Pineapples!

 

 

Have you ever seen how pineapples grow? It's SO COOL. I suppose I just thought they grew on trees like any good tropical fruit, but then on a trip to Samoa I got to see that they grow right out of the ground.

 

Insane.

 

 

These pictures are from Ponta del Gada Portugal, where they have a pineapple plantation. Really it was multiple greenhouses with about 2500 plants in each one.

 

I was ASTOUNDED to learn that it takes 18-24 months for one to grow. Did you know that you can also take the tops off of them, plant them, and then in just 24 short months you'll have a new, mini pineapple that you can eat?

 

Well you can.

 

 

 

It just feels like they should cost $25 and not $7 because of how long they take?

I mean?

Northwest Angle

My dad lives in the very way north of Minnesota, only a few miles from the Canadian Border crossing at Warroad. 

A short drive from there (as long as you have your passport), is the very northernmost part of the lower 48 states, the Angle Inlet aka the Northwest Angle. There was a cartographer's mistake like a million years ago when they were drawing the shape of the USA and so this tiny section, obviously originally intended to be "in Canada" instead was assigned "to Minnesota" and I'm glad too because it makes Minnesota look really cute at the top. But to get there you pretty much have to drive into Canada and then back into Minnesota - because ain't nobody got time to drive all the way there in a boat. 

Anyway, I had never been there. And on a 2017 trip to my parents' place, I fully planned to visit, (uninteresting detail to follow) but forgot my passport. So I made Zach FedEx it to me.

Crossing the border at Warroad is slightly confusing - there is a great big beautiful brand new giant building on the left hand side of the road and a big arrow and so I got confused and went in there, but sort of figured out as I was walking in the door that I was at the USA customs, and not the Canada customs and so in typical Kady style, I "HAHAHAHAHAHAAA THIS IS US CUSTOMS RIGHT? NOT CANADA? HAHAHAHAHAHAH OOPS can I use your bathroom?"

Then you drive up like you're going to Winnipeg, but take a hard right at a gas station that sells strange religious fiction novels and potato chips in flavors we don't have in the United States, for CANADIAN DOLLARS. 

And then you drive and drive and drive and drive until pretty soon it gets kind of scary because nobody's around and you're on a gravel road for about 30 miles but it takes a least an hour and then suddenly your car's antiquated map system indicates you're approaching the border again, this time back into Minnesota: 

And that's basically it - that's the "border". Just a blue sign saying: "WELCOME TO THE UNITED STATES, YOU ARE ENTERING ANGLE INLET, MINNESOTA."

From there it's an honor system thing. You're required by law to go to the "customs building", which  is basically just a videophone where you can either press "PUSH TO CALL [American flag]" or "PUSH TO CALL [Canadian flag]". 

I'm serious.

 

And then, you're in the Northwest Angle. It's a little town where a lot of people live (most of the license plates read North Dakota, interestingly enough.)

I drove around for a while and then found a little bar and had some Molson Canadian (obviously), chatted up the Native kid bartender, learned all about how he and his siblings attended Minnesota's only remaining one room schoolhouse, and about how, when the teacher mentioned in the article I just linked to retired for a time (or moved away I can't remember), they all had to ride a bus every day back and forth 75 miles to Warroad. 

Shiny black rocks along the shore

Minnesota's only remaining Public One-Room Schoolhouse

Makin' Lefse

About a year ago some of the girls in my family got together with my mom to make Lefse. I was going to write about it and do a "how to" but then I forgot and so I'll do my best to remember all the steps...

First you make your mom mix some potatoes and stuff in a bowl with her bare hands:

Then you make her mash it some more:

Then you make her roll the potato mixture into cute little balls:

Then you make her use a bunch of flour so it doesn't stick and then roll out the little balls into flat pancake-y things:

And then you make her start fryin' 'em up:

She uses a special stick to flip 'em and roll 'em off the griddle:

Pretty good, but you don't want all them holes:

You get the nieces involved:

Kelly will usually selfishly start eating before all of the work is done:

Look at those gorgeous lefses!!

I don't know who made these ugly ones, but it wasn't me (it was probably Kelly):

And then you play cards:

Whoever Said It's The Journey, Not the Destination Had it Only Partly Right

 

 

If you want to get to the other side of the world, here is a little warning: It takes a long time. You will sleep for an hour at a stretch on the plane in a strange contortion of your body that is anything but comfortable. You will brush your teeth in the airport bathroom, and then wash out your armpits in the same sink. Your underwear will be very dirty and you will opt not to change them because the next pair are going to get just as dirty anyways. You will stand in one million lines behind one million idiots. The plane will shake and rumble and you will not grab Carol from Winona or Matthew from Melbourne or the husband of the lady from France's hand but you will want to, and you will give yourself permission to at the last minute when things get serious. You will put your passport back in your purse even though somebody will need to see it again in 30 seconds. You will ride a train all the way to gate D and then find out your plane leaves from gate B. You will make friends on that train with John and Tricia from Nashville, en route to Italy to stay for the 9th time with friends they made just by eating at their restaurant. You will make such good friends with them, in fact, that after the six minute train ride, you will hug them and he will kiss your cheek and they will wish you luck and tell you to be safe and you will say have fun! and you will wish you could see them again but you can't. You will ask the flight attendants to please let you go up and down the spiral staircase because you've never been on a double-decker airplane before and they will let you and then you remember that you totally have been on one, you think, with your sister Kim, but you can't be sure. Maybe you're just thinking of Snakes on a Plane. Some lady will cut the customs line in front of you and your eyebrows will raise because WHATS THE HURRY and then her husband will see your eyebrows raise and you will feel bad because WHATS THE BIG DEAL and then you will wave your hand GO AHEAD and then you will both laugh. You will put a sticker on the bandanna you brought to wipe sweat and catch sneezes but mainly to act as an eye mask on the plane and it will say "please wake me up for meal service". You will help Carol from Winona with her seatbelt, her headphones, her TV, the bathroom, and her Immigration card. You will choose the salmon bisque but only actually eat the mashed potatoes because you are a fake vegetarian but really you're just not hungry because WHAT TIME IS IT? You will watch Lucy, Edge of Tomorrow, and Boyhood and several episodes of 30 Rock and you will get mad when the captain interrupts any one of them to tell you something important in another language. You will decide that fine, you will watch Guardians of the Galaxy, but only because other people are watching it around you and WHATS THE DEAL WITH THE RACCOON but you will be too tired and you will fall asleep instead. You will read a half-chapter of your book at a time and then fall asleep and then put it down and not remember anything you read. Matthew from Melbourne will tell you about his severe nut allergy and how on the way to London he had to ride the plane connected to an oxygen tank for four hours and you'll feel bad that you made fun of his gluten free sandwich. "It's all they had for me", he'll say, and you'll selfishly take the two free seats between you but unselfishly put your head next to him and your butt far away because you're feeling gassy. You will ask strangers to watch your things while you go to the bathroom and you will hope for the best. You will be seen in this getup because you're going to Africa but the airplane is freezing, and you won't even be the slightest bit ashamed:

 

Your body will say, "wait a minute, where are we?!?" and refuse to poop after teasing you with feelings of having to poop. You will hold your head high because you are a seasoned traveler who carried on and it takes only seconds to get your shoes off and your liquids out and your suitcase up on the X-ray machine belt and this being in airports feels SO GOOD because you're GOING SOMEWHERE and you will laugh at yourself and your ego and dip your head a little because it was probably holding itself up too high. You will make jokes with every. single. person. you encounter but less than 6% of them will laugh or even get it but who cares, you're GOING SOMEWHERE! You will wish you had the courage to ask the men in Dubai who wear those beautiful white robe-dresses to the floor with beautiful checkered scarves on their heads for a picture but you don't because they're a culture, not a tourist attraction plus you're worried because you have ignorant prejudices about their opinions of women but later you wish you had gotten that photo anyways.

You will patiently wait until everybody gets their bags from the overhead compartments but HURRY UP ALREADY JEEZ and then finally you will get off the very last plane and you will want to kiss the ground but you don't because EW and then you will see this...:

 

 

 

...and you will cry a little because it's so good to be here and you're sleep-deprived and then you will arrogantly walk right by all of the people trying to get you to rent a car because you thought ahead and reserved one and the steering wheel will be on the right and the stick shift on the left and you will grind the gears in front of the man and you will hit the windshield wipers instead of the blinkers but who cares because YOU'RE HERE.

 

 

 

 

Genetics - Part 2 "Big Heads"

In order to find out if you have BRCA or any of the other 21 genes that will predispose you for breast cancer, they have to take your blood, but they also interview you for a long time about your family history and stuff. My mom, my dad, Kelly and I sat around a table while my mom answered a hundred questions. 

The Geneticist had this neato plastic template with squares and circles cut out of it and when my mom said she had one sister and five brothers, the Geneticist drew five squares and two circles in a row. She asked if any of those people were deceased and then asked how they died. She drew a line through the dead people and my mom talked about aunts, uncles, cousins, her own children, etc until the Geneticist had made this really awesome intricate "family tree" filled with circles and squares and stuff crossed out. 

Then she said, "this is very weird, but please trust me. I have a good reason, I promise. I need to measure your head."

HUH?

Apparently, one of the 21 genes related to breast cancer causes "big heads". I was like, UH OH because we have always laughed about the gigantic heads in our family. Kelly can never find a hat that fits and all of the grandkids -- let's just say Skete had to get cut out after Kim tried valiantly for four days trying to push him out. 

Remember this Hal-ism?:

"At work they called me Black and Decker.  Powerhead.  And it wasn't because of my big head -- it was because of how my head acts."

Anyway, they measured my mom's head at 56.5 centimeters. "Big" is 57. Phew! 

The geneticist left the room to go and make copies or whatever and Kelly and I JUMPED across the table to grab the measuring tape.


DAD: 58 centimeters. Big. 
KELLY: 57 centimeters on the nuts. Big.
ME: 74 centimeters. (My dad draped the tape down around my shoulders for this measurement.)





I encourage you to stop what you're doing and measure your head. As it turns out, having a big head is pretty humbling.

Genetics - Part 1

Part of your mom having breast cancer is learning all about genetics and BRCA1 and BRCA2. Apparently there are 21 genes that can predispose you to breast and ovarian cancer, and these are two of them. If you have this BRCA gene, you're 80% likely to get breast or ovarian cancer and so some women opt to have double mastectomies even before they are diagnosed with cancer. Get rid of the problem.

The gene is rare, but Geneticists test women for it when:

• they have lots of breast cancer in their family
• they get diagnosed very young
• they get more than one form of cancer in short order.

My mom's mom and aunt both got breast cancer in their 60's, which wasn't in and of itself a huge risk factor. But she has had lung, uterine and now breast cancer all in the span of about two years. So her oncologist strongly recommended that she have a genetics test. My mom couldn't care less about this, she figures she's 65 years old, what does she care? Get a lumpectomy and drive back up to Lake of the Woods County, where there isn't even one stoplight. But the five of us girls are like, "um, excuse me? We'd sort of like to know..." since if she has it, we have a 50% chance of having it. But it's a blood draw and takes three weeks to find out the answer. And she can't have her surgery scheduled until she gets the results. So, she relented and got the test, but now she's irritated about the wait and just wants to cut her cancer out of her body YESTERDAY.

To be honest, the prospect of being tested positive for the BRCA gene would not necessarily be a bad thing for me. Yes, I'd probably have to get a double mastectomy and that would royally suck, but I'm mostly interested in the idea of having the same gene as my best friend Angelina Jolie. How glamorous! We already have so much in common!

Here I am, frantically working away on the veil just before her ceremony.

*All kidding aside, Mrs. Jolie has done a lot to raise awareness about BRCA. In fact at the oncologist's office they referred to BRCA as the "Angelina Jolie" gene, which goes to show you the positive impact her letter to the NY Times has had.

The Nicest Thing I Ever Had

I have the greatest and most beautiful and sweet and brilliantly talented friends. Ever. 

One is named Heather and she works in Product Development at J.W. Hulme Co, a 105-year-old Minnesota company, a real MADE IN THE USA kind of place. Production is right here in St. Paul, Minnesota. Check out their story. She and her husband moved about three-and-a-half hours away last year to take care of some family obligations, but she kept her job and has stayed with me in my apartment from time-to-time to ease the commute. I charged her eggs. Yep, eggs. Up north she's got a little farm, and would bring me fresh farm eggs from her pet chickens...so fresh they sometimes still had chicken poop on them. 

Anyway, she's so amazing and I'm always bragging to anybody who will listen about all the bags she makes for J.W. Hulme. Look! She even appeared in some Korean magazine sewing away!

That's Heather!

That's Heather too! Modeling for the company's facebook page - on the right my other friend Kerrie who also works there! Remember when Kerrie made me my passport cover?!!?!?!

Here she is hard at work. Anybody recognize that shirt?

WELL.

Her last day was on Friday and so she won't be needing to stay at my place anymore which was pretty sad and I'm going to miss her so much, so we decided to go out for dinner and drinks and OMG YOU GUYS LOOK AT WHAT SHE MADE FOR ME:

The Mini Excursion, in custom colors:

Look at the lining! I LOVE IT. It's tiny little 110 cameras on the most beautiful retro-inspired fabric!

...AND THE BEST PART:

...AND THE SECOND BEST PART:

I'm so happy and proud!

You guys can all go home to your kids and your soul-mate-life-partners and your grand-kids and your pets and hold them all you want. Because I'll be holding onto my new bag. I'm going to marry it, and when I die you can throw my ashes inside because we will never ever be apart not ever, ever, ever.

Cold Weather Testing

Last winter I stayed for a couple of weeks up at my parents' place. It was cold. But it was wonderful. By cold I mean colder than you can even imagine. -29 degrees before windchill.

The kind of weather where you can film your brother throwing boiling water into the air and it disappears into steam before it hits the ground: 

Anyway, for the 2 weeks I was there, I stupidly forgot to go out and start my brand new three-month-old car from time-to-time just to keep it from freezing, and so it totally froze and wouldn't start when I tried to go home.

We had to make a tarp tent and blow the neighbor's flame throwing heater on my engine for 30 minutes and then finally it started. 

IRONICALLY, Acura does it's cold weather testing up in Baudette Minnesota, 30 minutes from my parents' house. They send all their brand new vehicles up there to test how they'll do in cold weather and on ice, etc.

I thought it would be funny to write them and tell them about my frozen car.

And then I never did.

They're Fake

Some of you have asked -- and no, these are not my real eyelashes:

Duh.

Here's what they actually look like (although those three on the very right are obviously fake):

My friend Roxie tells me I shouldn't tell people they're fake. I should just smile and say "thank you" when complimented. I can't handle the stress. What if somebody found out somehow that they aren't real and I wasn't the one who told them? This is why I can never get boob implants. 

I go to a place in Edina where I bought a membership for $60 a month to get them "filled". A lady named Doua dims the lights, puts on some very relaxing music and proceeds to glue an individual fake eyelash to each of my invisible ones while I sleep. Of course I sleep. There's relaxing music! I made her take this next photo. As you can see, at the end of three weeks most of them have fallen out and it's time to get them "filled" and I procrastinated just a bit too long. Those white things separate my bottom lashes so she doesn't glue my eyes shut. 

I know that I fall asleep because I frequently wake myself up mid-snore. The way that I snore is so funny too it's like a "PAAAAAAA" [breathe in]...."PAAAAA"...[breathe in]..."PAAAAAA". I begged Doua to take a video of the snoring but I think she was too embarrassed because she didn't do it.

I think they're worth every penny. If not just for the opportunity once a month to take that delicious snore-nap.