perusing local literature (October 04)

The other night, my friend/neighbor/coworker/part-time caretaker Miriam and I zoned out while Facebooking - lethal to productivity. Among the oldest pictures tagged of us, of over 1,000 each, is this little gem from college.

I remember my first year vividly, with all of its adjustments, new experiences, different perspectives, and - more than anything - the fantastic array of people who were thrown together in the class of 2008. My favorite class, American Conversations (or AMCON!) was an example of this. I got to know personalities from our class' top scholars to our football recruits, Conservative and Liberal viewpoints, urban and rural backgrounds, students from all corners of the country. All so different, all so appreciated. As we unpacked American history and cultural practices, we also unpacked each others' stories. In the process, under the watchful wing of the accidentally-maternal professor, we became like one big happy family of 40. With finals came my first literal all-nighter, culminating in witnessing a magnificent springtime sunrise from the Hoyme Hall student lounge and an almost-breakdown of a sweet friend when her computer crashed at 6AM. I took about 5 minutes to close my eyes while my other sweet friend drove to Caribou and bought me a large latte... after downing that, the next few hours ranged near-crash to a jittery, heart-racing two hours in the final. I still remember that caffeine rush as possibly more terrifying one of my life.

After sophomore year, as scheduling requires, our time in AmCon came to an end. This photo, taken by my perpetual-photographer friend Lauren (thank god, someone's got to do it!), brings back a few things vintage: my blonde highlights and the now-defunct college equivalent of The Onion, satirical looks at campus life. I also still own that sweatshirt, though it's faded a few shades lighter with a few more holes. Magdalena and Miriam remain close to me, and yes, I still wear my glasses after I've been up all night.

Those few minutes reading The Pickle together, laughing over its sarcastic, anonymous articles, somehow capture the warmth of our little class. It's unlike any other community - or family - I've known.

mmmm mmmm good (Novembers since '86)

If a collection of pixels can provoke my mouth to salivate, this one takes the cake. It may not be the most amazing photo, but it's what inside that counts. My absolute favorite food is my dad's FAMOUS Thanksgiving(-and-sometimes-Christmas-when-we-guilt-trip-him) AMAZING, MINDBLOWING STUFFING. We don't actually "stuff" anything with this, however, because this deserves its own fancy platter. It would be sacrilege to shove this up the cavity of some dead bird.

My favorite part of Thanksgiving Day are the two hours when all other production is shut down in the kitchen for Chef Bob to focus. What I love about my dad in the kitchen is what a PRODUCTION it is. To his credit, making this dish isn't like tossing an egg on the frying pan. There are many things to chop, season, simmer, saute, butter, taste, and let me sample. Dad goes about it like he does all other tasks: with tenacity and desire to be the best. For once, my precious mom plays sous-chef. And it is the best. Arguably, it Dad's stuffing is the most popular dish at all holiday tables in the family.

Every year, there's something different added or taken away. Ingredients include pine nuts, bread, celery, rosemary, thyme, craisins, oregano, sometimes apple chunks, sometimes orange zest. There is something so unique about the flavor. It's buttery and tangy and salty and sweet and I always demand he make extra so we can enjoy days of leftovers. I take no shame in reheating it for breakfast.

Maybe he's no Bobby Flay, but Chef Bob earns his kitchen bragging rights and even more of our adoration every holiday. It lasts for those other 364 days. One of my fears is that I won't ever get some kind of recipe from him because he never writes it down and always improvises. I do take some comfort, and confidence, in my years and years of taste-testing. Plus, it has to be in the genes somewhere.

everyone(thing) needs a little vitamin D (January 10)

Because I can't believe it's -10 again, and because I spent today huddled in my windowless office, and for the reason that I still can't get New York out of my mind, I identify with this sun-seeking little birdie.

I met him while perched on the stone ledge in front of the Met. After an extremely chilly walk from Columbus Circle up through Central Park, all I craved was the sun in my face and a pretzel in my mouth. I got both, with the added bonus of extra time people-watching onto 5th Avenue. While my friend Molly and I nibbled our street-cart fare (sold to us by a charming ex-Marine), we watched as museum-goers climbed the expanse of stairs past us, hurriedly rushing inside. Also flocking to our feet was a gluttonous, over-fed melee of pigeons - one of God's creatures I have yet to fully embrace.

While the fat, waddling pigeons fought for salt crumbs from our pretzels, I watched as this little fella landed next to me and paused. It was as if he knew he had no chance in the fight for food below, and just wanted to take in the street view and a few rays. Solidarity, my little feathered friend. Take all the time you need.

the very picture of leisure (August 09)

Between sick-day naps and office work from the couch, sifting through my summer photos has been like a mug of herbal tea for the eyes. In stark contrast to my previous post of Snowmageddon 09, thinking back to my towel on Zuma beach is strangely cathartic. My best friend Liv, the ultimate Californian, stretches out and literally takes the beach by the hand. That day in Malibu will forever be awesome: we stayed in her grandparents' condo, sat on the beach at sunset (oooh, how romantic), and cruised the local scene along PCH. Who knew a grocery run to get wine (forgetting the opener, but that's another story) and a D-list celeb sighting at the hidden Mexican restaurant could feel so normal? Put me at such ease? I took a liking to California.

In a place of perpetual vacation, or at least vacation weather, I could see myself forgetting how to work. It scares me how easily I would slip into a life of leisure and pleasure (rhyme those two words, OK? OK). However, Liv is about as gregarious as they come, as she lives, works, and thrives in fast-paced Los Angeles. Redheads have personalities as unique as their hair color, and Liv's has kept our friendship interesting for about 6 years now. For such different backgrounds, we click freakishly well. She's from CA, I'm from Wyoming - and we've each gotten to show the other our hometowns. This month, Liv began 2010 in a brand new apartment within the city limits of Los Angeles.

The city is a tough place to survive, or so I hear. But she does it, and does it well. Liv wrangles her little white Camry along Miracle Mile to work, hikes in the famed hills that overlook the expanse of buildings, explores Malibu and its beaches, attends film studio events with her good friend, and soaks it up with unbridled excitement.

Liv lives and breathes the life of the city, and she makes you love it a little bit, too. In the land of perpetual winter, it makes sense why I now crave some of that hot summer sun on my back. What I wouldn't give to listen to the waves and playful children, share a few sentences with my best friend, and let everything else melt away.

forced to be cozy (December 09)

This Christmas, the usual family celebration was forced into submission. In my 23 years, I had never seen snow like this. To an extreme-winter-weather-lover like me, waking up the day after Christmas was like waking up the morning of Christmas: snow everywhere, white, blinding, deep. It confined the four of us to the family cabin the Spearfish Canyon, pulling multiple shoveling stints and hours jumping in the snow like kids.

My dad takes a strange pleasure in shoveling. Growing up, our house was without a snowblower. Instead, Dad fought the constant Wyoming snow only with shovel - and our driveway is NOT short, by any means. After tackling our property and its accompanying sidewalk, Dad moved on to the neighbor's, up and down the street, shovel scraping the sidewalk under the snow. Some still winter nights, all I could hear outside was that repetitive, hollow sound of plastic on concrete. He took pleasure in the fight. The rest of us joined him when needed, but didn't mind warming the couch instead.

This particular December, the snow brought a welcome pause for us. Plows weren't able to clear highways until the night of December 26, so the four of us couldn't scatter. Instead, we ate delicious meals previously intended for visitors; watched "Home Alone" and "Home Alone 2: Lost in New York" twice each, and "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" once; read, lounged, talked, and looked at hilarious old photo albums.

My family has spent less time together now that we're spread across the country, but for these two days, our little fortress in the 5-foot drifts kept us from outside distractions. I think it could be the best holiday in recent memory.

college nostalgia, vol. 1 (May 08)

Ahhhhhhh, nothing better than those carefree days, slugging away a whiffle ball in the continuous front yards of college housing. A simple whiffle ball game turns into a sometimes dangerous game of dodge-the-car, made more complicated by the effects of the beer-pong tournament down the street, free from dry campus boundaries. Ahhhhhhhh, Lutefest.

Shuffling through photos, on a particularly rainy, cold winter night in Northfield, images of warm-ish days in early May serve as a reminder that salvation has to be coming. When it rains at this time of year, it's deceiving - I start to think oh, things are warming up, soon the snow will disappear and the trees will green - but, as we know, it will freeze and snow in a few days anyway. Spring doesn't begin until May around here.

Graduation was almost 2 years ago, yet I still long for days centered around pure bliss. Days like Lutefest weekend seemed to be structured for just that: time for all of us to gather, enjoy each other, compete in ridiculous yard games, and simply soak up the convenience of living with what seemed like 2,999 of our closest friends. I still miss coffee on the porch, strolls downtown, watching the green spread from grass to trees in full force, the slow warming of days, students lounging in shorts and tank tops, and days shifting from end-of-finals stress to end-of-year ecstasy.

There truly is nothing like early spring days in college. I wish I would have known that, then.

birthday boys get hungrier every year [May 09]

Mission: provide birthday boy with birthday meal. When I think about the volume of food it takes to keep this machine in gear, I think in terms of quantity and availability - taste is sort of an afterthought when we're talking survival. Isn't it fitting that for his 21st, I took my little brother Jens to the local Buffalo Wild Wings? This is suburban restaurant chain delight in its finest, and something of which we were deprived in our youth - but don't worry, Casper has 6 Taco Johns to serve you best. Our meals together are how we reconnect. We are no more than 5 miles apart geographically, but our lives rarely cross paths. When they do, it's over our monthly meal at the local Mexican restaurant, or in this case, a special celebratory date to the outer suburbs.

Here he is, supremely confident while he finished off his "first beers" and his own platter, the rest of mine, and some of his roommate Thomas'. My little brother is about 6'5." He dwarfs 98% of people who stand next to him. Walking alongside him, I feel like an aging, gimpy pug, chugging to keep up. That day at BW3s (is that the achronym? I'm new at this), Jens shamed me in his consumption of our massive variety of wings. Young Matson dominated with the prowess of a bulldozer, or more fittingly, some kind of sink disposal.

Some may think gluttony, but in Jens' case, it's simply a meal needed to maintain balance with energy output. He truly is a machine. Not only is he a member of the college's Nordic ski team, which requires hours of daily endurance training, Jens also volunteers, works two jobs, and two majors (art and exercise science, believe it). On a daily basis, he quietly deals with constant, sometimes debilitating chronic pain in his lower back. He's inspired to help people with their pain and hopes to pursue physical therapy; not to mention, Jens is hugely talented artistically. And very humble.

This has started to sound like a letter of recommendation (figures, since I've read about 50 of them in the last 24 hours), but I guess in a way I feel propelled to brag about him a bit. Writing this, I realize I don't think I tell him enough how much he rocks. Maybe I'll do that over our next meal at El Tequila.

a January morning

Morning in Minnesota, January. This is the kind of chill that freezes every atom of moisture to your face once it's exposed. The kind that freezes your snot, and you notice because you can't breathe through your mouth. The air is so frigid, every wisp of warmth is choked from movement once it escapes a chimney, a vent, even the river water. This particular morning, I was amazed, and horrified, by the serene beauty of it. Standing by my sliding doors in the dark, blanket wrapped around bare legs, I groaned - I knew I would have to walk out there in about an hour.

During this particular cold snap, I remember a conversation with co-sufferers about the way these seasons taunt us. Summers are hot and chokingly muggy, spent with hair stuck to sweaty face and drips down the spine under work attire. When I'm gasping for air and wondering why I moved from one of the dryest states to one of the most humid, I forget mornings like this when frost gathers at my eyelids after one blink.

Even so, I can't say I hate it. It's population control, so my dad says.

velkommen!

HELLO, friends.

I had a realization today: some of my most glorious experiences in the past few years are currently collecting digital dust in countless albums on this hard-drive, and I seem to toss them there carelessly. Sure, I make albums on facebook, but until today, I didn't realize how much I gloss over the experiences, the people, and the places that inspire me to snap these photos. After I upload, edit, and do the obligatory album, I shuffle them right back to their rightful place on my computer.

Today, in the spirit of fresh starts for 2010 (uhh, 22 days late), I've decided to start a daily experiment for me to write about at least one of my photos a day. I'll do it right here. I invite you to read, if you find it interesting. It's as much for my own memory as it will be mini-tributes to all my subjects. Maybe it will be sort of a collection of my life's social and experiential capital. Even the haphazard self-take with a friend over a beer provokes some kind of recollection.

So, this is for me, and you, to enjoy. Thanks.