Thank you Hap

Hap's present arrived last week and the girls put it to use on Saturday. It didn't take long for the boys next door to start loitering on the fringes of our yard, and fortunately the girls are good sharers.

Breaking in the new: Health Club

Employees of the new company get a break on a couple of different counts if they join a health club and attend a certain number of days a month, so with Kim losing weight by the day and me having had virtually no exercise for the three years it took to complete the masters, a trial for at least a couple of months was a no-brainer.

The one we targeted here isn't that much different from others we've attended. Same machines, same offerings, same overly-friendly staff, same annoying tour and interview process:

• "So what are your goals?"
• "So, how can we help you get the most out of your workout?"
• "So, what do you usually look for in a locker room?" (OK, it's the first time I've ever heard that one, but so help me, he actually asked me that.)

This one is different from clubs I've belonged to at home in at least two respects: first, it's sheer size. The place is huge, with parking up the kazoo, a mini-water park, and, Kim tells me, a great room the the girls to hang out in. (The chain is a big fitness name out here, and the guy who gave me the tour said that they can't expand into Massachusetts because the land costs are way too high for the type of facility they usually have.)

Second -- and I guess I always thought this sort of thing usually just goes without saying in a public place -- is the sign that greets you as you enter: "Lifetime Fitness does not permit the use of guns on the premises."

Comic

Nothing particular to Minnesota this time -- just an episode that produced a prolonged giggle fit . . .

Both girls have recently been introduced to the Sunday funnies -- which pleases me to no end, because that's how I began enjoying newspapers. Whether or not actual newspapers still exist by the time the girls are my age is a question for another day.

Anyway, there we are on the floor this morning, all 3 of us reading them together -- classic Peanuts, Garfield, B.C., Family Circus. Ellie starts asking me what this word says, what that word says, and Maggie's trying to get my attention: "Daddy . . . ? Daddy . . . ? Daddy . . . ?" My brain slips into that selective attention mode that all parents seem to develop, where what one kid is saying has receives undivided attention, while whatever the other one is saying becomes mere background noise. I guide Ellie through a couple of easy words, which also pleases me to no end -- her reading is coming along very nicely.

The job at hand now complete, the brain shifts back out of selective attention mode to what Maggie is now saying: "Sir . . . ? Um, SIR . . . ? . . ."

Role reversal

A sharp-eared reader heard Jerry Remy's voice in the background of the laundry video (see below). One of our first orders of business upon moving here was to get the Comcast baseball package so we could see all of the Sox games. To ease the transition, in a way (we'll see how we hold up when we can watch the Patriots every weekend this fall).

This is the 40th anniversary of the 67 Impossible Dream season, and the Sox and sports press back home have justifiably been making a big deal of it all season. With the possible exception of Carlton Fisk's homer of the pole in the 75 Series, it's the one pre-2004 moment in Sox history that we truly have cause to celebrate. Usually Sox anniversaries of note are the ones we'd rather forget (1947, the 49 collapse, Bucky Bleeping Dent, Billy Bucks, and Aaron Bleeping Boone being the most notable), in which the Sox snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.

So it felt very strange to pick up today's Minneapolis Tribune Star and read this article about that same 1967 season and the collapse of the 1967 Twins at the hands of the Sox. The Sox the villains in that story? Impossible! But true.

(NOTE: I just tested the link, and you may have to register to see the article. Just do the 7-day free pass -- all they ask for is your birthdate and zip code.)

Normal evening at home

Don't let the creepy eyes fool you

Say hello to our newest edition, Valerie.

Previous posts may have alluded to our intention of getting a pet at some point, and this is the result. Kim found her at a local cat charity and the girls took to her quickly.

A recent mom herself, Valerie was helping to nurse another litter of kittens before moving in. Judging from her prolonged mewing and constant looks outside the window, we suspect she's at that time when a boyfriend would be especially handy, but she's got an appointment with the vet this week that hopefully will take care of that. So far, she's been really good and the girls are having a blast with her.

The name? Apparently her original name was "Bahama Mama," but neither Kim nor I were having any of that. Ellie immediately suggested Valerie, the result of seeing one-to-many Weight Watchers commercials featuring Valerie Bertinelli and asking, "What's that girl's name?" I personally was lobbying for Rhoda -- a fairly clever name, given our new home state -- but Valerie took hold before I could make any headway. (If push comes to shove, I guess I can always say that she's named after Valerie Harper instead.)

Breaking in the new: Local TV stations

Today I read in the online Boston Globe that Natalie Jacobsen is retiring after 35 years at the WCVB anchor desk, and it got me thinking about how we come to prefer, then stick with, one local TV affiliate over the other.

Nat has been a mainstay for most of my Massachusetts life -- I was never a Liz and Jack fan, and Channel 7 changed formats and faces so many times over the years (R.D. Sahl? Robin Young? Zip Rzeppa?) that loyalty wasn't possible. (I'm betraying my age here -- the younger set will notice that Fox and the other newbies aren't even considered.) But -- and forgive me if I sound like the retrospective promo that is no doubt filling every bit of spare ad time on CVB -- Natalie as the face of news during dinner time was always a given, and something Kim and I agreed on no matter who she was teamed with.

Morning news, of course, is vastly different, but it was during those morning broadcasts, while we were in temporary housing, that we found ourselves "auditioning" the different local affiliates. What we discovered was that morning news is probably not the best criteria for picking a preferred outlet -- the personalities here are even more annoyingly goofy in the morning than are their Boston counterparts.

(ASIDE -- for our friends in Boston, you should see the morning traffic reports here in Minnesota: "Unfortunately, there's a pullover on 35W that has traffic slowed to only 35 miles per hour . . . " is about as bad as it gets.)

When we moved into our house and got into a regular routine, we returned to the dinner hour news and found that a couple of coincidences seemed to be steering our choice without our knowing it.

First, the channels had familiar numeric assignments -- the Twin Cities CBS affiliate is Channel 4, as in Boston, and the ABC affiliate is Channel 5, as in Boston (NBC resides further up the dial at Channel 11). But more importantly, the Channel 5 news team features one Cyndy Brucato, who at first glance looks as though she's Minnesota's answer to Natalie Jacobsen -- been around a while, good gravitas without being a downer, appears to be well-respected. A bit of research shows that her career has taken a number of detours through public relations and government work, so it's not as if she's been sitting in the same seat every night for 35 years.

But I strongly suspect subliminal forces at work, because Channel 5 has become our default for news. As in Boston.

Breaking in the new: Hair care specialists

Let's face it -- sticking with a barber or stylist ends up being a matter first of convenience, then of comfort and familiarity (as well as skill, of course). In my Indianapolis days, I wandered from SuperCuts to SuperCuts until I finally found Kelly, who I stayed with for about 4 years, even after she moved to a different shop. Similarly, my first haircut in Winthrop was the result of a 3-minute walk down Main St. to Terri, who I stayed with for the next 8 years, even after we moved to the other side of town.

So what to do when you move to a new, unknown place? Well, the girls are easy -- there are enough places specializing in "kids cuts" that Kim found a suitable place easily. For her part, Kim hasn't gotten a style since we've been here, and I don't think she's particularly looking forward to breaking a new one in (she adored her East Boston girl).

And I did what what most any guy would do -- I looked in the Yellow Pages, found the closest barber shop, and took a shot. What the hell, it's only hair.

Talk about a complete 180. Terri is a fiftyish woman of Italian descent who decorated her tidy shop with framed sports-themed pictures and mixed standards collections with mafia tunes on her CD player. She knew my name, recommended books to me, and always asked how the girls were doing. My first Minnesota cut was done by Uy (pronounced "we"), a sixtyish Vietnamese immigrant whose barbers chair faces shots of him, in full uniform, taken at his country's Military College in 1969, and who told me several times that he does ladies and children's cuts as well.

The cut itself was fine, and Uy was a pleasant enough guy. It's just after 8 years, I found myself actually missing the sounds of Rod Stewart singing Cole Porter. Then I realized it wasn't the music I was missing (thank GOD), but rather the comfort and familiarity of the friend I'd made in Winthrop.

Message from Ellie

Hi everybody -- this is how Maggie and me painted our driveway today.

Have a happy 4th of July!!

Love, Ellie

Breaking in the new: Ice Cream Shops

For anyone back home who might be wondering where all of those Dairy Queens from years gone by, I have the answer: all of them, and many more, can be found in the Twin Cities area. Kim says she's noticed more of them than McDonalds or Burger Kings, and I don't think she's too far off.

When we came out here for my interview, I knew that my second order of business was to introduce her to the DQ Blizzard, which she'd never had before. True to my prediction, she loved it and immediately vowed to try every flavor if we relocated.

Still, my first instinct is always to try out the non-chain, so when ice cream beckoned after dinner the other night, I suggested we try a smaller, independent shop I'd noticed when we were house-hunting (plus, I always favor hard ice cream over soft if given a choice). I'm not sure what exactly was the worst part of the experience -- no chocolate whatsoever for the girls, no sundae offerings for Kim, or the fly at the bottom of my key lime sorbet. But, long story short, we ended up making 2 ice cream stops that night, much to the delight of the Doncaster women.

There are two other establishments that Kim has noted as must-trys: Coldstone Creamery and Culver's (frozen custard, as opposed to ice cream). Regardless, I've been told that I won't be picking the dessert stops from here on out.

Voodoo Rabbit Update -- Upon closer inspection of the chain-link fence near where I found the poor little guy, I now believe that he caught his leg trying to get under the fence and either ripped it off or gnawed it off. Not that is makes much difference to him (who's lying double-bagged in our trash receptacle for pick-up tomorrow morning), but it certainly eases my mind a bit.