[Jim and Dolores Manhattan just rent a two-person kayak. Starting from Lake Calhoun, they paddle north through the Lake of the Isles and Cedar Lake to the fourth lake in Minneapolis’ Chain of Lakes.]
Dolores: No, Jim, I don’t think 30 minutes of paddling burnt off those pancakes.
Jim: But–
Dolores: Besides, that was a week ago. I’m pretty sure those pancakes have found a home by now.
[Pause in the conversation as they reach the fourth lake.] Continue reading
Smug and contrary: I am, quite frankly, a joy to travel with.
I don’t want to travel with the hordes over trampled grounds; I want to be the first, to discover.
Yet, I can’t stand to hear people say they don’t like to do touristy things when they travel. They like to experience the local life. Yeah, well, who goes to Paris and doesn’t see the Eiffel Tower? That’s a bit like saying you want to go through life without the hope of ever falling in love. That person is free to do my laundry on my next trip and hang it quaintly between buildings like they imagine the locals do. Continue reading
Dolores loved Jim’s surprises.
Voicemail: Max, it’s Dolores. Sorry, but I have to cancel for tomorrow. [Excitedly] Jim said to pack an overnight bag; he wants to take me someplace for breakfast! [Even the click of the phone was excited.]
But not always.
Dolores: Really, Jim? A bus? An overnight BUS?
Jim: What? It’ll be fun.
[Grudgingly Dolores boarded the bus. Jim didn’t notice the grudgingly.]
[At breakfast the next morning after the bus arrived.]
Jim: I think you’ll like the pancakes.
Dolores: You’ve lost your ever loving mind if you think I traveled on an overnight bus for pan. cakes.
Jim: But wait. [Reading the menu] Bread pudding style hotcakes. [Her breathe caught.] With white chocolate and almonds. Topped with a cherry sauce.
Dolores: [Nearly trembling. To the waitress, but staring at Jim.] I’ll have the hotcakes.
Dolores always loved Jim’s surprises.
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Stella! and I had hit a rough patch recently. Quite frankly, she’d been putting on airs, acting more like Blanche than her namesake.
From A Streetcar Named Desire.
Blanche DuBois: I can’t stand a naked light bulb, any more than I can a rude remark or a vulgar action.
It started on a beautiful spring day. We were riding along the Minnehaha Creek toward Lake Nokomis.
When I last left off, I was craving a bologna sandwich. Stella! and I had ridden over to the Minnehaha Falls, which made me think of school field trips, which made me think of sack lunches, which made me think of bologna sandwiches (which I am still craving).
Sandwiches aside, on my third visit to the falls, it finally dawned on me that I hadn’t explored the creek beyond the falls at all. The reason it hadn’t dawned on me before is really quite lame. When I’ve gone to the falls, I’ve been biking. In my head, the days had been set aside to bike. I saw people walking along the trails, but I was biking not walking. I just kind of edited out the idea of walking the trails.
Then I realized I could apply my theory of desserts here (when presented with a choice of A or B, skip to the true answer and select both). I could bike and hike. Continue reading
Taking advantage of the beautiful spring days, Stella! and I have headed over to the Minnehaha Falls a couple of times already. My niece and I rode bikes along the creek to the “falls” last fall when the creek had dried up and there was only the merest of trickles falling.
This spring, though, the falls are falling.
When I arrived at the falls, I was transported to an “all-powerful joy.” To the horror of Proust, it wasn’t a madeleine that transported me – it was a bologna sandwich. Continue reading
Voicemail: Hello, Max. It’s Dolores. [Pausing, heavily] Do you have any idea why Jim has been so smug? Call me.
Voicemail: Hey, it’s Max. He thinks the barista is flirting with him. Nothing to worry about.
Earlier that day the barista said to Jim: You always pick the best doughnuts.
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Perhaps to the dismay of serious bird-watchers, I left the Roberts Bird Sanctuary with an image of a cardinal-singing Figaro in my head. I find it hard to move past “wow.”
For instance, the other day, as I was biking along Lake Harriet, I was wowed. 
With Minnesota in the midst of its two weeks of spring, I’ve been spending a lot of time outside. During my commute, I bike around Lakes Harriet and Calhoun. As you ride, birds are always fluttering away. For me, any small bird is either a sparrow or a chickadee.
(To clarify, when I say chickadee, I don’t mean that in any knowledgeable ornithological sense. Rather, all generic, Disney animated-looking birds that aren’t sparrows, I label as a chickadee.) Continue reading
During my last semester of law school at UNLV, as I prepared for finals, I would sit in the xeric garden just behind the school to study or take a break. Whenever a hummingbird appeared, I took that as a good omen. To borrow from a beer commercial, it’s not weird if it works. Since then hummingbirds have been like a lucky penny for me.
Returning to the Pacific Northwest for an internship for my final semester of law school felt good. And then after law school, I needed the laid back attitude of Portland. Plus, within Portland are two of my absolute favorite spots on the planet: the Purple Room in Powell’s City of Books and the footpath to Lake Zither in the Lan Su Chinese Garden. Continue reading