Architecture of the Minnesota History Center in St. Paul, Minnesota.

I recently took a day off of work to visit the Minnesota History Center with my friend Melanie.  It was one of those freakishly spring-like January days and we strolled out of doors on the second floor while we waited for the MNHS library to open.  I'm working on a new book, you see, about organized crime in Minneapols. St. Paul had its gangsters and Minneapolis has its mob. I was asked by a member of organized crime to take pen to paper after he came to one of my book signings for my book, Twin Cities Prohibition; Minnesota's Blind Pigs and Bootleggers. Who was I to say no?

Reflections of Melanie and Me in a Door at the MNHS in St. Paul.

Yep.  You read that right.  I am working on a book with a mobster.  It's bit intimidating, but I only ask questions when I absolutely need to clarify points.  I figure the less I know about his activities, the better. I call my contact Mr. X and he shall remain anonymous, but he is very real.  The new book is the reason Melanie and I decided to go to the library where I was able to order up a couple boxes of historic papers for my research.

View of the St. Paul Cathedral from the MNHS.

I got to dig through the files compiled by Paul Maccabee, author of John Dillinger Slept Here looking for information from the 1920's and 30's.  I then moved on to a box of papers from when Hubert Humphrey attempted to clean up Minneapolis during the 1940's.  I was thrilled when I realized that one of the newspapers I was holding in my hands was a copy of the Public Press which was printed by slain newspaper editor Arthur Kasherman.

Shadows at Play at the MNHS in St. Paul, Minnesota.

I just spoke with Melanie, and we will be visiting the History Center Library again where we will follow all of the library rules and steps required to have access to the documents.  It's like a well-rehearsed dance to get to those papers.  I haven't signed a contract with a publisher yet because after two years of writing books I wasn't ready for the pressure of a new deadline, but I'm getting eager to wrap things up. 

The history of organized crime in Minneapolis is a rather fascinating topic, made even more so by a member of the mob as a writing partner.  My goal is to finish the project without making anybody angry and getting whacked - or being given the gift of cement overshoes. 

That would be bad.

Paper Hat Art + Handmade + Gifts

Big Carl and I were on a mission Saturday. Carl was, it seems, the only member of his family which had not yet visited the Paper Hat, an art and handmade gift shop located at 2309 W. 50th Street  in Minneapolis, which carries among other things, work by local craftsmen. I've driven past the shop frequently thinking the name was wonderfully clever and curious about the treasures residing inside.

Original Art

I support anyone who supports our local talent and the shop was full of unique items which easily escaped the tag of being run-of-the-mill. Soap, paintings, knitted items, pottery, greeting cards - oh it was a veritable bazaar.

Proof Big Carl has now Visited Paper Hat

We were disappointed the Lithander family's friend, Greta, wasn't behind the counter, but we found her replacement a delightful hostess. We shopped at Paper Hat, said our farewells, then found a cozy table down the street at The Malt Shop restaurant for a noon meal.

Cozy Booth at The Malt Shop

We looked closely at our menus and tried to choose wisely, making an attempt this year to eat healthy. The food was delicious and the wait staff, though very busy when we arrived, were extremely good natured. When the inevitable question arose as to whether we would be wanting a malt, I hesitated, but Big Carl said, "I'm in a malt shop. I'm having malt."

So we did. Yum.

THEY WRITE FROM EVERY section of the state — from the southwestern Minnesota prairie to up north on the Gunflint Trail and the Iron Range to the heart of the Twin Cities metro area and places in between. They are your next-door neighbor, the guy in the office, the young mother down the street, the 20-something…just regular folks who write online. They are bloggers. We set out to find 10 Minnesotans who blog with a passion about their lives and/or the people, places and events of Minnesota. We weren’t looking for writers with an agenda. We wanted down-to-earth, everyday Minnesotan. Even though several of our bloggers weren’t born here, they have lived here long enough to pass as natives. Our featured bloggers write well, regularly and with a signature style that sets them apart from other writers. Photos were a must on their blogs. Each writer brings a unique perspective, style and content to blogging. You’ll discover that in their profiles published here. You’ll learn why these Minnesotans blog. And you’ll learn a bit about them personally. We invite you to go online and connect with these, your Minnesota neighbors, who write with humor and honesty and more, often in a way that’s as comfortable as sharing conversation over a cup of coffee. http://mnprairieroots.wordpress.com/ http://www.artsynina.blogspot.com/ http://oldandintheway.org http://www.MinnesotaBrown.com http://merrydays.wordpress.com/ http://zweberfarms.wordpress.com/ http://www.ofwoodsandwords.com/ http://afinedayforanepiphany.wordpress.com/                  http://www.afarmgirlsdabbles.com/   and one Minnesota Country Mouse Folk Blog.

I just got off the phone with my best friend from high school, Cindy, who told me that her friend Tom Cherveny, a reporter in south central Minnesota told her that my book Twin Cities Prohibition / Minnesota's Blind Pigs and Bootleggers was mentioned on MPR. And here is where the real irony lies; it was included as one of the top three picks of the year by food critic Dara Moskowitz-Grundahl, who is the Minnesota Monthly senior editor and food critic!  And I don't even cook.

Dumping Schell's Beer in the Gutter.

I remember the time my good friend Monica told me I'd never catch myself a man if I didn't learn to make something besides Banquet Chicken.  I like Banquet Chicken, and I bet Big Carl would eat it if I offered it to him.

Really.  I just got off the phone with my mom and my sister Annie, and they both laughed out loud that a food critic would even mention my name. Well . . . she did, so how do you all like me now?

The Juicy Lucy Burger at the 5-8 Club, a former speakeasy in South Minneapolis.

Why was such an unlikely candidate mentioned?  My friend Melanie and I visited a number of Minnesota speakeasies which were included in my book.  Click here to see which ones they were.

I'm pretty sure my old dad will simply shake his head when he hears this news.  He is well aware of my shortcomings.  You can listen to the MPR interview with Tom Crann, from December 22, 2011 by clicking on the arrow on the Minnesota Public Radio icon posted above the Minnesota Country Mouse Folk Blog name.

Jayvyn Models My New Inflatable Spa-Bathtub with Drink Holder

I suppose this will seal my reputation as being a bona fide odd-ball, but let it be known that I am a very clean and happy bona fide odd-ball. You can't imagine my excitement when, after an extensive online search, I found an honest to goodness full-size inflatable bathtub. Granted, it resembles a giant baby-bath, and a more subtle color would have been appreciated, but hey, it's a bathtub!

A Wall of Windows in My Studio Apartment

My apartment is handicap-accessible, but I was willing to give up a bathtub for the wall of windows I so love. I knew that I would be using a great, big shower I could roll a wheelchair into, if necessary, for the rest of my lease. But it's not necessary because I don't use a wheelchair, and now that space is filled with a big batch of rubber baby-blue joy complete with drink holder.

And this tub is like a slice of heaven because even the bottom is inflated. Turn out the lights and it's like sliding back into the womb. Is that wrong to say? It was a bit spendy, but I was willing to give up the price of a new outfit for it, and it fits perfectly in my big ol' shower stall. And the water stays warm for a very long time, not like in a regular old tub. I am one lucky, squeaky clean farm gal. I just wanted to let you know.

Submitted by Emily Patterson on behalf of Primrose Schools. With over 230 Primrose Schools that are found all over the US, there are 12 schools located in Minnesota. Primrose strives to provide the best early childhood education and daycare services for families across America.

Gary Revier, historian from Redwood Falls, sent this image to help us get through a brown Christmas here in Minnesota. If you stare at it long enough and squint a little bit, and think of the best Christmas present you ever got - or gave - I think it  helps.

Balconies at the Fitzgerald Theater in St. Paul, MN.

When my friend Melanie invited me to attend Kevin Kling's "Of Mirth and Mischief," I said "OK" because there might be something that I want to do sometime. We discovered Kevin Kling only a year or so ago at the the Mill City Museum on the Minneapolis river front where we watched a video in which Kevin leads us through the history of the city. We liked him right away because he wasn't simply an announcer - he was a storyteller. And he had this funny little arm that he didn't even seem to notice, however it endeared him to us, but back to the play. I just didn't know if I was in the mood for Christmas carols and dancing.

Melanie had just finished reading Kevin's book Holiday Inn, and when I say finished, I mean she read the whole thing. Her usual strategy is to buy a book and skim through it, then give it away as a gift. (This does not hold true for dime store romance novels. Those tend to get a thorough going over.) But she's been talking about this book for days and couldn't wait to give her copy to me.

I was ambivalent about attending a Sunday afternoon matinee until I reached the second balcony and saw the architecture of this old theater - or is it theatre?  I never know.  What I did know was that it was beautiful, and Melanie told me it is just like the Ford Theater in Washington D.C. where Lincoln was assassinated. Now this was something I could sink my teeth into. We have promised ourselves that she and I, two humble country girls, are going to one day sit in a private balcony.

Red Curtain.

We waited patiently, and then the curtain rose on this wonderful story teller  who spun the tale of his own trip to the Shriner's hospital as a little boy, where had to sleep in a baby bed when he had his own perfectly good big boy's bed at home. We laughed through the story because he had fooled us. We forgot we were listening to a true story, almost forgetting he was staying in the room "for children with missing pieces." With his colorful grandmother's memory sitting on his shoulder, Kevin managed to lace his story with fantastic imagery and fairy tales in one of the few ways a child can become empowered to manage such a tough break.

I couldn't help thinking of my friend Eric who I met at SSU in Marshall, MN.  He too, spent time away from his family as a child, in the loving arms of Sister Kenny - at least that's how I like to imagine it.

A Big Ending.

And the music! The only Christmas carols we heard came as distorted tinkles of familiar tunes to help us remember, I think, that though we laughed at the story as comedy, it was truly the tragedy of a little boy separated from his family to have surgery in a strange hospital to fix that arm. The show was a hit!  The applause spoke for itself.  It said, "Happy Holidays" in an imperfect and sometimes magical world - depending on how we choose to look at it.

Arriving at the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

I have always considered myself  wanted to be, a sophisticated person.  But the truth is, that after yesterday's visit to the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis, I have had to accept that am not.  I am simple.  I require simple images that are self-explanatory in order to truly enjoy art.

Flower Painting that Squirts Water.

I don't mean to imply that I didn't have fun touring this unconventional building with its big, bright spaces. After all, I totally got the joke when Adriane stood in front of the picture of a flower and it squirted her. In fact, I thought it was great!  I did, however, have a little trouble making sense out of the angles of the hallways.  It's not the building that is the problem.  It's me.  When a message goes into my brain, it sort of pin-balls around in a disorderly fashion and then lodges a little sideways.  It can take days before something actually settles in the way it was meant to.

Odd Angles in a Hallway.

I am ashamed to say that I entertained the idea that I was a little smarter than my late significant-other, Ed. But I knew better when it occurred to me that it was me continuously asking him to explain the nuances of relationships between people in the movies we watched and not the other way around. "Oh," I would say. "Now I get it."  Brilliant.

Wise-cracking Dolphin.

I entirely enjoyed the wise-crackin' dolphin.  His bright image floated in the dark and guests were invited to type questions to him on a keyboard.  After watching a few brave souls splash their questions across the screen, only to be teased by the dolphin, I could see no one would get a straight answer out of this evasive fish mammal fish?

Strange Games.

People around me seemed to really enjoy themselves and I envied them their ability to assimilate this unusual art.  This modern art.  Whoa!  Wait a minute. Maybe I'm not so different from the rest of the world.  Maybe I'm just an old fashioned girl from simpler, more ordinary and traditional times. There. I just made myself feel much better.

The Big Spoon and Cherry Sculpture.

At the end of our tour, even though I still don't quite understand the meaning of it, it felt good to walk outside and across the street to the sculpture garden where the iconic Big Spoon and Cherry sculpture resides in it's special place. 

I know I have limitations, and it takes a lot longer for me to grasp the subtleties of modern art than many others, but one thing I can tell you with complete confidence, whether one is looking at modern or traditional art, women's bosoms are still the most painted, sculpted and photographed subjects on the planet. Amen.

When I told Big Carl what I had discovered, he simply said, "Imagine that."

Wire Rein Deer Herd in my Garage.

I shouldn't have been surprised to see a little snowstorm roll through here Saturday afternoon.  After all, wasn't it me who spotted this herd of wire Christmas deer in the garage of my apartment building on Friday?   According to the Old Farmer's Almanac a herd of wire reindeer is a sure sign it will be a snowy, holiday filled end of the year.  It is also a sure sign it is time to start thinking about Christmas shopping.

Last Friday evening I experienced a nice little bit of serendipity.  I stopped at the Linden Hills Co-operative specifically to purchase a bar of shampoo soap.  It seems to work especially well on my super-fine, spider-web stranded, nursing home hair. (Though I don't mean to insult residents of nursing homes.  Most of them have nicer hair than I have.)  My distant cousin, Monica, says we got the "Kramer" hair.  Sorry mom.  "You know," she says, "a piece here and a piece there."

Now for the serendipitous part of my story.  When I went to the shampoo section, there was a beautiful display of bodylish soap with its own version of a shampoo bar.  The nice man who was manning the display told me the soap is produced in south Minneapolis, and he also gave me a sample of Maryjane body soap to experience. 

Within 48 hours, two different people remarked how good I smelled.  I thought so too.  In fact when I went to bed Friday night, I could still smell those wonderful essential oils.  On top of that, this soap is my first defense against the battle of the dry-itchies which set in this time of year. 

Another side-effect of using bodylish soap, is that my sweet little studio apartment smells like a girl lives here now.  Of course, bodylish makes big, chunky bars of manly soap for individuals who don't care to smell like a girl, but I like it just fine.  I actually stopped at the co-operative this evening to buy a full size bar of soap to use in conjunction with my shampoo bar. 

I just got out of the shower and I have to say it. I am one great-smellin' dame.  Kramer hair and all.

A Doll with no Dammit Left to Give.

The first time I heard of a Dammit Doll was when my little niece Kelly made one for me years ago.  That little doll came to work with me and also rode in the back seat of my car until Jojo and Jayvyn discovered it and eventually beat the eyes off of it.  Poor thing.

Dammit Dolls by Annie and Kelly.

I don't know the origin of the Dammit Doll, but its popularity has certainly spread.  A small revival of dolls began recently when I left the door to my balcony open in my little apartment, and I called from work to ask Sally, the assistant manager at my apartment building, to pretty please close it before a predicted rainstorm hit and soaked my carpet.

Some Dolls Truly Enjoy Their Work.

She graciously complied, and while in my apartment, noticed my old Dammit Doll. 

"I'd like to get a couple of those dolls to give as Christmas presents.  I gave them as gifts years ago, but mine had eyes on them," she told me that evening when I stopped to thank her. Well yuh.  Mine used to have eyes too, for goodness sakes.

 I knew just who to have whip some up for her.  Yep, my only, and favorite, sister Annie out in Montevideo, Minnesota where people are just a little off kilter in the best sort of way.

Heart.

In no time at all, Sally had her dolls, and another order came in for a bunch more, keeping Annie and Kelly busy for a little while creating a menagerie of Dammit Dolls to be flung about and thumped when one is having a bad day. 

Let me know if you'd like Annie to whip up a Dammit Doll for you. It could save your relationship with your family and co-workers. AND they're made in Minnesota!