It's a very, very, very fine house

The basement has a TV, an electric piano and some toys.

The kitchen has a table and two chairs.

The living room has a rug, a chair and a table.

The refrigerator contains the remnants of a 12-pack of Diet Coke, two jars of pickles and a container of mustard.

But it's our house. Finally. Thank goodness. Back to the unpacking tomorrow.

Yo tub

"Guess what I saw? I saw a fire engine made of cake!"

"No way," Cate says, playing along, "you can't make a fire engine out of cake!"

"Yu huh! I saw it! I saw it on Yo Tub!"

Those of us who have been reading for more than a few months might more readily recognize this Web site as YouTube. But that was how Colleen described to Cate recently the results of her apparently random surfing.

Perhaps Elizabeth bookmarked it for her, or maybe she just somehow stumbled on it from another link or video. But it's become her favorite destination on the Web of late. She can watch baking and cooking shows literally for hours on end. Howdini has a bunch of videos demonstrating various cakes: panda cakes, mermaid cakes (with fruit rollups for fins), turtle cakes, rubber ducky cakes, blue jean cakes, butterfly cales, teddy bear cookies, guitar cakes (she loves the bright green icing), barn animal cupcakes, jungle cupcakes ... the list literally goes on.

She speaks fondly of the doll cake Nonna made for her fourth birthday, patterned after one that she made for Elizabeth for age 2. She is so ready for birthday No. 5, which won't come until next April of course. When that time comes, she may have a hard time deciding what cake she wants. But she knows how to make them all. How many 4-year-olds know what a crumb coat is?

Video below.

Hooray for a new school year

Yesterday was Day 7 for Elizabeth and Robert in their new schools. I picked Elizabeth up yesterday and asked her what she did in school and got a 20-minute explanation of a really cool project they did in their science class.

Beats the heck out of fifth grade. She's really fired up.

What a drag it is getting old

We haven't written about Pa much in the course of this blog and the 13 months we've been back in Minneapolis. Truth be told, I often don't know what to say to him or about him.

Pa is 96. He lives on the other side of the lake, in a nursing home. When we got here, he was still in assisted living, where he had his own two-room apartment with a little kitchen and a bathroom, and 24-hour assistance. but some months back, Pa got to the end of his savings and had to let them go, put the apartment up for sale and had to move into the nursing home wing of the facility. Only through the generosity of my cousin Chris does Pa get a room to himself.

Nanny has been gone for 12 years now. Pa lived in the old house in Niles, Ill., with help, until one day he drove his car through the back wall of the garage and Mom brought him here to live in Minneapolis.

It's hard to visit him sometimes. Pa still functions pretty well, mostly knows who we are and who the kids are. That's especially true for Colleen. When we first moved here, Colleen would be very shy when we'd get to his room, and if we spent an hour there, she wouldn't warm up until the final 15 minutes. That shyness went away a little while ago and now she is very playful with him, and I know he appreciates it. When I think about what he's gained by living what can only be seen as beyond his expected time, I know that relationships with our kids are on the list.

We brought him over on Labor Day for dinner on the patio and just hung out. He hates the food in the nursing home but to be honest, he can't taste it anyway, so it doesn't make much difference. He spent a good amount of time trying to recreate these great paper airplanes he used to fold when we were kids, but couldn't quite figure it out.

Mom gets exasperated with her dad, calling at all hours, not always remembering who he's spoken to already or what they've spoken about or agreed to. And Cate, bless her soul, has taken Pa to heart in our time here. We went over to visit on Sunday and Cate basically drove the conversation. I sat there in awe of her.

Tonight Pa called -- having trouble with his television remote for the first time in a while. All Pa wants to do is watch the ballgame, and sometimes he gets in his own way. There are too many buttons, and he really only needs five of them. He gets so frustrated. I went over there to fix the remote and he wanted to know what I had done, but I couldn't tell him because sometime he might want to fix it himself. And that would only make it worse.

I don't want to be 96. Sure, 85 maybe. And fifty years from now, maybe 96 will be the new 86. But old and frail and unable to help myself, that's not something I want to be. I don't care how many great-grandchildren I would live to see.

But I don't get the sense that his time is up. The last time I spoke to Nanny, she was deep into the throes of Alzheimer's, and even though I only got the true Nanny for a couple of minutes, I was thankful because I knew I wouldn't get another chance.

I have yet to feel that with Pa.