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.]