Getting cultured in the Midwest (Or Various Dairy Products That Will Be Available at the State Fair)

Much cultural enrichment has been had in the last week. The Twin Cities are right there on par with those grand metropoles (plural of metropolis is what?) like Tokyo or Amsterdam, but there are two of them!

H and I and the adopted fam went to the Walker, the Minneapolis art museum, and enjoyed a whole slew of beautiful treasures, like Tre ragazze alla balconata by Michelangelo Pistoletto, pictured below. One of my favorites was a nice little mystery: a series of picture frames filled with only the photos from world newspaper articles from April 20th, 1978 and the name of the newspaper. They all had the same photo of man (Aldo Moro, former Prime Minister of Italy) holding up a newspaper article that asked "Moro assassinato?" Behind him is a (probably red) flag with a white star that says Brigate Rosse, the Red Brigades.

The story behind the image is quite involved, but the piece gave nothing but the relative sizes of this image in newspapers all over the world, and as you glanced at each frame, you began telling yourself the story, trying to fill in the blanks (Is that guy Moro? Is he with or against the Red Brigades? Was there a rumor he had been killed?) But what the piece drew to my attention was the emphasis that gets placed on certain stories in certain countries. In this newspaper it was a tiny blurry photo, and you couldn't see what was written on the banner behind him (kind of like the image I found, ugh). In the next, it was huge, and "assassinato" was shown clearly in the newspaper Moro is holding.

H and I returned to the Walker Sunday to see the sculpture garden. We had stunning weather over the weekend --- as much as I tried, I couldn't stay in my slouchy mood. I loved the arbor especially, and thought of seeding rudbeckia (a.k.a. Black Eyed Susans) with Theo at the Homeless Garden when a little sign reminded me that that's what I was looking at.

The Syringa Tree which we saw Sunday at the Jungle Theater was a one-woman autobiography of childhood in South Africa during apartheid. It was incredible...as soon as the actress came on stage, I remembered she would be alone on stage for the next 90 minutes and resigned myself to a lack of variety. How wrong I was. Her diction and pronunciation, her body language, her disposition morphed suddenly into distinct characters throughout. The main storyteller was the author at seven or eight years old. The actress and the playwright must have studied with great scrutiny the movements and musings of oodles of kidlets to execute the Elizabeth's character as they did. I actually wanted to blubber at the end but had to be satisfied with quietly sniffing and wiping tears in the final 20 minutes.

So because I'm building towards great cultural enrichment, tomorrow begins the Minnesota State Fair, complete with deep fried cheese curds, Princess Kay of the Milky Way butter busts, Garrison Keillor (who I'm going to see September 4th!) and other deeply enriching experiences. But first, Bonnie Raitt and Taj Mahal tomorrow. Culture indeed!

Oh yes, and work is going very well, to let anyone know who's interested. I'm learning about the delicate business of relationship management in the non-profit world with funders, community organizations, allies. And just because it's non-profit, don't make the mistake of thinking it's all rose-colored glasses and kumbaya......oh no. There's intrigue, drama, romance, and...scandal. But not so much in my office. We're pretty much all holding hands and giggling like school children most of the time as we make our pivot charts and plan to take over the world. Until next time, wishing you all sweet dreams of food on a stick.

August 22

I'm trying to make my posts a bit shorter and perhaps more frequent. Here's a first go.

New friends. New ring. Shining sun. Good day.

An Average Weekend with the S Family

I don't really know how to begin describing our weekend with three Mexican shaman women. M and S had given us notice on Friday afternoon that we'd have some guests from Mexico, which wasn't surprising considering S's competency in Spanish and history of organizing in Nicaragua and other parts of Central America (sí, ha estado en El Salvador también). But when we got home, we found out M and S hadn't met these people either. A friend who's into agricultural sustainability had had something to do with a convention on sacred plants in the Mdewakanton Dakota territory....and the short story is that she asked M and S to host some visiting healers, all from different parts of Mexico.

In between massages and discussions of collective consciousness, the highlight of the weekend was a ceremony that these three women held near the confluence of the Minnesota and Mississippi Rivers (have I mentioned I bike over the Mississippi every day?!? I can't get over it! Makes me want to mark twain...) So the ceremony involved burning copal in incense burners, asking permission to do the ceremony to the guardians of the four directions, sounding shells, and singing..."que florezca la paz, que florezca la paz, que florezca...." We repeated that line over and over again, each time changing what we hoped would flourish: las tradiciones, la amistad, el amor, even las ciencias (science). Prudently, the river patrol didn't intervene because clearly it was a sacred moment and that would have been SO not politically correct. It was very beautiful, and ALL in Spanish. It was a whole weekend of Spanish! And my Spanish crawled out from the dusty spot on my mental desk where I had pushed it aside and put on a good show.

The first night they arrived, there was a fourth healer, Lalo. He had to leave early the next morning so he said, "We didn't give everything away at our convention...if anyone needs any healing, you can tell us and we are here for you." And then he added, "And even if you don't tell us, we can tell you," following that with a mischievous giggle. He looked at my right eye and said that my right side was the one that needed a little help, and that I should be careful of my kidneys (have I not being paying extra attention to them lately, Mom?). Nothing is wrong now, but of course I ought to avoid sweets and floury stuff and concentrate on preventative measures, which is all I can think about since he told me, naturally. But it didn't put me off...on the contrary, it was like having my palm read.

How are we so lucky to be housed with these people who have amazing connections with all sorts of progressive, creative, and dare I say revolutionary life stories? It's baffling and wonderful. Of course they invited their other friend, the Mexican American poet-organizer to take them for a spin at the mall on Sunday while the S constituency went off to the Minnesota countryside for a family gathering. I didn't really think I could live in a cooler place than my Santa Cruz digs, but lo and behold...Mexican shamans??

It's been a welcome distraction from my lack of a social life. I'm thinking of joining a book club around here to meet folks and taking language classes (any language will do!) since this is the first time in my adult life that when I go home I leave my work where it belongs and my mind is free in the evening. Je voudrais apprendre français!

So far people seem so nice here, all smiles. I have even been out on a "date" with a friend of a friend who's actually my age --- who took H and I out to a hopping bar with her fiance and some friends. I even got a number, yeah baby. (Of someone named Molly, who may invite H and I to a birthday party, how cute.) But there is SO much going on in this huge metro area that we want for nothing as far as events go. It's just a matter of conserving enough energy after a day of armed combat with Access and other such brilliant programs, and during the forty-hour work week in general...

Beh, this is getting long. I'll post again soon, but that's the haps for this round. Thanks for reading, my lovelies. And a big hug and kiss to Grandpa and Liz who I hear have become readers!