​August 25, 2014–I was delighted to be a Blue Ribbon Author at the state fair this year! The Alphabet Forest was started by author and illustrator Debra Frasier in 2010. It’s a spot at the fair that offers games and crafts relating to letters, words, and books. You could say it’s Midway for the Mind! A Minnesota author is featured each day of the fair. 

​My activity was based on my book, Baby Wants Mama. Since Baby is about a family sitting down to dinner at the end of a busy day, we made place mats, using fruits and veggies to stamp cool patterns. The kids had fun and I think a lot of the parents did too. How often do adults get the chance to play with food?

Here are some awesome-looking place mats (and proud kids).

Note Amy’s feet/wheels in pale pink. I believe those were made with key limes. The wheels on the bike were made with apples, and the sky was made with broccoli. Nice work!

​In the morning, Karen Henry Clark was my assistant. I wish we had gotten a picture of us together. Karen is the author of a lovely adoption fairy tale called Sweet Moon Baby; she was a Blue Ribbon Author at the state fair last year. Beth and Brenda were my afternoon assistants. They helped wash hands, pass out paper, and restock veggies.

By the end of my shift, the fruits and veggies weren’t smelling all that great. (I blame the cauliflower.) But I was so transfixed by the wonderful mix of colors that instead of tossing them in the trash, I brought them back home with me in my cooler and gave them another day in the sun.

(To the left you can see my beagle, Dorie, slinking away from the table. She’d just swiped a carrot.)


On my computer, the pictures looked so pretty as thumbnails that I took a screenshot to share with you. A feast for the eyes.

​And how about a blue ribbon for this celery rose! 

​Carpe diem. Seize the day. I don’t normally care for this expression—to me it’s always seemed either idealistic or scolding. Lately, though, a couple of incidents have made me realize that to seize the day might just mean to bear witness to someone else’s best moments.

Earlier this summer, my mom had been mowing the lawn—zipping along on the garden tractor as if she were still on the farm. My dad, who has Alzheimer’s, was on the deck. The peonies were poking through the deck rails and he was picking them off, thinking they didn’t belong there.

Mom finished the mowing, parked the lawn mower in the garage, and checked on Dad. He wasn’t on the deck anymore, but she figured he was close by. Crumpled peonies littered the kitchen floor.

Dad wasn’t close by. He’d wandered down to the end of the street, and man named Vern Hooge had seen him and gone outside to see if he could help. Vern was in his mid-80s, and even though he lived fairly close to my parents, they’d never met. Dad could tell Vern his name, but not where he lived. So Vern contacted the police, found out where Dad belonged, and brought him home just as Mom realized that Dad really was missing.

Mom thanked Vern profusely, called him an angel, and asked him to come over for coffee sometime.

A couple of weeks went by. Mom’s days as a caregiver were full and tiring. But she kept thinking about her invitation to Vern, and one day she made herself ignore the dusting and sweeping and she picked up the phone and called him.  And what an enthusiastic response she got: “I’ll be right over!” said Vern.

In a few minutes they were chatting over cake and fresh raspberries. Vern offered to come over and watch Dad once in a while if my mom needed to go out. By the time Vern left, Mom’s burden seemed a little lighter. A neighbor was becoming a friend.

Less than two weeks later, Vern died unexpectedly from complications of surgery. And my mom was so thankful that she’d made that call—and so glad that Vern had accepted her invitation so readily. A relationship had started and ended in that one afternoon. One pleasant, neighborly, hopeful afternoon.