Month: July 2014

#13 & #14 Trips back in time to Dayton’s and Argentina.

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#13 Write a scene in which a woman is fired after only a week on the job.  Just a week earlier, the same person who is now firing her was very persuasive in convincing her to take the job.

Jane walked into her supervisors office.  She was excited to see Ruthie again because the last time they met it had been the day she was hired to be the new perfume girl at Dayton’s.  Jane almost felt like she and Ruthie were soul mates.  They both liked living in Minnesota, and had pet cats named Kirby Puck-cat. (What are the odds!) They talked for several minutes about the best place to buy pet food in the Twin Cities. And had both agreed that cat people were given a bad rap. When asked why she wanted to be a perfume girl Jane said in her best cat woman voice, “Well, it is the puurrr-fect job for me.”

Ruthie welcomed Jane into her office and got straight to business.  “Jane, we are going to have to let you go.  You are not right for the Dayton’s family.  We wish you the best of luck in the future.  Here is your paycheck.”

Jane couldn’t believe what she was hearing.  Flabbergasted, she shrieked, “You’re firing me!!  I thought we were friends! How can you think I’m not right for the Dayton’s family? I’m perfect for the Dayton’s family!!!”

Ruthie took a deep breath and calmly started to speak, “Jane, while I think we would make excellent friends on the outside of Ridgedale, you have to admit you are not doing well at your job.  Think about it.  What happened last Tuesday?”

Jane racked her brain trying to think of anything that had happened on Tuesday.  The only thing out of the ordinary she remembered was one gentlemen asking for a new perfume for his wife but leaving without buying anything.  Finally she queried, “are you talking about that guy from Minnetonka?”

Ruthie gasped, “that guy from Minnetonka was Governor Arne Carlson, and you sprayed sun flowers right in his eyes!”

Jane tried to explain, “he wanted to see the bottle, it was an accident!”

Ruthie started her deep breathing exercises again whispering,  “Jane, he is the governor of this State, the Dayton family is not in the business of upsetting the political world.  You are not puur-fect for this job!”

#14  Write a short story that is set in Argentina in 1932, in which a teacup plays a crucial role.  
Argentina had been called the Paris of South America, but from where I was sitting it looked like heaven on Earth compared to the camps the Bonus Army men had set up next to the Potomac River.  After spending a month covering this story for the New York Times, my boss decided that we needed to see if there was any difference between the economic crisis back home and here in South America.  I thought it was going to be a pretty swanky assignment but after all those days on a banana boat I was still trying to get my land legs back.
Holding my aching stomach I walked into a Cafe and ordered a cup of chamomile tea.  The waiter brought me a mismatched teapot and cup.  The teapot was a vivid purple but the cup was a dingy white that looked like it had seen better days.  I almost sent it back but my Spanish was not up to par.  As I raised the cup to my lips a man walked up to my table and starting frantically talking to me in Spanish.  I had no idea what he was saying.  I decided to take a chance that he spoke English.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand you.  Could you say that again, more slowly?  All I got was something about the cup.  Is there something wrong with it?” I put the cup down wondering if it was poisoned.  Just my luck to be the first female journalist from the New York Times to go to Argentina and end up getting poisoned.

The man’s face brightened. He started to talk very slowly in English.  “Are you from the U.S.?”

I nodded that I was and he went on to explain that he was about to go to the United States because he was a member of the Olympic team. He had started taking English lessons hoping that it would make his time in Los Angles easier.  He told me that his name was Juan Zabala and he was going to win the Men’s marathon. I liked that he was so positive that he was going to win. I asked him if he had been running marathons and he told me that he had ran all his life but he hadn’t run a marathon until the year before.  What an incredible source for my story.  I asked him to sit down and started to talk to him about his life and how things were in Argentina.  After talking for a few hours it dawned on me that I had never figured out what he wanted to tell me about the teacup.

Juan replied, “Since I have started training for the marathon I have come here every morning for coffee.  It is my lucky cup. They never wash it. You don’t want the luck to go down the drain.”

#12 An imaginary trip to IKEA and an imaginary pride swallowing incident.

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#12 You have just swallowed your pride and done something you didn’t want to do.  Your friend wants to know why.  The two of you are driving around an almost-full parking garage looking for a space for the friend’s oversize pickup.  Write the scene.

Like most women in their forties, I lived like a college student.  (Oh, that isn’t the case?) When I say I lived like a college student I mean that none of the furniture that I owned has been paid for with my money. Until two years ago I had slept on a mattress on the floor.  At that point, one of my co-workers took mercy on me and helped me get the box spring out of storage. All it cost me was lunch at Culver’s. Then my BFF Barbara got me a bed frame.  Every step into adulthood required an intervention from one of my friends.  As you can imagine, I didn’t own a dresser.  For five years I had been storing all my clothes in plastic bins.  (And honestly, the floor.) So, I decided to finally bite the bullet and buy a dresser.  Being the cheapskate I am, I decided to go to IKEA.  I was thinking that since it would come unassembled in boxes it might fit in my car.  When I told this to my BFF Sue she said that I was crazy and she would use her neighbors truck.  “Since when have you been talking to your neighbors?”  I questioned.  This sounded very fishy to me.

“Well, they owe me a favor.  I watched their dog when they were in Acapulco for two weeks,” Sue explained.

I tried to talk though my laughter, “You, agreed to watch someone’s dogs for two weeks?  It must be a very cute dog.  Pomeranian?”

Sue went on to explain that yes, it was a Pomeranian and that the couple had only planned on being in Mexico for 5 days but then lost their passports and it took that long to get back into the country.

When we got to IKEA we were struggling to find a parking spot.  Sue was getting furious.  “Don’t get me wrong.  I love the Swedes, but this parking lot is a nightmare!!!!!! The spots are only big enough for Smart Cars and Saabs!  Maybe I should just take up two spots.  But I suppose they’d call the UN and get me on crimes against humanity.  I don’t think I should get a ticket in my neighbors truck.  Why aren’t you saying anything??”

I stared out the window but decided it was time to tell someone.  “I”m just mad because I had to ask my arch enemy for help.”

Sue was worried.  “Who?”

“Remember the guy that was my co-operating teacher when I student taught?” I whispered.

“How on earth could anyone forget him? Also, co-operating is not a word that I would use to describe that guy.”  she said in a way that only a BFF could, equal parts disgust and venom.

“Well, they are honoring someone else at the school he used to work at. And of course I agreed to be on the stupid committee.  I missed one meeting and they put me in charge of finding someone who could give a nice speech.  I asked the honoree and they wanted Voldemort himself!” I screached.  Seriously, only dogs could hear me.
“When you called him was he nice?” Sue asked hopefully.

“That’s the thing, he didn’t even remember me.  I practically threw up getting up the nerve to call him and he had no idea who I was. So typical.  He said that he’d do the speech and thankfully, I don’t have to attend.  All is right in the world.” I huffed.

“I think this calls for some meatballs.  Screw it.  I’m taking up three parking spaces.  What are they going to do to me?  Put me in IKEA jail?” Sue proclaimed.

You gotta love friends.  They make everything better.  Meatballs, yeah, meatballs help too.

Ms. Bakke #9

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#9 What a character holding a blue object is thinking right now.

October like weather in July.  I decided that I’d better bring a sweatshirt.  I reached into my closet and pulled out my blue Selawik Wolves Wrestling sweatshirt.  Whenever I wear this I always think about my first class of students I had up in Selawik.  One of the first questions they asked me was what number I had when I played basketball in high school.  I hated to tell them that I didn’t play basketball, but it was the truth.  The students were floored but they decided to take pity on me and give me a basketball number.  On that day I became “Ms. Bakke, #9.”  One of the students would pretend he was calling the game on the radio and he’s say, “Now playing for the Selawik Wolves, Ms. Bakke, #9.”  How did my heart not explode from the joy?  I really, really, miss those kids.

#10  Write a scene where the only spoken dialogue is “Uh-huh,” “Umm,” “Urrrrr,” “Mm-mmm.”

The participants in this year’s Farm City Fun Fest pie eating contest were coming on to the stage to accept the challenge of trying to eat as many coconut cream pies as humanly possible.  The judges set a pie in front of each of the contestants.  When asked if they understood the rules each of the participants answered.  “Uh-huh.” with their consent, the judges blew the whistle and the timer started.

Miss Winthrop 1974, looked at the pies and then looked at her beautiful gown.  “Umm.”

Mr. Smith who had a well known allergy to coconut looked at the pie and stammered, “Urrrrr.”

Ms. Bakke, who loved pies and winning smiled and said, “Mm-mmmm.”

#11 Tell a stranger about a beloved family tradition.
Every 4th of July my Mom’s side of the family meets at Saude Park in Saude, Iowa to have a picnic and play softball.  A lot of people wonder why I am so absolutely in love with the 4th of July and it is 100% because of this family tradition.

To get to Saude Park you have to drive to Iowa.  Saude is a 3 or 4 hour drive depending on how many times you stop.  As an adult, I imagine my parents driving all six of us Bakke children down to Iowa.  I think a lot of parents would think that a picnic was not worth the hassle of an excruciating car ride where kids fought, and the air conditioner was probably broken.  But my parents knew that this event was important, that it was the chance to see all the Johnson family in one place.

Saude park is at the end of a long gravel road.  The park has a picnic shelter, a ball field, a camping area, a water pump, a pit toilet and the Little Turkey River flowing through it.  The picnic shelter has some very colorful language spray painted into the eaves.  My personal favorite being “Don’t you dare paint over this!” The ball field has bases that are old discs from someone’s tractor.  There is not much to be said about the pit toilet.  The river has a row of rocks that were put in to create a little swimming hole.  Swimming is not advised because of leeches but it is fun to walk across the rocks.  Parents who have young kids like to keep the river a secret the mosquitos are much worse down by the river.  But, eventually, their kids find out about it and they have to spend a lot of time down there telling their kids why they can’t go swimming there.  During dry years the river is just a creek really.  This year it was pretty high.  So high in fact, that a group of people showed up with a boat!  That was a first.  I’m sure for many more years people will say, “Remember the year that those people came and boated?”

The party starts Uncle Rick and Gary start bringing down picnic tables (the ones that are there aren’t enough) and grills.  People get the charcoal going and start putting burgers and hot dogs on to get ahead of the crowd.  People start showing up with lawn chairs, coolers, and side dishes and desserts.  At noon the burgers are ready and we before we eat we always say the table prayer.  Every year people bring different dishes but it seems that every year someone brings: potatoes with peas and a white sauce, baked beans, a big crockpot of onions, potato salad, and pies.  For many years someone would always bring a box of Twinkies.  That person must have gone to their great Heavenly reward because there haven’t been Twinkies in a really long time.

After eating the brave few head out to the softball field.  We split into teams.  Sometime Iowa vs. Minnesota but lately it has been “Buffalo vs. The World.” because the biggest group of people have come from Buffalo.  I play softball every year.  I am terrible, but I still play every year.  Thankfully, balls and strikes don’t count at the plate.  They will pitch to you until you can hit the ball.  But, after that all the normal rules of softball apply.  I always joke that one of these years I’m going to get a softball coach and spend a year training and blow everyone’s minds when suddenly I can hit, field and run the bases.  Someday.  Not everyone has a softball glove so my favorite part of the game is when you are walking onto the field finding someone who will loan you their glove.  Love it!

I should note that this softball game is hardcore.  We joke that it’s not a party until someone goes to the hospital.  Well, 4th of July softball has had some big time injuries.  Thankfully, we have had a few years where no one has gotten hurt.

So, if you ever want to experience the joy of catching up with a good group of people, meet me in Saude on the 4th of July.

7&8 Feeling Great!

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#7 Something you had that was stolen.  

The year that I was in 1st grade we moved from Nashua, Iowa to Garrison, Iowa.  My Dad had gotten a job teaching in Vinton.  Garrison was a tiny town that was a few miles from Vinton.  It was adorable and some of my favorite childhood memories take place in Garrison.  My parents rented a big house that had lots of bedrooms.  The house had belonged to a doctor or a veterinarian and the attic and basement were filled with jars and beakers.  Eric and I felt like we were kids in a candy store.  We loved that house!  There was one thing about Garrison we didn’t like.  There was a teenager who lived in town that went to school where Dad taught that absolutely terrorized us.  The mention of his very name can still bring a shiver down the spine of any Bakke who lived in Garrison.  John Doe (not his real name) would call the house and hang up.  John Doe would come into the yard and flip the seats on the swingset over the bar so you couldn’t reach them.  John Doe pushed Eric into the mud pit.  This was nothing compared to the fact that John Doe stole my pet rabbit, Fluffy.  Like all first grade girls, I was obsessed with rabbits.  They were my favorite animal and my parents relented and let me get a pet bunny.  (Eric was incensed that he couldn’t get his favorite animal for a pet.  Eric’s favorite animal was a lion.  Wise choice, Mom and Dad.) My Uncles made me a beautiful hutch that we placed by the garage.  Fluffy and I were an inseparable pair until the day I went out the hutch and fluffy was gone.  When I told my parents they said that John Doe must have stolen my rabbit.  I was inconsolable.  I couldn’t believe that someone would steal someone’s pet.  I must have told my parents to call the police.  To a first grader the theft of a pet rabbit is a felony.  Well, they didn’t call the police and for years John Doe got away with the crime.  That is until a few years ago when I was discussing the passing of one of my nephew’s pets when Mom said, “it was so sad when Fluffy died.”

“Wait, Fluffy didn’t die!!! She was kidnapped by John Doe.”

“No, your father and I knew you would be sad, so we told you that John Doe stole him.”

Wow.  Nearly forty years old and I unlocked one of the great mysteries of childhood.  Clearly, I was no Nancy Drew.  As an adult it did seem improbable that the police wouldn’t get  involved with a stolen pet.  I remembered Fluffy being sick before she got kidnapped.  I should have pieced it together sooner.  Poor, Fluffy.  Poor, John Doe.  Poor, Heather Lena.  Linda and Gerry?  Geniuses.

#8 The long-lost roommate.
The only year of college that I roomed with someone who was unknown to me was my junior year at Gustavus.  Let’s call her Molly.  Molly and I were both transfer students.  I can’t remember where she transferred from but I had just transferred from Bethany and was undergoing a little culture shock.  At Bethany, men were not allowed in the women’s dorm except for a few hours on the weekend.  There was also a rule that if a boy was in your room you had to keep the door open at least 8 inches.  (I’m not making this up.  It was in the handbook and everything.) At Gustavus, the dorms had women’s and men’s floors in the same building.  Men seemed to be everywhere at anytime which wasn’t a huge problem except for the fact that Molly had a boyfriend.  It was very interesting to go from not seeing guys to seeing a guy in my room all over my roommate.  Even though I was horrified by her behavior, she was super nice.  The first few weekends of the term she would be gone all day going to the “Wren Fest.” I thought it was really odd that I had never heard of the Wren Fest.  I mean, I like birds.  After about a month she clarified that she was talking about the Renaissance Festival.  She must have thought I was insane.

After Graduating from Gustavus I never saw her again.  I ofter wonder what happened to her.

#6 Write a story that begins with a ransom note.

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Walking into my classroom I saw a piece of paper taped to the white board that said, “Ms. Bakke, I don’t like your attitude. Until you change we are going to be keeping Biscuits …….. and ……… Gravy.”

 

Ugh…. sometimes working in a school can be so exhausting. Biscuits and Gravy are squirrels. While they might not be living, breathing entities, Biscuits and Gravy do bring joy into my life and hold a very special place in my hear. Biscuit is an orange squirrel that someone got in a happy meal. It was a character in a cartoon that I have never seen so his name probably isn’t even Biscuit. Sidenote…. how is it possible that a movie exists with a squirrel character central enough to the plot to warrant a happy meal that I have not heard of? Anyway, Gravy is a piece of cellophane that surrounded a pack of post-it-notes I bought at Target. The cellophane had a picture of an origami squirrel. Most people would throw that away. I am not most people.

 

As with any school hijinks I had to decide if the “perp” was a student or an adult. Little known fact, schools are not immune to office style hijinks. GFW’s Special Education is especially notorious. Looking at the ransom note again I started to think about who would have a problem with my attitude. Both adults and students have commented on my ability to be annoying. Is being annoying an attitude? I decided that my colleagues would know the futility in trying to change my annoying personality. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks and all that. Students, on the other hand, might think it possible to get me to change. The culprit definitely had to be a student.

 

During homeroom I decided to take the direct route and flat out asked my kids if they knew what happened to Biscuits and Gravy. “Someone stole your breakfast?” was the response from one of my kids who hadn’t “bought in” to the fact that his homeroom teacher was obsessed with squirrels and named them. I told him that B&G were members of my squirrel family and they had been squirrel-napped. I passed around the ransom note so they could see how serious this situation was. Of course, they had no idea who had written the typed note.

 

Second hour I decided to take a different approach. I decided to use a teacher’s greatest weapon. Acting. I decided that if I acted like I didn’t care about squirrels they would give up. What good is a ransom for an unwanted item. It would be a tall order trying to convince anyone that I didn’t love squirrels anymore. I would need to channel the greatest actors of our time, Brando, Streep, Heidi Bakke. I started class by telling the students that I had watched a nature program the night before about hedgehogs. I continued to tell them about all the fabulous things about hedgehogs. I told them about living in Alaska and having neighbors who had an amazing hedgehog. I then went on to tell them that I decided that hedgehogs were better than squirrels and that I was going to sell all my squirrels and use the money to fun my new hedgehog lifestyle. The students looked at me with blank stares. I mentioned that I was going open a store on a “squirrel lovers” website and that if they had any squirrels just collecting dust I would add them to the sale.

 

“Ms. Bakke, I have some squirrels!” said, the poor unsuspecting student.
Excellent. Case closed. Squirrels returned!

 

You are an astronaut. Describe your perfect day.

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5. You are an astronaut. Describe your perfect day.

 

Everybody wants to be an astronaut when they grow up.  Well, everyone except my nephew Axes who for years said that he wanted to be a truck.  When you tell people that you are going to be an astronaut they give you that look.  The “stop being a smart ass” look.  I seriously wanted to become and astronaut and I did.  Was it easy?  Heck no!  Do you know how much math and science it took to become an astronaut?  In college I would always have to room with some geeky liberal arts major who was trying to figure out a new way incorporate the wind in her interpretive dance.  Do you know how annoying that is?  So, as a “going to be an astronaut” I had plenty of rotten days.  Now that I am an actual astronaut (it says this in the occupation blank of my W2’s) I still have lots of rotten days.  The space program is being cut left and right, I’ve had to testify before congress seven times trying to get them to put some money into NASA.  Do you realize how big a check we have to write to Russia to get me into space? But when I am in space, it all disappears.  The politics, the math, the science, it all falls to the wayside.  I am floating.  There is no tension in my body.  I am flying around the space station doing the things that I was trained to do.  As I am floating my eye catches something outside the hatch.  It shines like the most beautiful blue and green marble.  Earth.  When you have seen your home from this vantage point it changes you.  You know that this small speck in the massiveness of space is a fragile beautiful thing.  Poets and artists can try to convey the beauty but it just can’t be done.  As I stare at the Earth I think, this is where I work.  This is perfection.