Microblog

On a walk with a friend, we came across The Bell of Two Friends sculpture, which neither of us had noticed before. It’s a large-scale half-mold replica of an ancient Japanese dōtaku, a clapperless bronze ritual bell from Japan’s Yayoi period 2,000 years ago, based on an original found in Minneapolis’s twin city of Ibaraki, Japan. A hanging cord operates a functional bell, which we both rang for good luck.

Outside, it was grey and chilly. Sure, 50°F isn’t freezing, but it feels cold after our recent stretch of sunny days. Spyhouse Coffee at the downtown Emory Hotel provided a cozy refuge as I sipped my morning cuppa. Located in a repurposed 1906 bank building, the hotel has lovely spaces to kick back and relax.

​We both filled out our ballots, front and back, for the November midterms. Since the US Postal Service can no longer be trusted, we’ll hand-deliver our ballots to a city office this week and check online to confirm they’re officially logged.

On my walk to Seward Co-op to pick up veggies for a lamb braise, I stepped back in time to the counterculture 1970s for a cuppa in this worker-owned vegan cafe. The double-shot Americano with a full crema was near-perfect: $3, cash-only. Angry rock filled the air, though a surprisingly sedate rendering of the British national anthem added an unexpected layer of incongruity.

On Friday mornings, I usually tutor an adult learner at a lovely Carnegie library. I arrived a little early today, so I wandered around admiring the extra details, including this balcony over the entrance. I asked a librarian why there’s no way to reach it, and he explained that the entire entrance had to be rejigged for ADA compliance, including the installation of an elevator that now blocks the route to the balcony. Judging by that low balustrade, that’s probably a good thing.

It had been raining, so I went for a walk downtown expecting to see hundreds of red T-shirts worn by Target Corporation employees flown in for their annual jamboree. Instead, I found workers setting up photo backdrops and staging visual elements across several blocks of Nicollet Mall for a photography conference this weekend. Instagram is going to be buzzing!

On a random cycle ride, I proof-checked the world, as I usually do, and spotted an incorrect signpost. ​I must have passed it hundreds of times, but I had never noticed that the arrow to Our Lady of Lourdes Church (opened 1857) points in diametrically the wrong direction, even though every other arrow is correct. Pondering all the potentially missed weddings, First Communions, and funerals over the years, I sent an email to the Park Board.

A pleasant retinal surgeon at the U seemed determined to use every piece of equipment on my eyes, and he had a lot of it. Three hours later, I staggered out and headed home to the sofa. There was a serious purpose to it all: a potential side effect of the cancer study drug is eye damage. Fortunately, my eyes are fine for my age. Meanwhile, I’m off the study, as the drug proved ineffective for me.

Plenty of empty bike racks today as I walked in the rain past Goldie Gopher on my way to yet another scan at the U. I had decided I didn’t want a wet stripe up my back.

At Boom Island on our Sunday walk, teamsters were holding a picnic. Amy Klobuchar, our US Senator and hopefully soon-to-be governor, had just given a speech.

Cycled with a friend around Railroad Island, a St. Paul neighborhood hemmed in by train tracks. An Italian restaurant, an Italian market, and a supermercado highlighted its strong immigrant ties. Riding along mostly quiet residential streets, we passed the oldest brick house in St. Paul and stopped by an urban farm holding an open house.

Popped into Lunds & Byerlys to pick up a can of butter beans for a paella I’m making this evening to celebrate Friday. On the way out, I couldn’t find my sunglasses. Just glad I didn’t ask an assistant if they’d seen a pair of sunglasses. The answer would’ve been “yes.” Finally found them when I tried to put on my cycle helmet.

For 20 minutes I lie completely still, in a lie-flat seat on an A350, seven miles above the Bering Sea. Outside, it’s night: pitch black below, devoid of any lights from ships or the scattered islands far below. As the radiologist opens my bone scan, searching for points of light, I wish him that same quiet journey.

Arrived home to the smell of baking biscotti.

That was a nice surprise. Knowing I’m not firing on all cylinders, a friend just dropped off a book she knows I’ll love, showing she clearly has my number. I edit the world (I find typos on manhole covers), though over the years I’ve managed to rein in the obsession when avoiding overcorrecting English language learners. This will be a welcome relief after a tense novel set in WWII France, and I have a feeling I’ll be laughing at myself.

It was a day to lie on the couch and read. The study drug made staying close to home the wiser choice.