Imagine

December 8, 1980. I remember where I was. Senior in high school. I had never been to New York City but the world changed in that instant. I remember I had a British pen pal and we wrote letters, he was a Beatles fan; we were devestated, of course. I finally visited NYC for the first time in April, 2007 and had to stand at the Imagine memorial. Every year I remember.

Imagine

by John Lennon

Imagine there's no heaven

It's easy if you try

No hell below us

Above us only sky

Imagine all the people

Living for today...

Imagine there's no countries

It isn't hard to do

Nothing to kill or die for

And no religion too

Imagine all the people

Living life in peace...

You may say I'm a dreamer

But I'm not the only one

I hope someday you'll join us

And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions

I wonder if you can

No need for greed or hunger

A brotherhood of man

Imagine all the people

Sharing all the world...

You may say I'm a dreamer

But I'm not the only one

I hope someday you'll join us

And the world will live as one

Thanksgiving Trees

Sometimes answers come in the most unexpected

places. This year I decided to cook a turkey and all the trimmings even though things didn't turn out like I had originally planned. When the turkey was in the oven I took a walk outside - trees always cheer me up. The photo is of one in the middle of the city. A friend came over and we had dinner, and it wound up being a wonderful evening of good talk, good food and good wine. That happily surprised me and reminded me of the many good friends I have.

A few days earlier, on November 24, my mom emailed me that their first born son would have been 50 years old that day. He is the one I wrote about in my poem "First Born Brother" that was published in Salamander journal. Some things untalked about release other things into the world. I called my best friend - he got it immediately, how life works like that.

The holidays this year will be a time of healing and change for me. Change, because they don't always work out as planned. An answer came in a very unlikely place today. I was watching Season 8 of "Magnum P.I." on Netflix - the final season where Tom Selleck as the Ferrari-driving private eye Thomas Magnum reveals once and for all if Higgins is none other than Robin Masters himself. I remember the TV series well from the 80's, but never saw the last season. In the episode "Transitions" Magnum says - "The only thing to count on in life is change. Transitions are hard. But don't be afraid of transitions. They make you strong."
Throughout the episode, tidbits of advice are doled out:

Change comes at an inconvenient time.

HOW you make transitions are as important as making them.

Finish up whatever you are working on before moving on to the next thing.

Change - you can't hurry it, even though you want it to go faster. It moves on its own time.

You can get so caught up in changes in your own life that you don't always notice people around you going through change too - stop a moment - and once you do, notice. Give friends some help with their problems and in the meantime your problems seem to have a way of working themselves out and even if they don't at least it reminds you that you're not th e only one who is trying to sort things out.

Thanks Magnum for a great Thanksgiving message for me! Healing comes through change - sometimes the Universe has something better in mind than what I planned. I am making peace with situations, friends and loved ones. My boyfriend and I may no longer be doing the same things, but he is still my best friend, and although I don't know how to label it, all I know is that we are talking, going through change. So even if things aren't the same or as planned, the Universe usually has something better in mind. I just have to be patient, try not to rush it, and notice.

First Snow

I woke up today to this view - yes, a dusting of snow to go along with the cold.

My boyfriend and I "broke up" on election eve - unexpected, but the signs were there. Time has been passing slowly and swiftly for me, processing, grieving, and now rebuilding. Times of silence, finally talking it out, feeling the pain out, reading, writing. When we talked a few days later, he told me of the poem of mine that said his feelings, the one I wrote a long time ago and almost forgot about. Can we still be friends? Yes. But things will never be the same between us and my life is now moving on, changing seasons with the first snow.

When I teach one of my writing classes, I reference a poem from Yuko Taniguchi, a Minnesota poet, from her book "Foreign Wife Elegy." I won't list that one here, but reading her book again I discovered this one, that is appropriate for now.

Practice

"But trust the hours. Haven't they

carried you everywhere, up to now?"

-- Galway Kinnell

I.

I practice piano and repeat scales one hundred

times every day because what we do today

becomes tomorrow's harvest; practice makes perfect.

Bach's prelude drops layers of voice all at once.

Over and over, I practice until I realize that the sound

full of sorrow demands a complete

separation from the pianist

full of sorrow.

II.

Walking into the dark tunnel alone

at night frightens you, though you may

overcome this fear if you practice

this every day, or you may never

overcome it like the terrible emptiness

inside you; it does not make you stronger.

III.

All the living that you did

suddenly seems like practice

for dying, but living is not supposed to be

a rehearsal for death. We are never ready

for departure, but the curtain is wide open

with lights shining on the stage. You are getting up

slowly. Soon you will walk away from us

as if to practice walking

for the first time.

Yuko Taniguchi

The world rejoices!

All I can say is wow - I thought it might happen but was very nervous it wouldn't and now it has. I watched the television for awhile and then had to get out into the world to be with others and celebrate this historic moment. I voted for Obama in the caucuses back in February - and yesterday went to the same school to vote again. I showed up at 7 am and the line was around the building, waited over an hour but well worth it. The world will know what America is again.

excerpt from Langston Hughes' Let America Be America Again:

(thanks to facebook friends)

O, let America be America again--

The land that never has been yet--

And yet must be--

the land where every man is free.

The land that's mine--

the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME--

Who made America,

Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,

Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,

Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose--

The steel of freedom does not stain.

From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,

We must take back our land again,America!

O, yes,I say it plain,

America never was America to me,

And yet I swear this oath--

America will be!

I love fall!

I took this photo on Friday - leaves, colors, crisp weather, warm days....I love living here where there is autumn!

Debates & Diagramming

Remember the other woman whose last name also begins with "P"? In the what's-her-name-I-refuse-to-acknowledge political media hype, remember that the Speaker of the House is third in line to the Presidency. So, if the current VP candidate managed to get elected from American stupidity had that heartbeat away experience to become President and then something happened to her, there would be another woman waiting in the wings: Nancy Pelosi. (Another good thought, she is there waiting, for the Democrats too).

I am not particapting in the audience for TV and radio political media foolishness. But I am reading the New York Times, and Maureen Dowd had an insightful and funny op-ed piece on speech patterns of political candidates. Since when does being 'common' or 'middle class' mean that you talk in "Frontier Baroque"? (Dowd)

Then she uttered yet another sentence that defies diagramming: "It is from Alaska that we send those out to make sure that an eye is being kept on this very powerful nation, Russia, because they are right there." (Dowd)

Dowd summarized her thoughts with her best insight - True mavericks don't brand themselves (as mavericks).

I started thinking about my high school experience - the "brains" were sometimes picked on by the "jocks," in a kind of jealous way. The jocks had the veneer of popularity with their looks overcoming any grammatical and intellectual setbacks. We had debates in high school too - and a good debater could take either side and make a good closing argument. The art of debating is lost in television. Now it's looks, personality and one or two soundbyte lines. My personal high school experience didn't prepare me very well for diagramming sentences or identifying a dangling gerund or mangled preposition but I did come out of school a good speller and in the top 20% of my class. Maybe there should be a spelling bee debate - Obama/Biden would win hands down. Obama wrote both his books by himself, without a ghost writer, only the usual editor. What is it that America has against intellectuals by calling them "elite"? At my 20 year high school reunion, well...even by the 10th....the 'jocks' were looking old and the 'brains' or 'nerds' had the good jobs, the money and were suddenly popular with those who never paid them any attention. That is, if they bothered to show up at the reunion.

The Presidential Election reminds me more and more of a High School Homecoming King/Queen contest - but this time the brains must win over the jocks. There is more at stake than a football game.

Rebuilding and Remembrance

Last weekend I drove across the new 35W bridge. I had my reservations about doing this. There are a lot of memories tied up in that bridge - it collapsed last August - killing 13 people, one of them a Capella employee. I found myself driving on my Saturday errand schedule and decided why not, I'll try it. It is white, fresh, new, multi-lane with lights and some funky crooked-looking spires on each side. I have been in the habit for so long taking alterate routes that I forgot how easy it is to cross it. How quick it is to get around with those exits I used to take with it. I'm glad others are using it, it clears up the downtown traffic. I couldn't help but hold my breath a bit as I remembered those who have crossed it, before. So, this bridge is finished in a mere 14 months with an influx of Federal government cash and a focus. We are all waiting for other bridges and construction projects to be completed. Let's hope they all keep moving along.





Capella University, where I work, is donating money towards the memorial in Gold Medal Park, which is near the Guthrie Theater. Here is the link. I am glad we are remembering. I have a post earlier in this blog on what I was doing when the collapse happened.





I think about what I remember from last year. Besides the bridge collapse, there were other losses - the suicide of my writing instructor and Bennington College director Liam Rector in mid-August. My cat Tex died in October. My college life sometimes seems worlds away as I am focused more deeply into my world of work, and I have changed my lifestyle a bit by moving. I am still writing poetry, but not as often. I am venturing more towards essays and stories. America is changing, with presidential candidates and situations that seem more insane everyday. Poetry grounds me. Writing builds the foundation. I remember what Liam used to say - "Always Be Closing." That means, make your own opportunities. Create your own work because no one can do it for you. The photo at left is of Liam at Bennington - one of his lectures to the new students. He would play a clip from the movie "Glenn Gary Glenn Ross" with Alec Baldwin slamming the salespeople on how to close. Liam would play it at the Bennington session with no explanation, once a year, to the new recruits and the returning students. You either got it it or you didn't. No explanation. Like life.

How will I refine my life in the oncoming months? What new bridges to cross await me?
I will let the poems come as they may - they will decide for me.

My brain on audio books

I drove to my parents house over Labor Day weekend and decided to try audio books on CD to help ease the 12 hour each way trip. The book I chose was Nancy Pelosi's "Know Your Power" which was a fairly short (3 CD's) light book, with a lot of storytelling. It helped pass the time, but I have decided I don't do well with audio books and driving. It's different from reading - I miss the page and my own pace. As the CD's wore on it was hard to pause something or replay it. The thought process is different in my head when I read than when I hear it read aloud. This book happened to be in Nancy's own voice, so it made it more personal and it was inspiring, but I felt I needed to be present with my own thoughts on the road.

I've been reading Sven Birkert's book "The Gutenberg Elegies: The Fate of Reading in an Electronic Age." Reading and re-reading, taking notes, writing in the margins, bending pages. I can't do that with an audio book. Sven (my Bennington colleague) also talks about information and how it is filtered differently from reading. He writes

"To read the book we must, in effect, bracket off our own reality and replace it with (insert author name). Better, we must use what we know of our world to create his. His can only exist at the expense of ours, though - this is the law of fiction. We agree to suspend our self-grounded posture, our place in the 'real' world, in order to make room for (the author's) alternative sense of things." (p. 93)

This is why I can't drive and listen to any type of fiction audio books - my attention drifts from the road, I will get absorbed in the book instead. Kind of like talking on a cell phone while driving.

What will be lost if people stop reading printed books? The brain functions differently when one reads instead of listens or watches. It is interesting to note that centuries ago, the Greeks revered oral poetry and were an oral culture. Then the printing press and the book age came along, and now we may lose it again. Birkerts quotes from scholar Oswyn Murray:

"To him (Havelock) the basic shift from oral to literate culture was a slow process; for centuries, despite the existence of writing, Greece remained essentially an oral culture. This culture was one which depended heavily on th eencoding of information in poetic texts, to be learned by rote and to provide a cultural encyclopedia of conduct. It was not until the age of Plato in the fourth century that the dominance of poetry in an oral culture was challenged in the final triumph of literacy." (p. 121)

Birkerts remarks that our transition will not require two centuries, fifty years will be enough.

I remember in elementary and high school that I lost myself in books. That was the world that was worth living at the time. It was my secret, a gateway out of my parents house and my immediate neighborhood. My favorite place to escape was the library. The fact that I could check out books for free and have access to all this information was just as good to me back then as the internet is now. It was good to be in a different place, to have something physical, to browse through the card catalog, take notes, think about things while typing before having to move them around. I think different on the computer than I do the typewriter. My brain functions differently writing longhand than it does typing. I still keep my journal longhand, and can barely read my own handwriting sometimes.

I find it easier to write notes while I am driving than to listen to an audio book. I can't imagine reading the Sunday New York Times totally on line without that paper to cuddle up with on the couch and my morning tea (and the cat on top of the paper). It seems more tangible that way, like I'm back in the library.

Women of the Mighty Midway

"During a campaign stop in July at the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally, presidential hopeful John McCain talked about issues and spoke off the cuff about his wife, Cindy McCain. One of the rally's 'high points' is its Miss Buffalo Chip Beauty Pageant, which boasts female contestants who are topless or dressed in bikinis, engaging in simulated sex acts. McCain told the cheering bikers, "I encouraged Cindy to compete. I told her with a little luck she could be the only woman ever to serve as First Lady and Miss Buffalo Chip." From The MN Women's Press and seattlepi.com.

The above photo - taken by me at that great Minnesota get-together, the State Fair midway, is perfect, don'tcha think? Love the revolver. Come visit the mighty Midway, Mr. McCain, maybe it will get you in touch with working adults and roaming kids of the midwest. Concessions were a bit slow, money is a bit tight this year. So now, besides being out of touch with any middle class reality at all (how many homes do you and your wife own, now, really?) your beer heiress wife might just strap you down after that remark. I'm all for sexual power in women, but not in your degrading fashion.

I've been watching the DNC - my few times with the tube. Michelle and Hillary, the Democratic party (despite our differences) inspire hope - giving back to the people. Republicans promote fear, selfishness and tax-cutting plans that backfire on the economy.

This week is the 88th anniversary of women's right to vote. August 26 was Women's Equality Day. No one seems to notice much anymore that the Equal Rights Amendment never passed. Walking through the MN State Fair midway, I know it's fake, but I let myself be taken away by the illusions anyway. The music, the flash - this is more real than the 'real' world, that American Dream that seems so out of reach for most Americans. Try your luck at winning a prize, a giant stuffed toy or a job. Work hard and be rich! No one gets rich on a day job, it isn't going to happen, people. Forget about the tax cuts that are above your income level. Obama is proposing a cut to the payroll tax. That will affect you more than any Republican tax cut ever will unless you're earning over a million a year or so....It's like that chance to win the lottery. Your chances are unbearably slim, and even if you win, statistics show that most people are back to where they started income wise within a decade or so. So why not accept where you are and live in the real world.

I prefer this mighty warrior image - she is self-sufficient and powerful. She is definitely putting some cracks in the glass ceiling.

Observe the new Foshay

The Foshay is now new and modern. But on Friday, August 30, 1929, the skies of downtown Minneapolis lit up with skyrockets. Earlier, John Phillip Sousa and his 75 piece band gave the first of several concerts for the cities citizens. The next day, James Good, Herbert Hoover's Secretary of War, would deliver an address dedicating the object of all this civic fuss. The Minneapolis Journal was 'downright poetic' about Foshay's monument:



Like veritable temples in business, these modern towers rise high in the air and house the thousands. Safe and luxurious elevators lift one from floor to floor more dexterously than Jacob's ladder, with angels ascending and descending upon it. Modern towers unite people rather than divide them. From their heights mightly searchlights guide lone pilots on their way to ports and havens safe. (Mpls Journal, Aug 30, 1929)





I wasn't thinking of this statement when the doorman escorted my friend and I up the elevator to the 27th floor bar, Prohibition, part of the new Foshay's makeover into a W hotel. Ralph Burnet, you're making quite an impression on this little city that could. (I used to sell real estate for Burnet Realty in another life).

The photo on the right is the entrance how I remembered it. Clouds on the ceiling, the lit chamber boxes with historical tidbits. I walked through the building on my lunch break or after the bus ride. So last week, Thursday to be exact, I held my breath in anticipation of what I would find as I walked through the doors. Bright pink neon, dark walls, luxurious leather couches along the wall, the modern bar of Manny's steakhouse and restaurant. Foshay, are you all grown up now? Do you like your new makeover? Your lobby is now the hotel front desk and public space. As we wandered through the bar and the lobby, I wondered what will the future be for my favorite building in Minneapolis? The bartender poured my gin and tonic so strong that that must be a good sign wanting me to come back! Earlier I had met some co-workers at Keys, our usual hangout, on the sidewalk. We talked of the upcoming Republican convention, how strangers will take over the twin cities and we will be cringing, waiting for it all to be over. But we can have some fun, too. Give directions to tourists to the bad parts of town. Even our elected officials don't realize that St. Paul is the headquarters, not Minneapolis. They forget we are the TWIN cities. I read about our cities in the New York Times on Sunday. The travel writer didn't even mention west 7th street restaurants, right next to the Excel Energy Center where it all will be happening. Maybe they're not hip enough, or rich enough for them. Remember, this is the midwest.



I thought of Wilbur Foshay going broke. His empire crumbled two months after its greatest monument was dedicated. Mr. Foshay was tried in federal court with mail and securites fraud. Foshay was convicted and sentenced to 15 years at Leavenworth. President Roosevelt pardoned him after three years. One of the jurors for this trial, Mrs. Genevieve Clark, was prosecuted for perjury and convicted. She had perjured herself in defense of her former boss. The day before she was to have begun her prison term, she, her husband and her two children were found dead in the family car out at Pryor Lake. They hacked a hole through the side of the car and had run in a rubber hose from the exhaust pipe.


The observation deck is still open to the public, on the 30th floor, now dwarfed by skyscrapers, but I can imagine what it was like when the Foshay was the highest building on the horizon. Look down into history - there are many stories to be told poking around in the life of Wilbur Foshay, the history of the legal system, farmers driven off their land, the Gateway district, the Great Depression, and the Floyd B. Olson movement of the '30's. Olson was a progressive echoing the same sentiments we are dealing with now. Look up the 1934 workers strikes; there was bloodshed and the calling of the National Guard. Olson received the 1934 Senate endorsement, but died a few months later. A hero mourned by 200,000 Minnesotans.



Remember the history, those of you building empires. The Foshay may be around longer than you will.





(photos by Jules)

snowplow the photo

Thanks Gina, for the snowplow photo....from the MN weather site. Also brings good memories of Dad plowing out the Taystee Bakery where he used to work, those late nights and early mornings.....of course I was just hoping for a snow day at school.

snowplow

When I saw the new X-Files movie, "I Want to Believe" it sent me into a flashback, personally and with the show. I hadn't watched anything since the TV series and it was a joy to be back in Scully and Mulder's world again. I saw the 1998 movie also. When the X-Files went off the air in the '90's that was when I stopped watching television. At least any type of tv series that involved weekly commitment. I was disenchanted after that. Now, here I was in the theater with my boyfriend, thinking about where I was the last time I saw an X-Files episode live tv broadcast, or the movie. Back then, I was alone. I was married, but living in my own world mostly and my ex-husband never got into the X-Files like I did. Now, my boyfriend and I had a connection, we could pick up instantly on everything that was going on, even though we didn't know each other when the originals were out. This was the moment.

And the snow. 90 degrees outside and I'm content watching the blizzard. The snowplow did it. My ex-husband (gearhead that he is) had an old beater Bronco that had a plow on it. It was red. I had to drive it to work once when my car wasn't running and that was quite a trip taking it on I-94 when I used to live in the 'burbs of St. Paul. No one tailgated me then, they stayed out of my way.

I haven't seen the new Batman movie yet, but I will stay with my X-Files. I don't need the big chases and explosions. The subtle remembering works for me. Things in the world are different than they were those many years ago that seem like yesterday in a way. The film has humor in references to the 'real' world - the theme song playing with a photo of W - Mulder's cell phone pulling up names of the movie directors - but through it all I really do 'want to believe.' I want to get back what is missing from the world. The world is now that future that I thought would never happen in my lifetime. Sigh. Now if I could only find a picture of a snowplow to post.

Trees

Time with trees is best. This pine is in "The Lost Forty," an area of the Chippewa National Forest in northern Minnesota and is over 200 feet high and 300-400 years old.

In 1882 Josiah A. King and his survey crew traveled 40 miles from Grand Rapids, a settlement town at that time, and mis-surveyed a six square mile area. His mistake is our benefit.

The Lost Forty is 144 acres that have never been logged.

When I spend time with trees I am in the present moment. The forest has much to teach me. The unconsciousness takes over, and I notice things I never did before, like mushrooms, moss, pine cones (male and female). I learn things from curiosity, and let the forest teach me all I need to know.

The tree on the below was in a fire. You can tell which way the fire was heading by the v-shaped groove; the flames curled around this way towards the dark opening, so the fire was heading from the opposite direction.

The tree to the right is in the woods by the Forest History Center. My boyfriend and I spent the day there reliving 1900 and the logging camps. We had some great thoughts between us and I did the viewing, he did the writing. He wrote it all down perfectly in poems. Those words are only there once and he captured them. My brain didn't have words anymore, it just had the moment.

Later, going to town (Bemidji) words looked like this ......

Stranger in my own country

Remember Rick's Market? I found these pics I took back, when, around 2004, 2005? The friendly neighborhood grocery store when I used to live in Northeast. Lots of memories in that place, including the time I broke my ankle and my friend Amy helped me grocery shop. It wasn't trendy but it was friendly. I knew I had to take photos before it was torn down for the Lunds and Cobalt Blue condos. That brick building used to be a school. It was hard to imagine at that time what the new space would look like. The bar next door to Rick's moved across the street and the bar across the street changed names, used to be the Union. I wrote a poem at that bar - I'll include it below. Thanks also to 5 am, where this poem appeared summer 2005.

At the Union

At the Union Grill & Bar,

the beers are flowing at 11 am.

CNN replays trails of white plumage

across the Texas sky.

Seven astronauts perished this same week

17 years ago.

What was I doing then?

Same as the country,

not paying attention.

Then the explosions came,

nameless faces

all too real after a short encounter

and my gut rumbled

every time I saw their image.

As a little girl, I thought someday I'd get to outer space.

Figured out how old I'd be in

the year 2000.

Back at the Union it's almost noon.

Gravity keeps me hostage

to another beer,

another blind date

with a stranger in my own country.

Where is this eagle? At the Minneapolis Convention Center park. This is an original artifact from the 1927 auditorium - there were originally four posts which had inscriptions relating to citizenship that were located on the four corners of the auditorium. Two of the eagles currently reside at the park entrance from 2nd Avenue and the other two are across the street from the Convention Center entrance. There is a small sign that explains the history near this statue. It had me thinking as to the year the convention center was built - that would be 1991. I didn't get to Minneapolis much growing up, as I lived in St. Paul so I don't remember the auditorium. I do remember the St. Paul Civic Center and some of the events there in the adjoining auditorium.

round and red and ripe

It must be summer. I have my first ripe tomato! Okay, this is a big deal since it's the first one on my balcony for my new place. Figure in the plant (purchased from the farmer's market downtown), soil, pot and lots and lots of daily watering. That small tomato will be well worth it on the next salad. Sigh....




Here is a poem called MAY that I have on a postcard



This will be the season
in which time stretches before us
like the recesses of space itself,
the season in which leasure
swells like a slow tomato,
until it's round and red and ripe.

--from Verlyn Klinkenborg's "The Rural Life"

A rural girl at heart living in the city, that's me.

What are the other signs of summer?

Should I mention the gin and tonics at twilight with my "intimate other"? (I found that term in a textbook - like it) Azure sky, full moon, planet Mars - the moon moved from one side of the church steeple to the other in the space of a couple hours as we sat on my balcony.

Reading "Russian Mythology" outside. Reading anything outside.

Playing hooky from work. Dang, have to go in shortly. Planning the next vacation.....

It's not the MN Orchestra...

More on that remark later.

The July 4th weekend - or Independence Day - is when everyone is out of town. Those of us who prefer to stay in the city are left with peace and quiet and few offerings of things to do with whoever is left. The man I'm in a relationship with left the city as well, unexpectedly, so I had a bit of a writing retreat, which turned out to be mostly getting organized. Independence Day is not exactly my favorite holiday and I would prefer those in charge just change it to a weekend every year and give us all a long one and leave it at that. When I did venture out I went up to my apartment roof on the 35th floor and watched the fireworks with strangers. A bit surreal - at least a dozen, maybe even twenty or so clusters of color and pops sounding off on the horizon above the Minneapolis city lights. One by one they had their grand finales as the smoke hung low.



On the 5th Lynette mentioned that she was asked to play violin

as part of the 331 Club's "Le Cirque Rouge Cabaret & Burlesque" (there she is in the photo at right). No, it's not the Minnesota Orchestra, but a campy, vaudville-like act with a hostess in a Marilyn Monroe accent and a safety pinned dress and several ladies of the evening flashing their body parts at the audience to the jazzy music. The guy in a tux onstage perfomed his 'innocent' act as he gathered the tossed articles of clothing from the stage. I came a bit early to get a seat at the bar so I wouldn't have to stand and met a nice woman who works at the Swedish Institute.



Sunday was uneventful. Hanging out with my kitty, just the two of us. Here she is enjoying her perch on the table on the balcony.

Summer at the MIA

Shadows and light mix at the Minneapolis Institute of Art's garden area where I spent a Sunday morning.

Marquette Avenue

An apartment window 'display' on my walk to work - Marilyn Monroe, Spider Man giving the finger, Garfield, a Jesse Ventura doll. I love how this person is making their statement to the world, as it all fades in the sun from winter to summer.

Below......doors on Marquette Avenue...............