Made My Day: The Perfectly Ordinary Birthday

YOU GUYS!

Thirty-seven is awesome!!

I have a whole blog post swirling around in my teeny, tiny brain...but I'm too tired to commit to it and really do it justice. And if I wait until later, well, the glow of birthday goodness will have faded back into ordinary everythingness. So here are the highlights:

Lunch with The Ronnings at Pagoda in Dinkytown.
What started out as a lovely lunch and a quiet little gift-opening with my adorable parents, culminated in the restaurant going dramatically dark, disco lights racing around the ceiling, and "Happy Birthday" (American version...but sung in what I believe was Chinese) blaring from the very impressive sound system. Because we Ronnings are no dummies, it didn't take us long to figure out this had something to do with me. Everyone else in the "quite-busy-because-it's-lunch-time" restaurant also figured it out as our waiter made his way toward me carrying a candle-laden sundae. There was applause and embarrassment and gratitude. I loved it all.

PS - This particular Pan-Asian restaurant serves their birthday sundaes on crushed ice. Dad and I were remarking how we really appreciated this, as the ice cream stayed perfectly cold right up to the very last bite. We looked at each other and simultaneously mused, "This is why the Chinese are kicking our asses." Because what's a birthday lunch without a little geopolitical commentary?

E-Greetings
While cards and phone calls are old-school and lovely, being able to scroll through my Facebook wall periodically throughout the day provided so much joy. You guys are the best! I know it's the easiest of greetings...and I know Facebook does the reminding for us, but I still love it. The little red notification box kept lighting up...you guys kept sending your love. It was pervasive and persistent and perfect. A day full of e-love...I couldn't have appreciated anything more.

Except for this:

Remember the time I told you how much I [absolutely heart] Austin Hartley-Leonard? Well, my super-fantastic husband Twitter-stalked (Tweet-stalked?) this favorite singer-songwriter of mine...and then this showed up on Facebook. I have now been serenaded by a bona fide rock star! [Faints] Seriously people, this guy is talented (and kind!)...go buy his music.

Thoughtful Gifts
Lots and lots of people say they don't need presents. I am not one of those people. I like the presents. A lot. I don't expect them, and I'm not (necessarily) sad if I don't get them. But when I do......gosh do I love presents. :)

What do women want when they turn 37? Me? I want: This. And this. And one of these. And a bunch of these. The best part of it all is when your family knows you so well, you don't even really have to ask for any of it. Gosh, do I unabashedly, unashamedly love presents.

Thirty-seven. Thirty-seven is the age when you are excited to get a mutha-effin' TRIPLE CROCK-POT!

Dinner with My Sweet Jay at Mancini's in St. Paul
This St. Paul institution has resided on West 7th Street since 1948...and until today, I'd never been there. For shame. A total blast from the past, what with the U-shaped, squashy, red leather booths, and the ice-berg lettuce salads, and the char-broiled steaks that will make you weep...this was exactly the birthday dinner I was dreaming of.

New necklace, courtesy of The Ronnings

There was karaoke and a pull-tab counter in the lounge...and the infamous St. Paul Winter Carnival Vulcan Krewe was dining in one of the banquet rooms. The carpeting was garish and delightful. The brick arches were ubiquitous. The filet/lobster tail was too much to even consider finishing. The owner shook my hand as dinner came to an end...and then sent over a complimentary birthday cake big enough to ration out until I'm well into my early 40's (gulp!). Jay and I were the youngest (and most overdressed) people there by a decade...at least. It was so very St. Paul. It was so very, very perfect.

White cake with white frosting!?! It's like they planned it all just for me!

It truly was a beautiful day...glowing with birthday goodness. But I think the thing that made today so very special was the ordinary everythingness of it all.

Except for the disco lights, it was every wonderful lunch I've ever had with Mom and Dad. Except for the gluttonous influx of wall posts (and being sung to by a real rock star!), it was every delightful Facebook conversation I've ever had with any and all of you. Except for the fancy wrapping paper, it was every whimsical, practical, ridiculous thing I've ever picked out just because. Except for the cake (and the lobster tail, I suppose), it was every hilarious, idiotic night Jay and I have ever had out and about in this city we love so very, very much.

Brian Andreas says it best:

Time stands still best in moments that look suspiciously like ordinary life.

Thank you all for a perfectly ordinary, perfectly exceptional day.

Giving Thanks - Redux

Everyone is thankful...except the turkeys

There's a lot of thankfulness going around the internet these days...as well there should be. 'Tis the season! We've got Facebook status updates and blog posts and hash tags and locally-themed lists...all chock-full of gratefulness and meaningful reflection. I like it...I like it a lot.

And although I did a "Giving Thanks" post last year, it's not like there can ever be enough gratitude, right? I think this year (after quite a few months of stress and disappointment) I'd like to give thanks for all the things that didn't happen...for all the things that went differently than we'd hoped.

Because uff da, there seems to have been a lot of it.

For you non-Scandihoovians

For example:

I am grateful that the first house we tried to buy had so much water seeping into the structure that there were mushrooms growing behind the shutters. Not only did we not get saddled with a crappy house, but we also found a way (waaaaaaaay) better place. As I type this, things are still up in the air...but we're cautiously optimistic that this short sale will go through. Keep your fingers crossed, kids. This. Is. Happening.

Speaking of the short sale that just won't end, I'm grateful that the banks are taking their own sweet time about things. Why you ask? Because my awesome tax guy says it will be completely advantageous to us (for tax purposes, of course) to close in 2012 instead of so very late in 2011. Isn't that a grown-up way to think about this? I'm coming along nicely, aren't I?

You know why else this slow, slow, slow home-buying process is a good thing? Because now Jay will have been at his new job long enough to have 30+ days of pay stubs from this particular employer. Which means we'll (likely) get a lower interest rate than we would've had we needed to close in the midst of/too close to his job transition. Again with the grown-up stuff.

I don't understand why the whole house can't be red...

And speaking of Jay's job transition, I'm really grateful that the old job (which was, once upon a time, a great  job) made it virtually impossible for him to ever take a day off. Why? Because they had to pay him for 1,472,853.96 days of unused vacation. You know what that adds up to? A larger down-payment. And also, a sectional sofa.

There are so many other random events in my life that have brought forth awesomeness. Too many to mention, so I'll just tell you about one more (even though this happened a few years ago):

Rude bus-talkers & bad directions brought me to them!

Did you know that I met two of my dearest friends because of some chick who was BAWLING on her cell phone on the bus? Seriously, for miles this girl was sobbing into her phone...in the middle of a silent bus. I couldn't stand it. I was either going to scream at her about dignity and manners...or I was going to hurl myself from the bus. As I am a Midwesterner (and a Ronning), I chose self-sacrifice. And I landed on the sidewalk outside "that adorable cookie shop I've been meaning to try." The rest is history.

And did you know that on the way to a birthday party for one of the aforementioned friends, I got so completely lost in wooded exurbia that I thought I was going to have to just turn around and go home, missing the party entirely? Until I realized that I was following the car of another very lost person who was trying to find the very same party (Damn you, Google maps!). She and I both timidly rolled down our windows ("You're either a murderer or you're lost trying to find the same party..."), struck up a conversation and got ourselves un-lost. We were all BFF before we even pulled in to the hostess's driveway.

A more welcoming triumvirate of women, I've never met...I am beyond blessed that they've brought me into their warm, wacky circle. Especially since I've had a lot of whining to do in recent months...and they have lots of cookies--and wisdom--to share.

Life is full of things that don't go the way we think they should. Oftentimes, it's for reasons we couldn't have dreamed up, if left to our own devices.

So this year, I am particularly grateful for unanswered prayers and happy mistakes. Just like Mom always says, "Everything happens for a reason."

Happy Thanksgiving, dear friends! 

Made My Day: Third Thursday Night at the Museum

Jay and I are very good at having museum memberships. We are not, however, so great at remembering to use them. We usually make it to big exhibitions, but often neglect to think of the museum as a "What should we do tonight?" solution. So early this week, we decided that we were going to have a Thursday night date-night at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts. We wanted to see the Edo Pop exhibit and the Young People's Ofrenda.

"Your Dog" by Yoshitomo Nara

So we checked our schedules, and we made our plans. We dusted off our membership cards, and then realized that we wouldn't need them...it was a Third Thursday, and a whole lotta people would be doing the exact same thing...for free!

We got there early, said hello to "Your Dog" (some day I'm going to get banned from the museum for climbing up on the statue and hugging him), grabbed a snack from D'Amico, and set off on our adventure.

It was a veritable grown-up, hipster playground!

This also works for Rihanna's Only Girl (In the World), FYI.

Night-at-the-Roxbury inducing house music, red gels over the lights in the lobby, and more people snapping iPhone photos than you could shake your chunky-framed glasses at. Thank goodness I won that iPod Touch a while back so I could take Hipstamatic photos (Pistil film and John S/Lucifer IV lenses). Otherwise I'm not sure I could have accurately captured the scene.

I kid...I kid! It was a lovely night with such a broad swath of humanity. So many folks were there, taking in all the wonders that this wonderful museum has to offer. It really was a fantastic mix of people. In fact, as we were settling in for the manga/anime/comics conversation, Jay said "Huh...there are more middle-aged women in here than I would have expected." Score one for the moms!

We saw Japanese ukiyo-e woodblock prints that were hundreds of years old, as well as ofrendas recently made by Minnesota high school students as a way of honoring someone who has passed away. We listened to a talk given by a renown pop surrealist and a writer dude. We drew our own comics and wrote on the wall and discovered some awesome wood-type prints in the gift shop. (Just in case our short sale ever goes through, you can purchase house-warming gifts here. How easy did I make that? You're welcome!)

Jay even won a print in the post-lecture/talk drawing. He always wins drawings...if only his luck translated to Powerball!

Jay and Camilla d'Errico...and his print from her Helmet Girls series.

The whole experience just felt warm and electric and...red...and I loved every minute of it!

 

We couldn't have had a better night. The museum was vibrant and buzzing...there were so many ways to participate...there were so many things to learn. I think we're going to become monthly Third Thursday participants...and I bet we won't forget about our museum memberships anymore.

Lighting Candles: Rubik's Cubism

I never got past this stage...

I hope Rubik's Cubes are never en vogue as a toy again. I hope my (future) children never ask for one. Because all I'll be able to mutter--as I drag them down another toy aisle in Target--is "let's not waste your time or my money."

Action figures? Fine. Legos? As many as you want. Barbie? As long as she doesn't try to convince you that math is hard.

But not the Rubik's Cube.

Why?

Because that stupid piece of plastic was a source of complete frustration to me. I couldn't do it. Not at all. I couldn't get more than one side. Ever. I thought the Rubik's Cube sucked. SUCKED.

And no, I didn't just peel the stickers off and rearrange them so it was "finished." And NO, I didn't read any of the little books on how to "solve" them...that would totally be cheating...duh. I mean, if you can't do it without someone telling you how, then what's the point?

I guess I'm still a little bent out of shape about the iconic toy from the 80s. Unless we're using it to make art. Then I'm totally on board!

Check this out:

This guy in Michigan--Pete Fecteau--used Rubik's Cubes (4,242 of them, to be exact)...

...to make a mural called "Dream Big"...

...that turned out like this...

Amazing, right? Read all about it here (the site from which I lifted all the great photos...all credit due to Pete and his crew!).

I love it when people take an everyday object--something that the rest of us regard with disdain...or something we've forgotten about...or something we just didn't ever bother to notice in the first place--and turn it into art. I love that the process is as fascinating as the product. I love that a relic from the 1980s was turned into a larger than life image of a powerful American. I love that although the medium is kitschy, the end result is absolutely full of reverence.

Awesome, right? Like, totally.

Mickey's Diner

Sometimes you need pancakes at 11:00 at night.

It's one of those things that once it hits you, the only course of action is to succumb to the impulse. You could go home and make yourself some eggs and toast or slice up an apple and dip it in peanut butter. You could scold yourself about wanting such gluttonous food so late at night. You could whip up some flapjacks on your own...even though your stupid fry pan and your stupid stove will never match the spectacular heat and seasoned grease of an industrial griddle.

You're gonna end up here eventually...

None of it will matter though. It's not even remotely the same. You may be able to tide yourself over...to resist for a night or two. Maybe logistics and circumstances will help drag things out for a week...or even a month. But the ravenous hankering will persist. It will get lodged, all too conspicuously, in a corner of your brain.

And it won't go away until you have pancakes...at some dinery, breakfasty place...in the middle of the damn night. (Or at like 11 p.m....I mean we're not as young as we used to be, right?)

There isn't a thing I could say about Mickey's Diner that hasn't been said a million times before.

Open 24-7...365 days a year...for the last 72 years.

It is a downtown St. Paul icon.

The food is greasy and mediocre...and always tastes heavenly.

You'll recognize its familiar facade from movies like the Mighty Ducks and A Prairie Home Companion.

It is frequented by all walks of humanity, at all hours of the day.

The waitresses look like they've been there since the place opened in 1939 and are absolutely suspicious if you're too friendly when you're ordering.

Everything looks dingy and sticky...even when it's spotlessly clean.

All these things make Mickey's--in my eyes--absolutely perfect. In every possible way.

So as Jay and I were leaving a mixer/big event wrap-up on Saturday night--both of us famished from busy days completely devoid of fulfilling (any?) meals and giddy to take advantage of the extra hour granted by the end of Daylight Saving Time--my request for a late-night breakfast was met with, "Do you wanna go to Mickey's?"

I thought you'd never ask.

Going to Mickey's sort of feels like being a tourist in our hometown. We've lived in St. Paul over 7 years (Jay's been here longer, actually) and I think we've only eaten at Mickey's a handful of times. It's barely 3 miles from our apartment. We're downtown St. Paul all the time. And we never go. I have no idea why.

The counter wasn't empty for long.

So as we sat in a booth at the end of the dining car, it felt like we could have been anywhere in the country. It could have been any season. Or any hour of the day. We could have been lost. Or just around the corner. It was familiar and foreign all at once. Comfortable and novel. Absolutely ours and not ours at all.

I barely had time to change Hipstamatic lenses, the food came so fast. We wolfed it down, like someone was going to take it away from us. Pancakes and eggs and hash-browns and bacon. Plenty to share. More than we needed. Exactly what we wanted.

Before we knew it, we were thrust back out into the chilly, windy, streets of St. Paul...yellow leaves blowing wildly and people walking by quickly, their heads down against the gusts. Our world just exactly as we'd left it, a mere 30 minutes prior.

While there are so so so many other places in the Twin Cities that serve delightful breakfasts, there's something special about Mickey's. Something that transports you somewhere (or some time) else...even though it's right in the middle of your everyday existence.

And pancakes at 11:00 p.m.? No problem.

Small Fish...Big Ponds

(This post was 110% inspired by Rachel Toor's 05/04/11 Chronicle of Higher Education article, The Joys of Being the Dumbest Person in the Room. If you'd like to read it and this link doesn't work, just let me know and I'll email it to you. It's super-fantastic!)
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Driven to Discover...

About a year ago, just after I'd begun my new job, I attended a work event celebrating the McKnight Land Grant Professors. These folks are junior faculty members at the U who have been honored with a special 2-year research award.

The goal of the program is to "advance the careers of [the U's] most promising junior faculty at a critical point in their professional lives. ... The winners [are] chosen for their potential for important contribution to their field; the degree to which their achievements and ideas demonstrate originality, imagination, and innovation; the significance of their research; and the potential for attracting outstanding students." 

Faculty development initiatives such as this are critical to the strength of any research institution, simultaneously developing and retaining top intellectual talent. It was pretty cool to have the opportunity to spend the evening with these award recipients, as well as other faculty "alumni" of the program.

The Lowly-est...

Actually, it was about 37% pretty cool and about 63% really freaking intimidating. I spent the first part of the evening stammering to even introduce myself, as I was one of the greenest/lowliest people in attendance. And then I spent the rest of the night loathing myself for not trying harder in life. Could I have been a rock-star faculty member? Or even a "one-hit wonder" faculty member? I may not know anything about nanoparticles, biofuels, or predictive behavioral economic models, but I'm not a complete foppotee, right?

So faked my way through dinner with the very best "oooh-that's-so-interesting" expression I could muster, nodding, smiling and trying to cut the ginormous hunk of meat that was our dinner without looking like a complete cave-woman. We totally had the wrong knives...it was so awkward. The whole night was awkward.

Until I unwittingly found myself in a conversation with a seriously brilliant professor from the humanities. I wish I could remember how she summarized her research...something about art history and how modern industry is reflected in the design of everyday objects...and what that tells us about society? Or something like that. It was awesome...that particular breed of awesome that is a hybrid of obvious and novel all at the same time.

Anyway, we got talking about the challenges and rewards of interdisciplinary research...and other higher education-y stuff. She was talking about the daily realities of her scholarship and pedagogy. And I was talking about the actual content of my education, research and lived professional experiences. She made some comment how stupid she felt for not knowing some really basic "this-is-how-higher-ed-works" stuff...and then I got to explain it to her. "How stupid am I for not knowing that?" she stammered. "Why would you?" I replied, in proud/comforting tone, "I mean as students of higher education, we spend our entire graduate careers talking about these issues...just like you talk about your stuff." And that made perfect sense to her.

First semester of grad school...

ME. I KNEW SOMETHING. I mean it was some pretty basic Birnbaum 101 stuff. But hey...I KNEW IT. And I knew it cold.

Maybe I did belong at the table. Even if only metaphorically speaking.

As we fast-forward a year or so from that event, I still find myself struggling with being new. I still find myself feeling like the dumbest person in the room. I still wonder if it wouldn't be more comfortable or immediately gratifying to be a bigger deal at a smaller place. I miss many aspects of my work at St. Kate's...and I miss working closely with students like I did at UWRF. I still wonder if my teeny, tiny job at the big, bureaucratic U has anything to do with anything that actually matters.

Room to grow...

But here's the thing I've come to understand about myself:

I love being a small fish in a big pond. I love the sense of possibility and the omnipresence of inspiration. I love being a part of a community that is bursting with brilliance. I love meeting people with such expansive interests and knowledge.

As I type these words, I ask myself why that is. Is it dodging responsibility? Is it not living up to potential? Is it passing the buck? Is it settling for the safety of the shadows?

Probably a little...I mean let's be honest...there's no denying the comfort of being the guy behind the guy...way, way, waaaaaay behind that other guy. But I honestly do not believe that is my primary raison d'être when it comes to small fish and big ponds. I own my work and my corner of the world. I'm not afraid to admit when I am wrong or when I've messed up.

And it's not insecurity. Dear heavens...no one has ever accused me of lacking in the self-esteem department. Yikes. Not at all.

I think it has to do with thirst. And aspiration. And wonder.

To quote Professor Toor's aforementioned article:

"I find it thrilling to be overwhelmed by someone else's brilliance. It makes me want to work harder, to be better. It sends me back to that desperate time of seeking to prove myself worthy [...]. And it makes me more generous."

I love the "big pond" landscape...wide open spaces and stunning vistas and limitless possibility. It may not be terrain on which I will ever travel...it may not be airspace in which I will ever fly. But I will marvel at the accomplishments of my colleagues. I will be grateful to work in such a stimulating environment. I will strive to support the efforts of others. I will be exceptional at my job so they can be exceptional at theirs. And I will (hopefully) envision things for myself that I might not have dreamed of in other realms.

None of this is to say that various types of institutions (higher education or otherwise) can't also provide "big pond" atmospheres. I don't mean to be snobbish or size-ist or anything like that...at least not more so than I probably already am. But the truth of the matter is--and I say this all the time--I am a "big-public-university" kind of person. I've worked at two private, liberal arts colleges and one regional, public university. I enjoyed and appreciated each of these wonderful institutions. I grew from my professional experiences and the people with whom I worked.

But places like the University of  Minnesota (and the Universities of Wisconsin/Kansas) are "home" to me. All of my formal schooling has been from public research universities. Being part of this type of academic environment has been critical to my educational experiences. To continue on, in a professional capacity--at the same type of institution that was so formative to me as a student--allows me to truly exist in the best of both worlds. The lines between student and professional can be a little blurry. I (among other things) coordinate events for distinguished senior faculty and work to promote their recognition in prestigious national academies, and then get to listen--as part of my job!-- to MacArthur Fellows talk about their ground-breaking work. Nice work, if you can get it, huh?

Again, I return to Professor Toor's column: 

Academe affords us the opportunity to wade into new intellectual waters, where rogue waves threaten to take us down, where we may have to drift for a while before finding our way. The thrill of being lost, of not knowing, is something that it's taken me decades to appreciate. [...] One of the greatest gifts of aging is that you can let go of the idea that you have to know everything, that you always have to be the smartest kid in the class—or, at least, let go of the notion that you should try to convince others that you are. At a certain point, you're no longer threatened by your inadequacies, but grateful to find people who can shore them up.

Being a little fish in a big pond allows me to feel like a perpetual student, a determined young(er) professional, and a supportive member of an exciting community. What I don't know doesn't matter...as long as I am poised and ready to learn. Being a small fish in a big pond, I can rest assured that there are scores of people waiting to teach me whatever it is that I need or want to know. In fact, odds are good that they're sitting at the very same dinner table...all we need to do is start the conversation.