doodledee

Don't these short post-holiday weeks seem soooo long? No, no they don't. They fly by. Seriously, it seems like it was only 20 minutes ago that I was sitting on a lakeside deck, chewing thru my enormous reading backlog like an angry termite. The kids in bed, an epic sunset on the horizon, no wind, no mosquitoes, loons singing and ducks quacking, my fingers blackening with newspaper ink, my lungs filling with chilly air that smelled of pine and wet sand and smoke from a nearby campfire. There's no conversation, there's nothing to say. And really, that's pretty much the whole crazygreat - and admittedly cliché - North Country bit right there.

Daytime brings pontoon rides and sandcastles and some light fishing and a 90 minute kayak trip off to the lonely part of the lake to get my introspective Thoreau on and a paddle home and a ham sandwich and glass of water from the local spring and then it's time to scrub the winter grime off the sailboat. And then do it all again.

But decompression can be stressful and like 48 hours later I'm of course going crazy and I'm back in my car headed home a day before the rest of the family so I can catch up on chores and the music is cranked-up to stun and I'm coasting effortlessly in and out of the left lane to pass slow moving traffic and here's an 18 minute Reba and it's dark out and the truck in front of me has two bikes on a trailer and the wheels are spinning and the reflectors are making this crazy light show and I was about 2 glowsticks short of a war.

And I don't remember leaving the kitchen this messy. Sigh.

At least I got the tomato plants in.

• Riding the scooter to soccer @ Augsburg on Saturday morning and not hitting a single light the entire time except for the right turn onto 28th from Hennepin which was red but there was nobody coming so I turned without slowing down too much and I still say that counts. Crazy record breaking time. Zoooooooommeepmeep.
• Artwise: the Turman opening thing that had free guacamole and some new prints for sale was cool. I also really liked these velum pieces by someone named Lee Langer (?). And then there was this set of crazygreat paintings - that were all sold by early Saturday afternoon (?!) - by a guy that I think was named Chris Shultz, though I probably have that name wrong and he's not in NEEMA so I can't find him to verify. Basement of the keg building. Loved it.
• The polish - and especially the kraut - served out of the parking lot of the PNA. The lady put a polish in a bun, then she dropped like a pound of sauerkraut on top, and *then* she asked "how much sauerkraut would you like?", as though a pound would be the absolute minimum anyone would ever want. So I say "uhh, twice as much as that?" and she dug in for more and I think I maybe squealed a little bit as I calmly reached for an extra napkin. Hope she didn't notice.
• Finding a front row spot at the Mpls farmers market on a Sunday morning. Herbs, eggs, a smoked trout, some strawberries, a huge caramel roll, some sunshine, and 4000 people buying bedding plants. Worth it for the energy alone. In related news: how pumped am I for strawberry season? Superduperpumped. Jam on. Shamone. Jamone? I like it.
• More or less 5 straight hours of up-to-your-elbows gardening. And I only planted 4 things. It turns out I had a lot of prep work to do. And that I'm easily distracted. By weeds. And kids. And lawnchairs. And shade. And Wilco reruns on Prairie Home Companion. And check it out, doesn't that cloud kinda look like a bunny? Oh hi bunny.
• The Huna40 party. He had mini cream puffs, meatballs, and beer. And a band in his garage and about 100 people milling around. You know how this ends.

I think that's everything. Yay for spring. No yay for my camera still being broken. Boo.

Last summer, one of the little old ladies in the neighborhood left her house and moved into a nursing home. The rest of us stayed here and kept an eye on it for her. It's no trouble, really.

Now it's been like 9 months and she hasn't come back. I'm thinking she's not going to. I say this because last weekend there was an estate sale at her place and when I chatted up a few neighbors they said that the house was going to be rented for a while. So yeah, probably not coming back.

I went over to the sale and found some neat old posters hanging on the wall in the basement next to the furnace and the [still installed] well pump. 'Morningside Village Service Directory - 1966'. She also had 1964. They weren't priced, so I offered 25 cents each. Deal? Deal.

The stuff is a hoot. It's not SUPER old, obviously - all the phone numbers are 7 digits - but it's still neat to see stuff that's even 40 years old.

One thing that caught my eye was the library hours. They're shown in the photo above, right below the 'Good Citizen Calendar' (!!). The library was open from 1:30 - 5:30 M-F, reopened from 7-9pm on Mondays and Thursdays for evening service, and was open from 10-1 on Saturdays. That's 27 hours a week total, which is an interesting number in the context of today's omnipresent debate about cutting back library hours. For reference, here are the current hours for lots of local Twin Cities libraries, several of which have been subjected to cut backs in recent years. Did I say interesting? I totally did.

FD: pro-library, pro-reading, pro-old-posters-found-in-basements.

Neat.

Yeah, it was predictably absurd.

I biked over with junior in the carrier thing behind me. It worked mint. (Why anyone would try and drive to this thing is beyond me. Seriously.) And then we sat on the curb and waited and waited and then finally after an hour or so of waiting it slowly rolled by in its puppet and costume and drum and horn glory. And we cheered and we sang and we danced and we gawked and we took pictures and acted goofy because more than most other days it's ok to be weird on May Day. Earlier, before the parade started, this 7-foot tall guy walked down the middle of the street in a kilt and people just started clapping for no real reason. Just because he was awesomely weird. And comfortable with his weirdness, obviously. Best.

It was a great day for a spectacle.

Heart of the Beast [hobt]

It ain't exactly Kuekenhofs, but it's still worth celebrating.

And lo they came to my childhood home. And lo it was good.

My friend Melissa and I beat it out of town early enough to avoid rush and get some food before the show. We ended up at Rochester's first and only sushi bar (?!). It was packed but we easily found some seats at the bar. The waitress kicked off dinner by bringing us menus and asking "have you ever had sushi before?!" Rochester remains adorable.

Quick walk to the civic center and we're in. No security at all. We grab a beer and gawk at the merchandise (poster! florafauna!) and then head in to check out the Retribution Gospel Choir (in progress). Little old ladies in navy blue blazers immediately swarm us and shine flashlights on our tickets, eager to help us find our seats. Did I say adorable? I did. 10th row, stage right. Nice. RGC still playing. Go figure, they sound like Low. If that's your thing, then hey, you'd probably like them. They weren't as loud as I expected and it was actually a nice little warm-up.

Back out to the beer table and it's getting ROCKED. The line is like 25 people deep at each vendor and there are maybe 100 beers left in the coolers. It was tense. For sure they ran out 10 minutes after we got ours. "There's more in the back". Uh huh. If by "back" you mean "Andy's Liquors at Crossroads".

Lights down and it's showtime. Everyone immediately stands-up. That's a good sign. Opener is 'Chrome', which is always on my list. We're only two minutes in and I'm already jumping up and down. Things are moving fast. Now a 'Face' and the piano is soft and perfect and I'm allowing myself to wonder if it's maybe going to be a special night. Tweedy's talking a lot and everyone's having fun and stuff is rolling and then 'Via Chicago' hits early and outrageously with Tweedy standing center stage - in his cowboy hat and denim jacket, casually strumming his acoustic like he's playing to hippies at Newport - while the band tears holes in the fabric of space and time behind him and the lights are flashing and the world is collapsing and he slowly takes a step forward and THAT SAYS YOU HAVEN'T GONE TOO FAAAAAR and there's no denying it now: the game is most definitely on. In a big way. And I haven't stopped jumping yet.

And it keeps rolling. We sneak down to the front for a while and letmetellyou it was quite a spot from which to hear a 'Hummingbird' and a 'Jesus, etc' and a 'Hate it Here'. Really it was. I should just sit front row for every show. I'll make a note. Now back to our seats - hi narc! - and now 'Theologians' (!!) and at this point all it really needs is a 'Misunderstood' and I'll be in orbit. Not that I wasn't already mind you, but hey, it can't hurt to hope, right? It eventually closes with 'Man Who Loves You' and there's monster applause and they come back out and Kotche pounds the drums and it's 'Misunderstood' and back in my old neighborhood and off to orbit I go. And now a 'Stars' and now a 'Drummer' and the applause comes thundering back.

Double encore? Why not. Casino Queen? What the hell. Clock in well over 2 hours? Of course it did. Jumping up and down? I wasn't the only one.

Best I've ever seen in person? You damn right.

We spill-out into the night. People wander the streets looking for anything open but of course nothing is. It's 11:30, duh.

Long. Drive. Home. Wow.

more photos here [picasaweb]