlotte in Antibes!

cutie pie

Latest pictures of little Stella. My favorite? Her in a new dress and sunhat made by Auntie Kate, of course.

Latest update from Mom and Bert, sailing somewhere off the coast of Italy

Mom and Bert on Tishie Mae I, last fall

Mom and Bert, in trouble with the Italian law! Bert took the tender too close to the beach, unknowingly, and was apprehended by "gorgeous Italian coast guard men in white uniforms, you should have seen them!". Escorted ashore by no less than eight of these water police, Mom, as owner of Tishie Mae II, was held responsible. Bert was released into HER custody! ha!

American courtesy saved the day---the Italian coast guard officers were so surprised by their cooperation and politeness that they issued only one small ticket (Bert was also 'paperless', quite an offense in a country so engaged in beaurocracy) and even apologized for having to do it.

The topper of the story? On the form, of course there's a form, there was a line specifically for "Excuse". The officer insisted Bert offer an excuse. Bert's response? "Stupid American"!

Bert, released in Mom's guardianship, has some sucking up to do! They're on the way further down the coast later this week, headed for a bay near Rome so they can do an inland excursion into the city. More updates to come, and hopefully, some photos too.

an hour without yarn is an hour wasted

I sent my sister Margaret a box of goodies a few weeks back, mostly crocheted goods; one for her upcoming birthday and many crocheted goods for her little Stella. In her kind thank you note, she says "I don't know how you find the time!".

Oh, lord if she only knew. I have more time to spend on crochet than any under-60 person should be allowed to have. That's the one benefit of living somewhere you really rather wouldn't.

UK ok

Peg, Ryan and baby Stella are safe and sound.

Dad called yesterday. Big, exciting news in Fond du Lac...a new Pic n' Save. When I get down about living here, I must remember the alternatives.

flowers and floats

You should always buy yourself flowers. And a tip I learned from Mom: when they ask if it is a gift (in whatever language), always say 'Yes'. Never say no to better packaging.

Today is the Grand Floral Parade--I best go turn on the tv and see what it's all about. No way I'm dealing with the tourists, kiddies and traffic to go see the thing myself. Besides, it's cold out there!

awww, wook at da wittle baby

hello govn'r

Dad's visit to London to see Peg, Ryan and Baby Stella

can't think of suitable title

I had no idea this happened on my sister's street until just the other day. good lord.

small, complicated world

Dad and technology are having a rough time this week. He says it's easier to take out a gallbladder than it is to send photos online. And now, his tractor won't shut off. It's been running for 12 hours straight now, is almost out of fuel. The tractor guy is coming to pick it up for repairs.

'The Tractor Guy'. Who is the tractor guy? Does every town have one?

Funny, related story:

I have a customer, very friendly and chatty, who happens to be from Wisconsin. Turns out, when he was a med student, the school farmed them out to spend a few days working with 'country doctors' in small towns and rural areas. He got sent to.....wait for it........Fond du Lac!!!!

cool is cyclical

How could I (k)not know that March is National Crochet Month? That article, brought to my attention by sister Peg, only makes passing comment on crocheting, focusing on the 'hipper' hobby of knitting, but it's still sticks and thread.

In honor of this special month, I'll share the best crochet story I've ever heard:

When my mom was a young administrative assistant at the hospital in Evanston, IL (where she met my father), she worked the quieter late shift. To pass the time, she crocheted. She crocheted little triangles. Dozens of them.

When someone asked, preferably a male dr. or med student, she would say she was making herself a bikini. Visual---mom coyly holding up a teeny triangle and asking "What do you think? Will it look good on me?"

Crocheting may be cool again, but nothing beats that!

p.s. I have vague memories of playing with a basket of colorful, crocheted triangles as a small child. Just my imagination? I can't say.

Happy Easter!

It's not Easter without Peeps! Or homemade matching dresses, white knee highs and little boy bowties.

I suspect that first picture isn't actually Easter--it's far too green--note the interior shots of the other two, and the just barely visible snowy scene out the window. Peg, Tom--do you remember? And Tom--in that last shot, how did you get such a raw deal with that teeny weeny basket??

Of course, now, my holiday treat comes in a bottle, not a basket. I wonder which color Peeps go best with red wine? Blue? Yellow? Pink?

over there, over there

"Grandpa Mikkelsen" and "Noodle"

Dad just returned from a quick visit (four days! no jetlag recovery time!) to London to see Peg and Ryan and of course, the person of the hour--Stella. I can't get over how much little Stella looks like my sister (it's in the eyes) and how very much Dad looks like his dad, my Grandpa Bunny.

the sequel

Mom and Bert on Tishie Mae I last summer, Mom one of the five lovely towns of Cinque Terre on the Italian coast last year

It's official, late last week Mom found the bigger boat! Tishie Mae II (a Jeanneau Sun Odyssey) smaller than I would have suggested for living in tight quarters on water with your brother--only 37 feet, but she swears they'll make it work. They've survived with only one bathroom in the apartment for this long, what's the trouble with one head? And as long as Mom keeps Bert fed, I think all will be well.

It's moored in Viareggo, Italy, near Le Spezia and the Cinque Terre area we loved so much last year. The "crew" will be based there for about a month for training and shake-down cruising before they head off into the horizon...

it has the sexiest legs

I picked up a new desk (or should that be A desk?) this week--and it's yummy. It's by Paul McCobb for Planner Group, if that matters to anyone. It doesn't to me--I just love that it's perty, blond and petite. Hmm, that didn't come out like I meant it.

And two cute little scruffy-mods just starting their vintage furniture business adventure hand-delivered it. Bonus.

Now I just have to save my pennies for that perfect task lamp (the Tolomeo floor model) for reading at the sofa, or should I say more accurately: working at the crochet-station. How is it that I didn't come by one of those fifteen years ago when I lived with Aunt Maria, who had them stacked up and multiplying like wire hangers in the closet?

I thought we were warned not to play with those drycleaning bags?