[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
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
As you know by this point, my grandmother turned 100 last week. When I went to visit her before her birthday, she mentioned that her “big” chocolate bar was missing.
(I am fairly certain that my grandmother and I have very different definitions for “big” when it comes to candy bars. When she gets a box of Russell Stover chocolates – one of her favorites, she’s satisfied eating one piece a day. I, on the other hand, consider a box of chocolates a type of comparison shopping.)
She had been saving that chocolate bar for a “special occasion.” (I could see where one might consider a 100th birthday to be a special occasion.) As she said that though, she kind of chuckled, “Nearly 100, what was I waiting for?”
I would say that the universe is always sending us messages, some more obvious than others. It’s up to us to listen to them. In my grandmother’s case, she could have dwelled on the “missing” part of the chocolate bar, but instead she decided to focus on savoring the moment. Continue reading
Dearest Max,
Jim’s sister took us to her favorite patisserie for the world’s best bran muffin. (Jim insists I pause after saying that.)
To her credit, it was the world’s best bran muffin.
Then Jim let her try a bite of his apricot Danish. It seems the world’s best bran muffin is no match for the world’s best apricot Danish. Jim ordered a second round for everyone.
Don’t let the location in the strip mall fool you; you must join us next time.
Ever yours,
Dolores
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Just a week ago, we had yet another April snow storm in Minnesota. This was my first winter back in Minnesota in twenty some years. Walking home in that snow storm, I thought, “Yes, April, we all see you. Yes, very funny, you look just like March. Why don’t you go see where May is.”
I was beginning to think Minnesota wanted me to relive every winter I had missed. Then, April decided to give us the perfect day this weekend. Sunny and warm. Shorts-weather warm. As in, even non-Minnesotans would have worn shorts. (One of my brothers wears shorts all winter long. Most of us wait at least until it gets above freezing.) Continue reading