Post a Comment On: A Nod to Nothing

We had an interesting weekend. On Friday night, we went to see Iqbal at the Children's Theatre Company. It was about Pakistani children sold into what amounts to slavery, working as weavers for a man who lets them believe that someday, if they work off all their tallies on their chalk board, they might escape. Iqbal, the title character, is a better than average weaver who rebels, eventually escaping (despite being in dungeon) and hooking up with an aid agency committed to getting rid of the sweatshops. In the end, Iqbal is gunned down by rug merchants (they don't show that part) who want revenge. I'm not so sure it was appropriate for a five year old with the hitting, off screen death, super hot dungeon, child slavery, and whatnot, but Eryn seemed to enjoy it. At least more so than Kyle, whose only appreciation of the play was an off-colored remark on Facebook that he spent quite some time backpedalling on after my father and coworker Qaiser weighed in on the significance of Iqbal.

Friday night after the play, I was Skyping with Klund, and he suggested we come down to watch his son in the St. Peter children's theater production of The Boxcar Children. We had a family discussion about the necessity of finishing taxes and homework, before deciding f*** it and heading down on Saturday. Klund's family was overly hospitable once again and fed us, put us up for the night in a guest room, geocached with us, and introduced us to the joys of Mario Kart with the grandparents. I try to supply beer, although bringing Schell's beer to St. Peter is the literal interpretation of "carrying coals to Newcastle".

The play was great and the kids did an excellent job. I wasn't familiar with the Boxcar series, but it vaguely reminded me of the Lemony Snickett series in some ways, and not just because there was a girl named Violet.

We did try something new during our visit to St. Peter. We've often driven past the Treaty Signing Center on the edge of town, so this time we stopped. While I appreciate that they're documenting history, the museum is not that exciting. The whole time we were there, we were the only visitors. It needs a little more pizazz. Here are the highlights as I saw them.

Eryn eating a fake loaf of bread at the virtual picnic display. It would have been more exciting if you could have purchased a real pie to eat on the picnic blanket. I like the look on Eryn's face. Look at how stupid I feel eating fake bread for Dad!
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Pooteewheet and Eryn enjoying a fake pie with some St. Peter settlers.
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Some important information about muskrats. Winter and early spring. Good eatin. Warm months, not so much. You can use this poem next time you're muskrat hunting. "Muskrat winter, muskrat spring, tasty little thing. Muskrat fall, muskrat summer, muskrat pie's a real bummer."
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