Apres le deluge...more deluge
Having worked until 10:30 Friday night, a tired and baffled Stanley got up at 7:00 Saturday morning to accompany leorathesane to the outskirts of Tower, about 3 1/2 hours north of the Twin Cities. It's near Virginia, where Ms. The Sane was born. It's also near Eveleth, but no amount of wistful gazing on my part would convince Leora to make the detour to the United States Hockey Hall of Fame. Nor would she take me to the world's largest hockey stick. She was on a mission.
Leora's grandmother is selling the cabin and land that's been in the family for (as Lukas puts it) some crazy number of years. She told the family that if they want anything from the cabin, come get it now, before she chucks it. So, up we went. But it wasn't about the stuff. Leora spent a good part of every summer of her childhood on that land, and she wasn't about to let it leave her family without saying good-bye. We bought cheese croissants from Panera; Leora drove; and I managed not to fall asleep in the passenger seat.
It was cold in Tower. 40 degrees and intermittently snowy. There's no electricity in the cabin, and the gas has been turned off for years, which meant that it was colder inside than out. It's a nice place - very rustic. Which most people know is not my thing, but after a 50-hour work week and my constant battle with the Suburban Roadwork that Never Ends, I saw the appeal. When the weather got a little warmer.
We didn't take much stuff (there wasn't much to take). Little things - a matchbox holder; a funky wrought-iron thing of uncertain origin and function; a dipper (I don't know why, but we both wanted it desperately). And a table. A gorgeous little table with legs that look like birch logs ('cause they are). We don't know where we'll put it, but it wasn't the sort of table we could walk away from.
In the midst of the table-loading, I met Leora's aunt when she pulled into the driveway and got stuck in it. Watching a rusted-out minivan pull a brand new Jeep out of the dirt with, essentially, a giant rubber band is really cool. After the Jeep was on its way and the table wrangled into the van, it was time to head to the aunt and uncle's for dinner. I wasn't the calmest of people at this point. My track record's been pretty good with Leora's relatives so far, but I've been limited to immediate family - who are obligated to love her no matter what. I've met her dad's brother, but that doesn't count, since we were at a Dead Influence gig, which is hardly conducive to conversation. This was extended family - aunts and uncles and cousins. And maybe we're completely unique in this, but in my family, these relatives have first right of judgment-passing.
Never in my life have I been so acutely aware of being a city person. I love Nature; I enjoy being in it, even for extended periods of time. But the country is not my natural habitat. I blame those 40 years in the desert; we haven't had much use for wilderness since then. Leora's aunt and uncle live on 40 acres and have 3 horses, a duck, and innumerable chickens. My shoes were impractical; I didn't have gloves; and I'm not the most graceful or coordinated person you'll ever meet. Being shown around by Leora's cousin, who's 13, resourceful, and limber (damn the young) did nothing for my self-esteem. I felt like the "bad match" in a cheesy Disney family comedy, and that at any minute I was going to find a frog in my pocket, in full view of the laughing relatives and the charming and ever-so capable local boy they considered the "good match." Not that Leora's relatives did or said anything or acted in any way that indicated this; they were wonderful to me. I just felt that way because I'm paranoid and overdramatic.
After a lovely dinner, a chance to meet the other cousins, and some creative modification of our new table, Leora and I were driving home again. Leora had had her chance to see her relatives, say good-bye to the cabin, and take a ton of pictures. I'd had a chance to see a part of her childhood. We had a table. And all wholly-imagined efforts to Disnify my life had failed. That made it a great day, in my book. If you ignore the snow.
Leora's grandmother is selling the cabin and land that's been in the family for (as Lukas puts it) some crazy number of years. She told the family that if they want anything from the cabin, come get it now, before she chucks it. So, up we went. But it wasn't about the stuff. Leora spent a good part of every summer of her childhood on that land, and she wasn't about to let it leave her family without saying good-bye. We bought cheese croissants from Panera; Leora drove; and I managed not to fall asleep in the passenger seat.
It was cold in Tower. 40 degrees and intermittently snowy. There's no electricity in the cabin, and the gas has been turned off for years, which meant that it was colder inside than out. It's a nice place - very rustic. Which most people know is not my thing, but after a 50-hour work week and my constant battle with the Suburban Roadwork that Never Ends, I saw the appeal. When the weather got a little warmer.
We didn't take much stuff (there wasn't much to take). Little things - a matchbox holder; a funky wrought-iron thing of uncertain origin and function; a dipper (I don't know why, but we both wanted it desperately). And a table. A gorgeous little table with legs that look like birch logs ('cause they are). We don't know where we'll put it, but it wasn't the sort of table we could walk away from.
In the midst of the table-loading, I met Leora's aunt when she pulled into the driveway and got stuck in it. Watching a rusted-out minivan pull a brand new Jeep out of the dirt with, essentially, a giant rubber band is really cool. After the Jeep was on its way and the table wrangled into the van, it was time to head to the aunt and uncle's for dinner. I wasn't the calmest of people at this point. My track record's been pretty good with Leora's relatives so far, but I've been limited to immediate family - who are obligated to love her no matter what. I've met her dad's brother, but that doesn't count, since we were at a Dead Influence gig, which is hardly conducive to conversation. This was extended family - aunts and uncles and cousins. And maybe we're completely unique in this, but in my family, these relatives have first right of judgment-passing.
Never in my life have I been so acutely aware of being a city person. I love Nature; I enjoy being in it, even for extended periods of time. But the country is not my natural habitat. I blame those 40 years in the desert; we haven't had much use for wilderness since then. Leora's aunt and uncle live on 40 acres and have 3 horses, a duck, and innumerable chickens. My shoes were impractical; I didn't have gloves; and I'm not the most graceful or coordinated person you'll ever meet. Being shown around by Leora's cousin, who's 13, resourceful, and limber (damn the young) did nothing for my self-esteem. I felt like the "bad match" in a cheesy Disney family comedy, and that at any minute I was going to find a frog in my pocket, in full view of the laughing relatives and the charming and ever-so capable local boy they considered the "good match." Not that Leora's relatives did or said anything or acted in any way that indicated this; they were wonderful to me. I just felt that way because I'm paranoid and overdramatic.
After a lovely dinner, a chance to meet the other cousins, and some creative modification of our new table, Leora and I were driving home again. Leora had had her chance to see her relatives, say good-bye to the cabin, and take a ton of pictures. I'd had a chance to see a part of her childhood. We had a table. And all wholly-imagined efforts to Disnify my life had failed. That made it a great day, in my book. If you ignore the snow.