Minnesota

Spring Cleaning

Spring Cleaning 5

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It’s no secret that Minnesota has experienced a hellaciously long winter. Before moving to Smalltown, I aways assumed April–the official month of Spring Break–to be 30 warm days of sunshine, flowers and pastel accessories.

Then I experienced April in ‘Sota — a desolate span of weeks marked by below freezing temperatures, significant snow accumulation, and loads of those obnoxious Canadian Geese.

And I’ve yet to see a single pair of capri pants!

Needless to say, I was thrilled to return from a weekend in New York and discover that nearly all the snow in Smalltown had melted away.

Until I took Jolie outside for a bathroom break, that is.

Apparently, Scott has chosen to go the entire winter season without picking up a single piece of dog feces. For five long months, Jolie’s turds have been safely concealed under an ever-growing blanket of Minnesota snow. Yet now that the final signs of winter are vanishing? Let’s just say that 300+ dog turds in a ten foot radius of dying grass sticks out like…well…300+ dog turds in a ten foot radius of dying grass.

Katrina is not happy about this.

My diligence in regards to cleaning up after Jolie most likely stems from spending three years in Seattle — a place where failing to scoop the poop is frowned upon almost as much as drinking Folgers coffee or not driving a hybrid. No matter where I go, I make certain I’m always equipped with one of Jolie’s scented, designer poop bags. It’s a strategy that’s never failed me– I’ve definitely learned these miniature pink bags are multifunctional–even lifesaving in certain situations.

So, while I’ve spent the last several months cleaning up Jolie’s droppings no matter how frigid the weather, Scott’s been using the plethora of snow to hide his DIY-fertilizer project. As soon as the great spring thaw revealed his transgression, I knew it was time to confront him.

Me: Scott? Have you seriously gone the entire winter without picking up any of Jolie’s poop?

Scott: (Giggles)

Me: What the heck, Scott?! That’s against our apartment’s policy. We’re going to get in trouble!

Scott: Pfft! No. They can’t prove it was us.

Me: Can’t prove it was you. I’ve been doing my part to keep the grass clean this entire time!

Scott: Wow. You deserve a medal or something.

Me: This isn’t funny.

Scott: Yes it is! You need to lighten up. Plus…how do you know all of it is Jolie’s poop? It could be from some of the other small dogs that live here.

Me: Don’t be ridiculous. In a line up of 100 dog turds, I’d be able to pick out Jolie’s in a heartbeat. So would you, and you know it. Her’s look like little brown Cheetos…none of the other dogs have  poop that even slightly resembles it.

Scott: Are you bragging about the uniqueness of Jolie’s poop?

Me: No! I’m just saying, I can totally tell that all of the offending poop is our responsibility. Every single dropping looks like a freeze-dried brown Cheetoh that’s been left to petrify in the freezing cold for several months.

Scott: If we’re getting technical, her poop is slightly bigger than an actual Cheetoh. It’s more like the ones they print on the packaging that are ‘enlarged to show texture’.

Me: I cannot believe you just said that.

Scott: (Giggles)

Me: So…are you going to help me pick it up, or not?

Scott: Of course not! But not because I’m lazy. Everyone knows manure is the best fertilizer, and I don’t want to get in the way of Mother Nature’s natural composting. It goes against everything I stand for.

While he has a point, something tells me our landlord wouldn’t be able to see the logic in his argument. And so, I’ve taken it upon myself to become the lone pooper-scooper of the Taylor household. I figure if I can collect ten pieces of fossilized chihuahua feces with each bathroom break, the area should be free and clear by the end of the month.

Unfortunately, this week has set back my progress a bit. You see, despite being the middle of April, it still looks like this outside.

snowy

While I could be upset that the mall was closed due to a Winter storm warning on the week that is supposed to be Spring-Freaking-Break, I’m choosing to instead focus my mental energy on the more positive aspects of this prolonged winter.

Namely, the fact that the poop is once again hidden, and my painstaking scooping has been delayed for at least another week.

See? Always a sliver lining.

*****

Editor’s Note: I realize this post may have made Scott sound like an absentee dog dad, which is absolutely not the case. He’s just really into natural composting methods. Truth be told, he’s the one who puts on latex gloves and decompresses Jolie’s glands in the bathtub while I blissfully lounge on the couch eating vegetarian Corn Dogs and watching Project Runway.

If you never want to visit this blog again after reading that last sentence, I would totally understand. 

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Dontcha Know

Dontcha Know 11

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I’ll never forget the day I was standing in line at the Eiffel Tower when a strange woman from Canada approached me with a disturbingly accurate question.

“Excuse me,” she inquired, “Are you from the Pacific Northwest?”

After confirming her suspicion that I was indeed from Washington State, she smiled knowingly. “I knew it! I’m from British Columbia and I would recognize your accent anywhere.”

Accent?

Accent?

Is this mythical Pacific Northwest accent news to anyone else but me? I never thought the fine people of Washington actually had an accent. As soon as I returned from Paris, I shared my experience with Scott.

“Yeah…you definitely have an accent.” he snickered. “Take the way you say ‘warm’ for example.”

“What?!” I exclaimed. “I pronounce ‘warm’ exactly as it’s spelled, Scott! Like the word ‘arm’ with a ‘w’ sound in front of it!”

“That’s the problem, Katrina. I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to be pronounced like ‘war’ with an ‘m’ sound at the end of it. That’s how everyone else I’ve ever met says it.”

I let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Maybe I do say the word ‘warm’ a little funny…but that’s just me. It’s not a Washington thing or anything.”

“Yeah, well…” he continued, “They say the perfect American dialect can be found in the state of Nebraska. And since Washington is halfway across the country, I’m pretty sure you guys have some sort of slight accent.”

“Seriously, Scott? You’re just saying that because your from Nebraska.”

“Nope.” He argued. “They taught us that in school.”

“Yeah,” I snarked, “School in Nebraska. They were just trying to come up with a more substantial claim to fame than Chris Klein. Plus…as someone who actually lived in Nebraska for four years, I beg to differ. You don’t hear it so much with the younger Nebraskans, but I’ve met several middle-aged people from smaller towns who sound like they’re from a Leave it to Beaver episode. It’s almost as if the ‘non-accent’ is so strong, it becomes its own type of accent!”

He paused for a brief moment before tentatively responding. “Yeah…I guess I can see your point. I do know some people who have the ‘classic American dialect’ that sounds straight out of 1955.”

“See!?” I squealed. “I told you! They sound like old fashioned news anchors. Plus…a lot of them think I’m from the state of ‘Warshington’, and that’s just wrong on an entirely different level.”

“Whatever.” he scoffed. “At least we know how to pronounce the word ‘warm’ correctly.”

********

Regardless of where my accent came from, one thing’s for certain.

The longer I live in ‘Sota, the more and more my style of speech begins to resemble Bobby’s Mom.

I haven’t resorted to saying “Dontcha know” or “Good gravy” yet, but I’m certainly starting to catching myself embracing the long Minnesota O’s, or asking Scott to please “hand me that beg of stuff over there!”

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Ever since I was a teen, people have asked me what part of Minnesota I was from. “You sound like one of them!” they explained.  While I initially found this confusing, I’ve since realized my one-of-a-kind accent is most likely the result of being raised in Alaska. Ever listen to Sarah Palin? Her northern accent is certainly similar to the “Bobby’s Mom” ‘Sota speak we all know and love tolerate.

So there you have it. My…uh…unique inflection is essentially due to spending seven years in Alaska.

Either that, or I’ve been destined since birth to reside in the tater tot state.

(Something tells me it’s a little of both.)

I hear the accent creeping in more and more each day. I nearly fell out of my Asics last week when I hear myself yelling “Jeeeaab!” in the microphone during Turbo Kick class.

(That’s Minnesotan for “jab”, by the way.)

(Luckily I was teaching a class of native Midwesterners who were all able to translate.)

This may come as a surprise, but I’m actually kind of loving my thickening ‘Sota accent. I really like living in Smalltown and dare I say it, feel pretty darn proud to call Minnesota my home. Sure, I may sound a little wonky to some…but it’s about time I started embracing who I am and where I come from.

Correction.

It’s aboot time.

(All jokes aside, please feel free to reach through your computer monitor and punch me in the face if you ever hear me utter the phrase “Oh, fer cute!”*)

*Don’t know what that means? Just watch this.

*Also, I’m sorry I made fun of you, Nebraska. I really do love you. (In spite of the fact that you are responsible for Chris Klein.)

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30 Days of Thanks

30 Days of Thanks 1

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Hello blog friends! I hope you all had a fabulous Thanksgiving filled with friends, family, and perhaps most importantly, gravy.

Despite being sick as a dog on Turkey Day, I truly enjoyed spending the holiday with Scott, Jolie, and a good friend who visited from Seattle. Sure, my sinuses were more congested than a Los Angeles freeway and I nearly coughed up a lung or two during the meal, but I didn’t let that stop me from stuffing my face with all the scrumptuous cuisine that laid before me. (Such sacrifices in caloric intake are necessary when you have three pies for three people.)

It’s safe to say that out of all those gathered around our table, Jolie had the best time of all. After napping beneath a cave of throw pillows for eight consecutive hours, she emerged to feast on a turkey heart, liver and pair of kidneys topped with gravy before retreating back to her snuggle spot without having to was a single dish. She was spotted later gorging herself on approximately two pounds of pie crust.

This may not have been the best idea before a long car ride in an extremely cramped Toyota.

Unfortunately, the power of 10,000 air fresheners couldn’t make a dent in the stench of her gizzard-inspired flatulence.

Aside from the doggie indigestion, it was a pretty wonderful holiday and I truly had a lot to be thankful for.

Which leads me to today’s post.

I’m sure many of you have seen or even taken part in the 30 Days of Thanks challenge. For the month of November, participants post one thing they are thankful for each day on the social media outlet of their choice. According to the website, “The thing for which you give thanks can be big or small–it doesn’t matter, because even 30 small gratitudes will add up to something awesome by month’s end … What you’re thankful for can be anything at all–as long as you’re consciously thankful for it. That’s the key.”

While I adored the idea of this challenge, I think we all know I sometimes have trouble committing to something like this for more than a few days. (Cough!…cough!…The Outfit Project!…cough!) It is for this reason that I’ve chosen to spew all my nuggets of thanks on you in one fell swoop. Grab your macaroni people — it’s about to get cheesy up in here.

30 Things/People/Ideas/(And okay…fine…accessories!) I’m Thankful For

1. Scott

He’s my best friend. He cooks me fabulous gourmet pizza and forgave me for soiling his favorite board shorts on a trip to Hawaii. (Long story.) In our nine years together we have changed so much, but we’ve done it together. While he constantly reminds me I have horrible taste in music, television and iPhone cases, he can’t deny that I have impeccable taste in men.

2. Jolie

I went from being deathly afraid of all things canine to allowing one to sleep in my bed and lick the sweat from my face when I get home from the gym. She is a snuggly, real-life teddy bear, and I couldn’t live without her. Also? She doesn’t care if I go a day or two without showering. (I actually think she likes me better on those days.)

3. My family

They say you can pick your friends, but you can’t pick your family. Still…if you could pick your family, I’d pick the one I was born into. They’ve somehow managed to put up with me for 28 tantrum-packed years, and miraculously love me in spite of it all. They’ve also taught me to appreciate things like eating an entire jar of pickled herring while watching The Sound of Music on a tiny sofa packed with three other people.

4. My in-laws

I really lucked out here. While most people can complain about their in-laws ’til the cows come home, I truly enjoy spending time with Scott’s family. A good majority of the time I actually like them more than I like him. (No offense, Scott.)

5. My job

Where to begin? I love my coworkers, love the organization we work for, and love the work I get to do on a daily basis. It’s basically a giant love fest. I’m also deeply grateful that I was able to keep my job and work from home when we relocated to ‘Sota. I’ve always gathered a great deal of satisfaction from the work I do, and feel so blessed to have a career that challenges and fulfills me.

6. Scott’s job

Moving to ‘Sota when Scott changed jobs was a huge risk. We both felt apprehensive and vulnerable, but decided to go for it anyway. Nearly one year later, I am so incredibly glad we had the courage to do what we did. Much like myself, Scott is lucky enough to work with a group of really terrific people. His new job is a perfect fit on a variety of levels, and it makes me so happy to see the joy and contentment he experiences as the result of his work.

7. New friends

I can’t even begin to tell you how much the new group of friends I’ve formed in Smalltown means to me. They are funny. They are fabulous. When I sprained my cankle in a random parking lot, they dove toward the pavement to save my Louis Vuitton purse. They put up with my craziness. We have so much fun together, and they are easily one of the best aspects of my new life in Minnesota.

8. Old friends

Let me just clarify that I mean “old” as in “been friends for a long time” as opposed to “wrinkly skin and Werther’s original candies”. That being said, one of my favorite things about moving around so much is the awesome network of friends Scott and I have built in the process. To all of our peeps in Washington, Nebraska and New York — we miss you!

9. My brother’s safety

I’m so appreciative that my younger brother, who is currently serving our nation overseas, is doing well and staying safe. I’m beyond proud of him and happy that we’ve been able to receive frequent updates!

10. My side-gig at the gym

Teaching fitness classes at the local gym is a huge source of joy, stress-relief and socialization in my life. Sometimes I still can’t believe I actually get paid to work out and meet new people. (I also sometimes can’t believe people come to me for fitness encouragement/advice as I have a serious Double-Stuff Oreos Problem.)

11.  Double-Stuff Oreos

Trans fat never tasted so good.

12. My health

While I’m battling a terrible cold-flu-sinus-infection-hybrid as I type this, I don’t have any major health problems that limit my lifestyle. Although the Oreo problem could possibly change that…?

13. Living in Minnesota

The more I live here, the more I grow to love it. In my not-so-humble opinion, ‘Sota is kind of the most awesome state in the Midwest.

***

(Warning…this is the part where I ran out of meaningful things, and stuff starts getting shallow.)

***

14. My Keurig

It may have been the best investment we’ve made all year.

15. The Internet

It helps me with the important things in life: working from home, keeping in touch with loved ones, and Googling how much Kim Kardashian weighs. (116 pounds. I keep visualizing her back side and can’t help but feel that something isn’t adding up with that number.)

16. The Four Seasons

No, not the hotel. (Although if I could actually afford to stay there, I’m sure I’d be very thankful for it.) Believe it or not, I’m glad to finally get to experience four distinct seasons of weather. After three years in Seattle with nine month rain spells which were briefly interrupted by quick glimpses of summer, I’m relishing things like humid summer nights, changing leaves, and even the snow I formerly refered to as Satan’s dandruff. Sure, it’s 5 degrees outside right now (yes, literally 5 degrees), but I kind of don’t mind it…?

17. Soup

It’s healthy, hearty and perfect for a 5 degree day like today. It also has a nostalgic element, as it reminds me of my childhood in the Pacific Northwest.

18. Target

There’s no disputing the fact that Target is on pretty much everyone’s list of favorite stores. There’s also no disputing the fact that the presence of a Target in Smalltown is at least 34% of the reason I’m enjoying my existence here.

19. Our vehicle

Sure, it’s lacking a hub cap, a leather interior and features like keyless entry and cruise control…yet it somehow manages to trek through the snow with all the gusto and stamina of a Northern Minnesota moose. It also averages an economical 37 miles per gallon on the highway. And while Scott and I do have to share it between the two of us, we’re both thankful it’s at least been paid off.

20. Wine

A simple pleasure that brings me great joy and makes watching football tolerable.

21. My church

I kind of feel guilty for putting this after wine…but I honestly forgot to mention up at the top of the list, and I didn’t want to go back and change the order/renumber everything. (Does this make me a bad Lutheran? The Lord will understand…right?) All jokes aside, I’m really glad to have found a church community here in Smalltown where I feel welcome and spiritually fed.

22. Scott

I wanted to put him in here again…for emphasis. (I also forgot to mention earlier that he loves Nordstrom Rack just as much as I do…that in itself justifies a second mention.)

 23. Apple TV

Even if the screen saver is out to humiliate me, I’m thankful to have hours upon hours of free entertainment streamed through our wireless internet. I’ve been milking it for all it’s worth — which basically means I’ve burned through 115 hours of Gossip Girl in the past 30 days. It’s a tough job, but somebody’s gotta do it.

24. The view from our apartment

 

Spending all day at home requires an environment that makes me feel inspired and comfortable. Our incredible prairie vista accomplishes both.

25. Youth

I feel as if youth is something that goes unappreciated until we’re older and it’s too late. While at twenty-eight I’m no spring chicken, I’m also not dead yet. I’m trying to be aware of this, and grateful for it.

26. Heat

As I mentioned earlier, it’s five degrees outside right now. Central heat is a very good thing.

27. Free time

I’m thankful for the moments I have to spend reading, cooking, crafting…and let’s face it…watching Gossip Girl.

28. GoJane.com

It’s pretty much the best website ever.

29. This blog

I’m passionate about telling stories through my writing. I care deeply about this blog, and am excited each day to invest my time in it. It is a wonderful creative outlet, and a giant source of delight in my life. It’s also a heck of a lot of fun.

30. You guys!

The fact that people actually choose to read this little blog of mine is something that never ceases to amaze me. I am beyond honored that you spend time here. I appreciate the support, feedback and camaraderie. I relish reading every single comment, and dig hearing your side of things. I love when you tell me I’m being ridiculous. I love when you tell me I’m not being ridiculous. Heck…I love when you tell me pretty much anything! What I’m trying to say here is thank you. Thank you for supporting me, and thank you for supporting my blog. I’m very thankful for each and every one of you.

(I’m also thankful there’s only 30 days in November…not to sound ungrateful, but I was kind of running out of ideas.)

****

Main image by Jon Ashcroft

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The weather outside is frightful

The weather outside is frightful 3

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As I sit here typing this post, it’s a balmy 14 degrees in the sleepy little village of Smalltown. Being that I have a fabulous furnace and ridiculously warm muskrat stole, the temperature is not what concerns me. My largest source of apprehension would be the snow, or as I like to call it, “satan’s dandruff”.

The piles of satan’s dandruff that I have been unwillingly forced to drive in.

Four years in Nebraska provided me with plenty of experience maneuvering an automobile through harsh winter weather. Add to that three years of  life in Upstate New York (not to mention a horrible meteorological condition known as “lake effect snow”) with nothing but a teeny-tiny Toyota, and I’m practically a professional winter driver.

At least I was. Unfortunately, the confidence I’d spent seven years building up immediately flew out the window the day my car skidded out of control, spinning in two complete circles down Genesee Street — the main road that runs through the city of Syracuse. Luckily there was no damage or injury, yet the incident was quite traumatic. I pulled into the nearest parking lot and made Scott walk ten blocks to come drive me home. Thirty minutes later, I was still shaking.

From that day on, I insisted Scott drive in the snow whenever possible. This was partly because he’s a much better driver in general, but mostly because if we did get in some sort of collision, I didn’t want it to be my fault. (Yes, that makes me a jerk, but at least I won’t be the jerk who totals the car.) Luckily, the year of the Genesee Street disaster was our last winter in snowy New York. As soon as we moved to Seattle, driving in the snow became a pretty rare scenario for the following reasons:

1. There’s not much snow in Seattle…just rain.

2. When it does snow, Seattleites don’t know how to drive in it. Snow driving in the Pacific Northwest is like attempting to perform the butterfly stroke in a swimming pool of peanut butter — slow, incredibly messy, and something you don’t’ want to do unless you absolutely have to. It will also take at least four hours. Even if you do happen to be a skilled snow driver, no one else knows what they’re doing; there’s a pretty good chance you’re going to get rear ended by an individual who hasn’t yet grasped the concept of pumping their brakes.

3. Seattle pretty much shuts down when it snows, so it’s not like you have anywhere to go in the first place.

Because of this, it’s been a good three years since I’ve taken an automobile out on the ice. Now that I’m a resident of Minnesota, I fully realize the need to get back in the saddle and refresh my winter driving skills. This morning’s drive to the gym seemed like a great time to start, as Scott would be sitting right next to me, offering support, encouragement, and advice.

(Or maybe just sarcastic commentary and poor coaching.)

ME: Agghhh! Quit rear-ending me people!!! Don’t you see the snow on the road?

SCOTT: Katrina — there’s only an inch of snow, and hardly any of it is on the actual road.

ME: It’s icy.

SCOTT: It’s not icy at all.

ME: It’s fourteen degrees out! Of course it’s icy. QUIT REAR ENDING ME, S.U.V. LADY!!!

SCOTT: She’s rear-ending you because you’re driving 10 miles an hour down a 40 mile per hour road.

ME: I don’t care. I don’t want to get in an accident.

SCOTT: It’s fine…you can speed up. I promise.

I did as he suggested, and promptly slid through the next stop sign. It was a minor slide, but I still screamed as if I were on the treacherous wooden roller coaster at Six Flags. Our car fishtailed back and forth as I attempted to drive forward again. Scott and I both quickly agreed the time had come to invest in snow tires.

Five minutes later, I realized there was an even better investment that might need to be made.

Much to my surprise, I’ve recently discovered that Smalltown has a fairly sophisticated taxi-cab service. On Halloween weekend, a friend of mine literally hailed a cab for us from the bowling alley parking lot.

Let me reiterate how incredible that is. She hailed a cab. In Smalltown. Like, literally flagged it down while wearing full on skeleton body paint.  I call it the taxi version of Halley’s comet–it only happens ever seventy-five years, and you’re really lucky if you happen to be there for it. Honestly I never knew getting a cab — let alone flagging one down — in Smalltown was actually possible.

(I also never knew cab drivers were willing to take you through the Taco Bell drive-thru for a modest fee. Good information for future reference.)

Cab fare in Smalltown happens to be quite reasonable. Reasonable enough that I’m now considering exclusively cabbing it for the remainder of winter so that I might avoid situations where I have to drive through satan’s dandruff.

Allow me to explain before you judge my frivolity.

Working from home means that my daily commute is essentially non-existent. When I do need to drive somewhere Scott usually accompanies me, which means he can be the one at the wheel. Truly, there’s only 2-3 times a week when I might need a cab to get somewhere on my own. While paying for a taxi isn’t the most affordable thing in the world, it is certainly less expensive than a car accident. Or physical therapy. Or a really pricey lawsuit I find myself in the middle of after accidentally sliding my vehicle into the front of someone’s house.

Also, it will make me feel like I’m a character in Gossip Girl. (One of the poor ones from Brooklyn — the wealthy Upper East Siders all have private town cars.)

It’s obviously a win-win situation for everyone: myself, Scott, our car, the other drivers I won’t hit, and perhaps most importantly, the unfortunately placed houses I won’t accidentally destroy when I lose control on the black ice.

(Now I just need to sell Scott on the idea.)

(Although something tells me that part might be even more impossible than just re-learning to drive in the stupid snow in the first place.)

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