FARGO-MOORHEAD CONVENTION AND VISITORS BUREAU Fargo-Moorhead's Celebration of Women & Their Music
This coming Saturday (February 18th) is the Fifteenth Annual Celebration of Women and Their Music. Im not sure how I was unaware of this event until just this week since Deb Jenkins founded it in 19... Posted on 2/16/12 at 5:04 PM
I was taking a drive with dad the other day – heading back to the ranch from town after dropping my car off at the shop and in between an exchange about this endless winter – when dad told me George died.
So I took a Zumba class the other day.
I know, I know. I’m way behind on this fitness phenomenon that gets us all together in a big room to cha-cha, salsa, and drop it like it’s hot in the name of Latin music and exercise.
Last week I stood in line at a convenience store in Boomtown, behind a man in Carhartts and steel-toe boots, in front of a woman running in for a snack and a potty break with her toddler, and surrounded by dozens of characters shuffling around the man mopping the melted snow off the floor in search of coffee, cigarettes, a slice of pizza – something to help them through the rest of a working day.
It’s coming on Valentine’s Day, and because these sub-zero temperatures are really starting to wear on my good cheer, I’ve decided to it’s time to talk about love and other mushy stuff if only to thaw out our hearts this frozen mid-February.
I want to tell you about the day my dad lived.
My dad, with his beautifully raspy voice and strong, callused hands. My dad who loves unconditionally and laughs with a promise that things will be OK.
Our dad who knows things. Takes care of things.
Last year I vowed 2013 would be the year I would plant a garden. I promised that once the winter snow melted I would till up that flat spot below the house and I would put in carrots and tomatoes, peas and beans, corn and lettuce and maybe a pumpkin or two, you know, for the autumn holidays.
They call it the happiest place on Earth, and a few weeks ago we went there.
Gramma and grampa, aunts and uncles, nieces, grandkids, in-laws and out-laws, we all had our suitcases packed for 75 and sunny, ready to celebrate family and my youngest niece finally turning 5, an age we had long ago told her she must reach in order to take a trip to Disney World.
To honor the first week of December, Mother Nature opened up the sky and let loose a bazillion-trillion tiny snowflakes that made their way down to the frozen earth, pushing through the trees and across the road – cars stuck, trucks chained up, roads blocked and events cancelled – reminding us that this winter party has just begun.
Last week, in between bites of chicken casserole, my husband shot a coyote off our deck.
A quick glance out the window as the sun was setting sent him flying from his seat muttering and cussing as he ran to the back of the house to retrieve his gun.
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