Let's all go to the lobby

Still trying to wrap my mind around how some businesses are too big and important to fail while others are mere victims of the changing times. My best guess is lobbying.

Put a bow on it

I work across the street from a Sears, so once every three or four months I amble over there hoping to catch a between seasons sale. They deeply discount clothes and accessories, sometimes to as low as $1. It's where I got one of my favorite necklaces, a yellow ceramic rose. And now I have new favorite socks. With the news of a deadline moved up, they're the only things making me happy today.

Six years too short

Even paired with opaque dark tights (in herringbone, thankyouvermuch), my skirt today is about six years too short. The rule of thumb (pun intended) is to drop your arm by your side and measure between your middle finger and the hem of the skirt. For each inch, you can add a year beyond 30. I'm at 32. So now I'm deciding between remaining a rule breaker or throwing it into the swap pile. I may just wear it with boots.

Bee there or bee square

This weekend was a whirlwind of mechanical wonders. First to Minneapolis for IKEA and the sculpture garden, and then on to St. Charles, Minn., for the 10th annual Threshing Bee. Seven hours in the car and dinner at Perkins in Des Moines, Iowa, got us to my brother's house in St. Louis Park, Minn., a Minneapolis suburb, at around 3 a.m. Fortunately, his employment status -- in that he has no employment -- has made him into a night owl, so he was waiting up for us. After showing M&A to their room, we chatted for a few hours, mostly discussing my oldest sister's damage, our favorite subject.

In the morning, M&A and I headed to IKEA. Too early to start shopping, we exploited the cheap eats (eggs and French toast for M&A and Swedish pancakes for me). We spent a few hours browsing the showrooms and marketplace. They were in search of a new desk and I had my eye out for a kitchen worktable. Missions accomplished, we returned to the cafeteria for penne with marinara (for M&A) and stuffed salmon with potato and broccoli croquettes (for me)

After successfully stuffing the trunk with all the Swedish, we made for the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden. Whimsical spoon bridge and the gazebo with objects at the top were the hits, but the flowers really stole the show. Finally, we drove to my old St. Paul neighborhood with stops at the Birkenstock store (for M) and clothing coveting at karma, where I successfully didn't buy a $150 Free People sweater. It looked like it was made up from pieces of different sweaters and then had embroidery on the back. If I get ambitious, I may try to re-create it myself. It was great to see so many of the shops have survived and only minimal chain store presence (the usual Pottery Barn, Restoration Hardware). We ended the evening with two friends from Earlham, who'd just gotten engaged an hour before they met us for dinner. They were glowing, and we all happily celebrated with fantastic dumplings and dishes from the Tibetan and Nepali menu.

After a quick trip for waffle cones (I split a scoop with chocolate banana malt and birthday cake), we piled into the car again for the two-hour ride to St. Charles. Not wanting to change our pattern of early-morning arrivals, we got in around 1 a.m. and quickly got situated in our rooms (first come, first serve, remember?). The next morning we breakfasted on the Bruegger's Bagels bagels we brought with us and then headed out for a tour of my parents' farm, the 10th annual threshing bee, and lunch at the diner. At the threshing bee, we figured out why young Amish men look so appealing (to me anyway): lean legs in tailored pants! We also watched blacksmithing, lumber cutting, and oat threshing. Back to my parents' house for a nap (for M&A) and photo hunting (for me), and then dinner and a happy birthday cake for Mac. It was her 34th, and my mom made a chocolate zuccini cake around which most of the family sang Happy Birthday. My dad also gave her a happy birthday tractor ride on which they mowed down some sweet corn stalks. Then it was back to the threshing show grounds for the hootenanny, which is always stop and start (a lot like the steam engines they use for the threshing bee!)

The next morning we packed up the trunk again, picked some tomatoes and beans, and headed downtown to the diner for breakfast and then home, with only a stop at Bennigan's in Des Moines on the way. So glad to be home, and now we have work to do on the kitchen to accommodate that new worktable.

Out, damned spot!

There must be a special place in hell, where they forcefeed convicts greasy grilled cheese sandwiches and chicken McNuggets, for those that try too hard (and fail) to make their outsides seem more agreeable than their insides through self-righteous asceticism. No amount of karmic cuisine is going to erase a life-long pattern of self-serving accommodation and evasion. I've got news for you, buddy. They're saving a place at the meat buffet just for you.

Tacocat tacocaT

When El Grande Mexican Buffet closed, I was one of the few mourners. Since then, there's been a void of black beans and verde sauce in the Kansas City south suburb lunch experience. But today on my way to the post office I noticed a convoy of landscaping trucks in the parking lot of a questionable Chinese buffet and decided to play my hunch. After paying the $6.49 entrance fee to the cashier in the vestibule, I was treated once again to a buffet of steamed corn tortillas, black beans and onions, sour cream, queso fresca, and salsa verde, steering well clear of the cucumber salad that was mostly cilanto. For dessert: almond cookies and tapioca pudding. Oh, and there was Chinese food too. But as I was finishing up, a health inspector arrived so I may have to read her report before I start recommending the place. The decor seemed a bit filmy. It's one of those place where you wouldn't be surprised to find gum -- not yours -- on the underside of a plate.

No country for old men

I braved senior discount day at Whole Foods for olive oil, butter, flour, and lentils, and then rewarded myself with a sugar cookie for not once rolling my eyes, tapping my foot, or cutting in the salad bar line. As much as I was annoyed at the clusterfuck of shopping carts in each aisle, particularly the deli section -- apparently they all use them in lieu of dragging their own walker into the store and then abandon them willy-nilly to comparison shop the shelves-- I was endlessly entertained by watching the checkout lines for about an hour from the vantage point of the nearest table. At what age do men develop the compulsion to ply women at checkout counters with stale jokes? Is it some corollary to thick ear lobes and nose hair? The absence or presence of a gray-haired spouse or beleaguerd adult child in silent apology with raised eyebrows and shrugged shoulders, trying to hurry grandpa along in an effort as futile as herding cats, certainly had no deterrent effect.