Breezing through the stoplights on Rockford Road Saturday morning, I sighed with relief. At 6 a.m., I was nearly the only car on the road. Little glimmers of sunrise poked through the overcast horizon, and I smiled as every light turned from red to green just for me.
It felt good to know that even those most busy Minnesotans, the Twin Citians, sleep on Saturday morning. Even more so, I loved not having to wrestle with traffic. Only the occasional sleepy goose hampered my commute, sitting in the middle of the lane and staring quizzically at me.
I am working at the National Sports Center, and this weekend was my first soccer tournament. Whizzing around on my green golf cart and wearing my tournament-sponsor gear, I felt pretty cool. It was also nice to be the person with answers for once. "Concessions are just around this stadium, take a right." "For field A3, you're going to want to follow this road around the building and then it should be across the parking lot." "Yep. I can get you more rope and a hammer."
I was only a little disappointed that no one asked me any tough questions, since I've been studying up on the NSC and the amateur sports community in Minnesota. All that wasted knowledge. But, this is only the beginning of summer; there are plenty of tournaments to come. The tough questions, I have no doubt, will find me.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Wayzata Wandering
Driving down from Blaine this afternoon, I marveled at how lucky I felt to be in the moving lanes of traffic and not the stalled ones. My previous work commutes were:
1) walking
2) 45 minutes of country roads hampered only by occasional stray livestock
Fortunately, I seemed to have landed another winner.
Because it was hot today, and my car has no air conditioning, things were lethargic. Coasting into a red light near an elementary school, I noticed a pair of males, one little and one big. Both decked out in red T-shirts with matching baseball caps, the larger one attempted to teach the smaller one to hit a T-ball.
Screwing his body into what looked like a respectable hitting stance, the child swung at the ball and with a sturdy "thwack," knocked over the T. Not showing a smidgen of impatience, the man took the bat and began to make slow, elaborate gestures. The light turned green, and I smiled as I rolled through one more intersection.
After supper, I walked into Wayzata on a mission to add another Minnesota library system to my card (I proudly belong to two already). Mission accomplished, I walked out with a book about the French impressionist artist Renoir and the hope that the other popular novels, which I never get to on time, would be returned soon.
The wind did it's best to make white caps on the lake, and I wandered aimlessly, trying to shake off the "new job" stress I'd been harboring and the little bit of loniless that crept in from somewhere. Lake smell is an effective tonic for that. Marveling at the rich people and their rich lifestyles, I admitted I might do the same if I had money.
Right after crossing the bridge, I saw some kids hanging out in a pack and waiting for something. They must have had a secret signal, for with no warning, they took off down the hill pedaling like little bats out of hell. And the youngest boy was last, his blond hair flopping around his face as he pushed his scooter faster and faster. Not fearing the force of his speed and the proximity of the concrete, his leg swung out behind him, and he hollered with delight. And I admitted I wished I was doing the same.
1) walking
2) 45 minutes of country roads hampered only by occasional stray livestock
Fortunately, I seemed to have landed another winner.
Because it was hot today, and my car has no air conditioning, things were lethargic. Coasting into a red light near an elementary school, I noticed a pair of males, one little and one big. Both decked out in red T-shirts with matching baseball caps, the larger one attempted to teach the smaller one to hit a T-ball.
Screwing his body into what looked like a respectable hitting stance, the child swung at the ball and with a sturdy "thwack," knocked over the T. Not showing a smidgen of impatience, the man took the bat and began to make slow, elaborate gestures. The light turned green, and I smiled as I rolled through one more intersection.
After supper, I walked into Wayzata on a mission to add another Minnesota library system to my card (I proudly belong to two already). Mission accomplished, I walked out with a book about the French impressionist artist Renoir and the hope that the other popular novels, which I never get to on time, would be returned soon.
The wind did it's best to make white caps on the lake, and I wandered aimlessly, trying to shake off the "new job" stress I'd been harboring and the little bit of loniless that crept in from somewhere. Lake smell is an effective tonic for that. Marveling at the rich people and their rich lifestyles, I admitted I might do the same if I had money.
Right after crossing the bridge, I saw some kids hanging out in a pack and waiting for something. They must have had a secret signal, for with no warning, they took off down the hill pedaling like little bats out of hell. And the youngest boy was last, his blond hair flopping around his face as he pushed his scooter faster and faster. Not fearing the force of his speed and the proximity of the concrete, his leg swung out behind him, and he hollered with delight. And I admitted I wished I was doing the same.
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