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After 13 months at Target working on a project that involves reporting about events, I actually attended my first Target event in New York City. Target celebrated 50 years with partners and friends in a Chelsea warehouse. And I finally met Bullseye!
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This year, we got to the church in time and snagged some seats at one of my favorite churches, the Basilica of the Sacred Heart at Notre Dame, Ind.
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Every year since we graduated from MBA school in 2007, some friends and I have met each fall for a Notre Dame football game. 2012 was no different. We flew in and drove from many parts: Chicago, Nashville, Minneapolis, Vermont, Connecticut, and Washington State to South Bend–a place we once called home. And for a three-day weekend (now with six kids along), we kicked leaves around campus, gathered at Bond Hall for the marching band, joined the crowd in the stadium bleachers, reminisced old tales, and shared our latest adventures.
One of the great things about Notre Dame is the geographic diversity of people I met in grad school. The downside? All those close friends have moved back to cities far and wide, and we only see each other all together once a year. But we make the time count. And, I can always count on our time being a blast!
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Two of my coworkers needed head shot photos, and I had them take a photo together.
It was a perfect Saturday for pumpkin painting with my kin in Sioux Falls. The weather turned cool, and I had a crisp, short morning run at 25 degrees. My mom, sister, Grandpa Joe, cousin Abby and Aunt Diane all tried our hand at painting some pumpkin faces, while Grandma kept the coffee pot percolating and the soup simmering for our lunch break. We’re ready for Halloween decorating.
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Joining the Pride of Minnesota marching band in 1999 was one of the best decisions I made after, of course, deciding to attend the University of Minnesota. It’s hard to count how many times I’ve played The Minnesota Rouser on saxophone or harmonized in song to the alma mater Hail! Minnesota. Or of course, the chant we’d shout out while circling the Metrodome: “Eat raw, eat ’em. Eat raw, eat ’em. Eat raw, eat up the guts, spit out the bones, march on.” [listen here]
And you thought the marching band was nice.
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Every fall, my Grandpa Curry would always have two things in his car and his red Ford pickup: a Plen-T-Pack of Big Red gum and ears of seed corn from the fall harvest. When I was a kid, I’d be chewing on a fresh stick of cinnamon gum listening all ears while Grandpa Ed would take me with him to survey cornfields and talk about our family business, in operation since 1935. He’d talk about the “4 F’s”: faith, family, friends and farm, and that nothing is automatic…that everything that’s worth something requires hard work and some effort. Most of all, I remember my grandpa being quite the storyteller.
The spring and summer of 1994, my grandpa gave me driving lessons on gravel country roads on our farm. Aside from an unusual approach that I drive in reverse the whole time, the driving lessons applied less to driving and more to life. [Note: Grandpa reasoned that anyone can drive forward, but not enough people know how to reverse a vehicle properly, so this is where we focused.]
He often stressed that “if God gave you talents, use them. Don’t waste them.” As his eyes scanned over the rows of soybeans and corn, Grandpa Curry talked about goals, ambition, and hard work. He’d talk about how uncommon it was to have a college education generations ago and that my ancestors (both men and women) had committed to earning college diplomas. Grandpa would outline the family tree, sharing stories about relatives I’ve never met and ensure their legacies lived on.
Between cues for left or right turns on the roads, Grandpa talked about being raised by a supportive family and the need to have religious beliefs and values. He would talk about my ancestors who were notable Catholic priests: Msgr. William J. Kerby and his nephew Fr. William Henry Russell. Kerby’s most notable involvement in Catholic social service was helping organize the National Conference of Catholic Charities in 1910, which is today known as Catholic Charities USA.
Grandpa would always find a way to mention “the two most important decisions in your life,” which he’d say with a smile, “are your life’s work and your life’s mate.” He’d reiterate that you’ve got to pursue your passions, likely understanding that farming was not one of mine. We’d talk about his and grandma’s world travels and learning from other cultures, but that no place was quite like home.
When the driving lesson was over, I’d steer the pickup home (forward this time and not in reverse!). I would later realize, when I was older, that I didn’t just learn how to drive. I learned lessons for life and discovered my heritage; and most importantly, I got to know my grandpa.
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On Saturday, I drove to South Dakota for the weekend and made it to Sioux Falls in time for 4pm Mass at Christ the King church, where my maternal grandparents attend and where my parents married. My grandparents’ Saturday night tradition is fried chicken and beer at The Keg. My mom and my aunt Mary, who was visiting this past week from Phoenix, joined in the fried food, beans, beer, ‘slaw and fun conversation.
My Grandpa Joe has done a lot of woodworking projects for me and my favorite is my CD stand, which received special TLC in my recent move.
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The glistening White Sands National Monument of New Mexico engulfs 275 square miles of desert creating the world’s largest gypsum dunefield. The active dunefield moves from west to east as much as thirty feet per year. The wind moves small sand grains by bouncing them along the surface in a process called “saltation.” Saltating sand grains create a beautiful pattern of ripples on the dune surface.
From Wikipedia: Gypsum is rarely found in the form of sand because it is water-soluble. Normally, rain would dissolve the gypsum and carry it to the sea. The Tularosa Basin is enclosed and water either sinks into the ground or forms shallow pools which subsequently dry out and leave gypsum in a crystalline form, called selenite, on the surface.
It was the first time my friend Steph and I had gone sledding in the desert! And what inspired today’s post, you ask? I was thinking about this August 2010 vacation and my impending move, and like sands through the hourglass, so are the Days of Our Lives.
Tonight, I fully appreciated how much KILZ painting my mom and uncle did for me last week. It’s not all that exciting. That is, until I ended up on top of the refrigerator and decided it could be a fun photo. I set up my trusty tripod with a 10-second delay, scrambled up the ladder (out of the frame) and leaped into position with my paint roller and posed for a continuous shutter of 10 pictures at a time.
I don’t know who was more difficult to work with: the photographer or the model. An experienced photographer can set up the shot right away. Well… I probably shouldn’t admit to how many times I climbed that ladder to pose for the camera. It was at least 10 times, and I say “at least” because quite frankly, that’s when I stopped counting. By the time I got the shot I wanted, I hardly even needed a ladder. I practically high jumped into position, like a cat being chased up a tree.
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