My 41st birthday started off about like any other Sunday. I got up before Pappa Bear. I walked down to the lake to take in my required “10 minutes of looking at something relaxing,” as recommended by my alternative health care provider as a remedy for depleting my adrenal glands so badly during my 3 months working on the road.
Sitting still for ten minutes with nothing to do is no small feat, I must tell you. Alone with my thoughts. Alone with the crazy gerbil-like commotion that goes on in my head whenever there is nothing else to distract me.
Yesterday there was large fish splashing about in the weeds. That distracted me for a minute or two. Then I found several cuticles that needed picking. Until I remembered I was supposed to be looking at nature, not my fingernails. Somehow I managed to make it through the entire ten minutes. Whew.
After that superhuman feat was out of the way, I decided to tackle mowing the front lawn. It was super humid and very warm. Pefect. Not. But the jungle waits for no one, especially at this time of the year when dandelions outnumber blades of grass about 3:1. I actually don’t mind mowing the lawn, usually.
Except on my birthday.
Except when it’s hot and humid.
Except when I have to back the car out of the garage before I can move the lawnmower.
Except when I have to move all the garden hoses down the driveway a ways before I can back the car out.
Except when I have to fill the gas tank of the mower and the gasoline container is so full I spill all over the parts inside the mower and I wonder if the whole thing will explode when I fire it up.
But somehow I overcame all of these obstacles and was soon on my way huffing around the yard. Did I mention this mower is push-only, the wheels do not rotate at all on their own? I just told myself it was a good remedy for the cheesecake I was about to consume for breakfast.
About 4 hours later, or maybe 25 minutes, I put the mower away and wiped the sweat off my brow. Did I ever tell you that I don’t sweat? Much? My body would rather keel over and pass out from heat stroke than break a sweat. It must’ve been some kind of Scandinavian survival technique that is no longer relevant now that I no longer live in Norway like my ancient ancestors.
When I got back in the house, Pappa Bear was up, wondering what I was doing moving cars around. “Did you mow?” he asked incredulously. “Yep.” “The whole yard???” “Well, no.” Somehow having to qualify my achievement took some of the pride out of the fact that I had mowed the entire front yard before he had gotten out of bed. On my birthday. Sweating profusely.
But he soon made it up to me by taking out his handmade-gourmet-cheesecake, hand decorated with two colors of homemade icing! You just can’t beat a husband who makes gourmet cheesecake for your birthday. Well you could beat him but then he probably would stop making cheesecakes.
Please excuse the “bithday” misspelling. Something neither of us noticed until later in the day when my sister commented on my Facebook picture of the cake. PB was just starting to make the frosting when I went to bed at 10:30pm. He wouldn’t tell me how long he stayed up, but being this was his first attempt hand-decorating anything, and he had worked on this cake all day and half the night, I’m not holding it against him. Labor of love, that cheesecake.
My cheesecake this year was a lemony creamery scrumptious concoction, flavored with an Italian liquor called, get this – Caravella Limoncello. Please say this with me, folks. I promise it will make you smile. And it tastes as good as it sounds. In fact I’m having a Limoncello Sprint cocktail right now. Yum. My new favorite summer drink.
If you ever need a really fancy cheesecake, PB’s your man. If you ever need anything else, get in line. PB’s also MY man.
After a breakfast of bithday cheesecake, we headed into town to our favorite brunch place,
Meredee's Bistro, for more breakfast. If you ever go there for breakfast, get the “All you can eat” breakfast. It’s not on the menu, but they do still serve it. They bring you out platters of the following – and you can get more of anything you want: Buttermilk pancakes, English muffins, sausage, bacon, eggs, hash-browns, and biscuits & gravy. For about $10/person. And very nice waitstaff as well. We took some of the extras with us, since we couldn’t lick the platters clean this time. This would come in very handy around 5:30pm when we were wandering around Red Wing suddenly hungry again. Yup, this brunch will stick with you for 7 hours!
When we got home after brunch, we decided it would be the right time to buzz PB’s head. He was long overdue for a haircut. His hair was at least an inch long. I mean really – Hippie anyone? I don’t mean to scare anyone, but this process involves the dog shaver, an extension cord, a dining room chair, a naked man and a blonde. And a vacuum. I’ll let you fill in the rest. And I’ll spare you the photo, which PB wouldn’t even consider letting me take.
To Be Continued…
My 41st birthday started off about like any other Sunday. I got up before Pappa Bear. I walked down to the lake to take in my required “10 minutes of looking at something relaxing,” as recommended by my alternative health care provider as a remedy for depleting my adrenal glands so badly during my 3 months working on the road.
Sitting still for ten minutes with nothing to do is no small feat, I must tell you. Alone with my thoughts. Alone with the crazy gerbil-like commotion that goes on in my head whenever there is nothing else to distract me.
Yesterday there was large fish splashing about in the weeds. That distracted me for a minute or two. Then I found several cuticles that needed picking. Until I remembered I was supposed to be looking at nature, not my fingernails. Somehow I managed to make it through the entire ten minutes. Whew.
After that superhuman feat was out of the way, I decided to tackle mowing the front lawn. It was super humid and very warm. Pefect. Not. But the jungle waits for no one, especially at this time of the year when dandelions outnumber blades of grass about 3:1. I actually don’t mind mowing the lawn, usually.
Except on my birthday.
Except when it’s hot and humid.
Except when I have to back the car out of the garage before I can move the lawnmower.
Except when I have to move all the garden hoses down the driveway a ways before I can back the car out.
Except when I have to fill the gas tank of the mower and the gasoline container is so full I spill all over the parts inside the mower and I wonder if the whole thing will explode when I fire it up.
But somehow I overcame all of these obstacles and was soon on my way huffing around the yard. Did I mention this mower is push-only, the wheels do not rotate at all on their own? I just told myself it was a good remedy for the cheesecake I was about to consume for breakfast.
About 4 hours later, or maybe 25 minutes, I put the mower away and wiped the sweat off my brow. Did I ever tell you that I don’t sweat? Much? My body would rather keel over and pass out from heat stroke than break a sweat. It must’ve been some kind of Scandinavian survival technique that is no longer relevant now that I no longer live in Norway like my ancient ancestors.
When I got back in the house, Pappa Bear was up, wondering what I was doing moving cars around. “Did you mow?” he asked incredulously. “Yep.” “The whole yard???” “Well, no.” Somehow having to qualify my achievement took some of the pride out of the fact that I had mowed the entire front yard before he had gotten out of bed. On my birthday. Sweating profusely.
But he soon made it up to me by taking out his handmade-gourmet-cheesecake, hand decorated with two colors of homemade icing! You just can’t beat a husband who makes gourmet cheesecake for your birthday. Well you could beat him but then he probably would stop making cheesecakes.
Please excuse the “bithday” misspelling. Something neither of us noticed until later in the day when my sister commented on my Facebook picture of the cake. PB was just starting to make the frosting when I went to bed at 10:30pm. He wouldn’t tell me how long he stayed up, but being this was his first attempt hand-decorating anything, and he had worked on this cake all day and half the night, I’m not holding it against him. Labor of love, that cheesecake.
My cheesecake this year was a lemony creamery scrumptious concoction, flavored with an Italian liquor called, get this – Caravella Limoncello. Please say this with me, folks. I promise it will make you smile. And it tastes as good as it sounds. In fact I’m having a Limoncello Sprint cocktail right now. Yum. My new favorite summer drink.
If you ever need a really fancy cheesecake, PB’s your man. If you ever need anything else, get in line. PB’s also MY man.
After a breakfast of bithday cheesecake, we headed into town to our favorite brunch place, Meredee's Bistro, for more breakfast. If you ever go there for breakfast, get the “All you can eat” breakfast. It’s not on the menu, but they do still serve it. They bring you out platters of the following – and you can get more of anything you want: Buttermilk pancakes, English muffins, sausage, bacon, eggs, hash-browns, and biscuits & gravy. For about $10/person. And very nice waitstaff as well. We took some of the extras with us, since we couldn’t lick the platters clean this time. This would come in very handy around 5:30pm when we were wandering around Red Wing suddenly hungry again. Yup, this brunch will stick with you for 7 hours!
When we got home after brunch, we decided it would be the right time to buzz PB’s head. He was long overdue for a haircut. His hair was at least an inch long. I mean really – Hippie anyone? I don’t mean to scare anyone, but this process involves the dog shaver, an extension cord, a dining room chair, a naked man and a blonde. And a vacuum. I’ll let you fill in the rest. And I’ll spare you the photo, which PB wouldn’t even consider letting me take.
To Be Continued…
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