Frozen Travels

This past Thursday a friend mentioned something to me about a film festival taking place in Winona this weekend. It doesn’t take much for me to heed the call of the open road, and after doing a little research I decided to go. I’ve taken a handful of road trips since the summer though it’s been a while since I went alone.

I had offered to drop off a friend at the airport (very) early Saturday morning and after doing so headed for Highway 61, the air temperature a bone-chilling minus 5 Fahrenheit (minus 20 Celsius). As dawn broke I drove past frozen fields, the sun’s early light giving them an appearance like polished marble. The land, locked in a frozen winter embrace, is asleep, but still breathes its magic.

I love to start Saturday mornings listening to Blue Grass Saturday Morning and today was no exception. One song mentioned being up before the rooster crows. I’m sure I was though I didn’t hear him in South Minneapolis.

My first stop was Redwing where I found a restaurant, Liberty’s, just opening its doors. It was the sort of locally-owned, rooted-in-the-community type of place I love. Coming into town I had spotted a YMCA and anyone who knows me well won’t be surprised to read that after breakfast I decided to go there and work out. On the treadmill, with a view of the Mississippi in the distance, I got talking to my neighbor, Rocky. We chatted for a while and she suggested I visit a place in Wabasha to watch the eagles, and a coffee shop in Winona. Good things to know.

A little further along 61 I drove past Hok-Si-La where five months ago I camped, and then past Lake Pepin, now frozen solid, where on that same trip I sailed at night on a yacht, on one of my most memorable nights of 2009.

Then onto Wabasha and, at Rocky’s suggestion, the National Eagle Center. Looking through binoculars I watched a handful of eagles perched in a tree on the Wisconsin side of the river. Suddenly one of them left his perch, swooped, circled and danced low over the river, and then -- soaring higher on the lifting wind -- returned to the tree. I wish I could fly like an eagle: Drifting. Circling. Dipping. Freedom.

Next stop: Winona. I arrived at the college campus where the Frozen River Film Festival had attracted hundreds of people. I saw two films: the first, Surfing 50 States, a film about two Australian friends who, armed with their surfboards and a beat up ice cream van for transportation, attempt to surf in all 50 US states; the second, Kashmir, a short documentary on that region and its people as seen through the eyes of a visiting American traveler. Time didn’t allow but I had wanted to see a documentary about an overweight 55 year old Slovene who attempts to swim the length of the Amazon while consuming two bottles of red wine a day even when swimming. Insane. But what a character!

After visiting the Acoustic Café (the coffee shop suggestion) I headed back to the cities. I arrived in Minneapolis close to midnight, my senses nourished by the change of scenery. It had been a full day but seeing something new is always good for my soul.

A Manner of Speaking

Since moving from England to the United States in the 1990s, I still get a kick from some of the questions and verbal exchanges my accent (British) elicits. Here are some of the best -- or, depending on your point of view, the worst -- encounters that have endeared themselves to me.

Traveling is always guaranteed to produce some good exchanges. One time I stopped for something to eat in rural Iowa. Hearing me order, a trucker walked up and asked me, “You from Canada or something?“ Most definitely something, I thought.

In a Kansas City coffee shop I got talking to a couple of teenage girls and, after a while, decided to introduce myself by shaking hands whereupon one of them took my hand and, bending her knees and slightly bowing her head, curtsied. I was highly amused and told her, “There is no need to curtsey to me!” Perhaps she thought that was the expected etiquette when meeting a Brit.

Bar Talk - In Minneapolis I spoke with a man in a bar who, after learning I was half English and half Welsh, said, “But Wales is just a part of England, right?” Trying to explain the difference, while carefully throwing in the few words of welsh I knew for good measure, he accused me of trying to hoodwink him. Hilarious.

And how could I forget the drunk in a Detroit bar who refused to believe I was not faking my accent. He asked that I show him my “currency” as proof of where I was from. Except he wasn’t quite that polite. Twisted, eh.

The holidays - “Do you guys have Christmas in England?” someone once asked. “Used to. We all recently converted to Islam,” I quipped. Needless to say, I wasn’t too surprised when my explanation was accepted at face value.

Some exchanges just stretch belief. Case in point: I once parked in a downtown Minneapolis parking lot when the attendant, to whom I paid the parking fee, said, “You speak English very well. Where do you come from?"
“England,“ I replied.
A confused look, and then, “So they teach you the language there, huh?”
Apparently, they’ve been teaching it there for some time. I smiled, wound up the window, and drove off.

Perhaps the most bizarre exchange of all took place in a Jacksonvile, Florida, supermarket during a break from a road trip between Miami and Atlanta. Ordering a sandwich at the deli counter, I became conscious of a man nearby staring at me. A look back a few seconds later and his eyes were still fixed on me. After collecting my sandwich I headed toward the checkout only to notice the same man heading my way. By this point I was a little apprehensive so decided to turn into the adjacent isle, stop and pretend to look at something on the shelf, and hope that he’d walk past. But he didn’t. Instead, he stopped inches away, and in an elongated Southern drawl, said, “Excuse me sir, can I say something to you?”
My heart began to pound a little faster as I imagined what he might want. “Sure, say whatever you like,” I replied.
“Cheers, mate!” he boomed, adding, “I’ve always wanted to say that to an Englishman.”
And then he was gone. Just like that.

Being (mis)understood can also present its challenges. At a state park this past summer, having just been on a hike, I asked someone to take a photo of me and my new friend.
“Take one a little closer,” I requested.
“Take our clothes off?” my friend said, a look of complete surprise on her face.
Oh sure, but I hardly know you.

And then there are the really fun encounters. Not long ago, in a Brueggers Bagel shop, I asked, “Can I have a little more cream cheese on that bagel?”
“Honey, with an accent like that you can have as much cream cheese as you like,” replied the woman, smiling.

These are, of course, some of the more memorable (and extreme) encounters. For the most part having the accent I do can be a fun thing and, more often than not, a non-event.

Waiting for Change

Limbs laid bare
like frozen fingers
suspended in time

Huddled together
yearning to move
waiting for change

Spring’s warm breeze
awaken buried desires
as shadows recede

August Travels

I love to experience new things, meet new people, and see new places. August has been a wonderful month for all of these, both in the U.S. and abroad. I often find the need to fight the status quo and guard against complacency, so new experiences are food for my soul.

The month began when my friend Krisanne invited me to go sailing and camping. Leaving Minneapolis early Thursday evening I joked that she had packed enough equipment to keep us going for a month, though she did think of everything we might need!

After an hour's drive we arrived at Hok-Si-La campsite a mile north of Lake City and quickly put up our tent as dusk fell. We had a wonderful location with a view across Lake Pepin to Wisconsin. Shortly afterwards we met her friends Katie and Rick at the marina and boarded the yacht. When about a mile from shore Rick cut the engine and we just drifted, the sounds of Abba (Rick‘s choice) emanating from the cabin.

The evening was perfect. There was the slightest of breezes, the moon periodically emerging from behind the clouds, casting a shimmering reflection on the water. Our two hours on Pepin were wonderful. We laughed, told stories, and drank beer. Most surprisingly, we didn‘t see another boat during the entire time - just the moon, the stars, and the lights of Lake City in the distance.

Around midnight Krisanne and I headed back to Hok-Si-La where we built a fire and sat up until 3 am chatting. We also paid a visit to our nearest neighbors, whose voices we could hear in the distance through the trees. Here was tranquility and calm, an escape from the city with just the wind, the rustling of leaves, and the sounds of the night to keep us company. Rick and Katie stayed on the boat.

We woke up to the gentle beating of raindrops on the tent but soon went back to sleep. When we woke up again the rain was falling so hard that we couldn’t see across Pepin. And our tent had started to leak. The rain showed no signs of letting up so we decided to pack up, getting very wet in the process. But what fun! On the way home we stopped for lunch at the St. James Hotel in Redwing and were reunited with Rick and Katie. Krisanne is a great traveling companion.

My next trip was a lot longer, both in time and in distance. In my quest to see all 50 states I try to see at least one new state each year. Because I have been everywhere within a day’s drive of the Twin Cities, and also because I loved Kansas City so much when I visited in 2007, I decided to venture back there, stay a couple of nights, and take a separate trip to northeastern Oklahoma.

Leaving Minneapolis early on Friday morning I headed south on I-35, past endless fields of corn and giant clouds that drifted lazily across the sky. The clouds in the midwest seem bigger than on the coasts or in England. There is something calming that the solitude of an open road offers -- a different kind of solitude to being in the woods, but a solitude nonetheless.

The flat fields of Iowa gradually gave way to Missouri’s gentle rolling hills and after eight hours on the road I arrived in KC. That evening I visited a wonderful coffee shop (with live music) in Westport, site of a famous Civil War battle. I also spent some time in the Nelson-Atkins Art Museum.

At breakfast the following morning I sat studying my road atlas when a woman covered in sweat and dressed in running gear approached me and asked, “Where are you going?” We chatted like old friends and she suggested I also go to Arkansas, adding, “…but you’ll need to haul ass!“ She then invited me to join her and a friend in the evening. I accepted the invitation, which turned out to be tremendous fun.

The day was interesting though I would think twice before spending so long in the car again. In Arkansas I went to Bentonville, a charming town in the Ozarks. It is also home to Wal-Mart though I didn’t know that when I arrived. Sometimes when traveling my accent can elicit interesting responses, especially in small towns. Ordering coffee in a café I was told “there’s a girl who comes in here who does a great impersonation of your language.” I smiled. Bentonville was charming.

I then headed to Miami, Oklahoma, where a corvette rally was taking place. The town had seen better days, but the sight of 100-plus corvettes lined up on Main Street before heading onto Route 66 later that day made me glad I came. Having been to Arkansas and Oklahoma I've now been to 32 states - I wonder where will be next?

The journey back to Minneapolis was long though I did strike it lucky in a casino close to the Iowa-Minnesota border. I am no fan of casinos and don’t know why I went in though my 10 minutes there saw me part with $5 and walk out with $80.

Last week, on my way to visit my dad in England, I decided to stop in Iceland. When I arrived it was cold and grey and most people were dressed in wooly hats, gloves, and big coats. I wasn’t prepared for that. In a coffee shop early in the morning a woman asked if the seat next to me was free. Recognizing each other from the plane, we chatted and arranged to meet for coffee that evening.

During the day I explored Reykjavik and met my new friend later on. Walking around the city we stopped and stared at the sight of 30 Danish men wearing suits who were singing on the pavement outside a Danish pub. We couldn‘t decide what the occasion might be but it was wonderful to stand there and listen. Later on we listened to Celtic music, performed by Icelanders. The night was great fun. I also loved the slogan on her business card, “Adventure Seeker”.

In contrast to the timeless tranquility of my dad’s village and Arlington Row, in particular, I spent yesterday, Sunday, in London. I dearly love Minneapolis but London will always burn brightly in my heart. I went somewhere touristy (but fun), Speakers’ Corner; visited a couple of old haunts, Covent Garden and Camden Market; and experienced something new, the Notting Hill Carnival, which I have always wanted to see.

Perhaps Samuel Johnson, writing in the 18th century, knew a thing or two when he wrote, “...when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.”

I don’t think I have ever traveled so much in one month. I write this from the rural charm of a hotel beside Rutland Water in England’s smallest county, Rutland, on the last day of the month (a short break with my dad). In a couple of hours my aunt and uncle are coming to dinner. What a great way to end the month.

Hair

I love to run my fingers
through the long strands
of your hair; blonde mixed with red,
like strawberries and cream.

Sometimes you wear it straight,
sometimes braided, sometimes in a bun.
Pink ends, pig tails, and untamed curls;
or dark brown like cascading chocolate waves.

Among a harem of maidens fair
I just want to wallow in your hair.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

Since I was old enough to remember I have been a Tottenham Hotspur (Spurs) fan. In recent seasons it has become the norm for clubs to redesign their playing kits each year. Last week the Spurs website showcased the club's (three) new designs for the 09/10 season.

Yes, the home shirt is still (largely) white, the shorts still (mostly) navy, and the socks (for the most part) white. Some years I like our kit; other years I don’t. But there is more to it than that. As for the latest offerings, I’ll let you judge for yourselves.

The home shirt sports a mustard-colored V that crosses over each shoulder. Hideous. They ruin what would otherwise be a decent shirt. In any case, yellow on white is not a good color combination. What were the designers thinking? Perhaps the club knows something we don’t, and the yellow stripes will make the players run faster and play better. Call it restyling. Call it exploitation. Call it what you will. I call it ugly.

Then there’s the second and third kits, where the colors change each year. Consider: Last season’s second kit was sky blue, now it's navy; the third kit was black, now yellow. Tradition in an age of global branding means nothing. Even as a Spurs fan I thought the absence of white caps on Arsenal’s sleeves last season was in poor taste; instead, they got stuck with a white stripe.

Changing kits each season lessens its appeal as an event. Perhaps after two or three years fans would want a change. A longer span defines an era. But the prospect of money to be made --combined with fans’ desire to wear the latest kit--will ensure this will continue - even though most people think it obscene.

Criticize Spurs' new kit though I might, there is worse--Bolton’s, for example. On the positive side, at least the yellow stripes will be gone next year, and as long as the players don’t emerge from the tunnel wearing red, my love for Spurs will march on.

But whatever the kit looks like, I know we’ll finish in the top four come May. Of course we will. Just try convincing a Spurs fan otherwise.

Leadership Twin Cities

Earlier this month I completed my Leadership Twin Cities class. The program's goal is to make us aware of important issues in our community, to motivate us, and to get us as leaders to use what skills and resources we have to make a positive impact. It certainly had a positive impact on me.

I first heard about LTC through a colleague at work who had been a participant the previous year. After a little research I was keen to be involved. It seemed a good fit with my role as co-chair of a committee at work that grants funds to fund local nonprofits and my involvement with Little Brothers. But really, I wanted to challenge myself with issues I was not familiar—or not nearly familiar enough--with. I also wanted to take my leadership further.

The class began in September at a wooded retreat 45 miles north of the Twin Cities. In addition to learning more about the following nine months, it was a chance for the class (around 50 people) to get to know each other. I recall the fun we had talking and drinking beer around the bonfire at night. In fact, there were many memorable moments. Here‘s a few that stand out:

As late summer drifted into fall we went on a bus tour for Metropolitan Issues Day. I saw the beauty of the cities. I also saw how maintaining that beauty comes at a cost. A community needs a good environment in which to thrive.

At Economic Development Day at the Midtown Global Market we heard a sober economic outlook from the state economist. He was, of course, being honest but his message got us all down! But this was short-lived and our mood was soon lifted when we met some of the Global Market entrepreneurs whose food we later enjoyed for lunch.

In December at Politics and Media Day we took part in a mock council meeting in the council chamber. That was a lot of fun, a great exercise in democracy, but also in improvisation.

As we moved into winter we gathered on a bitterly cold day for Arts and Culture Day at the Open Book. I saw the value of business helping to fund the arts.

Then came warmer weather, the promise of spring, and with it Community Safety Day. Our call-to-action items for this day were especially interesting. The tour of Hennepin County jail was eye-opening and made me realize the importance of funding preventative programs; my police ride-along was something I’ll never forget. If those six hours in a squad car could represent a microcosm of our community then I saw things that work, things that don’t work, people that need help, and people reaching out to help. In short, I saw a community - a living, breathing, functioning community. Like a circle, I saw how many parts are needed to make it whole.

The image of a classmate being tasered by a policeman was remarkable. I'm still amazed that he volunteered for that. Hearing a husband and wife recount their time in jail after being convicted of million dollar mail fraud was compelling and will stick with me as a moral tale long into the future.

The co-chairs’ requirement that we sing to the class should our cell phones ring made me paranoid. But to everyone’s benefit my careful vigilance saved them from that prospect; I only hope that the incoming co-chairs don’t consider tasering as a new punishment for ringing cell phones.

Nine months ago I didn’t know much about how a community affects business or how business affects a community. I now see that they affect each other a great deal: the two are intertwined. I had taken so much--be it transportation or safe streets--for granted. LTC has changed how I see things; my ongoing challenge will be to decide how to put this knowledge to good use.

At our last meeting at Medtronic World Headquarters for Vision Day I was honored to be asked to speak at the graduation ceremony. As I stood on stage I asked why our class was important. In front of me I saw open-minded, intelligent, forward-looking people who want to make a difference. It struck me that LTC can be summed up in three simple steps. We had all completed the first: be aware of the issues; the second: decide to get involved with a nonprofit or similar organization; the third: choose to act.

LTC was a wonderful experience. I made some great friends and would recommend it to anyone. I am excited to take what I have learned out into the world. Leadership is many things, but trying to make a difference--while learning along the way--is not a bad path to be on.