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This was my lunch, half eaten, last Thursday in a small town diner in Minnesota. In at least one town where we lived, this particular sandwich (white bread, roast beef, mashed potatoes, gravy) was called a "commercial." On this diner menu, it was called a hot roast beef sandwich.
Mmmmm... delicious!

Some blurbs for the blurg

* My folks (which is what you call parents in Minnesota) picked me up this morning in Brainerd, where Ben & Marie live. We headed to Milaca, the town my folks lived in when I was born. My parents like to just show up in Milaca and hope that the 3 people they want to see will be available. But now I have friends there too -- 2 friends from elementary school (across the state) who married each other and moved there and now they have 2 kids. We ended up seeing all those people, even the ones who had no clue we were coming.

* There really are a ton of lakes in MN. It's lovely.

* My dad and I had this exchange in the car today:
Phil -- Up ahead there's a place where the cows used to graze under the road.
Me -- There was a cow overpass?
Phil -- It was an over-pasture.

* I started making a throw. I needed something to do for all those hours we will spend in the car in the next several days.

Sleep...
Rock on...

monday

I got up early, though still 45 minutes after my alarm started to sound. I rushed around, and Candace and I left for the airport just after 7am. We stopped by the bank, which had no envelopes at the ATM, though Candace had some in her car. We got to the airport, I checked in and stood in a heinously long security line. I took off my shoes and walked through the metal detector. I got to my gate and found that the flight was delayed 2 hours.
I wandered around -- got a bacon/egg/cheese sandwich on croissant, read some Emma, sat in the sun and listened to M Ward (who made the world melt away with his lilting mellow tunes). We boarded the first plane -- that's right, the first -- got settled, and de-boarded 15 minutes later. We were redirected to another terminal where a larger plane was waiting, hoping to hold a few more of the other passengers from delayed/canceled MSP flights.

When I finally got to MN, Ben and Marie had been on an adventure of their own. Having gotten a flat tire the night before, they took the opportunity afforded by my late flight to get new tires installed on their minivan. It was drizzly and grey. We found our hotel, checked in, discussed some tourist possibilities in the cities, nd headed to the Mall of America. We wandered. We shopped. We bought snacks. And then we found the light rail and set off for the Metrodome.
Our seats for the Twins game were primo. We were on the top level, but directly behind home plate. And the top level at the Dome is the height of the Lexus level at Turner field. We had pretty good seats, but we were in the middle of the row. So we had to repeatedly climb over folks, and the inevitable happened -- we lost a hot dog... down the pants of the lady in front of us. We scurried (good thing we had those extra napkins in our purses) to clean the mess.
The game was not a bang up show, either. The pitcher gave up 4 homeruns in the first couple innings, and the Twins lost pretty decidedly.
But there was beer, there was baseball, there were kids... and we were in the Dome.

Aside (imagine Don Saliers stepping everso slightly to his left): I love it. I know most people think it sucks as a baseball stadium, because everyone loses the ball in the white ceiling... but I love it. I saw my first major league game there, and I can still hear the announcer saying "Now batting, Kirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrbbbyyyyyyyyyyy Pucccckkkkkkkkkkettttttttttttttttt." It was the most magnificent thing. It's why I love baseball. That game lured me in, and the 1987 world series got me hooked.

(stepping back to center)
After the game, we rode the lightrail back to the car at the Mall. I sat beside a kid and his dad. The kid kept looking at his dad's scorecard, asking question after question. What does this symbol mean? What's in this column? Why do the Twins have so many injured players? And then he turns to the front, looks at the player's uniform, and asks "Why is there a 34 on his sleeve if he's #33? Just because of Kirby Puckett?" I was aghast. Just because of Puckett? I said, "How old are you? 'Cause I was 9 when the Twins won the '87 World Series, and 13 when they won in '91. And that's why." The dad chuckled. The kid looked just as puzzled as ever. And I felt disgruntled. Just because of Kirby Puckett... what are parents teaching their kids these days...?

So, we eventually got to the car and went back to the hotel. And then there was sleep.
Rock on.



[Tuesday we went to the Minneapolis Institute of Art and saw the Nordic Landscapes exhibit, which is evidence of the Scandinavian pride rampant in my birthstate.]

i need a moment

i'm sitting in Ben's mom's office in Brainerd, MN.
at this desk on this computer i found out 3 hours ago that i got denied for health insurance. i can only guess that the determining factor is my arthritic condition, for which i have not received any medical treatment in over 3 years, since i moved to atlanta.
i applied for another plan with a different company (after Ben's mom said i should be glad i didn't get the first one because they have repeatedly screwed over her friend). here's hopin...

on the window sill in front of the desk is a picture of a couple who i assume is Ben's parents in the 1970s. the man looks just like ben. just.
further to the right on the sill is the prayer of st. francis. let me sow love...

we had a wonderful dinner. there was delicious food, laughter, stories, an irreverent family atmosphere, a sharing of meal blessings from various Christian traditions (the Catholic one, Johnny Appleseed, the Methodist one...), a bit of religious banter, passing plates and drinking of drinks.

we watched turtles race earlier today. i love minnesota.

tomorrow, my parents will pick me up and we'll visit a town we lived in when i was a baby and see friends of mine from elementary school who are married with kids and live there now.

i'll post in a moment about monday. it was a day for the blooper reels for the 3 of us (Ben, Marie and me). but despite the craziness, it was really good to see their faces at the airport and to sit high above home plate in the metrodome, even if gravity works harder on hotdogs.

rock on.

I'm taken aback.

I just visited a different church.
I got doorprizes.
And the sermon included a sexist illustration.

I was on call last night, and I spent a little extra time at the hospital this morning. So I wasn't ready in time to get to the church I had planned to go to, which is at least 20 minutes away.
Well I have passed this sign for a UM church between my apt and the hospital, and I decided that since it's less than 10 minutes away today might be a good day to visit.

I almost walked back out as soon as I arrived. The guy was praying about winning souls, and that's not really my jargon or theology. But someone spotted me. I was greeted and given info about the church and a fancy pen in a box. Then I was ushered to a seat.
The pen was really fancy, so that felt a bit like a bribe to come back.

The minister had picked a topic and used the concordance. He sited at least 9 scripture passages. No joke. I wrote them down.

So up until this point, each of those things on its own is tolerable. Not my ideal worship experience, but tolerable.

The sermon was about love, and the guy was trying to say that love endures because it's a decision that is enabled by God and that it requires adaptation and commitment. The most outstanding illustration mentioned the jogger this morning -- "guys, you know the one" -- "her parts that you admire now will be sagging tomorrow." I didn't know what to do. All the old men laughed, and the women looked uncomfortable. I was so horrified.

I thought about walking out (for the second time now). I thought about telling the minister that I was offended when I met him at the door after the service. But then when I did meet him at the door, an usher told him I was a first time visitor, and the minister shoved a bigger box into my hand. So now I have a pen and a travel coffee cup with the ensignia of this church that creeps me out.

[Additionally, the church is in a predominately hispanic area, but none of the service was in spanish and there did not seem to be any outreach to/opportunities for the surrounding spanish-speaking folks.]

I am terrible. I can't go to a church without analyzing everything. There's more here, but... that's enough. I feel so crazy.

What a weekend

And how.
Why, you ask?
When I'm ready, I'll tell someone.
Who? Perhaps you.

Ha. I just used the Big 5 question words.

So, this weekend I:
* was on call Friday night (which includes one death call)
* broke a tooth
* ran a (very little) bit Saturday
* vacuumed
* pruned the plants
* hung out at Craig's pool
* got a bit o' sun
* napped
* had dinner with a Wesley grad
* helped with Rachel's late night move
* went to church
* had lunch with Sara and Allen
* returned shoes to REI
* watched an Amanda Bines movie
* talked to the wireless router people for almost an hour

"That's a fresher. I'm going on break."

Hm.

Um, tonight I watched three new reality tv shows.

Scott Baio is 45... and Single
The Pickup Artist
Who Wants to be a Superhero

They were,
shall we say,
quality.

Why does reality tv suck us (and obviously I mean me) in?
Is it because we can relate to those folks?
Scott Baio is trying to figure out why he can't commit.
8 normal guys are on The Pickup Artist because they're scared of women.
A bunch of grown ups wear spandex and take Stan Lee's challenges trying to be a hero.
Like many of us, these folks are looking for some secret to fulfillment, some brighter, shinier version of themselves.

also

the air today
was so heavy
I thought I might have to chew my way through it
to get to my car after work.

that's not our fish

Did she think that putting a plant in there
and tiny little rocks
(instead of the cool big clear blue rocks we had)
would divert my attention so much
that I would not notice that this fish is
smaller
redder
and has a tiny little tail?

That, my friends, is no Fritz Hundo.
No Fugitsu.
Not even a Chewbacca.

I mean.
Seriously.

I stared at that fish a lot.
And this is not that fish.