Quiltin'est Quilter in Town

My last week in Minnesota, I stayed with an old co-worker.  Old like we used to work together, not old like she's old.  She and I had previously made her daughter a T-Shirt quilt for a graduation present:

*Gabby's quilt from 2007*

We used some old Cheerleading and Gymnastics T-Shirts.  It was such a hit that Mary wanted to make one for her son who is graduating in May 2011, but I'll be out of the country and so we decided to make the quilt before I left. 

Mary bought all the supplies before I arrived and chose the T-Shirts she wanted to use.  You pretty much just need two yards of fabric for the top and three yards of fleece for the back.  (I think.  Mary can correct me in the comments.)

There are 20 T-Shirt squares, so you need at least ten T-Shirts if you use the fronts and backs, or 20 if you're just going to use one graphic from each shirt.  We cut the T-Shirts into 12 1/2" squares and then fashioned them into a nice pattern.  I used 2 1/2" strips between each shirt square, which works out to 2" finished with the seam allowances.  If you really want to know how to make one, like, step-by-step, you can google it.  This isn't a how-to blog.  Jeez.  This is a "I-made-a-quilt-and-want-to-brag-about-it" blog.

Anyways, I'm available for future quilting projects.  You just have to put me up in a guest bedroom, feed me and accept sub-standard work, like Mary.

 *Grant's quilt*

I'm Here!

It only takes two hours and eleven minutes to fly from Miami to Managua.  Who knew?  So by the time we were in the air it was time to land. 

Bridget and Lynette were at the airport to pick me up and as soon as I grabbed my bags, got some beans and rice and water and an unknown meat wrap, we took off for Granada in Bridget's big truck.  When we got here we checked into a hotel, watched Law & Order and napped for a few hours and then took off for a neato boat ride where a monkey gets on the boat.  Photos of that to follow.

Most importantly I wanted to discuss the three hour meal situation when you're not in the US.  At home, restaurants are trying to move people in and out of there quickly to keep making more money and so we are used to quick service.  Not so in pretty much all other countries.  A for 1, nobody gets their food or drinks at the same time.  So you might have to wait for your food while your friend eats or vice versa.  This caused Summer Grimes some major heartache in SE Asia, because by some sort of weird coincidence I ALWAYS got my food first.  She was like, "you don't understand.  I'm the hungry one."  B for 2, you have to ask for the check at the end of the meal.  So if the check never arrives, it's because you forgot to ask for it.

And so tonight that is how we ended up going into the restaurant at 7pm and we just got finished at 10pm. 

There is nothing wrong with this system, as long as you sort of know about it in advance and remember to schedule the time properly, and to stay on top of your server.

One Quickie Before I get on the Plane

Click here to see photos of Charlotte. 

This morning I had to get up at 3:45AM for my shuttle to the airport.  But, since my phone was on silent, my phone alarm COULDN'T wake me up.  Oh, it tried, silently to alarm me out of bed.  The man was outside and he called (my friend's phone thank goodness) and I had 45 seconds to jump in his car.  I'm so glad I packed last night.

So then of course he was 147 years old and a horrible driver.  I always get really bad taxi/shuttle drivers.  My life has been in more danger getting to and from airports than it ever has been in the air.  Note to self: take Xanex BEFORE trip to airport next time.  We made it early for my flight, where I tried in vain to use the self-check in kiosk.  If all goes well, it's supposed to make things easier and faster.  But if you're tired and stupid, it takes ten times as long.  Which I was.  So blah, I had a nice flight to Miami (with the most gorgeous sunrise I think I've ever seen) and here I have some internet before I fly off to Nicaragua.   

Something is wrong with Blogger at the moment and I'm unable to upload photos.  I hate that.  Bane of my existence.

Random thoughts:

My backpack is so full I can't even get it open.

Everybody is speaking Spanish all around me, and I'm trying to eavesdrop.

I have to go poop.

I hope I didn't forget my book in the bedsheets.

Two cups of coffee maybe screwed my chance of a nap on the plane...but if not, my breath should be awesome when my mouth hangs wide open.

OK gotta go.

(Repeat thing about one week and the police.)

Going off the Grid

I bought a postal envelope to send my cell phone back to Minnesota tomorrow, and so I'm officially phone-less for the forseeable future.  It's a very strange feeling (thinking your phone is ringing and reaching to grab for it, but you don't have one.)  It's also a very liberating feeing.  As I explained to my friend with the Crackberry: how can you go and relate and connect to new friends in a new country if you are addicted to your phone and getting news from home?  It's bad enough I spend so much time on the internet whilst traveling.  I don't need to be texting all day too.  Who knows what I might miss?

 

The next step in my twelve-step 'information junkie addiction' program will be to cut down on internet use.  We'll see how that goes.

I don't know when I'll have internet again, so there may be no posts for a few days.  Mom and Dad, this does not mean that I am kidnapped and in a moss-eaten-grave.  That said, you should hear from me in about a week, and if not: call the Policia.

Lil' Lesson in Geography

So here's a little map of Central America, to show where Nicaragua is. 

And below is a close-up map of actual Nicaragua.  I am flying into Managua (in the West) on Sunday.  My roomates (Bridget and two others) are going to take me to Granada, which is on that bigger lake.  We are going to stay in a rented house for about 4 days, and then head up to Esteli, which is straight north of Managua.  I have friends in Leon, so I hope to visit there as well.  I will stay in Esteli with the same three roommates until the end of November, when I will take a bus ride down to Costa Rica to stay for two months with Nicole, who is from California but is spending a year in Costa Rica.

It is the rainy season right now, but that should clear up in November.  The weather is hot and humid.  There is an active volcano you can hike right up to.  Specific brands of tampons are hard to come by.  And, now you officially know as much about Nicaragua as I do.

Granada and my new diet idea

On Sunday I fly to Nicaragua.  My new friends are picking me up and we're going straight to Granada to spend a week in a rented house at the lake! 

Oh: today I weighed myself at the Bank of America lobby in uptown Charlotte NC.  On one of those crazy antique scales.  It said 144 pounds.  But I had my shoes and purse on.  Surely my shoes and purse weigh 24 pounds?  I am hoping to get one of those stomach parasites that come up through your feet while in Nicaragua.  You know the kind that make you lose a bunch of weight?  That way I won't have to actually do the Zumba program I paid $70 for and never used.  (I brought it with me.  Maraca weights and all.  If I decide to give up on those babies, my backpack will be at least 5 pounds lighter.)  More to follow.   

The end.

p.s. I phoned this one in Mitch.  No photo.

I met my Annie Wilkes **UPDATE**

"I am your number one fan."

When I went to Hutchinson to spend the day with my sister, we had an old friend over for dinner.  She brought with her a friend who was visiting from Tucson, whom I've never met.  We'll call her "Lisa".*  Anyway, she's been stalking my blog for some time now and knows more about me than I do.  I asked her if she was going to "Misery me".  She thought that was hilarious, because, well, she's my number one fan.  Also she loved my band's song.

*Name has not been changed.

UPDATE:  This post got me thinking.  Are you a silent, secret fan of A Lady Reveals Nothing?  Where are you from?  How did you find me?  What's your favorite feature of my blog?  Travel stories?  Me embarrassing my dad?  Old relic poop memory stories?  '-isms'?  Are you planning on murdering me?

I hope this doesn't backfire, in that no one comments...

BUT, according to my status counter, I'm getting about 100 hits a day and I know my mom doesn't click that many times.  So here's your chance.  WHO ARE YOU? 

Comments

Hi everybody!

You don't have to sign up for a Blogger account to leave a comment! Just Click on the Comments link under any post, then choose the "Name/URL" option and just type in your name. Then leave your comment. Easy Breezy! (And makes me feel not so far away when I'm far away.)

Language Barrier

I'm visiting friends in North Carolina this week. She is attempting to learn Spanish and has a friend with whom she was discussing diet programs. The native Spanish speaker kept saying how she loved her diet because there was a full day of "sh*tting" and went on and on about how important she felt that you should have a day to "sh*t" on a diet. Turns out she meant "cheat". You really need a full day of "cheating."

Which reminds me of a story that my brother-in-law shared with me yesterday. I don't really remember this, but apparently, at Oktoberfest in Munich 2001, a man was chatting with me. Keri and Marc were close-by, and just making sure I was OK. The man kept saying to me, "how sh*tty that you're leaving." Later, Keri and Marc teased me about that. I said, "HA! NO, he said, 'What city do you live in?'"

Check out this adorable video.

My friend Ashley Skogen edited some images from the girls' trip up north to visit me in International Falls.



Girl's Weekend in I-Falls from marble fawn on Vimeo.

Marc and Keri-isms

Keri: "You wouldn't know I hate clutter.  I look like a clutter bug!"


Marc: "Did'ja ever notice wherever Danika Patrick goes, there's wind blowing her hair?"

Rear End

Today I drove from Minneapolis to Hutchinson.  I am going to spend a couple days with my sister and also drop off my car with my auntie, who will be driving it for the next 8 months.  So, technically the drive today was my last time driving my car until like next June.  So I'm enjoying the drive...and at a red light I decided to text Summer because she texted me last night at around 1am to tease me that the marathon was yesterday, but she was wrong and I was going to say something hilarious like, "I may not know where my keys are, but I know when the marathon is."  (Yesterday I lost my keys in the grass in the dark and everybody was on hands an knees trying to help me find them.)  I digress.  Anyways.  When I was looking down at my lap, to grab the phone, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the cars on my left were moving.  So, I had to give up the texting idea, but I also had a bag of candy corn & peanuts in my lap courtesy of Mary Griffin and I was like, "ooh! snack."  Then I grabbed some, and took my foot off the brake.  By the time I looked up, candy corn in mouth and fingers, I was HITTING THE CAR IN FRONT OF ME.  I was like, "no! no! no! no! no! no!" "OH NO!"  Apparently all the people to the left of me had a green arrow and they got to go, but not us yet.

A man got out of the car that I hit, I got out of mine, and he goes, "are you OK?" and I was like, "are YOU OK?" and then he looked at his truck, shrugged and goes, "no damage here" and walked back to his truck.  I was like, "are you sure you don't want to pull over?"  and he said "No.  You're OK?" and I was like, "yah.  Just embarrassed."

I was really really embarrassed.  So I immediately called my sister and yakked with her about it and the most embarrassing part was that I had to follow that guy for the next 50 miles and he most likely saw me talking on the phone but I couldn't help it.  Also I was too embarrassed to pull over and check the damage on my car.  Because he said, "no damage here," I wasn't sure if he meant his car or OUR cars.  For all I knew, my entire front bumper area was crinkled in.  I had to wait until I pulled into Keri's house 45 minutes later and this is what I saw:

A perfect square punched into my license plate.  From the guy's trailer hitch square. 

Last Hal-isms for a little while (Vol. 11)

"I'm a sick old man Kady.  You got a chance to make something of yourself."

"Pajamas?  I know all about pajamas.  I wore 'em for two weeks when they cut my hindend out."

"Donde esta?  Muy bien.  I can speak Spanish."

"Your gol' dang mom is trying' to sabotage me.  I got somethin' stuck in my teeth."

Tearful Goodbye

So the time has finally come for me to leave the country again.  Let's not forget that I'm "traveling for a year."  At the beginning of this brilliant idea, ("traveling for a year") I faced the very scary task of telling my mom and dad my plans.  They are not definitely not hovering parents or in my business or anything.  It's just that they get very nervous about me being so far away.

In my whole life living at home, I saw my dad cry ONCE.  But now that he's getting older, the crying thing happens a tidge more often.  A few years back, we were talking about one of my previous trips to China, and my dad expressed his fear that I would die and he would have to go and pick up my body.  His voice cracked just a little when he said it.  Ever since then I've tried to treat him with kid gloves when it comes to me traveling.  So, last September when I called to tell them that I was going to quit my job and travel for a year, I added, "but don't worry!  I'm coming to live with you guys next summer.  For the whole summer!"  How could I have known then that during "next summer" my dad would have his prostate removed and that they would list and sell their house, and move to their cabin?  It turned out to be such perfect timing for me to be there helping them.  In fact when word spread that I came to International Falls to help my parents because of my dad's prostate cancer, I didn't really correct anybody.  Yes, yes...I am wonderful.  Mmhmmm, I dropped everything to come up and help. 

ANYWAYS, we all said goodbye to eachother on Sunday.  It was very sad.  Not only did I drive away from my childhood home for the last time Friday night, but we did the whole gravestone thing on Saturday, and faced our goodbyes for my trip.  It was an emotional weekend.  My dad spent all weekend asking if there was anything he could do to change my mind.  His alternative offer was for me to live with them in Roosevelt for the winter.  Uh, sorry dad...maybe when you get PLUMBING.  Josette gave me a "stay strong" look and I tried my best to make my dad feel comfortable.  When it came time to say goodbye, I started crying.  My mom started crying.  I hugged my dad.  When he backed away from the hug, his eyes were red. 

"Dad?  Are you CRYING?!" 

And then the tears really started.

"Just come back." he said.

Me, crying as I packed and left my childhood home for the very last time...and a really bad picture of my mom.  We were sad, and tired.

The Best Thing We Ever Did

About 42 years ago, my mom had a little baby boy named Scotty.  He had a spinal disorder similar to Spina Bifida, and so part of his spinal cord was unprotected.  Spinal fluid gathered in a big blister on his back.  Anyway, he lived to be about four months old and then he died.  The funeral was a whirlwind. Being so far away from the graveyard, and having had five additional children after his death, she actually didn't ever see his grave again until I was 16 years old, or 25 years later. She was horrified to see that his little grave marker said "Scott J. Hexum".  My grandparents took over the funeral arrangements because they lived pretty close to the graveyard and also my parents were very young.  They never thought she should have named him Scotty.  (They reasoned that he could be called Scotty, but he should have an official name.)  Well she disagreed and named him Scotty anyways.  But then they got him a grave marker that said "Scott."

So now for 17 years, she's been meaning to get him a gravestone, but just never got around to it.  WELL, us wonderful kids secretly plotted to get this superman:

Kay Owen, Genius - Minneapolis

To spend a million man-hours designing and HAND CARVING this beautiful stone:

And then we plotted for over a year to get it up to the graveyard and have it set so that it would be a nice surprise for my mom.  My dad hates surprises and so I told him about it pretty early on.  So, I told my mom that Kay had some "work" to do up in Roseau, MN and that he and his wife would be coming to stay at our cabin.  Kay got up in the morning and left for "work" and his wife Josette and I went to "coffee"  (a stretch because the town their cabin is in has 160 inhabitants and we always just have coffee at home with my mom, but whatever.)

Then Kay set the stone, and my sister Kim and her daughter Hanna arrived and we all non-chalantly had lunch.  Afterward Kim suggested we go to the "grocery store" (here is a photo):

Which was weird because my dad NEVER hops in the car to go to the grocery store, but whatever.  Then Kim drove straight to the graveyard and my mom didn't even ever get suspicious.  We started walking around the graveyard and hoped she'd notice the new stone. 

It went off pretty well.  She saw it and then started bawling and we cried and she was SO happy.  The moment was very touching, even though my dad kept saying that "a dog already peed on it!"  And then later she said it was the best present she ever got from us kids.

The end.

(Shortly after the reveal.  "How about a hug for the blog?")

Dumb Way to Die

When I was in high school, I was super into star-gazing.  So much so that one night in the car, I had my head out the window and was marveling at how black the sky was and how bright the stars were.  The trouble was, I was driving.  I had all my passengers looking at the stars too.  Suddenly my friend said, "M...MMM...Mooo...MOOOOSE!!!", and slapped me on the shoulder.  In front of our car, not 20 feet away was a moose, standing broadside, looking at us.  The photo above is not my own, but illustrates just how big these things are.  I pulled my head back in the car, yanked the wheel and we went around the beast into the ditch and then got back on the road.  When I looked back the stupid thing hadn't even blinked.  It would have killed us.  Killed us. 

Thank goodness somebody happened to glance at the road.

Feeling like a Nomad Again...and the story of my old bedroom

* Yes that is a zumba box, clothes, a journal and my laptop on my bed. So?  Oh, and this is funny: as I was scanning my room to look for dirty underwear so it wouldn't show up in the photo and trying to exclude that bra you see on the left, I noticed the reflection in the window was me in my underwear.  Glad I saw that before I published.


We packed up all my bedding for the cabin and so now I'm using my sleeping bag.  I am leaving International Falls on Friday, so I am trying to get ready to go, except it's confusing because I still have two weeks in fall weather, but I need to pack for summer weather.  My room was a series of confusing piles:


1)  Give to Hanna
2)  Bring with on trip
3)  Store
4)  Garbage
5)  Put in one of the other four piles
6)  What should I do with this thing?
7)  Dirty sock
8)  Old purse


Well I got sick of that and so I put all the piles into my cupboard dresser that my mom had built for me when I was 13.  Please notice that all the cubboard doors open 'down' so that a 13 year old can't leave them hanging open all the time to irritate her mom.  Can I just mention that it was the bane of my existence then and it is the bane of my existence now?  How many minutes do YOU spend staring at your clothes, trying to decide what to wear?  Try doing it kneeling down with a cupboard door on your head.

Also notice the Eat, Pray, Love poster I hung with tape to be ironic but nobody got to see it so where's the irony in that?






Upside about this room: it's just my size!

Downside: lots of bumping your head on the ceiling.

This is the vent in the floor.  My room was freezing (in 1990) and so my dad cut a hole in the floor to create a down draft for me.  But it also created a great spying tool, since it overlooks the entryway and is in perfect hearing range of the kitchen, i.e. the 'kids-punishment-discussing-quarters'.

*There's that pesky bra again.  oops.




When it was new and fresh cut (in 1990), there was plenty of sawdust that you could slowly blow on so that it would fall down onto the heads of company and then you could giggle at how funny you were.


I stupidly decided to put my underwear (in 2010) in the upper left compartment of the cupboard wall, directly above the vent.  So after a shower, naked, standing over the vent looking for underwear was uncomfortable, especially if somebody came in the front door unexpectedly.  Then it was all about jumping out of the way in case they looked up.


So anyways, I go to the cabin for the weekend, and then it's to Minneapolis for a week, Hutchinson for a couple days and then I fly out October 5th.  Sayonara USA for 8 months!

Roller Girlz

Hanna and I had a blast at the Roller Derby in Fort Frances.  I think my roller name should be "Slap-a-Ho", though Hanna thinks it should be "Scratchy Butt".  In the end, I condeded to "Wimpy."

Y'all should check it out.  It's pretty fun!  And, slightly dangerous.  If you haven't seen Whip It, (Drew Barrymore's directorial debut), put it in your Netflix Queue, now.

Rock-isms

Meet Rock.  The lovable, adorable Chicago-an who spends parts of every summer at the Lodge where I work.  He's in his sixties, and has a full-on "DA BEARSS" accent straight outta Soldier Field in Chicago. 

When you read these quotes, you gotta read them in that accent:
__________




"You're built for speed."


"You could make big time babies wit your hips."


"I'm telling you da trooth."


"You look like you come from a healthy gene pool."


"I'm just an old fart that loves nice lookin' women.  Like you.  I'm telling you da trooth."


"You got dimples in your cheeks.  Ya know what dat means?  Dat means, I bet you pull down those pants and you got dimples in those cheeks too."


"You have all the physical attributes."


"You're a great lady."


"You're a great baby maker."


"I love that posterior."


"I love you."


"I'd love to propegate wit you."


"You're unique."


"Take it fromma guy that's 62 years old.  I'm tellin' you da trooth."


All these Rock-isms came at me over the course of maybe two hours.  And yes, I turned around and wrote them on a napkin so I wouldn't forget them.  When I did, I got the posterior comment, and also this one. 


"You're a southpaw.  Southpaws are brilliant, ya know."


So did I get offended and slap him across the face?  No.  I smiled and laughed.  Like all of this is witty, hilarious and charming.  Because I'm a bartender.  And that's what we do.

Good News / Bad News

Good News:

"Hey mom!  I got a modeling job!"

Bad News: