Posts by joy.the.curious
I’m not really a detective; I just play one on the internet.
Oh my, it’s been a long time hasn’t it? Well, no worries. I’m still kickin’ it here in New London. The truth is, I’ve been busy working on my screenplay and having a ball. After my 4-week “Story” class ended, I signed up for the 8-week “Screenwriting” class. While the first class concentrated on plot, character development, and the “three act structure,” the second class is all about writing. This is where the story really takes shape and the characters start to come to life. It’s been so fun to write, and I’m already up to Act III. By the end of this class, I will have a completed screenplay under my belt. (That’s a big deal. Seriously proud of this!)
Now, then.
(BTW, did you know that’s the name of a real town near my parents’ house? Nowthen, Minnesota. You just can’t make this stuff up.)
The other thing I’ve been up to for the past several months is playing a detective on the internet. Since I started this blog, I’ve had three people contact me and ask me to help them find their biological birth mothers. Isn’t that the coolest thing ever? I just love-Love-LOVE doing this, and although I have yet to crack my first case, I’ve gotten close enough to know I can do it. And I absolutely can’t wait until I can actually call one of these people and let them know I found their mom. Talk about rewarding work!
So, what qualifies me to do this, you ask? Absolutely nothing. Except… over the years, I’ve become pretty dang good at “people finding.” It started when I was working on my own family tree. From there, I used my detective skills to track down over 600 classmates for my 20 year high school reunion. And while other people (sane people) would consider this a daunting and tedious task, I admit I kind of enjoyed it.
Here’s why. The truth is, deep down, I’ve always wanted to be an Angel. (And really, come on, tell me one little girl who grew up in the 70s who didn’t.)
Here’ a little snippet from a blog post I wrote in 2009, just after Farrah Fawcett died:
I remember watching the pilot episode of Charlie’s Angels with my mom in 1976. I was only 9 years old (and up way past my bed time), but from the moment I saw that show, I was completely hooked. Maybe it’s because I had already been playing detective with my cousin Kristine for about a year or so and was ripe for a new TV role model. You see, Kristine was older and cooler than me, so she always got to be “Pepper” from Police Woman. I had to be “Christie Love.” I had no idea who that was, but Kristine told me she was the only other female detective on TV at the time. So, that’s who I got to be… Christie Love. Nice name for a hooker maybe, but not a serious detective like myself.
So, onto the scene burst these three beautiful TV police detectives who were smart, sporty, and independent. They worked for themselves, had a fancy office, fancy cars, and fancy clothes. My new life plan was set. I wanted to be a detective.
Of course, by fifth grade, reality set in when my Farrah Fawcett haircut went horribly wrong. But I never really outgrew the dream of being an Angel.
During my sabbatical last year, when I was deep in the dreaming stage of my mid-life crisis, I wondered what it would take to actually get licensed as a private investigator. I mean really, how hard could it be? (I know… I’ve inherited this faulty gene from my mother.)
So, I checked into it. First, you have to be free of felony convictions.
Check.
Second, you have to be of good character, honesty, and integrity.
Check, check, check (back me up here, people).
Third, “the applicant must supply a $10,000 Surety Bond at the time of application.”
And there you go… the deal breaker. I’m not even sure what a Surety Bond is, but I’m damn sure I don’t have an extra $10,000 to go buy one.
So, for now, I’ll just keep playing a detective on the internet. And if you have any unsolved mysteries to throw my way, by all means, send them!
Read CommentsThe thing I have in common with Taylor Swift…
I know what you’re thinking… the hair, right? Or is it the voice? Both very good guesses, but, mmm… no.
The very cool thing I share with country singer/songwriter/superstar Taylor Swift is… drum roll… we both grew up on a Christmas tree farm.
Taylor Swift was raised on an 11-acre Christmas tree farm in Wyomissing, Pennsylvania (near Reading). In 2008, Taylor (then age 18) appeared on the The Tonight Show with Jay Leno and shared this story about her experience:
“Yes! I did [grow up on a Christmas Tree farm], so this is a good season for me. I was too young to help with the hauling of the trees up the hills and putting them onto cars. So, it was my job to pull off the preying mantis pods off of the Christmas trees. The problem with that is if you leave them on there, people bring them into their house. I forgot to check one time and they hatched all over these people’s house. And there were hundreds of thousands of them. And they had little kids, and they couldn’t kill all of them because that’d be a bad Christmas.”
Here’s a photo of Taylor Swift’s family. God bless ‘em, they do look like tree farmers, don’t they?
Younger brother Austin, father Scott, mother Andrea, and Taylor Swift
Here’s a photo of my family. This was taken at Farm Fest last summer when my parents won “Farm Family of the Year” for Anoka County:
Anoka Farm Family of theYear, 2011
My parents, Kathy and Will Almendinger
My twin brother, Dan Almendinger, and me
As I type this, I’m lying in bed staring out the window at a beautiful, peaceful scene… acres and acres of Christmas trees, lining the banks of the Rum River. Here are some photos I took last year, after the big Thanksgiving snowfall:
Isn’t it beautiful? The thing is though, I have a short window of opportunity to enjoy the scenery before throngs of people armed with orange hand saws and shoestring relatives descend on the farm in search of the perfect Christmas tree to adorn their rumpus rooms.
Oh, how I love it.
Er, at least most of it.
The thing is… Christmas tree growers have exactly three weekends per year to earn a living. The season starts on Black Friday and ends (for the most part) the week before Christmas Eve. As you might imagine, it’s very stressful. Last year, when the metro area was hit by two big snowstorms that took place on the first two weekends, it was tough… and not just for my family, but all Minnesota tree farmers.
And, really, snow isn’t even the worst thing to hit a tree farmer. Consider the time a few years ago when a careless smoker tossed his cigarette out the window and started a fire that burned down forty acres of beautiful 6′-8′ Fraser Fir (that had taken ten years to grow, feed, and shape). Or the time two Mother’s Days ago when a late frost killed all the new growth on the trees, setting back their cutting dates by a full year. Or the back-to-back droughts of the mid-2000s that killed nearly every single seedling my family planted for two or three years in a row. Rough.
With all the stress though, I still love it. I’ve never known anything different, so I guess I wouldn’t know what a normal Christmas is for most families. For me, Christmas means a brief and shining respite with family on Thanksgiving Day before all hell breaks loose the next day. It means getting up before the sunrise, pulling on Carharts, Sorrels, and a pair of leather choppers, and arriving at the little red pay shed early enough to start the propane heater (that my uncle Chuck welded together) before the first customer arrives. It means learning how to work a hand saw better than most men, and learning how to calculate sales tax by age eleven. It means snow down your neck, pine needles in your underwear, and my mom’s homemade soup on the stove when we finally arrive home.
Well, looks like the first customers are about to arrive. I’d better get going. Taylor Swift and I have a busy schedule today.
Merry Christmas!
My life as a writer – Week 1
It’s been a full week since I officially sold my company in order to move on to the “next big thing.” I have no idea what that next big thing might be, nor do I have any Plan B lined up at this time. As I mentioned in my last post, I leaped, and now I’m waiting for the net to appear.
For now though, my NBT (next big thing) is a screenplay I’ve been working on for the past four weeks. Back in October, I signed up for an online screenwriting class at Screenwriters Online. What I didn’t realize at the time is that this class would move at such breakneck speed. What was once a tiny seed of an idea four weeks ago, is now a complete synopsis and an entire first act.
There are over 20 people in the class, which includes screenwriters from all over the U.S. There’s even one person from Hong Kong. The class is taught via text chat, so I’ve never actually seen the instructor or any of the other students. I simply pour myself a glass of wine at the appointed time, login, and “watch the credits roll,” so to speak.
The instructor who teaches this particular class is named Sangram Pradhan. The man is a movie genius. He can back up his lectures with on-the-spot examples from any movie, any time, any place. According to his bio, he is a former Executive with The Film Department and Sony Pictures. He was also a Development Executive on these films:
LAW ABIDING CITIZEN, starring Gerard Butler, Jaime Foxx
SUPERBAD, starring Michael Cera, Jonah Hill
STEP BROTHERS, starring Will Ferrell, John C. Reilly
WALK HARD, starring John C. Reilly
21 JUMP STREET-now shooting with Channing Tatum and Jonah Hill
BAD TEACHER- starring Cameron Diaz, Jason Segel
So, like me, you’re probably asking yourself, what in God’s name is she doing in this class? I have to admit, I felt like a kindergartner among grad students for the first two classes. However, by day three, I had caught my groove, and now I really love it. Unfortunately the class ends on Thursday.
So, by Thursday, I’ll probably be on to the next NBT. But for now… this week… I’m calling myself a screenwriter.
FADE TO BLACK.
Read CommentsLeaping
I have some big news to report. As of November 1, I have sold my half of RedStar Creative to my business partner, Betsy Bonnema.
Phew. There. I’ve said it.
This has been a painstaking and agonizing decision for me, on so many levels. First, Betsy and I have been friends for over 25 years. We were roommates in college, maids-of-honor in each other’s wedding, and for the past 17 years, have been like second moms for each other’s children. This will never change.
The thing is though, I’ve been going through a “growth phase” for quite a while now. Several years ago, I bought a print by Brian Andreas called Angels of Mercy. Every day, I sit in my office and stare at this little drawing and I wonder, “What if…?”
"Angels of Mercy, by Brian Andreas"
Around the same time I bought that print, I read a book by Po Bronson called What Should I Do With My Life? It talked about people who had good, stable, well-paying careers who threw caution to the wind, quit their jobs, and bravely charted new paths, this time doing something they loved.
I admired those people so much for their honesty and their bravery, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how I could possibly quit my career and start over. For one thing, I was already doing what I loved. I owned my own ad agency. When I was a senior in high school, I gave a speech at my graduation commencement. The principal introduced me by saying, “Joy plans to go the University of Minnesota next spring and pursue a degree in journalism. One day, she hopes to own her own advertising agency.”
And by God, that’s exactly what I did (though it didn’t happen exactly the way I intended). After college, I wanted to be an advertising copywriter with a Minneapolis ad agency. I wanted it more than anything, and I worked relentlessly lining up informational interviews with busy, unpleasant creative directors. Unfortunately, there were no jobs to be found. In the spring of 1991, when things were looking pretty bleak, my friend Betsy called and invited me to Spicer for the summer. She enticed me with some freelance copywriting gigs, and the opportunity to spend my lunch breaks waterskiing on Green Lake. Enough said… I was in.
Betsy and Joy, Green Lake, 1991
By June, Betsy and I realized we were a great creative team. She offered me an opportunity to buy into the company as a full partner, and I took it. For the next 20 years, we would run our business together, squeezing in marriages, babies, and “Life 101″ classes along the way.
At some point though, I realized I wanted more. I wanted to be able to use my gifts of reading and writing to somehow make a difference. But for me, the thought of quitting my job was preposterous and self-indulgent. Who was I to want more when I already had so much?
I made myself miserable trying to figure out how to move on to “the next big thing” while still clinging to my “one sure thing.” When Betsy and I decided to take a creative sabbatical earlier this year, I started dabbling with the idea of doing something different. I had always wondered what it would feel like to wake up each morning and be a WRITER… a real one, who wrote for a living.
It felt good. I wrote and I read; I blogged and I journaled. However, as I wrote, it became more and more apparent to me that this is what I was meant to do. At the same time, that realization was both sad and frightening. After all, everyone knows that writers are poor, sullen, and depressed. Quitting my job and becoming a writer didn’t seem like an upwardly-mobile move for me, or my family.
I was really struggling, trying to cling to my safety net, but knowing I had to make a leap of faith. Then, I remembered something my friend Jane had told me a year earlier. She said, “Leap, and the net will appear.”
Leap, and the net will appear.
So, that’s what I’ve decided to do. I’m leaping into the great unknown… a scary, exhilarating place that offers no promises or guarantees. I have no Plan B at this time, but will leap with faith and courage, and hope that the net appears.
A few months ago, I wrote this song at a time I was really struggling for answers. I dedicate it to all the other women out there who are facing this same battle.
Leap!
By Joy Baker
She sat there
Waiting, wondering
Feeling scared
And all alone.
She was begging for some answers
To this life she’d now outgrown
Is it over? Am I finished?
Is this how the plan will end?
Can you hear me?
Are you listening?
Don’t you know how hard it’s been?
But I AM here, came the answer.
In the wind. And in the trees.
In the smiling laughing, crying
In the falling of the leaves.
In the then, and in the now.
The beginning and the end.
I am here. Always here.
And I’ve just one word to send.
CHORUS
You must leap (leap!)
Leap for all you’ve ever been
You are strongest
After weakness
You are ready to begin.
So just leap (leap!)
I’ll be with you
Always near.
Trust me, know me
Travel with me
Take the leap (leap!)
And the net will appear.
Every new beginning
Is the end of something done.
When you think you’ve lost it all
There’s still a battle to be won
So come with me
Live in peace
Hold my hand
And then we’ll soar
Higher up, to see new places
Where you haven’t gone before.
CHORUS
You must leap (leap!)
Leap for all you’ve ever been
You are strongest
After weakness
You are ready to begin.
So just leap (leap!)
I’ll be with you
Always near.
Trust me, know me
Travel with me
Take the leap (leap!)
And the net will appear.
She stood slowly. Can I do it?
I don’t know. I’m happy here..
Am I really? Is it worth it?
Living every day in fear?
I’ve come through it
Bruised and broken.
I’ve been down
And almost out.
But I’m back
And I can make it.
Take my hand!
He heard her shout.
CHORUS
Let’s go leap (leap!)
Leap for all you’ve ever been
You are strongest
After weakness
You are ready to begin.
So just leap (leap!)
I’ll be with you
Always near.
Trust me, know me
Travel with me
Take the leap (leap!)
And the net will appear.
"She knew the answers would come with time and love."
The old and the new
For 15 years, we’ve owned an amazing Golden Retriever named Riley. He’s been such a good dog… so gentle, happy, loyal, and loving. We bought him from a family in Willmar (the Dols) when our oldest son was just a year and a half old. I think we figured since life was already so crazy, why not add a puppy to the mix?
Jordan, 16 months; Riley 10 weeks
Jordan and Riley went through potty training at the same time, and all I can really remember from this time of my life is a never ending barrage of urine and feces. (Honestly, what were we thinking?) I’m surprised I managed to fall into bed each night with the child in his crib and the puppy in his kennel, and not vice versa. Thank you, God, for that.
Oh… and one other thing… I was also pregnant with son #2 at the time.
Halloween 1996 - Joy, Jordan, Riley, and Cole (in utero)
Cole was born in November, 22 months after Jordan, and took an immediate liking to the big orange fuzzy thing we called Riley. On any given evening, we’d find him snuggled up next to the dog, blanket in one hand and a fistful of fur in the other. Riley, bless his heart, just took it all in stride.
Nap time for Cole and Riley
Two weeks ago today, Jordan (now 16) said to me, “Mom! Have you seen Riley’s foot?” He had a nasty looking bump between two toes that he kept licking and chewing. It didn’t look good. I brought Riley to the vet, and he confirmed what I suspected. A tumor. The doctor didn’t know if it was benign or malignant, but stated that the only way to remove it and make sure they got all of it would be to remove the entire toe. And at Riley’s age, the anesthesia is always a concern. Dr. Dan was very kind; he knew what I was thinking, and he knew where the conversation was heading. He handed me a box of kleenex when my eyes started to well-up. Somehow, I asked the hard questions – how much longer, and what’s the process? He talked me through it, explained what would happen when Riley was put to sleep, and handed me more kleenex.
I left the vet’s office a complete wreck. Of course, I knew this day was coming. Riley’s hips have been bad for a long time. We need to lift him in and out of the car now days, and when things are really bad, he even falls down the stairs. His hearing and eyesight are failing, and his faculties certainly aren’t all there. But, he’s family… and I love him.
After the appointment, I took him to the public access on Green Lake and let him fetch the stick a few times while I tried to collect myself. He’s not much of a swimmer for a Golden Retriever. He loves the water, but something never quite clicked when he was younger. Instead of paddling when the water starts to get over his head, he just stands on his hind legs and walks. Then, when the water gets over his head again, well, he sinks. Of course, he can swim just fine if he has a stick or a duck in his mouth, but without it, he’s sunk. Literally.
Riley and Joy at Green Lake
Suffice it to say, last week was not a good week. I was really down, feeling bad for Riley. Then, last Thursday the boys asked if they could borrow the car and go to the varsity volleyball game in Albany. I said sure.
They came home with a puppy.
And I wanted to kill them.
For about thirty seconds.
Since then, this little black lab puppy they named Zoe has wormed her way into my heart. Once again, it’s a constant barrage of urine and feces, but I’d forgotten how much joy a new little life can bring into a household. She’s bouncy and curious, and sweet as can be. She’s a snuggler and curls right into my lap every chance she can get. She’s also a chow hound and eats everything in sight, including Riley’s food, the cat’s food, my laptop cord, and the living room rug.
Damn, but I love her.
Zoe, the new addition
As for Riley? Not so much. But, in his good old boy way, he tolerates her. And when he has enough energy, he even pounces a bit and tosses her around with his nose. But, I know what he’s really feeling, and that makes me sad. He’s being replaced, by a younger, cuter model, and life will soon go on without him.
Don’t be sad, Riley. No one could ever replace you. And when it’s your time, we’ll be there for you. Just let us know when you get too tired, old buddy. We love you, and we’ll be there.
Jordan, Cole, Riley, and Zoe
About Me
Join me in my sporadic ramblings as I embrace the curious life. Wife of a turkey farmer. Mother of two teenage boys. Avid ponderer. Treasure seeker. Curator of the written word. I enjoy sparking interest in the mundane and uncovering a compelling backstory.
