What's in your Toy Box?

At a professional women's networking group last week, we took time out of our usual routine of hearing from each member about their business to talk about what members like about the group and want more of.

I was surprised by the responses: our members want more informal time, just to talk socially before our meetings; and they want to get away from the underlying competition that they experience in many of their places of business (one called it tiring, another says it's "exhausting!"

I mentioned that although this was a professional network, work stuff isn't really my issue because I'm fortunate that I like my work and have enough of it. What I want is more personally fulfilling free time -- that's when another member told us about her Toy Box.

When the Toy Box topic  came up, we laughed at first but then listened very closely. Like many empty nesters, this woman suddenly had more time on her hands. At first it was uncomfortable, but when she began to rediscover things she used to love to do, she started a Toy Box in a part of her home where she likes to relax. That's where she keeps her knitting, her stationary and special stamps for hand-written notes, colored pencils, and other activities she likes to do but had given up, due to lack of time.

I've started my own Tox Box of sorts. Creativity rejuvenates me, so I play with photos I've taken. I have a scrap booking kit, favorite books and magazines, a beading collection, stuff to make tile mosaic arts and crafts, and of course, many personal writing projects.

In the frantic dash between work and family responsibilities, many women give up their Toy Boxes. One friend currently caught in this whirlwind wondered what fun would be left in her life by the time her child leaves home. "You can always get back to the things you love," I told her.

But she wondered and I wonder if letting go of what rejuvenates you is a wise thing to do. Perhaps it would be better to let go of a few work and home related responsibilities. And dig into your Toy Box once in a while, even if you have kids at home.

Wondrous views far outweigh inconveniences of Up North living

Without my husband in the cabin it took a while to settle down for the night. He’d be joining me in a few nights, and while I reveled in my independence, I missed the security of the two of us. I couldn’t get the dogs to quit their nervous half-woofing. Eventually, Lacey, the runt of the litter and the least adventurous of my pair of Westies, jumped off the bed and circled our little cabin.

“Lacey” I said sternly. “Cut it out!”

Just then a bat made its presence known by flitting across my little living room, staying close to the ceiling, but swooping lower occasionally. I ran into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. Then I snuck out, grabbed the leashes, hooked up Cagney and Lacey and headed out with a flashlight in hand.

I knocked on the door of the first cabin I saw with lights on.

“There’s a bat in my cabin,” I said in a rather shrill voice.

“Tell the resort owner,” my brother in law said calmly. I was disappointed that he didn’t jump to my aid, but he has a bad back (and probably an allergy to bats), so I pulled the dogs out of my sister and his cabin and went bravely down the road, swinging my flashlight beam ahead of me.

The resort owner’s cat is a perpetual kitten maker, and the kittens that frolicked on their porch by day were curled up into a collective ball near their front door. My dogs were so unnerved by the bat that they didn’t even bark at the kittens as they normally would. I tapped on the front door, then rapped on the front door, to no avail.

The owners, Lee and Rock Gilson of Life of Riley Resort (LoR) near Cook, Minn. were probably on the far side of the house grabbing a few moments of peace and quiet or lying dead asleep, exhausted from preparing for yet another round of weekly guests.

I’d seen lights and heard voices at my brother Erik’s cabin, so I headed over there. It was his 43^rd birthday and I didn’t want to disturb him, but I had no choice. He wasn’t thrilled to see me at 10:30 p.m. after a long day of transferring his family, which includes five kids, a wife and a German Shepherd to LoR.

My 12-year-old nephew Erik Jr. fell in behind us, carrying critical bat-eradicating tools – a broom and a dust pan. When we approached my cabin, we saw pulsing white lights and followed them to the dock where we debated about whether they were caused by heat lightening or Northern Lights. My brother said it was the former; I said it was the latter. I didn’t want to piss off the only person in the resort willing to do battle with my bat, so I dropped it.

After a few swipes of the broom, the bat was stunned and my brother, who saves tad poles from mud puddles, tenderly scooped it into the dust pan and set it free into the starry, pulsating night.

While there are plenty of inconveniences like leaky toilets and smoke detectors without batteries at LoR, there are also loons calling forlornly from dusk ‘til dawn and unexpected surprises like Northern Lights on your way to oust a bat from your sister’s cabin.

Pure summer magic.