wrapping

Paper Source puts out a beautiful calendar with templates printed on the back of each page for making file folders, notecards, pillow boxes and gift boxes. Aren't they cute?

warm red glow

It's Thursday, which means Gussy's Inspiration Workshop. This week's prompt is Holiday Decor.

Sweet P always wanted a light up yard Santa, so when his dad bought him one he carried it proudly around Menards like a little kid with a puppy. We've been so busy we haven't found a moment to do any decorating, but after Sweet P had a particularly awful day I thought Santa would be just the thing to cheer him up. Lacking a yard I set him on a little chair in the entryway and plugged him in. I love the warm red glow he makes in the hallway. And in Sweet P.

how-to survive the holidays

This year I have the great honor of working on A Christmas Carol at the Guthrie. This is their 37th production and my second. I forgot what a grueling schedule it is. We opened last Wednesday after a week of 10-12 hour tech rehearsals and previews, had Thursday off for Thanksgiving and rounded out the weekend with 6 shows in 3 days. I'm tired. And I'm not even Scrooge.

Not surprisingly, one can get a bit Scroogian in one's feelings toward Christmas mirth. Luckily, luckily, there are the little girls in velvet dresses. They sit there in the audience trying desperately to stay in their own seats like big girls, but the Ghost of Marley appears and forces them into the safe laps of their parents. It's the first play they've ever seen and while they may not remember the experience later, they will never forget it. I love those little girls in velvet dresses because they remind me how thrilling live performance is and that, in fact, it still thrills me -- even during the 6th show in 3 days.

There is a tremendous tradition created and upheld by one of the long time Christmas Carol cast members of participating in the Adopt-a-Family program. The entire Carol company is assigned a family in need, tasked with donating/raising money, shopping for the items on the family's Wishlists, wrapping the mountain of resulting presents (which is then celebrated with a chili cook off) and delivering the bounty to the family in time for Christmas. They are often referred to as The Cratchit Family; a tangible reminder of Dickens' words:

But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round -- apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that -- as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, 'God bless it!'

In a divorced family holidays are always hectic and tricky. The chaos grows when one gets married and gets trickier when one works long holiday hours. Ultimately, it's the traditions that get me through the stress of the holiday season. I know that I will eat Egg Dish with my mom. I know that I will get an ornament from my dad. It doesn't matter where or when those two things happen, just that they will happen. Those two traditions act like a beacon in the chaos; like star in the field.

come hell and high water sweet p will lean his face on his guitar

Once upon a time my beautiful Sweet P was in a play with his guitar. The play was called Come Hell and High Water created by The MovingCompany.

kitties take advantage of the turkey day resting period

I'd intended to link up to Gussy Sews Inspiration Workshop, but Christmas Carol tech got in the way... At any rate, here's my post!

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Thanksgiving is my Dad's favorite holiday.

When I was a kid we would walk down our snowy street to the neighbors' Thaksgiving. It was always full of rowdy kids, joyful adults and mountains of food. The Grandfather of the family was a retired, blind piano tuner. His familiar and forgotten melodies created the cozy backdrop for our grateful holiday. We kids would play hide and seek while the adults cooked and visited. They always called it visiting.

After my parents got divorced that Thanksgiving tradition, like so many other things, never felt comfortable again. But, like so many other things, we moved on and created new traditions.

I remember making Thanksgiving dinner for my Norwegian friends my first year in NYC. I didn't think to order a turkey, so we had Cornish game hens.

I remember the year I flew home to surprise everyone.

I remember my friends squeezing 20 or so artistic orphans into their Brooklyn apartment. I think I sat at the table on an exercise ball.

Last year we hosted my whole family for the first time. Sweet P read Lincoln's Thanksgiving Proclimation and wept his way through a prayer. Lily took a nap with Dad before the pie corse. Everyone went home with a Tupperware full of leftovers. I felt like a real adult.

My Dad's townhouse is all renovated so we're back at his house for his favorite feast. I wish I could bring Lily along to take advantage of the resting period.

teeth poop

It Floats, originally uploaded by robynbird10.

Sweet P teaches preschool.

On the way to the bus yesterday one of his charges gave him a sleu of descriptions. The favorites were:

- You are a little baby hat stop sign.

- You are like teeth poop.

Oh, the creative minds of children! I salute you!

when i grow up

Pencil Vs Camera - 47, originally uploaded by Ben Heine.

Sweet P and I talk a lot about vocation and calling. He reminded me that when he was a kid he told his dad he wanted to be a big black basketball player when he grew up. His brother wanted to grow up to be short and fat.

What did you want to be?

In other news, after one round of face washing I am a total convert to Paula's Choice products. My skin looks clearer and feels like baby cheeks after ONE WASH! I mean... maybe I'll start selling it.

red light winter

I've been acting since I was 9 years old. There has never been anything else I've wanted to do, no other vocation has ever called to me. On occasion I've tried to shove the square peg of a different career into the round hole of my life, but obviously it has never worked.

However, lately I've started to become a bit disillusioned--a bit lazy. I have led an incredibly blessed life of almost constant employment and seem to have entered a strange age limbo--too old and too young to be cast properly. I have always been very ambitious in my pursuit of work, but lately I've become a bit paralyzed with fear.

Sweet P noticed the fear in me most poignantly. He told me he could see the fear in me on stage. That terrified me. I went back to therapy and, not surprisingly, it has helped. I've started filling my life with objects, habits and people who thrill and inspire me. More difficultly, I've started removing objects, habits and people from my life who don't deserve to be play a part.

The photo above is from a reading of an incredibly difficult show. It was thrilling, inspiring and, most importantly, my scrappy idea.

I feel I'm coming back to myself--stepping back into the Emily shaped space.

10:30a school matinee + cold = this face

knitted digestive system

Going to a class at Nutritional Weight and Wellness tonight called Gut Reaction: Restore Digestive Health Through Nutrition. Hopefully this class will shed some light on how I can handle the problem. It's any wonder why oatmeal and applesauce should make me so sick -- aren't they part of the BRAT diet? Sigh.

Christmas Carol rehearsals start tomorrow. Into the breach!

Here's hoping my digestive system with be warm and fuzzy soon.

kitty as pillow is always the solution

Maybe I just shouldn't knit for myself.

All of my recent knitting projects have been fairly risky in terms of color choice and construction style, and the risks have paid off beautifully. Until now. I bought some gorgeous celery colored Cascade Magnum with the intention of knitting something for myself. I scoured Ravelry for the perfect pattern, struggled through the slightly vague UK instructions and bound off what promised to be a cozy, chunky bolero. What I ended up with was more akin to a grade school loop weave pot holder with arm holes. Sweet P said, "Well, that's hideous" and i hung it on the back of a chair. It even makes the chair look fat and cheap. I'm not sure any amount of blocking is going to save this hot mess.

Hence the kitty pillow.

Think I'll frog it and start over on something else. I think I'd better knit a project for someone else first.

blogs you should follow

I'm doing a blog hop! Whee! Here are the 3 blogs I read each and every time they update. I think you should read them too:

Dear Pooka

Julia writes letters to her growing brood of boys (three in a one bedroom apartment with another on the way) about their simple, complicated and often homemade lives in the wilds of Michigan.

Keeping Her Cool

Coleen blogs about the adventures of her parenting journey (baby twins and a four year old). Rather than dig deep into her parenting techniques and beliefs (which in case you're wondering are simple, "Keep Calm and Carry On") she shares her experience of being a Mommy. Keeping Her Cool is her perspective of the world she lives in.

Knitty

The blog for Knitty.com. Enough said.

I've been a knitting machine of late. Here are my latest:

Detachable ear-flappy hat knit on commission for an aquaintance's wife. I love this pattern! How wonderful to have the choice. I was also very clever and wet blocked the hat on this wig head by spritzing it with water and sticking it in the wig dryer to block.

Teensy ear-flappy hat for a preemie. He came 2 months early just like little under cooked me. I thought he could use the leftover Malabrigo for his sensitive head. Minnesota Winters are hard for the grown people who spent the proper amount of time in the womb, so imagine what it's like for the rest of us!

A dear friend had a terrifying brush with death while onstage... alone... on opening night. Thank God. He could have been home. I am thankful for him and thought he might need a heart stuffy.

And finally, bright red stocking cap on commission for a friend. My cast mates are astonished at my speed and dedication. I don't think they understand addiction. Silly non-knitters. Will they never learn?

Inter unum somnium et insequens

Road to Nowhere, originally uploaded by Terra Kate.

So many dreams lately I thought I should start sharing them:

Early September

 Lying down next to my friend's body, naked to the waist. I trace a series of inch long scars that run across his stomach like a basting stitch. He tells me they were from having the coins removed. He flips over onto his stomach. His back is a yellowed, antique map of the old world. Coins rest under his skin, glowing. There are large collections of coins over certain places: Portland, Serbia. When I touch a coin small arrows fly through his skin to point at my finger, protecting the gold coin. His back is layered like an unfinished quilt. Coins have worked their way to the edges of his skin and out of his body. The coins are burdensome and hurt him.

Monday, September 12

I'm sorting through 50 cent pieces to show my friend. They are all different shapes and sizes -- more like small, antiquated icons than coins; different faces of people, squares, windows, different metals, antiqued and worn, pristine and shiny.

Wednesday, September 14

I'm hugely pregnant and in labor. After really great progression the labor suddenly ceases. I can't push the baby out. My belly is taught as a rock, but no matter how I push, squat or walk I can't get the baby to move. I don't feel particularly down hearted or distraught. I just have a sense that something is going to have to change to move forward.

Thursday, September 15

I'm at an artist's colony retreat in a giant, old manor house. We break down into small groups to brainstorm and create a collective visual piece. Some one has drawn a giant gown and I want to create a little doorway inside of it. The doorway would open up to reveal an intricately detailed room in a Victorian house. In the center of the room a gaunt, overly kept, almost zombiefied woman screaming to be let out. I'm embarrassed that I'm not talented enough to execute my idea. I leave my group and walk into the galley kitchen with a huge mirror at the end. I see infinite reflections as if there is another mirror behind me. The reflections begin to move independently. I scream for help and an older woman takes me by the shoulders. She leads me away and tells me very practically that I just need to be confident. "Right," I say, "it's my job."

Wednesday, September 21

A huge fireball in the sky. A small plane crashing in the field behind me cabin. I lock the doors to the house I grew up in so someone dangerous can't get in. I close windows against the thunderstorm. I call 911 but I can't dial the phone -- I dial 914a. I finally manage to connect and they tell me people have already called the plane crash in. Friends are in the house with me. She says someone is trying to get in and leads us to the huge window over the long radiator in the dining room. There is a tall kitty sitting between the glass and the screen. It is his cat.

Friday, September 23

My mouth is coated from sleeping. I look into my mouth in the bathroom mirror and it looks like a cave. Crystals cover my tounge, palate and throat -- white and milky like sufurous growths. I fill a tank -- maybe a trashcan or the tank on a humidifier. I drink the water as it leaks out of the cracks in the plastic. The water is dirty. The stalactite from my palate breaks off and I swallow it. I started pulling growths out of my tonsils. They look like cartoonish enlargements of bacterial cells -- spherical discs covered with perfectly spaced bumps. When I look in the mirror again I am an Asian man.

Sunday, October 9

I'm in a hospital clinic with several other people, waiting to be treated. A woman begins to convulse, foam, complain of headaches and vomit. The doctors chase her down the hall and bring her back into the clinic room. We scatter out of the way. It becomes clear that we are trapped in the room and that her illness is a ruse. She is a serial killer. She takes a baby from someone's arms and cuts off it's pinky toe. She eats the toe to show her intentions.

olive is helpful

gita

Waiting For The Day, originally uploaded by no3rdw.

One does not accomplish great ends in some by-and-by future, O Warrior. Only in the present can you hammer out real achievement. The worried mind tends to veer from the only real goal-- realizing the Atma, uniting with Divinity, the True Self Within.

The ideal, Ajuna, is to be intensely active and at the same time have no selfish motives, no thoughts of personal gain or loss. Duty uncontaminated by desire leads to inner peacefulness and increased effectiveness. This is the secret art of living a life of real achievement!

balance

Balance, originally uploaded by godalwayshungry.

Thought is the sculptor who can create the person you want to be.

- Henry David Thoreau

vintage buttons

Vintage Buttons, originally uploaded by craftapalooza.

After admiring the bowl of vintage buttons my therapist keeps in her office, she invited me to choose a few to keep. They will act, she told me, as a physical reminder of our work together.

Nothing could have been more perfect. I carried them in my pocket today and when I got some bad news I found comfort in turning these little totems over in my fist.

"Nothing walks, or creeps, or grows, or exists, which must not in turn arise and walk before him as exponent of his meaning. Comes he to that power, his genius is no longer exhaustible." - RWE

this is how we spend our mornings

The mic on my iPad isn't working so you'll have to provide your own sound track. I scanned down my legs, not for scandalous reasons, but to show that her tail is all tucked in. Lily is such a funny little ball of fat and fur. She insists on sitting in your lap and being pet. She follows you around the house and yells at you for not providing a lap to be pet in. She cries like a hound dog when Sweet P leaves the house.

In other news, based on many conversations like the one below, I am back on the no sugar, dairy or gluten diet. Albeit slowly. I haven't gone cold turkey yet since we still have the offending food stuffs in our kitchen and I loathe wasting food.

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Eryn: I am sooooo with you in this boat. A few years back I saw an acupuncturist and it actually helped. That and he recommended an "allergy season diet" - which helped even more. No wheat, dairy or sugar from first symptoms till first frost. It makes me cry every time I see a pancake - but much less sneezing is worth it.

Emily: I've been thinking that. Ugh. It was an awful night last night. 2 benedryl didn't make a dent, slept sitting up, sneezed every 10 seconds until I passed out. I think I'd better seriously consider the allergy sea on diet. It's made a big difference, eh?

Eryn: Night and day. Went from practically mainlining Allegra 180 PLUS Singulair and still being sneezy and miserable for 3 months to only taking the singulair on particularly bad days.

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In other, other news as a part of my campaign to remain artistically courageous I'm working through the Linklater book with a friend. He drew some particularly funny "how I see my voice now" and "how I want to see my voice" pictures while gently faux weeping. If nothing else it will be fun.

Sweet P and I continue to talk next steps and alternately experience the future as insurmountable and wide open. Luckily we're able to trade off being the ballast while the other flails. God bless my perfect partner.

f'ing ragweed

FenceFriday_Sept17_Weed or Flower?, originally uploaded by Aartje_S.

This is one of those days where I wish I could turn my head inside out and give the itchy bits a good rinse.

On the other hand I got to see my in laws for a wonderful brunch and my daddy for his 63rd birthday.

It's a mixed bag day.

quilt on a stick for mn state fair

surely we sing of no little thing

The South Down's tree, originally uploaded by kaysare.

Heading over to the Third Monday Pub Sing at Merlin's Rest tonight and will attempt to sing A Tree Song. Blerg! It's long and I've never sung it! I'm excited. And scared. But the space in my heart reserved for reverence of nature has recently been awakened, so the song seems fitting.

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Of all the trees that grow so fair,
Old England to adorn,
Greater are none beneath the Sun,
Than Oak, and Ash, and Thorn.
Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs,
(All of a Midsummer morn!)
Surely we sing no little thing,
In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

Oak of the Clay lived many a day,
Or ever AEneas began.
Ash of the Loam was a lady at home,
When Brut was an outlaw man.
Thorn of the Down saw New Troy Town
(From which was London born);
Witness hereby the ancientry
Of Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

Yew that is old in churchyard-mould,
He breedeth a mighty bow.
Alder for shoes do wise men choose,
And beech for cups also.
But when ye have killed, and your bowl is spilled,
And your shoes are clean outworn,
Back ye must speed for all that ye need,
To Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

Ellum she hateth mankind, and waiteth
Till every gust be laid,
To drop a limb on the head of him
That anyway trusts her shade:
But whether a lad be sober or sad,
Or mellow with ale from the horn,
He will take no wrong when he lieth along
'Neath Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

Oh, do not tell the Priest our plight,
Or he would call it a sin;
But - we have been out in the woods all night,
A-conjuring Summer in!
And we bring you news by word of mouth-
Good news for cattle and corn-
Now is the Sun come up from the South,
With Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs
(All of a Midsummer morn):
England shall bide ti11 Judgment Tide,
By Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

a touch of light on the green field in upper austria

A touch of light on the green field in upper Austria, originally uploaded by B℮n.

Sweet P is out of town at his sister's wedding and the longing for him is just awful. It's been fun to stay out late with my "gentlemen callers", but 2 days of it has been more than enough. I want my husband to come home now.

I was called in to rehearsal yesterday and immediately sent away, then told to wait in the hall until they needed me after all. For some other worldly reason -- probably rooted in my longing -- I watched part of Hannah and Her Sisters while I waited. So beautiful. And Sweet P's favorite.

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somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

e.e. cummings

he questioned softly why i failed, "for beauty", i replied. "and i for truth--the two are one, we brethren are," he said.

I got to be Maggie the Cat for about ten minutes today. It's a funny business, auditioning; so wonderful to delve into a character and throw yourself at the work, but so awful that it only lasts the length of your time slot. It's difficult to reconcile the disperate feelings of ownership and loss over something that was never really yours in the first place.

No callback yet.

Trying to rest me in the thought that I got to be Maggie the Cat one time for about ten minutes.

And there was free ice cream and new babies to coo over.

And sun.

here inside my heart

This morning we skipped church in favor of more sleep and marriage upkeep. On the way to the bakery we saw our neighbor squatting down by a tree with his camera. He was busily photographing a cicada emerging from his shell. In the early stages yet, the cicada looked like a little green shrimp back-bending his way into adulthood. About a foot away the lovely creature above had fully emerged and was drying his lacy wings. My grandmother used to keep the shells and send them to us in film canisters, but I'd never seen the miracle I saw today.

The first day of rehearsal I had a beautiful chat with a couple of my fellows about religion. It's rare under most circumstances to have a beautiful chat about religion with anyone, let alone actors, but we chatted our hearts full. I talked a bit about how moved I get by the glory of nature and my new friend sent me this gorgeous poem.

I feel truly blessed today. By everything.

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Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that a spring was breaking out in my heart.
Along which secret aqueduct, Oh water, are you coming to me,
water of a new life that I have never drunk?

Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that I had a beehive, here, inside my heart.
And the golden bees were making white combs
and sweet honey from my old failures.

Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that a fiery sun was giving light inside my heart.
It was fiery because I felt warmth as from a hearth,
and sun because it gave light and brought tears to my eyes.

Last night as I slept,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that it was God I had here inside my heart.

Antonio Machado

idle hands

I have psoriasis. It's another of my darling autoimmune diseases that has no cure. This one manifests itself by producing skin cells faster than I can shed them, resulting in a scaly buildup on my scalp. If I pick at the scales, as I am want to do, they come away from my scalp with little tuffets of hair. Pretty, right?

I have a bit of a picking problem. You know what makes it worse? 8 hours a day of table work. Sitting still with idles hands feels excruciating to me. I pull scales off my head and come away with embarrassing strands of hair which I then hide in my pocket. I mean, really. What? Who am I becoming? I'm trying not to knit because I'm always afraid that folks will think I'm being rude. Truly, I'm not bored! It's just hard for me to have idle hands. But, if I want to keep my hair I think I'm going to have to give up the ghost and just knit.

The great news is that the psoriasis treatment involves sleeping in a shower cap. Sexy.

there is some kiss we want with our whole lives

the best one, originally uploaded by eag.

Going back to therapy has proved to be harder work then I remembered. I'm glad for the work.

I'm glad for my husband.

winona, mn

From Garvin Heights in Winona, MN, originally uploaded by Lisa monster.

I've spent, nearly, my entire life in Minnesota and can't ever remember traveling significantly south of the cities. You go "Up North" to the lake, to Duluth, to the Boundary Waters. You go "Down To" Mayo or Northfield. But I'm talking south, further south down the little woods slicing highways to Red Wing, to Winona.

On Friday I got up at 6am, printed a resume, did my makeup (gag) and hopped in the car to drive 2 1/2 hours for an effing audition. As the miles wore on and the scenery got more lush and hilly my mood lifted and my love of Minnesota swelled. The audition went well but, more importantly, I found the yarn store, the independent bookseller, the co-op and the charming cafe with fresh natural food. I'm ready to move in.

Here's hoping the absolutely charming Great River Shakespeare Festival feels the same way.

emma lazarus

Miracle on the Hudson, originally uploaded by ilina s.

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

safety first

Skeleton Down, originally uploaded by v-nick.

I hear Ken's words ringing in my ears.

"The first rule is safety first. The second rule is safety first. Safety. First."

When in a physical workshop don't play a game that involves wrestling with teenage boys unless you remember to apply the first and second rules. You know what will happen otherwise one of said teenagers will fall on top of you and fracture your rib.

hip in hemp - finally!

hip in hemp - finally!, originally uploaded by eag.

I've been knitting this skirt since May of 2008. I bought the beautiful Elsebeth Lavold Hempathy for my birthday and started knitting away. As I've learned knitters do, I put it down in favor of other projects, pulled it out from time to time to knit some more and put it away in favor of other projects over the next year.  I finally got it all knit, but got hung up on blocking and adding the elastic waistband. Why is finishing so difficult? I take great pleasure in mundane tasks exactly because I can finish them. So, why the difficulty in finishing beautiful tasks? Whatever the reason, I take great pleasure in this finished skirt. I've never made a garment for myself before, let alone such a beauty.

I'm just a little bit proud.

wasted

photo.JPG, originally uploaded by eag.

The bacterial overgrowth is back.

Every morning I eat my breakfast, drink my tea and have a bout of diarrhea. It leaves me exhausted, in pain, overwrought and angry. After the first round of antibiotics I felt like I was the recipient of a miracle. I had energy and focus. My skin cleared up. While out to brunch with my family I came back from the bathroom with victorious news of a regular poo and everyone applauded.

Here's where the anger comes in. The antibiotic cost $85 been after insurance and a coupon, so round after round seemed outlandish. Now I'm patiently waiting for a different drug to come from Canada, because the US stopped distribution.

I'm so tired.

Monday makes me merry: i sure do like this idea

Yarn store / wine bar? Um... Yes, please.

Hey La Casita! Wanna open a Minneapolis branch! I'll be your most loyal customer!

well, I don't like this at all

Uptown Beatings Bring Crime Alert

A group of violent robbers struck six Uptown pedestrians three nights in a row within a six-block area, beating people into concussions with fists, kicks and, in at least one case, a set of brass knuckles, while taking phones and wallets, Minneapolis police said.

Two attacks were so similar that police officers, paramedics and emergency room nurses all told victim Joshua Houser that they suspected he had been jumped by the same guys who sent people to the hospital just 48 hours earlier, Houser said.

"It was a robbery, but it was an assault, too," said Houser, who said he and his friend were punched repeatedly. He suffered a concussion. He said his friend, a woman who offered no resistance to the man who knocked her down, was hit several times even after she gave up her wallet.

The three attacks occurred between 11:30 p.m. and 1 a.m., one attack each night starting in the early hours of Sunday morning, in an area bound by Hennepin and Lyndale Avenues, W. 32nd Street to W. 25th Street.

Victims described the suspects as three or four men between the ages of 20 and 30, wearing black hooded sweatshirts and being either Hispanic or American Indian. One victim said he was struck by an African-American man, but thought the other attackers were Hispanic.

In two incidents, the suspects walked past people on the sidewalk, waiting until they were abreast or behind their targets before attacking.

Fifth Precinct police issued a crime alert Tuesday afternoon warning Uptown residents about the robberies. "This is an unusual trend for the precinct and especially for Uptown," the alert stated.

The first attack reported to police over the weekend was early Sunday, when Jay Ness, 25, and a friend were walking home from a party. They were in the 1200 block of 28th Street W. when four young men wearing black hooded sweatshirts passed them on the sidewalk.

"The next thing I knew I was getting bashed in the face with brass knuckles," Ness said. The attack lasted 30 seconds, he said. He told the attackers they could take whatever they wanted, but that didn't stop the beating, which included kicks to his head after he fell, he said. He was hospitalized for a concussion and cuts to his scalp and ear. Ness said his friend required surgery for damage to his face and eye socket.

About 24 hours later, two men walking in the 2500 block of Colfax Avenue S. were attacked and robbed at 12:03 a.m. Monday by at least two suspects. Those victims were unavailable for comment.

The next night, Houser and his friend were attacked in the 900 block of W. 32nd Street at 11:28 p.m. Monday. Houser said the men walked past him, even nodded hello, before the largest one turned and blindsided him with a punch to his temple.

"They were trying to knock me down," said Houser, who said he wrestled with two men while a third suspect knocked down his friend. Houser gave up his bookbag containing a computer, wallet and other items but the men continued to punch him in the face. The fight ended with one of the suspects lifting his shirt to show Houser a handgun tucked into his waistband.

"You want me to shoot you, bro?" he asked Houser, before running off. The three men drove away in a late model white minivan that was parked nearby.

The incidents follow a string of similar aggravated robberies dating back to February in the Dinkytown area near the University of Minnesota. In those cases police say they are looking for three suspects described as Hispanic males ages 18 to 25 who may be responsible for four attacks dating back to Feb. 20. In those cases, too, pedestrians were knocked down from behind or ordered to the ground before being robbed of mobile phones, wallets, and other belongings.

None of the Dinkytown victims required hospitalization. No weapons were used in those attacks, but the suspects were becoming increasingly brazen, police said.

Matt McKinney • 612-217-1747
HOW TO HELP
Tips can be called into 612-673-2941 or Crime Stoppers at 1-800-222-TIPS (8477).

my president

P050111PS-0522, originally uploaded by The White House.

bring on the exhaustion

Sleeping Biggie, originally uploaded by *Kendall*.

And just like that, the bacteria are back.

easter bunny

easter bunny, originally uploaded by eag.

how to make pear pants

Print out and tape together a whole mess of 8.5 x 11s to form a drawstring pants pattern. Buy incredibly adorable pear fabric from your local craft store.

Wash and press fabric. (This will need to be repeated when you realize that you didn't buy enough fabric. You will also learn that fabric comes in two different widths. Who knew?)

Cut out pattern after lengthening it for your tall husband.

Fold fabric in half lengthwise to match selvedges. Admire adorable fabric before remembering that you're supposed to fold it so the wrong side faces out. 

Pin paper pattern to fabric, cut out and start sewing according to your pattern instructions. This will take several tries. Get annoyed that Martha Stewart takes for granted that you understand what she means by pin and sew crotch, because that could very well mean start at crotch and result in sewing the inseams of the fronts to each other rather than the rise. Right?

Take a deep breath and admire the pretty butterfly pins you bought. 

The next step will involve sewing and ripping: sewing the zig-zag seams too tight and ripping them out, sewing with the feed dogs down and ripping out the pile of thread, sewing the pants to themselves rather than just at the seam and ripping the entire thing out. But eventually you will have pants.

Insert elastic. Ponder closing seam around elastic in drawstring pants. Cleverly close gap with small placket. Enjoy the word placket.

Apply pants to husband. 

Sigh when husband prefers the sweatpants you bought him on sale at the University bookstore.

giraffes

havin' a giraffe, originally uploaded by jamesgalpin.


Inspired by Riley [and because I'm tired of hearing myself complain about the life ruling pain in my back (which was not improved by the massage today)]* I will now list things that make me happy today:

• Sweet P -- always. 
• Giraffes -- obviously.
• Sunny sun sunshine -- break the sky, sun! Get the winter out of my bones!
• Quilting -- okay, I admit it. I spent time online working with a Bernina comparison chart to figure out what new walking foot I should look for so my quilting won't get bunchy. I'm a seamstress now. Okay, fine.
• Tiger Balm patches -- THAT'S ABOUT MY BACK, BUT IT'S POSITIVE!
• Lily the sweet stupid fat cat -- she laid on the massage table with me very quietly and sweetly.

Alright. The pain in my back is telling me I need to switch from cold to heat now. Where's that kitty when I need her?

*Apparently that sentence required brackets, parenthesis and an asterisk. 

and get this...

Out of nowhere I have a pinched nerve or other in my back -- beautiful little knot riding under my shoulder blade, radiating sparky fire out to my little finer, ribs and neck. No combination of heat and anti-inflammatory soothes it. No position makes it better or worse. Nothing relieves it.

So, during the show last night I made a little online appointment with my acupuncturist and today I was cupped. No, not like that -- dirty -- the ancient Chinese Medicine sort that involves fire, glass bulbs and points. I have the salami slice bruises on my back to prove it.

Here's the get this part: I'd mentioned my SIBO earlier in the appointment, so when she mentioned that the points causing me pain were in the small intestine meridian we had a cartoon-y double take of SMALL INTESTINE MERIDIAN?!?!?

That's right. The bacteria are dying out and trying to hide by blocking the meridian.

Get that.

suck it ibs!!!

fun girl, originally uploaded by saikiishiki.

No more bloating.

No more cramping.

No more pain.

No more embarrassing bouts of diarrhea*.

No more.

As it turns out it is not the obnoxious non-diagnosis of IBS, but a small intestinal bacterial overgrowth that has been plaguing my life for the last 2 years.

After a ten day (outrageously expensive) course of medication I will be cured. CURED!

SUCK IT!!!


*I feel that I should write a Missed Connections entry on Craigslist to the woman who used the bathroom after me at The Wedge today. Sorry, lady.

pear jammy pants

Six years ago today, while walking the Freedom Trail in Boston, I fell in love with the fist boy I ever kissed.

In honor of the day I made him some jammy pants that are actually long enough for his 6'4" frame. I'm not a particularly adept seamstress... let's just say I learned a lot.