I ain't missin' you at all since you been gone away

Rustling through the undergrowth on the abandoned, frozen shores of small lake in rural southwestern Minnesota a few weeks ago, I realized how life can take you to the most peculiar places. As I am struggling through prickly ash in search of news photos of a Ford pickup sticking out of the ice like a discarded toy - and hoping the person who allegedly stole it and left it there doesn’t come back and kidnap me - I wonder to what places your life takes you.

I think about you a lot. I know I’m terrible at phoning and emailing and going to parties – and have been even since before we moved well beyond the suburban bubble. But that’s a personality quirk, not a reflection of fading sentiment.

I wonder how cold it is where you are in North Dakota, what your school kids are doing today in St. Paul, whether you're wearing real maternity clothes now, if you’re eating lunch out someplace in Minneapolis or practicing soccer indoors, how you like your new church and if your classes are going well in Thailand. And since there’s no way I can know what you're up to in that exact moment, I substitute by remembering things we did together. Trying to pull Laura’s sweatshirt over your head after you’d had too much to drink. That time you lit the stove on fire making cream cheese wontons with Nick. Listening to Harry Potter while falling asleep in France. Taking a late-night dip in Lake Sag with what might as well have been a stranger. Drinking Radlers together. Walking into the computer lab at 3 a.m. after getting done with The Record to find you jumping from chair to chair in a hyperactivity brought on by over-exhaustion and poly-sci papers. Sharing a few bottles of wine with you only to wake up to the worst and only hangover of my life. Getting dripped on watching the Twins play outdoors.

The more I remember, the more I want to go back. Life is good, but I wish you were here, next door, so the threads of our existence could knit themselves together in a way that only seems to work with physical proximity. To be honest, I haven’t found anyone who quite fills the space you used to hold. Nice, wonderful people. But not people who tell me shocking dirty jokes and hug me with that sparkle in their eyes. Not people who have expansive dreams and recite poetry on roofs. Not people who are exactly at the same peculiar point in their lives where things go from hypothesis to heart-stopping reality while the future still holds a sheen of what’s possible – who do I chatter across my cube to about that? There’s Nate, of course. Wonderful, handsome, brainy Nate. But no one can be all things, and he sort of lacks in discussing the merits of Ryan Gosling, the south of France and dark chocolate. No offense.

I could pick up the phone and call you, but somehow it just isn’t the same.

Looking backward has a way of putting one off balance, and I don’t want to lose my equilibrium. So, I’ll keep moving forward: keep joining groups, working, and hoping. In the meantime, I wanted you to know there’s a girl at the side of a frozen lake clutching a low-hanging branch and hoping you’re doing well, wherever you are.

Harvest Dinner

One way to solve not having a kitchen: church suppers. We've had turkey and potatoes with gravy, homemade chicken soup and hot German potato salad, eating our way around the European heritage bequeathed to rural Minnesota.

The best part is walking through with my neighbor, who knows half the people in the room and stops to chat at least four times before we get to the buffet. The test is always dessert. If it's pie, is it homemade? Because if it's not, you better just get seconds on the turkey. If it is homemade, choosing is sweet agony. Never apple, because you can always get apple. Peach? Or maybe lemon with heaping meringue? Almond also looks delicious. But perhaps peanut butter chocolate would be best? No matter - you can always try again at the next dinner.

November finds us knee deep in mud, the kind you put on sheetrock. Nate has taken it upon himself to learn the craft of taping drywall, and I have to say it looks pretty darn good. Playing assistant to the job manager is enough of a challenge for this construction novice. Though I must say I'm pretty handy with a sheetrock T. Watch out Ty Pennington.

P.S. I just discovered all my Miss Communications columns are posted in their entirety online. Read your heart out.

Doughnuts, Soup & Summer

Saturday morning I awoke to a change in the weather that can only be described as sublime. Slipping out from the sheets, goosebumps worked their way up my legs as the chill of a fall breeze blew in through the open window. Oh autumn, I knew you were coming! I promptly brewed a cup of tea, pulled on heavy sweats and sat on my deck listening to Canada geese announcing their departure for warmer climes.

I do not hate summer. But we're not on the best of terms. Consider the following: Humidity makes my hair look terrible. In a fight between a bikini and jeans, jeans always win. Summer dishes are finicky and hard to cook, but stew - who messes up stew?

In other words, summer is like a doughnut. When you get to the bakery on Saturday morning, if it is a respectable bakery, the doughnuts on display were made that same morning. When you bite into one of them, the inside is light and moist. Should you decide to eat the same doughnut when it is a day old, you will find a heavy, dry Twinkie in place of your perfect doughnut. The shelf life of a doughnut is not to be ignored.

Summer has a shelf life, too, and it's non-negotiable. One day, it's perfect. The next, the moment has passed. When this happens, the best thing to do is embrace what's next. I started by having my tea on the deck in sweats, and when the cool weather persisted, I gathered the ingredients for tomato soup.

Some of the best fall memories I have involve tomatoes. My mother has canned stewed tomatoes since time immemorial, and at some point, I joined the messy, inspiring endeavor. You chop tomatoes, green peppers, onions and celery until your hands are raw from the acid and prolonged exposure to moisture. You always have to make sure to cover the chopped onions with tomatoes right after you pour them in the bowl to keep your eyes from stinging, and please avoid cutting your hand when chopping celery.

As I was completing these exact steps to make my fresh tomato soup today, I remembered the smell of all those fresh veggies filling up my mother's kitchen, the bright, hard autumn sun filling the room with light. The whole affair amounted to bottling up summer so that you could pop the lid on it sometime in December and remember what tomatoes really taste like. What a brilliant idea.

I have to say that in recent months, my cooking has regressed. Failed hotdishes and tired recreations of tacos is pretty much all I seem to be able to conjure up these days. So, even though the tomato soup is my mother's recipe, I did not have any certainty about how it would turn out. When it had stewed just long enough, I thickened the broth with flour and added a dollop of sour cream for luck. Carrying it through our skeleton of a kitchen upstairs, I seated myself on the deck to get the full fall effect.

It looked so, so good, but I couldn't trust myself. I let the spoon hover in the air a moment before popping it in my mouth. Oh. My. Gosh. The soup was perfect, and it was all I could do to keep myself from putting the bowl to my face and drinking it down. Mother claims you cannot screw up this recipe, and she is right.

Fresh Tomato Soup

1 cup chopped celery

1/2 cup shredded carrot (or chopped, which is how I like it)

1/3 cup chopped onion

1/3 cup chopped bell pepper (red or green)

1/4 cup butter (don't skimp!)

4 cups peeled, seeded and chopped tomatoes

4 cups chicken broth

4 tsp sugar (white or brown)

1/8 tsp pepper

1/4 tsp curry powder (optional - I didn't use any)

1/4 cup flour

1/2 cup cold water

Cook celery, carrot, onion and bell pepper in butter over medium heat until tender. Add tomatoes, chicken broth, sugar and spices. Bring to a boil; reduce heat and simmer, uncovered, for 20 minutes. Combine flour and water in jar and shake until combined (or, whisk together in a small bowl). Stir this into the soup. Cook and stir one minute more, until thickened.

P.S. Looking for updates on the remodel? I'm writing a column (my first!) about it for our home improvement issue of the Jackson County Pilot newspaper later this month. Stay tuned!

I Quit

I quit my job.

I had just gotten used to things – the latest time I could set my alarm clock and not miss the carpool, which microwave in the break room cooks the hottest, how to create reports on Jujyfruits, and who to ask about bear bait. Then, two weeks ago, the publisher at the local printing company had me in for a chat and offered me a position.

I had, in fact, applied there when we first moved into town. But things didn’t work out, and I took the position at the candy company. And life was good.

But it was about to get better. I could write and design, walk to work, have lunch with Nathan sometimes, not get stuck in a ditch on the tundra this winter. Short of writing the great American novel or being a baker, working for the printing company was the best job I could think of.

Of course, in order to get the new job, I had to quit the old job. After taking a week to decide what I would do and finalize the details at the printing company, I gave my two weeks’ notice. It felt like breaking up with my high school boyfriend: nerve-wracking and awful. And as stunned as I was to have a sudden career change, I’m certain it was an even greater shock to my supervisor when she read my letter of resignation. To her credit, she took it well and wished me the best.

Just a few days left, and I’ll be off to new adventures with the printing company. They own the local newspaper, and it’s the Jackson County Fair next week, so there will be plenty to cover. And I can’t wait to open InDesign CS5 and start a new project. There’s nothing like snapping those first few guides into place on a blank sheet. Truthfully, I don’t even know specifically what I’ll be doing. But it will be great.

Rounding out big changes in our lives, we’re finally moved into our new house. More specifically, our new basement. (Why do we always end up in a basement?) The top floor is torn up and in several stages of remodel, while the basement is at least in one piece. Even if it does have earwigs and that funny damp smell.

Speaking of quitting, I would also like to quit remodeling. But the job foreman won't let me go, and technically I promised to stick with him until I die, so he's got me over a barrel there. The work upstairs is progressing slowly. Tearing down the walls and putting in wiring were fairly straightforward. But the sheet rock is a nightmare. You watch a few videos on YouTube and think, “If that guy with the mullet and obvious lack of ambition can put up sheet rock, I can put up sheet rock.” Not necessarily.

Things we have done with the sheet rock so far include: cracking the corners, punching screws through, missing the studs, cutting the outlet holes too large, cutting the light hole in the wrong place, and generally not being able to get all the sides flush. I have a strong suspicion the walls are just a little bit crooked. On average, we hang one sheet every 2-4 hours. Luckily we're planning on living here for quite some time, because that's precisely how long it will take to finish.

Despite everything, and because of some of it, we’re doing well. (Bonus of not having a working kitchen: takeout.) Though it would be nice to be doing well in a bright red kitchen with gorgeous wood cabinets. I’m just saying.

P.S. I am officially a successful gardener. Last night I was poking around in the massive foliage of my overgrown tomato plants when I spied a clump of orange. My first ripe tomatoes! I popped one in my mouth on the spot, and it was heaven. Then I moved a large leaf to reveal a baby cucumber. I literally yelled, "My first cucumber!" while clapping and jumping up and down. Not to be left out, my snow peas and green beans are coming in fast, and I've sprouted two tiny green bell peppers. They grow up so fast!

Is it like Willy Wonka?

Truthfully, our candy company does not look anything like Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. The headquarters, where I work, is in Round Lake, Minn. (population roughly 500). Our office building is long and low, with corrugated tan siding. The inside is nice enough, always very neat and clean, but there are no chocolate fountains, oompa loompas or bright colors. In fact, we don't even make candy here anymore. We warehouse fruit snacks and samples of our other products, and we have a lot of people in cubes.

Each department has an area of cubicles, and mine is right by the break room, which is convenient for fetching coffee throughout the day. In consumer relations, we answer calls from consumers with questions, complaints and, occasionally, nice things to say about our products.

Following is a short list of things that happen to you when you work in consumer relations at a candy company:

You eat candy as a training tool. If someone calls about a product, and you don't know how it's supposed to taste, you won't know if anything is wrong! (Note: This is a perk, and a downfall. You may not realize it, but you can reach a daily limit on candy.)

People get upset with you. It turns out, some folks are very passionate about our products. They may even swear.

Being trusting becomes harder and harder. You find yourself thinking that people might be exaggerating, or fabricating things altogether. Usually they aren't, but sometimes they are.

Jelly bean taste tests appear on your Outlook calendar.

Eating out of the bulk candy bins in the lobby becomes less of a treat, and more of a habit. That's what happens when you combine stress with readily available chocolate.

You find candy is actually pretty interesting. There's panned, tableted, enrobed and deposited. Chocolate and non-chocolate. Seasonal and everyday. Private label and bulk. So much to know!

Questions you never before pondered, such as whether artificial flavorings contain gluten, become something you can answer without thinking.

You learn how to count grams of sugar alcohols for diabetic carbohydrate limits.

You explain things with gestures, even though you know you're on the phone. This actually comes in handy when you can't resist rolling your eyes at someone.

SmartBrief updates from the National Confectioners Association become extremely fascinating. Read about new flavors of Twinkies, advanced candy marketing campaigns, cocoa shortages on the Ivory Coast and more!

You buy cheap candy and give it away to your friends and family, or maybe keep some in your apartment. Then your husband gets sick of you complaining about stomach aches and tells you no more candy. You continue to buy it and try to sneak it past him.

Finding out how much candy other people are consuming a week shocks and amazes you.

You finally get why Target puts out seasonal candy so freakin' early: Our first ship date for a holiday is months ahead of time. (I still don't forgive them for hurrying out Christmas by putting up Valentine displays, but I can accept it a little easier.)

Deciphering heavy accents and obscure descriptions of candy you may or may not still produce becomes a survival skill.

You accidentally tell someone an item is discontinued, and then later find it in your product inventory. (That one is very embarrassing.)

People get sidetracked and start telling you long, unrelated stories. Or they realize something else that's wrong in their lives, and tell you about that even though you can't fix it. Like how they suspect the UPS of losing their mail.

You find it weird knowing that if consumers didn't call to complain, you wouldn't have a job, but you still wish they wouldn't sometimes.

******

On the whole, I like my job: I didn't realize how much fun it would be to learn about candy. And I've started to get over my fear of talking to strangers on the phone, as I now take about 20 calls a day. At the least, consumer relations is challenging me to develop skills in new areas and learn about a different career. And there's always plenty of candy.

Front Page News

The going has been rough lately. Too many complainers, more remodeling work than could possibly be accomplished by two people, flopped recipes for supper, and garden plants with curling, blighty leaves. And the weather. Monday and Tuesday were hot, so dense and uncomfortable it was all I could do not to sweat standing still.

But then there was Wednesday. I got home from work, and the cool air outside the car felt like a sigh of relief. I hurried to check the plants in my garden, hopeful that at least they had profited from our temporary tropical climate. Lo and behold, the seeds had sprouted! Green beans, peas, zucchini and cucumbers were bravely reaching tiny green leaves toward the sun. I fawned over them, inspecting their little shoots and marveling at how something as simple as poking a seed into the dirt with my finger could produce these wonders of creation. I checked my "cheater" plants, too - the ones I had purchased in pots at the garden center. The tomatoes' leaves still seemed to be suffering, the edges curling and gray in some places, but they were getting bigger and looked a little healthier I thought.

Heading home to my apartment, I decided it was the perfect night for chocolate cake to celebrate my small green accomplishments. With each window flung wide, birdsong and sunshine streaming through the screens, I set to work. A recipe from the Barefoot Contessa was too good to pass up, with a cup of fresh brewed coffee stirred in right at the end. The scent of warm chocolate permeated the corners of the apartment, chasing out musty, humid smells locked in while the hot air forced us to stay closed tight.

Content, I sat at my computer reading emails. Junk. Junk. Junk. A note from my editor in chief: Two of my stories are on the front page this week, above the fold! "Thanks for all your hard work — it is being noticed and appreciated by the community." How could he have possibly known that I've been feeling like maybe I can't handle freelancing for the paper with everything else that's going on? It's like he has ESP and knew exactly what to say at the right moment. Now I'm smiling from ear to ear and in love with the idea that I have business cards that say "Staff Writer" on them. This guy is good.

When my cake was cool, I whipped chocolate buttercream frosting until my arms were tired, and spread it on the cake an inch thick. Perfect.

And then, not wanting to ask too much of just one day, I went to bed. And the breeze blew through the curtains, frogs singing me to sleep.

Shake It Up, Baby

"I guess there's got to be a break in the monotony, but Jesus, when it rains how it pours." ~ OK Go, "Here it Goes Again"

From having no job - and no real prospects - to two jobs and a house to completely remodel, it feels like someone took the proverbial snow globe of my life and gave it a good, hard shake. Standing upright once more, I'm effervescing gratitude and trying to regain my bearings amid the glitter raining down.

Starting April 25, I'll be the consumer relations coordinator for Farley's and Sathers Candy Company in Round Lake, Minn. Though you likely haven't heard of the company, or the town, you're probably familiar with brands Farley's and Sathers owns including Brach's, Now and Later, Trolli and Fruit Stripe Gum. Word on the street is that employees get a great deal on candy, and I'm looking forward to being everyone's favorite person from now on.

The other job is freelancing for our local paper, the Jackson County Pilot. I did a few design projects recently, and then they asked me to write a few stories each week. Starting out at one seemed prudent, and my first byline will hopefully show up next Thursday.

And then there's the house: our split level starter home in need of so much love. We close April 26, and then we start tearing it apart. So far, we've come across hundreds of dollars worth of surprises in the process, and I'm sure that's only the least of it. Hopefully in a few months we'll all be laughing about things we found in the sheetrock or that time the hammer narrowly missed hitting Nathan on the head instead of wringing our hands over plumbing nightmares. As I say in French, "On verra."

This last week of my "vacation" is already heavily scheduled. A lot of trips to the coffee shop at odd hours of the afternoon, book reading outside (weather permitting), baking, cooking, eating, sleeping, watching Kathie Lee and Hoda (that's right, I watch it), remodeling sketches, shopping for business casual outfits for spring, breathing. The usual.

Really, I feel blessed. Finding a job in just four months is a pretty good feat. And finding a house in a perfect neighborhood for a great price was a bonus. As I adjust to all these big changes in my life, I feel a little out of breath. But don't worry: breathing is on my list for next week.