“And? What did the doctor say?”
“She said Gretchen’s leg is healing. Slowly.” I unfolded the stroller, helped Brett climb into it, then slipped the necessity bag into its bottom basket. “And then Gretchen and I went to the spa to get manicures and look at possible new hairstyles. She has this habit of trying to give me makeovers whenever she’s stressed. Her coping mechanism is to try changing me.”
Conor laughed. “You’re not really going to cut your hair, though,” he said. “Are you?”
“No.” I blushed.
“Cool.”
As we started walking out of the RiverCentre parking ramp, Conor pointed to the huge brick buildings around us. “That’s the Science Museum, but you probably knew that. And here’s the Xcel Energy Center, where the Minnesota Wild plays. The NHL team.”
“Wouldn’t it be cool if we could go to a game?” I asked. “I mean, a bunch of us.”
“Yeah. It’s fun—I’ve been to a few,” Conor said. “I used to think I could play hockey that well. Ha!”
“Maybe you can,” I said. “Just because you got cut from the school team that doesn’t mean you have to give up.”
“Yeah. Or I could transfer to a school with a bad team,” Conor said. “Not that I know of too many around here. Maybe I could transfer to somewhere in Hawaii.” He laughed. “Anyway, the state high school hockey tournament is at the Xcel, too. Have you ever been?” he asked.
“Two years ago,” I said. “Our school made it to the quarterfinals. Even that was a huge deal.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s nothing. When Sean was a sophomore he scored a hat trick. The place went wild.” Conor rolled his eyes. “I was proud of him, but it was a little disgusting.”
I decided to change the subject. “Is that like a miniature ice palace?” I pointed to a structure made of ice blocks in the park we were heading toward.
“That’s not an ice palace. That looks more like an ice fishing shack,” Conor commented.
As we got closer, we saw that it was intentionaclass="underline" The piece was titled “Ice Fishing Palace.” Conor smiled. “Well, we were both right.”
We walked around and checked out the other sculptures: a huge one of the State Capitol, an eagle, and a big wedge of Swiss cheese with holes carved into it, and tiny ice mice running on top of it. In the center of the park, a carver was working with a chainsaw on a plain large ice block, making a silhouette of a woman’s face, who was modeling for him.
As we walked over to another plaza to look at the snow sculptures, Brett suddenly decided it was time for him to start playing hide and seek. He hopped out of the stroller and sprinted right past the chains protecting a giant sculpture of a lion. “Roarrrr!” he yelled as he ran toward it.
“Sorry,” I said to the women working, as I scooped up Brett and retrieved him before he could do any major damage. He started crying right away, and nothing I could say made him feel better. I showed him the train made of snow, and the Santa Claus, and the dog…. Still, hekept crying.
“Hey, Brett. I have an idea,” Conor said.
“Wh—wh—what,” Brett sniffled.
“I heard there’s a snowman-making contest here. Do you want to help me build a snowman?”
Brett wiped his eyes and looked up at Conor. “A snowman?”
Conor nodded. “A snowman. You and me. We’ll win a ribbon, I promise.”
“God, you’re competitive,” I commented. “Do you ever stop?”
“Everyone gets a ribbon just for trying,” he said under his breath to me. “I used to do this when I was a kid. Okay? Come on, Brett.” He took Brett’s hand and they started skipping toward the area where giant mounds of fresh snow had been dumped, and small, very round stacked figures rose in the distance. “Let’s build!”
“Told you we’d get a ribbon.” Conor dangled the blue ribbon with a Winter Carnival button hanging from it in front of my face.
“You bought that,” I said. Buttons were used to gain entrance to different carnival events; they cost five bucks, and the design changed each year, so they made cool collectibles when the events were all over.
“Well, the button, yeah, I did buy that. But we earned the ribbon. Right, Brett?”
“We won, Aunt Kirsten!” Brett cried happily.
“Well, good for you. I’m very proud of you.” I pulled Brett’s hat down a little, because he was about to lose it. “Are you hungry? You want a snack?”
He nodded eagerly, so we headed over to a couple of ice blocks to sit down. While I was getting a handful of peanut butter crackers out of the “everything” bag, I noticed a bus pull up, and suddenly girl after girl after girl was stepping off the bus, each one wearing a little tiara—like my Snow White one!—and a sash bearing the name of a town or suburb. Miss Owatonna, Miss Robbinsdale, Miss Stillwater, Miss Congeniality….
Where had they come from? What were they doing here? I knew the Winter Carnival crowned King Boreas and a Snow Queen every year, but this wasn’t the same thing. They started checking out the giant star-shaped ice sculptures where Conor was standing.
“See this? I won this.” He held the ribbon and button up in front of Miss Eden Prairie.
She laughed at him. “Yeah, whatever.”
“Oh! Harsh.” He put his hand over his heart. “You guys want me to take your picture?” he asked as the mob of girls circulated around the giant stars.
I took out my camera phone and started taking Conor’s picture, as he posed with Miss Winona and the others.
“What can I say, I’ve always had a thing for princesses,” he said as he walked over to me. “Ah, royalty.”
I raised my eyebrow and glared at him.
“Kidding. Kidding!” he said. “I was doing my best imitation of Sean. He was junior prom king, you know.”
“Ew. My sister was prom queen. Me, on the other hand, I’ve never actually worn a sash.”
“I’ll go borrow one for you,” Conor offered.
“No! Don’t!” I called as he headed back to the group of girls.
He stopped and turned around. “Why not?”
“Because. I—I don’t know what size I take.”
“Um, I don’t think they come in sizes.” He started talking to different girls, and pointing over at me and Brett. Most of them looked at him as if he were insane, but a couple of them seemed to be considering it. Finally he came jogging over to me carrying a white sash with blue letters that said: Miss Midwest. I stood up and Conor draped the sash over my head.
“Wow, I get to be the whole Midwest? I must have some sort of hidden talent,” I said.
“Classical piano,” the girl said with a smile as she walked over to me. She held out her hand. “I’m Christie.”
“Kirsten,” I said, being careful to shake her hand gently, given that she was a piano-playing virtuoso. “You sure it’s okay if I wear this for a second?”
“You can take one picture,” she said. “Then I have to get back to the bus—we’re on a schedule. Also I think it’s against policy, so be quick about it.”
“Thanks!”
“And who are you?” Christie asked Brett, keeping him busy while Conor snapped a quick photo of me.
“You’ll always be Miss Midwest to me,” he said.
“Gee. Thanks,” I said.
We drove from downtown St. Paul over to Como Park, for the Frosty Fingers kite fly.
“Why are we doing this again?” Conor said as we trudged across the snow to Lake Como, where kites danced in the air. The wind had begun to howl a little, and some freezing rain was falling.
Brett was riding on Conor’s shoulders, and for that reason maybe the wind chill at that height was hitting him a little harder than usual. When I glanced up to check on him, I could have sworn his lips were turning blue.
Then I remembered the fruit-flavored snow-cone he’d insisted on having earlier. That was syrup stain on his mouth, not frostbite.
Still, I suggested we blow off the kite flying and head to the other side of Como Park, to visit the conservatory. We regrouped and headed indoors to look at plants and enjoy warm, humid air. Afterward, we took Brett over to the historic carousel, and I took pictures of him and Conor going around on a wooden horse, making faces at me each time the carousel circled past.