The Sad Bear

August 29, 2008

Short like NE Summer Street

Katie took the rest of the apricot jelly, wheat bread, and Goldfish to work today. I finished the Blueberry Muffin Frosted Mini Wheats and milk. Yesterday I finished a package of sandwich meat, our kalamata olives, and our last plum. We ate triple servings of ice cream.

Today I'm tackling a salmon fillet for lunch, but there are more in the freezer — and teriyaki beef kabobs too — which gives us reason to eat in before we move out. Tomorrow.

It'll be oatmeal with water for breakfast, throw Katie's clothes into boxes, wash the dishes we're using especially much in the closing days, and await the arrival of my parents. Then southeastward to Lake Zurich then Waynesboro, Va., where we'll live three houses down from the office of The News Virginian.

Departing Minneapolis is not easy to characterize as a good thing, but as the temperature begins to remind us what it was like during our first days here in late May, it becomes easier to acknowledge that if we must go, now is the time. After all, we're taking a cue from Minneapolis's shortest street — NE Summer Street, no joke — which we've passed a few times each week.

No number of recumbent bicycles, free museum nights, or walkable lake trails can keep us now. So we're leaving this City Where Everything Works. Whereas I spent a summer in Detroit amused by the various and bizarre ways in which life can be lived, and photographed, we're leaving Minneapolis filled with vague pleasantries, few photos, and little more than a scraped rear bumper and $24 parking ticket (both received yesterday), two thrift store ties, and a "Reprobate National Convention" RNC protest poster to show for the summer.

There's not much wrong with Minneapolis, which makes the move out more mysterious. When we decided to leave we confided in each other that back when we first arrived we thought we'd get jobs and stay. We did nothing to secure that stay. Now our situation is completely different but still confusing, or at least unexpected.

On the way to Virginia Katie and I wrote down what we thought The Valley would be like and what types and colors of cars our acquaintances would drive and how the office might look and which apartment we would like best. She was mostly right.

But we both thought, and now know, that The Valley will mean few bars and more time for books.

Labels: memories, Minneapolis

by Tony at 5:29 PM |