Cathy in the Wright

Official Endorsement

Being the self-absorbed princess I am, I always appreciate doing business with a company that treasures me and makes me feel as though their only goal when they set up shop was to make my life easier.

It is with great pleasure then, that I offer my first Cathy in the Wright Official Endorsement to Anchor Dock and Lift based in Annandale, MN.

While The VP has dealt mostly with the sales force ("Top notch," he says), this morning I met Mike and his installation crew at the cabin to have them put in lifts for the boat and jet ski.

To call these guys professional and friendly would be an understatement. The lifts were installed in about an hour. They removed our old, decrepit lift out of the water; they secured the jet ski on the new lift; they locked up everything; they gave me a clear overview of the controls; and they did it all as though they couldn't wait to wake up in the morning and get there to help me.

So, for those of you with lakeshore property (or those of you who soon might because of Kelo v. New London), I can highly recommend Anchor Dock and Lift for all your water toy needs.

Victory!

We have found The Governor's Achilles heel.

The VP and I had nearly run out of ideas trying to find a way to motivate The Gov to start using the toilet. He has Number One down and has for some time, but there has been no movement (sorry) on No. 2. But today we finally hit on something that motivated him to get off his butt. Or the reverse.

A couple of months ago we closed on a small cabin near our house. We just took possession today, and as a housewarming gift to ourselves, we bought a new Sea Doo jet ski. We've been telling The Gov that unless he started taking care of business...no "Water Honda" rides. (To him, all ATV's are Hondas; all jet skis are Water Hondas)

This threat had no effect until today, when The VP and The Senator took off on the inaugural ride. The Governor was close to tears watching from the dock. He got a determined look on his face, and an hour later he told me he needed to go.

False alarm. He didn't have to go. But I made a big deal out of him wanting to try. We had five more false alarms. On the sixth attempt, he succeeded and there was much rejoicing. We whooped it up, and I'm sure our new neighbors are now afraid to meet us.

The VP and The Gov went straight down to the dock and were missing for half an hour. He never wanted to get off after that.

Stickers? Candy? What a load of rubbish. All you need is several thousand dollars worth of lakefront property and water toys.

Things Are Looking Up

I had every intention of posting last evening after my game, but I wasn't in the mood. Our team had an unblemished record - no goals against - until yours truly drew a penalty 20 yards from the net. The other team scored from the direct kick that was awarded. It was a bad call - when the whistle blew, neither team could figure out why. If I had realized it was going against me, I would have shoved her a little harder and made it a decent foul.

I was feeling a little down on the ride home. Not only did we lose our shut-out record, but we lost the game 0-1. When I got back to The Outpost, my neighbor was finishing up a beer over at the Tin Shed, so I joined him for a cold one. Another neighbor stopped by, and three beers later, I stumbled home feeling better. Thanks Kirk and Todd.

Today, in spite of yesterday's dismal performance, the sun did rise. The boys and I headed into Howard Lake, which is celebrating Good Neighbor Days this weekend. We went to the petting zoo at The Country Store (feed store), and then headed across the street to Howard Lake Drug, which still has an old-fashioned soda fountain. The Senator had a root beer float, and The Governor had a cone. He said it was "the best vanilla ice cream I've ever had." I'm not sure how he can make such a declaration; he didn't get that much into his mouth. His clothing and hands were in a better position to judge.

The rest of the afternoon is going to be spent baking cookies and getting ready for a family outing tomorrow. And tonight is another game. If I screw up in this match, it won't matter as much - we've already lost a few in this league. That means I'll need another excuse to go drink with my neighbors. Too late for summer solstice celebrations?

Rough Tuesday

It appears that we have fallen into some slovenly habits here at The Outpost. Having been on vacation for nearly three weeks, the boys and I were a bit jarred when the alarms went off this morning, reminding us of our obligations to the local nursing home. None of us wanted to get out of bed, and looking back, I probably should have called in sick. But I didn't, and I paid for it the rest of the day.

Both boys were not too pleased about going to the daycare center this morning while Hoocher and I made our rounds. And crankiness turned into outright rage when they discovered we were going home for lunch instead of stopping at Dairy Queen.

The rest of the afternoon was spent refereeing umpteen fights. The dinner I served turned out to be thinly-veiled rat poison, judging by the noises made during consumption, and the announcement of an early bed time was met with apocalyptic sobbing and wailing. The Governor desperately pleaded:

But Moooooooooooom! It's still daylight outside!!

So it is.

But Moooooooom! Can't we at least talk about going to bed later?

Sure. Let's brush your teeth and then we'll talk about going to bed later.

Rookie mistake. Your older brother never would have fallen for that. After teeth were brushed The Gov said,

Okay, Mom. (sniff) Can we talk about going to bed later now?

We sure can. We can talk about it, but you're still going to bed right now.

I can still hear him screaming on the baby monitor.

Tomorrow promises to be another barn-burner. We don't have anything particular scheduled, but I'm really enjoying the additional quiet time tonight. Might as well wake them early tomorrow and see if we can aim for lights out at 7:30 p.m. Thursday? 7:00 p.m. By the weekend, I could have them eating dinner while bathing.

Canadians Have A Sense Of Humor

Thanks, Gary.

I Clicked My Heels Together Three Times...

We're back. I'm tired and barricaded inside my own house by mountains of laundry, but I'm home.

The VP and I had an amazing trip - stories to follow later - and part of the reason it was so wonderful is that we didn't have to worry about our kids. We had two sets of grandparents taking excellent care of them. My warmest, most heart-felt thanks to the four of you. There is no way to adequate repay the favor.

I need to add an extra thank-you to my folks who took care of Hoocher the entire time we were gone. However, the remarked lack of enthusiam on my dog's part when we walked in the door was a bit insulting. I think he has been overly spoiled.

And speaking of spoiled...we were pleasantly surprised at the lack of it in our children. They have been behaving themselves, even when bereft of their grandparents' good natures and wallets. We did have a minor incident last night when, in a disagreement over bedtimes, The Senator informed me, "Grandma is still the boss of you, you know!"

I quickly illuminated the errors in that misconception and he went to bed without further trouble.

Today was shaping up to be spent in the laundry room, but the sun is shining and the park is calling us.

Our trip? Don't think you've escaped the slide show. More to come this weekend.

Awash in Activity

There’s a park on 42nd Street in Southwest Minneapolis we used to call the Rocket Park, because it had a huge sculpture of what looked like a V2 and in inside of which kids could climb to the top. It’s been gone for years, probably a victim of over sensitivity to playground danger. The wading pool is still there, however, and that’s where we took The Senator and The Governor this afternoon. They played and splashed and spent some time on the adjacent playground, working up an appetite for supper.

They slaked that appetite at Famous Dave’s Barbeque shack in Linden Hills. The Gov. made do with French fries and cornbread. (Mom, if you call the cornbread a muffin, he’ll scarf down what he otherwise wouldn’t touch.) The Senator dove into an order of ribs, fries and corn on the cob. Messy wouldn’t describe him accurately. He had to be cleaned up at the table even before a trip to the washroom to finish the re-sanitization. That kid looked like he had gone bobbing for ribs; his sauced hands could have been on a poster for a chainsaw-massacre movie.

When told his parents would be returning Tuesday, The Senator realized that Monday would be his last night with us. Therefore, he made it clear, we simply had to make another visit to the Cold Stone Creamery or Edina Creamery. The choice was ours, but one or the other. So, to Cold Stone he and I went, while The Gov. preferred to stay home and have The Green Goddess dish up chocolate ice cream for him. The Senator combined mint ice cream with jawbreakers—yeah, arrrgh!

They spent the evening mellowing out on a $1 video of old Superman cartoons and those of a creature called Scaridy Cat—a feline who had lost 8 of his 9 lives and summoned a ghost of a past life, every time he said the number of that life. They went on … and on … and on. I hit a wrong button on the DVD control and returned to the Superman Cartoons, creating anxiety. All was forgiven when I scanned back to the proper place on the disc, but I was warned, “Don’t touch another button on that control!”

As for Hoocher, he walks, he eats and he gets in his 18 hours of naps daily, and that’s about it for him.

We've Bean There Before

The irresistible force and immovable object met head on today and, thanks to a bit of crafty deception, the irresistible force won. The force—Green Goddess—put three green beans on the plate of the immovable object—The Governor. He set his jaw and was prepared to starve before giving into a demand that those beans be eaten before hot dogs and potato chips arrived on his plate.

No way out of this impasse, I thought. The Gov’s. lower lip was bent double in a classic pout and his arms were crossed in a sign of stubbornness. That’s when the Green Goddess put one over on the kid. She offered him a green been on a potato chip. He ate all three beans that way, which released the remainder of the meal to him—two hot dogs and potato chips, followed by a trip to Cold Stone Creamery where he wallowed in chocolate ice cream infused with gummy bears. The Senator had something similar.

Earlier, the halos previously sighted over the boys were dented today as the kids bounced off the walls. Pillow fight in the living room before dinner. Open-mouth chewing at the table. Tossing food to Hoocher. The boys were wild for a while, but soon mellowed out again—with the help of a CD with several Ed, Edd and Eddy cartoons, just before bedtime.

Epilogue to the bean incident. The Governor ought to ask The Chairman how to get rid of unwanted green beans. She would have slipped them to the dog or palmed them for a burial at sea during an excuse-me trip to the bathroom.

Booorrrrriiiiinnnngggg!

Another mundane day with The Governor, The Senator and Hoocher. It was rack-in time, with the boys sleeping until nearly 9:30 a.m. No, it’s entirely untrue that our Thursday night bedtime snack was a brandy Alexander.

The baby-gate goes up Friday night to keep Hoocher from his nocturnal leaps onto the bed. Small dogs are okay atop the mattress, because they take up no more room than an errant sock. Hoocher’s more like a sack of cement, in size and weight, if not shape. Once on a bed, he’s a lump of static energy that only turns kinetic when he’s pulled to the edge and his equilibrium shifts toward a fall onto the floor.

The Green Goddess took The Senator to a move Friday evening while I pulled custodial charge of The Governor at Linnhurst Park again. We lucked out, the rain stopped just in time for him to play there. This kid loves to swing … higher … and higher … and higher. He’s thrilled when the swing is pushed so hard there’s some sideways torque as well an arc that approaches parallel to the ground. It’s a whee to be the source of this locomotion, but it a tiring task after about half an hour.

The Governor didn’t have much use for supper—after inhaling half a stack of Oreo cookies coming home from the park. At dinner, he ate the meat out of a corn dog, and wouldn’t try fried rice we brought home, although The Senator was happy to eat some.

Lights out came at 9:15 p.m., with the Governor protesting, “Bedtime is boring.” It was a two-book night to get him into a somnolent state, but he was awake when The Senator came to bed at 10 p.m. “Guys,” The Governor noted, “Hoocher is on the bed.” Not for long, though. The brothers talked for a while, which was kind of nice to hear.

Waiting for the FIRST Shoe to Drop

Ms. Chairman, you may want to stop reading here, if you’re getting lonesome. The Gov. asked Thursday night, “When is my mother coming to get me?” It was a matter-of-fact question without any sniffles or incipient tears. He just wanted to know

The boys were tired tonight after a day of heavy activity. Breakfast of cereal and cherries with the fruit as input to improve throughput. Lets not get into output. The Senator helped me deliver Meals on Wheels and found it fun to carry milk cartons to our customers. He was hoping I had the task Friday, but I don’t.

The Senator and I picked up cousins M. and J. at their home, and they were with us for the rest of the day, which involved a lot of running, shouting and squirting with garden hoses. At the end of the afternoon, M., J and The Senator were naked but wrapped in towels while their clothes were in the dryer. The Governor avoided getting wet. It was hilarious to see J. chasing The Senator, warning, “I’m going to bug you, like you bugged me in the car.”

Lunch consisted of corn dogs, and we visited Dairy Queen for dinner. The boys inhaled chicken strips and French fries. The Senator finished with a super chocolate Blizzard and The Governor, a chocolate malt. Then we visited Lynnhurst Park in Minneapolis. It’s a huge sandbox with lots of interesting climbing and sliding gear. Books and bedtime ended the day. Sorry, Mom, no baths.

Friday looks like a trip to Como Park zoo in St. Paul where the amusement park is supposed to have some new rides.

Sorry to disappoint everybody, but we’re still in meltdown-free zone. The boys are on their best behavior. M. and J. got into a push-shove-kick match over the backyard garden hose, however. A minor event that was quickly forgotten.

Night Visitors

There may have been a storm in the Twin Cities Tuesday night, but having The Senator and Governor has been only a breeze. They’re both in the best of humor, and we haven’t had even a minor gubernatorial meltdown. The worst it got was in the bath Wednesday night, when The Governor raised an arm over his head and proclaimed, “I’m going to blast my way out of this tub.” Then he sat down and played with a boat.

Sleep was a precious commodity in the storm. The Governor had awakened several times, and we finally took him to our bed at 2 a.m. About an hour later, in thunder and lightning, Hoocher rocketed onto the bed, too. He was nervous about the rumble and light show. So, we let him stay. Bad decision. Hoocher—and The Governor—spread out crossways, leaving the Green Goddess and me to cling to opposite edges of the mattress. It’s not comfortable living on the edge.

Wednesday night marked the fabled trip to the Edina Creamery at 51st and France Ave. The Senator got his traditional cotton-candy ice cream, and The Governor and I had coconut-almond. The Senator scarfed down his cone and asked for another—which he didn’t get. (See, Ms. Chairman, I’m not a complete pushover.) The Governor nibbled away at half the speed of paint drying.

The day’s only other major activity was a trip to a neighborhood park, which has a jungle-gym of towers and slides, where the boys spent a couple of active hours. Thursday … it’ll probably be Lake Calhoun in the morning and cousins M. and J. joining the party at lunchtime on their first day of summer vacation.

A Canine Transformation

Dear Chairman: There’s no easy way to say this … but … you MAY NOT be getting your dog back, when you return from vacation. It’s not our idea, but Hoocher’s. This country dog has adapted well to a sybaritic lifestyle in the city. You know … chicken broth on the kibbles … a treat every time he passes through the kitchen … friendly pats by the neighbors and obeisance offered by other canines on the street. I apologize, but we apparently have succeed too well in making Hoocher comfortable—and too obviously. Jeff, across the street, said today, “When I die, I want to come back as one of your dogs.” We’ll strive to do better with The Senator and The Governor, so you don’t have to peel their tiny hands off the porch rail and stifle sobs when you show up to retrieve them.

Hoocher's Doggedly Pursuits

The Chairman called from vacation to talk to … Hoocher—collect, by the way. “I miss my dog,” she said. Hoocher, meanwhile, continues to push for control of the household. Last night, when the pooch thought we were asleep, he slinked into the bedroom, jumped onto our bed, and went entirely limp. No command or plea could move that dog. I had to get up and drag him to the floor, where he faked giving up by returning to a chair or couch in the living room.

I say faked giving up because he was back in the bedroom in about 10 minutes, which must be how long it figured it would take us to get back to sleep. When he saw I was awake, however, he gave out a doggy sigh and went back into the living room for the night. I found him racked out on a chair at 7:15 a.m.

Hoocher’s met some of the neighborhood dogs and is okay with most of them. He doesn’t know what to think about “the jumping dogs of Oakdale,” a pair of chocolate and black Labradors who live across the street. They’re usually on watch from a gate to the backyard and jump up and down and bark excitedly when people or pups walk past.

The Senator enjoys the jumping dogs, because they’re really friendly, once you get by the noise, and he likes to see them fetch a slobbery tennis ball that one or the other will bring to the gate. These dogs—Cia and Ranger—are quite the contrast with our late Cairn terrier, Sandy. Toss the ball for Sandy, and she’d look at you as if to say, “What the hell is this all about?”

Note to Nana: Thank you for alerting us to what could have been a misadventure when we take custody of The Senator and The Governor. Yes, we were planning to have ice cream in mass quantity but we had forgotten about sprinkles, which will be obtained in advance of the boys’ arrival. Various other ice-cream toppings are on the shopping list.

Pardon the Intrusion but Not the Intruder

My other daughter lives in a great neighborhood in Mound, a western suburb of Minneapolis. It’s this kind of place: Repair the porch on Saturday and three neighbors show up to help. And the day’s sure to end with brats, beer and pop with spouses, kids and dogs. It’s also a neighborhood where an apparently drunken 18-year-old is charged with entering three homes about 4 a.m. Thursday and trying to choke three women and a 10-year-old girl. This was a pretty big print and TV story in the Twin Cities, with lots or squad cars, a State Patrol helicopter and several K9 pooches. Here’s a quiz to see if you can tell what happened in this red patch in blue Minnesota.

In home no. 1, the guy surprises a sleeping woman and begins to choke her. She:

(a) Pleads for him not to hurt her.
(b) Breaks away and flees the house.
(c) Goes for his eyes with her fingernails as she hollers for her son to call 911.
(d) Pursues the guy out of the house.

In home no. 2, the guy starts choking a 10-year-old girl. Hearing a disturbance, the mother:

(a) Calls 911 and hopes that police get there in time.
(b) Sobs and frets, causing the guy to leave.
(c) Runs into the girl’s bedroom and attacks the attacker with her fists.
(d) Chases the guy out of the house.

In home no. 3, the guy starts choking a woman, who:

(a) Breaks away and flees to a neighbor’s home, pounding on the door for help.
(b) Uses her martial-arts training to rip off his shirt before chasing him out of the house.

The correct answers are:

No. 1: (c) and (d).
No. 2: (c) and (d).
No. 3: (b)

I’m assuming that everybody got 100% on that quiz; you certainly must have, if you know the neighborhood.

The shirtless 18-year-old eluded police and dogs by swimming across a little lake in the neighborhood, and this is where small-town law enforcement came into play. A Mound officer used his knowledge of area lowlifes to find a guy who had been drinking with the 18-year-old, and that led to an arrest the next day. As I see it, that 18-year-old was lucky that police got to him first.

Hoocher's Day

5:30.00 a.m., I was awake, thanks to Hoocher’s telepathic stare. No telling how long he was standing next to the bed, but I could feel the mental vibrations. He left, when I opened my eyes.

5:31.00, walked into the living room to find Hoocher sleeping on a chair. He didn’t need to go outside; just wanted to wake me up.

5:35.00, Hoocher went on a walk, like it or not.

5:35.03, he gave a three-legged salute to the neighbor’s hostas closest to our house.

5:35.05, saluted the neigbor’s tree.

5:35.25, walked across the street.

5:36.00-5:50.00, saluted every ^$#$#% tree, flower or street sign in a walk around the block which provided me with an object lesson in patience. That pooch would require drop tanks to carry any more liquid. You’d think a country dog would be used to various animal smells, so he didn’t have to check out every blankety-blank city smell and add his own calling card.

5:51.00 to the end of the day. Resting, from one chair to another.

Hoocher skipped breakfast and supper today, existing primarily on a few Alpo treats and human-food snacks.

Report from the Outpost, where Bupa took The Senator fishing, and the lad caught eight croppies. “Was he excited?” “I thought I was going to have to duct-tape him to the dock,” Bupa reported.