5/16/2013. - Day 51 - Becoming Real: My love/hate relationship with the Midwest.

5/16/2013. - Day 51 - Becoming Real: My love/hate relationship with the Midwest.

Today I drove to my dear friend and vocal coach Julie Ann's house to see her new home and enjoy some lemonade on the patio. Julie Ann is an amazingly talented woman who has happened to share some of her gifts with me in the form of a few voice lessons and some lovely conversations over the years. The amount of relaxing I've learned to do on this trip is substantial. When you have nothing pressing, nothing constantly begging for your attention or calling you off to another appointment, it's amazing the room you have in your life for simple conversations in the sun on the patio at a friend's home. More to love about unemployment. Stay tuned for the chapter on its downside and the resulting poverty.

After vising Julie Ann, I decided to spend some time on the beach at Lake Calhoun. It's about the time of year that everyone gets out of school, so there are roughly a million college kids clumped onto a tiny beach area. This is no ocean. But there is sunshine and that is enough.

Lake Calhoun

I have never been to Lake Calhoun and it's still early for beach season for the Midwest. Few are brave enough to get in the water as its frigid so early into this Minnesota spring. As I relax in the cool sand, I'm vaguely disrupted by the buzz around me that is filled with drama and other superficial subjects. Perhaps I was too much in my own world of peace and quiet while I was by the ocean to hear the conversations around me, but this is more disturbing due to the quality of the conversation rather than just the disruptive noise. Negative energy abounds.

"You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't
happen often to people who break easily, or have
sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally,
by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been
loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose
in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't
matter at all, because once you are Real you can't
be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

Life when you are younger feels so focused on looking and acting a certain way. I wish there was a way to know when we are kids that none of that really matters at all. It reminds me of the Velveteen Rabbit, and how to become "Real". Why should it take us until we are late in our years to figure out that the important things in life aren't things or appearances, and that learning to let go is one of life's most brilliant discoveries.

Little kids know it. But that innocence falls away quickly. I didn't seem to encounter any of this gossip filled, first world problem dominated culture when I was on the coast. No one seemed to have time to talk about others and go on about who they do and do not like, and all that they didn't have. They seemed more interested in sharing their story, and learning yours in turn. The negatively seasoned small talk is something that's quite common where I'm from, and I hadn't noticed or appreciated the absence of...gossip for lack of a better word, until now. Here, back in the Midwest, I'm aware that we spend way too much time worrying about others, and nowhere near enough time taking care of and shaping ourselves, or just enjoying the small things like sunshine  over a calm lake in the middle of a Midwestern hub. I've been guilty of both the destructive gossip and the ignorance of the world's small gifts many times in my life. There is much perspective to gain in taking the time to run wild by yourself for awhile and really ponder what you really need in life, and be thankful for all that you have.

I take a few passes up and down the beach before returning the truck. Back at the townhouse, we enjoy leftovers for dinner. The finale of "The Office" is on which means the whole family is on the couch. Afterwards, Tessie and Tyler continue with a hardware project they began previously. They disappear into the laundry room where they are fixing to hang a drying rack from the wall.

A few minutes into their absence there seems to be a discussion taking place, and I leave the couch to investigate. I enter the laundry room to find Tyler skeptically holding a drill against the wall from a distance, as though he's shooting a pistol at a far off target but needs to stay an arm's length away from the firearm. I explain that he needs to put his shoulder into it and really hold the drill firmly against the wall while he's drilling to which he responds, "We don't know how to do this stuff; we're ARTISTS!" The artists seem to be doing OK at small household fixes, they just need to learn to put their back into the drill a little more.

I marvel again at how cool it is to see my friends, married, and just doing what married people do--housework, watching TV, hanging drying racks in laundry rooms--simple things. But always with someone, with a partner in crime as they drill into their drywall or watch in suspense as Dexter drags out another sheet of plastic. What a cool thing marriage is, and what a neat gift from God to us. He invites us to offer ourselves wholly to another person, forever, taking all of their parts--completed, broken, finished, or just getting started--and love them. I've always believed we are meant to live in community, and marriage is just another form of community. It's the gateway through which you walk side by side, creating your own family to walk down life's path together with. I'm hopeful right now, reflecting on my married friends and their happiness, that perhaps there is someone for those of us who find ourselves hopeless at times, thinking no one will be able to love our brokenness, our strange or odd quirks, our off kilter sense of humor, or our strange need to compulsively check that our door is locked a dozen times. Maybe God really has tucked someone away for each of us, and we need only to walk this path alone for awhile, to experience fully the emotions which will shape us and give us time to decide just who we are, before he reveals to us our person, who will know us almost as intimately as He does. Maybe our person is a businessman, or a farmer, or a writer--or maybe he's an artist just doing his best at using a power tool.

5/15/2013. - Day 50 - You really DON'T need those fancy sunglasses with the flip up lenses, let me show you...

5/15/2013. - Day 50 -
You really DON'T need those fancy sunglasses with the flip up lenses, let me show you...

Today I had a lunch date at El Loro with the one and only Buddha, my dear friend Donna Gray. It was a late lunch of course, as neither of us are fond of early mornings. The day began late as it was, since I have nothing too important to rise early for. Later that morning, or rather early that afternoon, the black escalade rolled up to the townhouse and Donna emerged from the driver's seat. She agreed to take Lola out for a walk since I was nervous about it. Watching Dodger, a sturdy mixed breed, is much different than caring for a tiny chewenie. I didn't want to break her.

Buddha and I enjoyed some Mexican food at El Loro and then made our way to MOA. Donna revealed that she wanted me to be a life sized model in place of another mutual friend who was in need of some competition outfits for an upcoming pageant. As part of her plan, she fed me then lured me to Bloomingdales under the guise of shopping. After that it was all "squeeze into this suit so I can see what it looks like". We sure know how to have a great time.

After spending about an hour or two trying on all sorts of lovely fabrics, Donna delivered me back to the townhouse. I was home just in time to catch Tyler arriving from work. He made some comment about how he is going running and I suggested that since it's nice out we go outside. Calm down, I didn't suggest I would run with him; I took my rollerblades.

I showed Tessie how to use sunglasses when you can't or
don't want to wear your contacts: put your regular
sunglasses OVER the top of your glasses. Ta-dah!

Tyler and I enjoyed a brisk tour of their neighborhood during our brief bout with exercise. Honestly watching him run made me tired and a little sick inside. I'll never be a runner. But we did have a nice conversation before returning home. Tessie had already arrived when we returned and suggested we gather at a favorite restaurant of theirs, Jensen's Cafe. We enjoyed breakfast for dinner, a fave of mine since childhood, and some much welcomed late afternoon sun on the patio.

We relaxed on the couch to the tune of a few episodes of Dexter that evening. This whole peaceful family routine is something I could get used to. I'm thankful again for the time I'm able to spend on this trip with friends who have welcomed me into their homes, into their lives, and into their family.

5/14/2013. - Day 49 - Illinois: Land of the Troll Toll. A trip down Memory/Mann Lane. And peace in the Red Room.

5/14/2013. - Day 49 - Illinois: Land of the Troll Toll. A trip down Memory Mann Lane. And peace in the Red Room.

We were moved to action very early this morning due to our departure time of 10:00AM sharp. There were showers to be taken, bags to pack, suitcases to be carried out (at least 7 if you ask Grandpa), and last rounds to make in the house to ensure it was "viewing ready." The Bridger's have been in Naperville for several years, and have long been the good friends and traveling companions of my grandparents who have visited them often in Illinois. This is the first time I have ever met the Bridger's, and the last time I will see their home. They are relocating to the Northeast so it is a very strange series of firsts and lasts.

As I sit down to pack, somehow I am again wondering how I fit all of the things I have brought in into the bags I have also brought in. It seems that I cannot possibly get all of my belongings back into these suitcases so I must have accidentally gone shopping. We all make mistakes...

Where is the lane option for "neither" or "confused"?

When everyone is packed into their respective vehicles, we start the caravan: Bridger's, me, Grinden's. I'm not paying attention and almost miss the first turn into the gas station just a few blocks from the Bridger's house. This is not a good sign. Soon after the gas station we start a round of tollways and I sense things are not getting off to a good start. At the first toll, I hesitate because it wants change, and of that I have none. I look ahead at Bridger's and back at my grandparents, trying to figure out how to mouth "what do I do?" before getting honked at by upcoming tollway goers. I'm so shaken from the experience that I don't take stock of the signage and instructions, and just blow through the next tollways because it seems like the only way through and thus a good idea. It was most certainly not a good idea.

The caravan continues onward and upward, then diverts briefly from our main route to stop at yet another eatery. All meals are strategically planned out in this company. We dine outdoors on a patio overlooking a scenic almost rural area with a river running below. After a hearty meal, "good byes" and "so longs" are exchanged. Sadly, I'm not sure when I'll enjoy the company of the Bridger's again; but I will see my grandparents in a few days when we rendezvous back in Duluth.

I am alone again, back on the road, but closing the gap between the unknown adventure and the quite comfortable zone of my previous existence. I have several routes to choose from which will all eventually take me to Minneapolis, my destination for the night. I am toying with the idea of driving through River Falls, WI, the original hometown of my family. I do not remember where the house is, but I remember what surrounds it. I remember a big hill that goes around a curve, cutting through rocks that are sprinkled with white dust. I remember the road that runs by the house, where people were always driving by too fast. And I remember the house, blue, with a small garage and big pine trees. It was on Mann Lane.

Surprisingly, using Google to find "Mann Lane" in "River Falls, WI" ends up being a hole in one. Mann Lane is not a long lane, and it's a quick detour if I choose to go that way. From there I could easily hop over to St. Paul, and then make my way to Burnsville to see the Schwanke's, the next friends to visit on my list.

The sun shines down from above, warming the pavement and the miles tick by. I have sort of a jumble of emotions at this point. As I near the tail end of my trip, I find myself longing for it to go on and on. I also feel bouts of anxiety as to what I will do when it ends. Where will I be? What will I do? There is no plan beyond my return to ND. There is no job waiting, no errands I need to run. Just empty space. A small amount of excitement is still present in my heart, if only from the freedom of having absolutely no direction for so long. It's mixed in with the other emotions -- the thrill of the open road and the knowledge of an eventual conclusion to this particular adventure. They make up a weird concoction: Emotion stew. That's what I'm having for lunch.

I have subconsciously made the decision somewhere along the road to take a trip down memory lane, or in this case, Mann Lane. As I near River Falls, I consult Google for further instruction. Sometimes in life I like to think I know everything. Lots of times in life I get subtle and not so subtle reminders that I don't. Life is like that and God sends us reminders when we need to be knocked off our high horses. God knows everything, of that I'm sure. But I think He's in cahoots with Google, too. I mean how else does Google have all the answers? I feel like God was like, hey you, here's a fancy algorithm for knowing EVERYTHING--use it wisely. And then the nice people at Google started doling it out to us in amounts big enough for our small minds to comprehend without exploding.

Considerate of them if you think about it. More solo road trip reflections...


Google shows me the way to Mann Lane and I can see the house from memory. I try to match it as I drive down a dirt road that leads through fields and seems vastly unpopulated. At the end of the dirt road there is a humble structure and after studying it I am sure this is the house. It looks different, smaller and less prone to adventure than I remember from childhood. It's a strange thing to revisit a place you once lived and to see it in a now reclaimed state; no longer yours but still filled with your memories.


After making a few passes by, I explore the surrounding roads and easily find the hill and that cuts through the rock the I remember. The grade is extremely steep and it looks just the way I remember it driving along as a kid. It's very surreal to be here, almost living in a memory as a ghost just passing by things I used to know.

Checkmate.

As the sun begins to dip lower and lower into the western horizon, I head for St. Paul. The twin cities always seem like an endless tangle of highway to me, one that goes on and on for hours. Today the drive is not quite so busy, and I make decent time getting to Burnsville.

The Schwanke's have a townhouse here, which I have not gotten to see yet. This trip has been a fun way to get to see everyone's homes and neighborhoods and get snapshots into their lives that I wouldn't ordinarily get. I arrive at the townhouse and enter through the front door and am greeted by the smell of dinner. Tessie has made homemade chicken noodle soup. She continues to work in the kitchen as Tyler and I sit down at the table with their dog Lola shuffling around by our feet. Lola examines me as the new visitor and then keeps an eye on us in the kitchen. Lola and I met when she was recently adopted by Tessie and we are quite comfortable with each other. Many of my stops have had creature comforts and I like getting to know that aspect of my friends' lives.

It feels good to be at my next "home". Each stop has been so cozy. Now sitting here with Tyler, in a house they have made a home, I realize that I very much want this. I say aloud that this point where they are, it's like the goal we are all working towards. I mean one day you are single and running around with no idea what direction you are going, wondering if you will ever find that someone that God has planned for you or if He even has someone planned for you...And then you are married, you have a house and a mortgage, you have a dog and a routine and a companion and there you sit in your kitchen that you painted red, at a table sharing a meal together each night before you settle onto the couch for a little TV and then retire to your bed. I guess there are some folks who would view this as boring or unhappy; but to me it's perfect. It's consistent and all the pieces are there and they just fit and things flow. Right here, in this red kitchen in Minnesota with my friends Tyler and Tessie, it's perfect.