Inside the Paradise Center for the Arts theater in 2009, two years after it opened. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2009)
THEY’VE HAD A 16-YEAR RUN, “they” being the recycled seats filling the Paradise Center for the Arts theater in historic downtown Faribault. Now it’s time for those seats to take a bow, exit and make way for new seating.
The aged chairs landed here as a donation from Albert Lea High School. The Merlin Players theatrical troupe then recovered and repaired the chairs before the PCA opened in 2007. It was the right decision at the time, financially and otherwise.
Watching the 2015 Kentucky Derby at the Paradise. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2015)
Since then, thousands have settled into those orangish chairs, including me. I’ve enjoyed plays, musicals, concerts, comedy shows, speakers and even a viewing of the Kentucky Derby while sitting on those chairs. I’ve laughed and I’ve cried while seated here. After years of use, an upgrade to more comfortable seating for 278 is definitely needed.
In the lobby of the Paradise, you can try out a model of the new chairs, with the original ornate standards (ends) retained. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
When I stopped at the Paradise recently to see the current gallery exhibits, I noticed a model of the new seats in the lobby. Days later, I received a news release from the PCA with more info and then followed up with a few questions.
I like the plan to install chairs with more comfort, strength and durability, but also with an appreciation for the past. The current ornate ends and the numbered arm rests will be kept. That’s important to me given the historic charm of the auditorium and also as someone who believes strongly in reusing/recycling/upcycling.
One especially nice addition will be cup holders, placed between the two seats in front of each guest. That will certainly cut down on accidental spillage which can occur when drinks are set on the floor.
The lovely Paradise, 321 Central Avenue North, in the heart of historic downtown Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
Now efforts are underway to fund this $460/chair or $128,000 project via donations. If you would like to donate, go to the Paradise website and click on “Donate,” then “Support,” then specify “chairs” in designating your donation. Or call 507-332-7372. Donors will be listed on a plaque.
I look forward to settling into one of these comfortable new maroon chairs to enjoy the performing arts in my community, inside the Paradise.
We played with BINGO cards similar to these at Preschool BINGO Night. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2016)
I COLLECTED MY CARD, then settled onto a chair around the large round table, eldest daughter and son-in-law to my left, granddaughter, grandson and husband to the right. An instruction sheet and popcorn heaped in paper boats were already on the table. Centering the tabletop were orange, white and green tissue paper flowers, green beads and more, remnants from St. Patrick’s Day only days prior.
This was a much-anticipated evening for families packing a massive room at a Lutheran church in a south metro suburb. This was BINGO Night at Isaac’s preschool, an event Randy and I were delighted to attend. Isaac, 4, and his big sister, Isabelle, 6, like to play BINGO when they stay overnight with us.
But this preschool BINGO is not your grandma’s BINGO, I soon discovered. The game we play in our dining room involves balls rolling, rattling in a cage. The game we play in our home also involves placing physical markers on BINGO squares. And the BINGO we play on our dining room table offers coinage as prizes, not toys filling a prize table.
I could see the kids’ excitement when they eyed the loot laid out before them. Izzy focused on plastic dinosaurs. And Isaac, well, I expected he wanted something with which he could create. The desire to win ran strong. The pressure was on for two winning games, minimum, at our table.
The type of BINGO set-up we use at home. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2011)
And then the games began, not with the rattling of balls spun in a metal cage, but rather with a teacher announcing numbers popping onto a computer and then projected onto overhead screens. This was high-tech BINGO. And this grandma was amazed. The game moved at a faster pace than rotating a cage and pulling balls.
I appreciated the absence of distracting noise that accompanies the manual way of playing BINGO. I still struggled to hear, though. I’m deaf in my right ear, the result of sudden sensory hearing loss in 2011. That affects my overall hearing and processing of speech and conversation. Thankfully, my daughter patiently repeated numbers when needed or I turned to the screen behind my back to view the too-small numbers. (And, no, a hearing aid will not help with this type of hearing loss; I would have one if it did.)
I won first place in a contest for this photo of BINGO callers at the July Fourth 2013 celebration in North Morristown, rural Minnesota through and through. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2013)
Two games in, Grandpa scored a BINGO on the cards with pull-across, see-through red squares to cover numbers. I joked initially that I needed corn kernels to play. When I attended the annual American Legion BINGO Night while growing up in rural southwestern Minnesota, I covered squares with kernels of corn. Totally appropriate and accessible in farm country. But we were not in rural Minnesota and this was six decades later. There was not a kernel of corn to be found.
Upon Grandpa’s BINGO win, he and Isaac scooted to the prize table. As I predicted, our grandson chose an art-related prize—a mini painting book. I could see Izzy coveting her brother’s prize, anxious to claim a dinosaur.
BINGO is popular in Minnesota, including at the Rice County Fair in Faribault. This photo was taken in the off-season. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2021)
Game after game after game we played with no winners at our table, but everywhere else. Isaac soon tired of playing and Grandpa grabbed his card. Yes, playing more than one card was allowed. At one point I joked that Isaac should have hacked into the computer while at preschool earlier that day and rigged the games.
Izzy won a dinosaur similar to this one from our basement toybox. Hers was new and not worn. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
Finally, the dad won and Marc and Izzy raced to get a prize. All the while I was repeating silently, “Please let there be a dinosaur still on the table. Please, please, please.” The first grader returned clutching a dinosaur, broad smile lighting her face. I breathed a sigh of relief and gratitude that Izzy got a dinosaur, one of three still on that prize table.
About 1.5 hours in, we were down to the last game, a BINGO cover-all. As the game progressed, Izzy was getting more and more excited. She had one number left to cover. I could feel, see and hear her anticipation, her mind likely focused on grabbing a second dinosaur. But she didn’t win and then the tears came. And Grandma tried to work her grandma magic. “Look at how lucky you were to get that dinosaur!” And so on and so forth until her dad said, as we were walking across the parking lot, that he really won the dinosaur and he would be taking it to work. Marc roared and joked until all of us were laughing, even the previously-disappointed dinosaur-loving six-year-old.
My neighbor’s totaled car, photographed Wednesday morning. That’s another neighbor’s house in the image.The car is exactly where it landed after being slammed into by a hit-and-run vehicle Tuesday evening. (Minnesota Prairie Rights copyrighted photo March 2023)
TUESDAY EVENING, MARCH 21, and we are kicked back, relaxing, watching “Will Trent.” And then it happens. BOOM! The undeniable sound of a crash. But we hear no screeching tires that would indicate slamming of brakes.
We pop from our comfy spots to peer out the windows. In the 9:30 pm dark of March, we see a vehicle parked in front of our house, then people walking down the middle of the street, busy Willow Street. Our eyes follow their path to a neighbor’s driveway and a smashed car. Demolished. We see no second vehicle near the crash scene.
Randy grabs his cellphone, steps outside in his slippers, phones the police. We have no idea what’s just happened, whether anyone has been injured. We know law enforcement needs to be summoned. Soon multiple squad cars arrive. We remain clueless and begin speculating as to what unfolded.
Wednesday morning I spoke with the owner of the totaled car. She was sleeping when an unknown vehicle slammed into her unoccupied car parked curbside by her house in the 400 block of Willow Street. I breathed a sigh of relief, told her how thankful I was that she was not in her car. Despite the loss of what she said was her “best” car, she also said she felt blessed.
My neighbor was remarkably calm. But also determined. She’d already begun phoning auto body repair shops and auto salvage yards in an attempt to locate the vehicle that destroyed her early 2000 Toyota Corolla. Yes, the driver left without stopping. How any vehicle managed to remain operable after totaling my neighbor’s car is beyond my comprehension. And how anyone in good conscience could leave the scene is also incomprehensible. But, hey, a driver drove away (never to be found) after striking my son as he crossed Willow Street to his bus stop in 2006.
On behalf of my neighbor, who asked if I am on Facebook (I’m not), I’m posting this information here in hopes that someone can help find the person responsible. State law requires drivers to stop following a crash. The person who parked her vehicle outside our house Tuesday evening was driving on Willow at the time of the incident and did the right thing by immediately stopping upon hearing the BOOM.
The hit-and-run vehicle is likely a large pick-up (or other) truck, probably with significant front end damage, my neighbor shared. Willow Street is a heavily-traveled arterial street in Faribault. I have to think that someone saw something that may be helpful. Perhaps a doorbell or surveillance camera will show a suspect vehicle.
Please, if you have any information, contact Faribault police at 507-334-4305. That plea goes to possible witnesses, garages, auto body repair shops, salvage yards, Willow Street residents. If someone you know is suddenly no longer driving their pick-up truck and your gut is telling you something, then do something.
My neighbor doesn’t seem the revengeful type. She just wants her losses covered. Then maybe she can sleep at night. It was disheartening to watch her Wednesday morning removing debris from the street, sweeping glass, emptying her car. She deserves justice.
A side view of Amanda Webster’s “Just The Three of Us, A Triptych of Three” acrylic on canvas. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
FROM WILD ANIMALS to wildly vivid abstracts, the art of creatives fills four first floor galleries at the Paradise Center for the Arts in historic downtown Faribault. What an array of artwork to infuse color, joy and more into these lingering, colorless days of winter in the season of spring here in southern Minnesota.
“Lion King” and “Zebra” by long-time wildlife and nature photographer Dave Angell of Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2020)
The incredible talent showcased in these galleries impresses me. Whether created with a camera, a brush, or with a pencil in a sketchbook, this art shows a passion for the craft.
The relatively new digital marquee at the Paradise Center for the Arts in Faribault flashes gallery hours. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2023)
Only a few days remain to view the current exhibits, which close on Saturday, March 25.
Some of Amanda Webster’s bold abstract acrylic on canvas art showcased at the Paradise Center for the Arts. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
When I stepped inside the main gallery at the Paradise to view the bold acrylic paintings of Twin Cities artist Amanda Webster, I simply stopped. Wow! Her large-scale colorful abstracts jolted me into a happy place.
Amanda Webster’s artist statement reveals the story behind her abstract art. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
That I saw Webster’s nature-inspired work on a cold January-like afternoon with a strong, biting wind likely enhanced my reaction. I wanted to walk right into those magical settings and leave this Minnesota winter behind. For an artist’s work to inspire that type of immersive response says something.
The winding white path leads the eye right into Amanda Webster’s vivid acrylic on canvas abstract, “Keep Going Forward.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
I envisioned Webster’s work in a corporate space, filling a business with energy. I envisioned her art in a medical setting, creating a positive, healing energy. I envisioned her art in my home, if only I had higher ceilings and a more modern, than traditional, house.
This shows a section of Bill Nagel’s “Walk Around,” an oil on canvas. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
Bill Nagel’s oil on canvas, from left to right: “Work Around,” “Sombrillas Rojas” and “Sea Glass.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
His abstracts are decidedly different than Webster’s. While still colorful, they are more subdued, more geometric, more defined. At least to my eyes. Everyone views art differently. Nagel’s “Sea Glass” oil painting, especially, felt calming to me. Perhaps it was the mostly blue and green hues. Or maybe the very thought of being seaside was enough to carry me into a tranquil setting of warmth and water lapping against shoreline.
Barb Pendergast created this watercolor of a rooster. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
“Jes,” an oil portrait by Ivan Whillock. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
“Haley,” an acrylic portrait by Cheryl Morris. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
Student artist Syra Romero’s untitled art from a sketch book scan. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
It is the eyes which pulled me in close to view a mini gallery exhibit of art by students in the Paradise’s After School Art Club. The club meets a total of six hours in six sessions with local teaching artists. And what they create impresses. I know I never could have made art like this at their age. Not that I ever had the opportunity to learn. I didn’t.
“Wednesday,” a sketch book scan by student artist Aviella Young. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
But these students, oh, how fortunate they are to pursue their creativity alongside professionals. To learn technique, to be encouraged, to create art is such a gift.
Another gift awaits visitors to the Paradise Center for the Arts in the annual second floor All Area Student Art Show, which runs until April 8. That is one of my favorite exhibits because I love seeing what our young people are creating. Their work is remarkable. They inspire me. That show deserves a solo focus, which will be forthcoming.
“Keep Going Forward,” Amanda Webster’s acrylic, right, leads to more of her abstract paintings. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
For now, head to the Paradise by Saturday, March 25, to take in the current art in the first floor galleries. The Paradise, 321 Central Avenue North, is open from noon to 5 pm Wednesday – Friday and from 10 am – 2 pm Saturday.
NOTE: All art was photographed with permission from the Paradise Center for the Arts.This post includes only a sampling of the art featured in the gallery exhibits.
This message refers to the struggles associated with mental illness. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
WE’VE ALL SEEN THEM—fundraisers and GoFundMe campaigns to help individuals and families who are struggling. Perhaps you’ve even been in that spot of needing financial help following a devastating event or a major health crisis. You’ve likely attended many fundraisers and/or donated online. I am thankful for such generosity.
Typically, these pancake breakfasts, spaghetti dinners, silent auctions,…crowdfunding efforts follow a diagnosis like cancer, a car accident or a major event like a house fire. Missed work and overwhelming medical and other bills all too often deplete finances. And if not for the assistance of caring family, friends and even strangers, many could not get through the challenges.
Yet, in the all of this, I’ve often wondered why individuals who’ve experienced a mental health crisis are not fundraising also. When they’ve been hospitalized and/or found themselves unable to work, the financial fall-out is no less.
I photographed these mental health themed buttons several years ago on a bulletin board at the Northfield Public Library. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
ASKING FOR FINANCIAL HELP
But I hold hope that is changing. I read an encouraging article, “Out from under: Crowdfunding is an option for people in mental health crisis,” by freelancer Andy Steiner. In her MinnPost article, Steiner shares the story of a 42-year-old artist and educator diagnosed with bipolar disorder and post traumatic stress disorder linked to childhood abuse and who suffers from debilitating migraines as a result. Unable to work sometimes for months at a time, the woman faced financial struggles. She was behind on her rent. A friend suggested she start a GoFundMe. Eventually, she reluctantly did so, getting enough donations to pay overdue bills and then some. It was just the boost she needed. Financially and mentally/emotionally.
Steiner’s article includes interviews with Mental Health Minnesota and with GoFundMe. I encourage you to read her story by clicking here. I feel such hope in reading that more people facing mental health crises are beginning to seek the outside financial support often elusive to them.
I recognize this doesn’t fix everything. We have a long ways to go in ending the stigma which continues to surround mental illness. I see improvements. But I don’t think we’re to the point where family and friends are delivering hotdishes (the Minnesota term for “casseroles”) to individuals and families in the throes of a mental health crisis. Financial and emotional support, encouragement and, yes, even compassionate greeting cards/calls/notes are needed just as much in these situations.
Reaching for help, this hand was part of a mental health-themed sculpture, “Waist Deep,” which once stood outside the Northfield Public Library as part of a changing art installation. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrightedfile photo 2019)
CRISIS RESPONSE EXPANDING IN MY COUNTY
And we definitely need more mental healthcare professionals. That brings me to another recent bit of encouraging news. My county of Rice has been selected as the site for a new satellite office of the South Central Mobile Crisis Team, a team which responds (to homes, etc. and virtually) 24/7 in mental health crises in a 10-county area. Currently, it can take some 2 ½ hours for that team to arrive here from its home base 40 miles away. That’s too long. If you were experiencing a heart attack, for example, you wouldn’t be expected to wait two hours.
Yes, I hold hope. I hold hope for the many individuals and families who will benefit from additional, immediate mental healthcare resources. I hold hope that Crowdfunding and fundraising dinners and breakfasts will become more common for individuals experiencing a mental health crisis and the financial fall-out. I hold hope that they will find, too, a more understanding community of emotional support. All of this is so long overdue. We each have the power within us to show compassion and care and thus help reduce the stigma of mental illness. Let’s do it.
I highly-recommend this book to learn more about mental illness from the perspective of parents. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
In a powerful statement to the media, Caroline Ouko said, “Mental illness should not be your ticket to death. There was a chance to rescue him. We have to do better.” The words of this grieving mother should cause every single one of us to pause and consider, what if this had been my loved one in a mental health crisis? Could this happen to someone I love? To any of us? Sadly, it could.
We can do better. We have to do better. Mental illness should not be a ticket to death.
Photographed along a recreational trail in the Atwood Neighbor of Madison, Wisconsin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
A FEWRESOURCES
FYI: If you or someone you love is experiencing a mental health crisis and/or is in need of mental health support, please seek help.
National Alliance on Mental Illness, with state chapters, is a great resource for information and support, including virtual and in-person support groups. Click here to reach the national NAMI website.
Trees bud at Falls Creek Park, rural Faribault, in late May 2022. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2022)
TODAY, THE FIRST DAY of spring, hope springs that this long winter of too much snow will soon exit Minnesota. Most Minnesotans, including me, are weary of days marked by new snowfall that has accumulated, pushing this 2022-2023 winter season into top 10 records in our state.
Asparagus, one of my favorite spring vegetables. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
But now, with the official start of a new season on March 20—the season of new life, the season of planting and budding and greening—I feel a mental shift. Psychologically, my mind can envision a landscape shifting from colorless monochrome to vivid greens. I can feel the warmth of warmer days yet to come. I can smell the scent of dirt released, breaking from winter’s grip. I can hear the singsong chatter of returning birds. I can taste asparagus spears snapped from the soil.
A bud beginning to open in late April 2020. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2020)
All of this is yet to come. I understand that. A date on a calendar doesn’t mean spring in Minnesota. That season is realistically weeks away. April can still bring inches of snow.
Crocuses, always the first flower of spring in my flowerbeds. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2021)
But we are edging toward spring. I feel that in temps sometimes reaching just past 40 degrees. I feel it in the warmth of the sun, shining brighter, bolder, longer. I see dwindling snow packs and exposed patches of grass. I hear spring in vehicles splashing through puddles rather than crunching across snow. I see spring, too, in the endless potholes pocking roadways.
The first line in my winning poem, posted roadside in 2011. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2011)
On this first day of spring, I am reminded of a poem I penned in 2011, a poem which splashed across four billboards along a road just off Interstate 94 in Fergus Falls in west central Minnesota. To this day, publication of that poem remains an especially rewarding experience for me as a poet.
Billboard number two of my spring-themed poem. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2011)
I submitted the poem to the now-defunct Roadside Poetry Project’s spring competition. Poems changed out seasonally in this Fergus Falls Area College Foundation funded contest. It was a bit of a challenge writing a spring-themed poem, as I recall. Not because of the theme, but rather the rules—four lines only with a 20-character-per-line limit. But, as a writer, it’s good to be challenged.
Line three of my Roadside Poetry Project spring poem. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2011)
I suppose you could say the same about Minnesota weather. It’s good to be challenged by an especially snowy winter so we appreciate spring’s arrival even more. Yes, that’s a positive perspective—a way to mentally and psychologically talk myself into enduring perhaps six more weeks of winter in this official season of spring.
The last of four billboards featuring my Roadside Poetry spring poem. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2011)
NOTE: I intentionally omitted any pictures showing snow/winter.
Photographed in Kilkenny, Minnesota, in January 2020, this pub no longer exists. I loved the name, the sign, the graphic in this Irish community. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2020)
ENCLAVES OF IRISH scatter throughout Minnesota from unincorporated settlements to small towns to big cities.
Kilkenny, proud of its Irish heritage, maintains a twinship with Kilkenny County in the Old Country. And each September, the community celebrates St. Patrick’s Day with Half-Way to St. Paddy’s Day complete with parade and, in the past, toilet bowl races. I’ve never attended, but need to and document this event.
Irish pride on Kilkenny, Minnesota’s water tower. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2020)
Three years ago while out and about on one of those rural drives I so enjoy, Randy and I passed through Kilkenny, marked by a signature silo style light green water tower decorated with a shamrock. There was no doubt we were in an Irish proud small town.
Murphy’s Pub was once Kilkenny’s gathering spot. It closed, replaced by The Toy Box Saloon. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2020)
At the time, Murphy’s Pub centered the core of Kilkenny, which, as I recall, is about a handful of businesses. Today that Irish-tagged pub with the memorable ale drinking leprechaun signage is closed, replaced by The Toy Box Saloon. That doesn’t quite hold the same Irish appeal as the name Murphy’s Pub. But you will still find Irish brew, like Finnegan’s Irish Amber.
St. Patrick’s Bonin Field. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo summer of 2015)
In Scott County to the north, in unincorporated St. Patrick, I discovered a strong Irish enclave centered around a church, cemetery, ballpark and tavern. St. Patrick of Cedar Lake Township Catholic Church and its surrounding cemetery sit high atop a hill across from St. Patrick’s Tavern and next to the ball field. The ballpark, St. Patrick’s Bonin Field, is named after Father Leon Bonin, a strong supporter of local baseball.
The appealing leprechaun signage on St. Patrick’s Tavern. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo summer of 2015)
That this rural place is proud of its Irish heritage is clear. I need to return to St Patrick, perhaps pop into the bar for a brew. Make that an Irish stout.
St. Patrick of Cedar Lake Township Catholic Church and cemetery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo summer of 2015)
During my one and only visit in the summer of 2015, I mostly wandered the cemetery. I find cemeteries historically and artistically interesting.
Irish immigrants buried in the St. Thomas Church Cemetery. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2018)
Back in Le Sueur County, I meandered through the St. Thomas Church Cemetery in the unincorporated settlement of St. Thomas. During my March 2018 visit, I found plenty of Irish buried here.
A closed Irish-named bar in St. Thomas, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2018)
Down the road a bit, I spotted an apparently abandoned Callahan’s Bar.
An appropriately-named township hall in an Irish enclave. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2018)
And then I saw Derrynane Town Hall, Derrynane being a small village in County Kerry, Ireland. Ah, yes, Irish roots run deep in pockets of rural Minnesota.
This St. Patrick’s Day I celebrate Kilkenny, St. Thomas and St. Patrick. What a delight to have found these backroad places of Irish heritage in rural southern Minnesota.
Purchased, unbeknownst to me, at Aldi. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2023)
A NUMBER OF YEARS BACK, I banned potato chips from our house. Not because I don’t like them. I do. But rather I banned them for health reasons. We don’t need all that salt and extra empty calories. This marked a notable change, especially for Randy, who packs his lunch for work. Instead of potato chips, he now eats almonds, albeit the salted variety. I had to compromise.
There are times, though, when we still buy the occasional bag of chips. Usually I can talk myself, or Randy, out of purchasing potato chips. And then there are the impulse purchases that go unnoticed. Like Randy’s grab of Bratwurst Flavored Potato Chips, which I only saw upon our arrival home from the grocery store recently. How did I miss those in the grocery cart?
Before I even opened the bag to accompany our usual Saturday lunch of grilled cheese and tomato soup, I predicted that Randy, who loves brats, would not like these chips. I was pretty certain I wouldn’t. I don’t like brats and will eat them only when no other option is offered.
Yet, I had to try these unusual chips tagged as “YUMMY” on the bright yellow packaging. So I opened the bag and took a whiff. Yup, they definitely smelled like brats. Next, I tasted one. Yup, they definitely tasted like brats. I ate another and another and another. At that point, Randy had to wonder what was wrong with his brat-despising wife. I wondered myself. I determined that the coarse texture has a lot to do with why I dislike actual brats. Or so I told myself.
I asked Randy for his opinion of the brat flavored chips. He initially said they tasted like hot dogs, then changed his evaluation to tasting like brats.
After our meal, I found the taste of those chips lingering for way too long. And not in a good way. With ingredients like spices (hmmm, what spices?), onion powder, garlic powder and natural smoke flavor, it’s no wonder I experienced such a long-lasting aftertaste.
The 9.5-ounce bag is in the cupboard now, clipped shut and still more than half full. I have not been tempted, not even once, to dip into those Bratwurst Flavored Potato Chips again. But I sure do have a craving for Dill Pickle Chips.
TELL ME: Have you eaten, or would you eat, bratwurst flavored chips? Is there an unusual flavor of potato chips you like? Please share.
In March 2015, friends planted shamrocks in my yard on St. Patrick’s Day. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2015)
WITH TWO DAYS until St. Patrick’s Day, there’s still time to pull off some leprechaun magic. The type of magic that will bring joy into someone’s day, just like it did mine eight years ago.
Let me explain by first qualifying that I am neither Catholic nor Irish. But I do like the color green. In fact, it’s my favorite hue. And I do have some really loving friends.
The scene in my yard on St. Patrick’s Day 2015. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2015)
On St. Patrick’s Day 2015, I opened my living room curtains to a field of shamrocks planted in my yard. I dashed outside on that sunny March morning without an inch of snow on the ground (yes, unbelievable in Minnesota) to solve the mystery.
The leprechaun even shamrocked our van. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2015)
My route took me through the garage and past our van parked in the driveway. Tucked behind a windshield wiper was a shamrock. Onward I went toward that field of green, centered by one oversized three-leaf clover. I’VE BEEN SHAM ‘ROCK’ED read a printed message on that central shamrock.
Immediately I suspected one of two young families. It didn’t take long to determine that Jesse and Tammy and kids had undertaken this St. Patrick’s Day surprise. Young Jack signed his name with his words, “You are smart.” Oh, Jack, you little leprechaun.
This sign explained what was happening in my yard on St. Patrick’s Day. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2015)
The happiness I felt, the overwhelming love I felt for these dear, caring friends touched me in a way that left me smiling all day. That they would craft these paper shamrocks and then volunteer Jesse to sneak into our yard before daybreak, before he commuted to his job in the metro, to plant these clovers impressed me. What kindness. What love.
I realize the time remaining until St. Patrick’s Day is short. But if you have the time and inclination, I encourage you to “shamrock” a neighbor, a friend, anyone in need of a little joy. Personalize the shamrocks with messages that uplift. I assure you, the recipient will feel gratitude for your loving act of kindness. I did. Eight years later, that March 17 remains memorable. I was gifted not with the luck of the Irish, although shamrocks symbolize good luck, but rather with happiness by a friendly family of leprechauns.
A sign marks the pie booth at the North Morristown, Minnesota, Fourth of July celebration. This is my kind of “pi.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
ON THIS, PI DAY and the International Day of Mathematics, I openly admit that I dislike math. I’ve never been good with numbers, never got the early intervention in grade school to help me with the dreaded fractions and other math challenges. And let’s not even discuss how much I disliked word problems. Reflecting as an adult, those problems seem particularly useful in everyday mathematics application. But back in the day, I could not wrap my brain around solving them. And back in the day, my school did not offer extra help to students struggling in any subject.
Moving into junior high school, my dislike of math only intensified. One particular math teacher, who shall go unnamed, scared me to death. He would call students to the blackboard to solve math equations. Talk about intimidating, terrifying and humiliating for those of us who were not good in math, but which he expected to be good in math because, hey, he was. I hope teachers no longer do that—call students to the front of the class to solve math problems.
Then came high school and the dreaded, required algebra. That I made it through that class without failing is still almost incomprehensible. Again, my brain could not understand what letters and exponents had to do with numbers. To this day, I don’t get it and I’m all too happy to leave algebra back in the early 1970s.
Thankfully, the next generations have not inherited my math deficiencies. My son holds a math minor to supplement his computer science degree. And my two grandchildren excel in math. The first grader is in an advanced math class. I can ask Isabelle to solve a math equation well beyond what a nearly 7-year-old should know and I can almost see her brain spinning as she pops out the answer, boom, just like that.
A previous wristwatch of mine. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Isaac, who recently turned four, shows the same developing math strengths. When he stayed with us last week, he was writing digital time in squares across sheets of paper. He started with 1:00, finished at 1:59 and then started with 2:00, reaching 2:59. Early on, he was fascinated by my wristwatch, which I often removed from my arm and slipped onto his. He also liked my vintage alarm clock collection and our wall clock. But mostly, Isaac simply loves numbers.
That their dad, Marc, holds a math degree and works as an actuary likely factors into the grandkids’ math interests and skills. I am grateful they won’t struggle with math like their grandma did all through school.
And then there’s my sister-in-law Rosie, a retired math teacher. No questioning that she loves math.
Homemade blueberry pie purchased at the North Morristown Fourth of July celebration. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
But me? Nope. Math-lovers may be celebrating Pi Day today (what does “pi” even mean?), but not me. I’d rather have the pie you can eat, thank you.
TELL ME: Are you good in math? Do you like math? Did you have any experiences like mine in school?
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
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