Road Trip: The Middle of Minnesota

This story involves work colleagues, airplanes, a white Cadillac, 1980s music, and a wide-open Minnesota highway. You know, another typical road story. Most names have been withheld out of courtesy.

I do not travel much for my work. There are and have been times though when I have had to travel. Most often this is by car to some central location for a meeting, or on occasion, for some extended event. A few times the traveling took me out of state to other places.

One such trip was to Duluth, Minnesota. A colleague and I left Chattanooga on a Sunday morning. We flew to Memphis. From Memphis, we flew to Minneapolis. In Minneapolis, we were slated to fly to Duluth. This is where the road trip came into play.

Our journey had been uneventful enough by the time we landed in Minneapolis. We had a layover, so we had to wait for a time. While we were waiting we noticed we knew some other people who would be boarding the plane to Duluth with us. These were folks who worked in other locations across Tennessee but performed work duties similar to what me and my colleague did where they lived. We knew them from meetings and phone calls over the previous couple of years. This was a good thing as we understood while we were all staying a few days in Minnesota we already knew some people who would also be there.

Then the first delay came. A thunderstorm blew through. I remember looking out a large plate glass window into the horizon while dark clouds descended, and lightning shot to the ground. Flights were grounded. We began to grow antsy wanting to get to our destination. Finally, the storm relented and we knew then it was only a matter of time before we would soon be on our way. After all, they let us board the plane. Except, we then waited and waited…and waited. We were then told that after the storm passed, the plane was inspected again before it could be cleared for takeoff. In this inspection, the plane was discovered to have a flat tire. Then it became worse.

We were then told our flight would not be taking off at all. It was late Sunday afternoon. The Duluth airport, although an international airport, had closed for the day. We missed our window to land there. The company who was hosting our meetings scrambled before agreeing to charter busses from Minneapolis to Duluth.

And this is the point where a plan for a road trip through Minnesota began to come together. One of our colleagues from Memphis located me and my Chattanooga colleague then spotted two others from Nashville. Our Memphis friend asked us if we would be willing to ride to Duluth if she rented a car big enough for all of us. The thoughts of a multi-hour ride on a bus were suddenly dashed with the hopes of us getting to our destination on our own terms. We all agreed. Our Memphis friend told us to grab our luggage then to meet her at a certain spot. She would rent a car then meet us there. Fearing others might have the same idea, our Memphis colleague, who only brought a carry-on bag, took off to where the rental car companies were located while we waited for our luggage to appear.

In time, the four of us retrieved our bags. We then made our way to meet our Memphis friend hoping and praying she was able to locate a large enough car for the five of us. As we walked to our meeting place, three of us noticed that one of our Nashville colleagues was busy talking to a college age woman who was following each step we all made. These two had apparently talked on the plane then continued their conversation through all the chaos that followed. Then, just as if it were planned for a movie, as soon as we arrived at our meeting place, our Memphis colleague came barreling around a corner in a big, white Cadillac. She popped open the trunk while we began shoving our luggage into the trunk of the car.

Our Nashville colleague noted that the young lady she was talking to was from Duluth. Her name was Jenny. She had attended a political rally in Washington, DC that weekend and was now trying to get home. She had made no plans how to get there if something happened to the plane or if the airport you need to get to has to close so everybody can go home. You know, like any of that would ever happen.

The five of us, not a one of us under forty years of age, looked at each other. We then asked Jenny if she needed a ride to Duluth. Of course, she did. We then somehow crammed her luggage into the Cadillac. I think one of us may have even jumped into the air to do a butt bounce on the trunk lid to make it close before we roared off into the evening.

We ripped out of Minneapolis headed north. I always like to know the route we are going but on this trip I did not care. Our Memphis friend, one Nashville friend and Jenny took the front seat while my Chattanooga colleague and the other Nashville colleague took the backseat. I was just glad to be moving in any direction and could only hope it was the right one.

The rainy weather cleared soon enough. I do remember the skies clearing enough so that we all enjoyed a nice sunset on the ride. We stopped to grab a sandwich and take a bathroom break along the way. Soon enough, we were back on the road again.

This trip consisted of a good deal of shop talk among the five of us who shared similar career paths. We talked about the upcoming week and plans we had when we returned to our home offices. No doubt Jenny was bewildered by our conversation lost in the language of work-speak.

Our front seat Nashville friend made an effort to find a radio station that played 1980s music. After all, five of us had lived through that decade and appreciated the music from then. As we listened to tune after tune of old familiar songs, we laughed along, sang along and shared memories of some of the songs we heard. I am not sure poor Jenny had heard any of the songs we knew so well.

We soon were in Duluth. We discovered some of us were in one hotel and the rest of us were in another hotel. And then there was Jenny. While our Memphis colleague left some of us at our hotel, she had to ask Jenny where she needed to go. It almost seemed like she did not want to go to her home. It was almost like she wanted to keep hanging out with us, you know the cool older people who knew every 1980s song ever heard and spoke in technical terms about the work they did. Maybe this one road trip had altered her life course. Those of us who were fortunate enough to find where we were staying learned soon enough that our new friend Jenny made it safely home despite her seeming reluctance to leave a group of strangers she shared two hours with in a long, white Cadillac.

This road trip was over. I though had one last trick up my sleeve. The next day, I took a small piece of paper, wrote on it then put it in my pocket. I then located our Nashville colleague who first befriended Jenny. We talked about the craziness of the trip. We talked about the randomness of meeting a total stranger who had no qualms about getting into a car with folks she did not know. We laughed about how we probably tortured Jenny with our insistence on listening to 1980s music during the entire trip.

Then I mentioned as I was walking into the room, someone handed me a message and asked me to deliver that message to her. I then added I was told it was from our friend, Jenny. It seems Jenny needed our Nashville colleague to call her. This brought a smile to her face. I then handed the paper over to her. She unfolded it then read it aloud, “Jenny, 867-5309.” We then both burst into laughter. The laughs the five of us shared over this road trip through the years still make me smile today.

“You can have Bemidji, and the rusty, dusty range, and Babbit and Aurora all the way to Coleraine, and you can have those cities: Minneapolis and St. Paul, ‘cause to tell you the truth, I like it in Duluth.”
-The Moose Wallow Ramblers

Road Trip: The Middle of Minnesota playlist:
Lenny Kravitz "Fly Away"
Husker Du "Private Plane"
Plain White T's "Airplane"
The Kinks "(Wish I Could Fly Like) Superman"
Prince "Rock n Roll Is Alive (And It's Living in Minneapolis)"
Sonny Curtis "Love Is All Around"
Dwight Yoakam "Long White Cadillac"
Moors & Macumber "Welcome To Duluth"
Trampled By Turtles "Duluth"
The Moose Wallow Ramblers "I Like It In Duluth"
Bob Dylan "Jokerman"
Tommy Tutone "Jenny/867-5309"

13 Observations After 50 Days of Quarantine

On the day this post will appear, I will have been part of the stay-at-home quarantine surrounding the COVID-19 virus right at fifty days. It started for me on Friday, March 13. From December until March, we had a major renovation at our house. This renovation closed off part of our house during this time. To say that we looked forward to the day when the work was over so we could enjoy our house would be an understatement. By Friday, March 13, much of the work was over with only a few small items to be completed. I planned to take that day off from my job so I could get a few things at the house in order.

At work though, we were in a rush to prepare things so that we could work from home in case the virus spread enough to force closing our physical office. By that Friday, I also learned Hannah’s school, fearing the virus, had already determined to close their campus then provide lessons online beginning the following week. So, on the day I intended to do a few things around the house, I found myself setting up my portable work office then prepped a portable school space for Hannah. While my work colleagues had to report to our physical office the following week, I began working from home that weekend.

After picking Hannah up from school on the afternoon of the 13th, I can probably count on both hands the number of times I have left our house. Jennifer’s job requires her to continue to report to her office so, most days, it’s been me and Hannah holding down the fort. I am grateful Hannah’s cousin has been able to help Hannah with some of her school days so far.

Honestly, I am a homebody. I have never had any major desire to do any serious traveling. Knowing I was about to be at home for an undetermined time I just knew things would be all right. Still, a month and a half into this situation, with no exact end in sight, I would like to share a few things I have observed during this unusual time.

 

~Shoes may be necessary for some walks of life but, y’all, I haven’t missed them at all.

~By the time restrictions are eased enough that I return to my work office, I hope my already-dated wardrobe has had a chance to come back in style.

~I never considered a day would come in the good ol’ U.S.A when toilet paper would be so valued.

~Fighting through morning and afternoon traffic is stressful. I don’t miss it but stress is still there. It has been replaced by trying to help Hannah complete a homework assignment for her school in between video conference meetings for work.

~I worked in local television years ago. I know full well how on-camera personalities often wore a nice blouse or suit and tie but underneath the newsdesk wore a ragged pair of tennis shorts. Knowing that during these video conferences I try not to think what others may be wearing below their neckline and hope they don’t consider what I may be wearing. In this situation, I am proud to say I don’t own a pair of tennis shorts.

~I appreciate freedom more. In normal circumstances staying at home all day but not going anywhere would not bother me. Now, staying at home all the time but knowing I should not go anywhere brings home the importance of freedom in everyday life. I hope others feel this way, too, but I have grown very concerned how some seem willing to trade freedom for perceived security.

~This is the best gas mileage I’ve ever gotten from a tank of gas in my whole life. Of course, my old, weak car battery gave out, so any savings from buying gas was gobbled up when I had to purchase a new battery.

~Hannah can be an eating machine. I never thought someone so petite could eat more than me during a day.

~That said, I am convinced more than ever after participating in video conference after video conference how the camera adds at least fifty pounds to my video image. Now, excuse me, the microwave just let me know my pimento cheese and buffalo chicken sandwich is ready.

~I miss seeing family. This includes my wife’s family who lives very close to us. I miss my blood family, too, as they are at a true distance. Just knowing traveling to see them is frowned on makes that absence more pronounced and makes the distance seem greater than what it is.

~I never thought I would ever give such consideration to washing my hands. We have been told to count to twenty with hands under warm, soapy water. Early on, I kept singing that line from the Beatles song "Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey," you know "Hands across the water, heads across the sky..." but I was having to sing it a dozen times just to last twenty seconds. I then moved on to the “Happy Birthday Song” but I grew tired of that since no cake was involved. “Jesus Loves Me” also made the song list. Meantime, I mostly just count while I wash my hands. I have counted to twenty. I have counted backward from twenty. I have counted to five four times. I have counted to ten then counted backward from ten. The last time I washed my hands I counted to forty by twos.

~Many of the things I planned to work on around the house on March 13 remain to be done. It is amazing how being in the same place all the time can sometimes freeze things in place.

~I miss the sweet chaos of how life was before all this came about. I’m glad though I am living through this new chaos with my wife and daughter.

Of course, there are other things I have observed during these past fifty days, much of it very disheartening. This situation is very serious and even though this post has hopefully been lighthearted not a day goes by where I am, in some way, sobered by the harsh realities of this devil sickness. I am dismayed how many now find themselves struggling financially because of sudden job loss. I don’t even want to mention how much of the media and many politicians have behaved and performed through all this. Much of all that has happened can deflate one’s spirit if it is dwelt on too long.

I have also observed how courageous many people are, especially those who brave the front lines in various medical fields. I have seen the ingenuity of good people who have made masks for others so that as many people as possible can protect themselves from this virus. I have seen teachers transform their classrooms into a form of virtual reality then trust parents with an underappreciated task. I have seen others do their jobs knowing they are in danger while also understanding the service they are providing. I have talked to my neighbors more, at a six-foot distance, of course. I have taken a short break from my workday, stepped on our deck, soaked in some sunshine and listened to the birds sing a springtime song.

As I write this, some of the things that have been closed are slowly returning to everyday life. It is still too early though to know when we can truly claim a win over this virus. That just means, tomorrow, God willing, we get up, we take a deep breath then we go about this new routine again as we pray for better days.

Stay well, I want us all to enjoy those better days.

The Hard Work of Writing

"Writing is its own reward."
– Henry Miller

In my junior year of high school, an English teacher encouraged my writing. She seemed to think I had an interesting way of phrasing things and a certain style to putting sentences together. Some of the things I turned in for homework made her smile, a few things made her laugh. Even now I am not totally sure what prompted this teacher to warm to what I had written then. I’ll choose to believe Ms. Buttram, who just passed away a few weeks ago, saw a little potential then provided a little encouragement in order to fuel a passion inside me.

Of course, at 17 I knew it all. I had it figured out, you know how the world and it’s ways just had to bend to what I wanted. So, when pressed about what I planned to do when I was on my own, I would often tell people how I was going to become a writer. My parents were typical parents for our hometown and their generation. They had reached a nice level of accomplishment in their lives by working hard and honestly. They had earned what they had providing well to their family. Between the two of them, there wasn’t a great deal of formal education but they did understand the value of education. They also understood the folly of living off a dream not rooted in reality. Understand, they encouraged me to live out my dreams but they also very realistically tried to inform me how difficult roads could be when they required hard work and perseverance.

 

Meantime, I would read about writing. Write what you know, all the articles said. That, and the obvious, just write. So, I did. I tried. As I did, some of what my parents had talked to me about began to sink in at some level. This was going to be work.

In college though I could prove my ability with my first essay for a veteran English professor. She looked the part, too. A headful of grey hair, harsh-framed glasses and a tough personality was what I found on the first day of class. I just knew though I could win her over with that first essay. Of course, when that essay was returned to me a few days later there was enough red ink on the paper to make me believe she had somehow pricked her finger on the paper then nearly lost her life bleeding all over it. I still had work to do. I began paying attention and started making some progress. By semester’s end, the only red ink Ms. Scott left on the final essay were the words, “Nice work!”

Other opportunities came to learn more about writing. Writing for radio and television had it’s own unique tricks. Writing in a more journalistic approach also brought different skills to bear over time. Time passed. A living had to be made. Sometimes those skills were called upon and they, frankly, to this day, never seem to be too far away. Still, that teenage dream of writing the great novel just never came about.

I don’t feel cheated though. I have put my hand to writing various things over the years. Some see the light of day here. Some will likely be discovered by family after my time on earth has ended. Some are worth keeping to remember then to re-read. Some are worth keeping to remember, re-read and learn how to do better the next time. Mostly, writing today for me is just some way to crystallize my thoughts away from the noise of a world that never quiets for anything or anyone and that feeling is satisfying enough to quell any hunger that longing produced years ago.

When I sat down to write this piece I was struggling some with what to say and with where what I wanted to say needed to go. So, I just started to write. Yes, that is lesson one from that playbook I first read when I was much younger. And, of course, I began writing about what I know, that other first lesson learned from before. And so, I just began to build, one idea then another. Along the way, other lessons that just writing, and writing about what I know, popped up and each time this happens it brings home the hard work that writing can often be and the lessons, hard-earned, learned from doing so. There’s pacing your thoughts. There’s placement of ideas. There is finding just the sweetest spot to place a dash of humor or irony. There’s the whole idea of re-reading just to revise or even rewrite, a concept I long fought against but one I have come to realize is my bestest buddy. There’s also knowing how lengthy what you write should be. Then there's finding just the right way to determine how to wrap all of it together into a neat-enough package to safely be tucked away inside someone’s memory.

After all these years these things I have learned along the way are still enough to stir up some passion about writing. This particular piece marks the 200th published post for this blog. Thank you for taking the time to visit now and then. Thank you also for providing encouragement to someone who likes to work hard at finding ways to say things through the written word.

“We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.”
—Ernest Hemingway