I have worked downtown for 4 years and i am STILL fascinated with the skyways. It's interesting that even in the summer the skyways are busy. I think the only exception the skyways aren't that busy is Farmer's Market Day and Fridays.
My first year down here, i used to walk to Target with a co-worker. She insisted on walking outside. Her reasoning was that walking in the skyways was like walking in an enclosed tunnel of germs. That meant in the winter time we definitley walked outside. It wasn't horrible. The icy air woke me up and made me feel a bit more aware and appeciative of my surroundings.
Now i have a tendency to walk to Target on my own and take the skyway. It's my mental/breathing break and allows me to just walk and observe. In other posts i have mentioned my observations and it seems to me that no two are alike. Well, perhaps to a certain degree they are alike in the sense that i am endlessly fascinated by them.
Today was no other exception when it came to my observations. As i walked to Target, i noticed how empty the skyways were. Today there was a huge meeting that meant 90% of the Target population was at the Target Center. It made me realize that if Target moved out of downtown mpls., there really would be a large chunk missing. I can see why it is integral for large companies to stay downtown. The best way to illustrate that point is being downtown on the weekend during the day, particularly Sunday. I found that Sunday (on a non-game day) was the best day to come down and learn to navigate through the one way streets and avenues.
On the way back from Target, i decided to walk outside. In fact, when i was in the store, i kind of mentally whacked my head and thought, "why didn't you walk outside on the way here?". After purchasing nothing in the store and coming away with mental inspiration for my next project, i headed downstairs to the street level.
I pushed my way through the revolving doors. The thought came across my mind that it may be sweaty-hot out and i may regret walking outside. As i broke through to the outside world, a fresh bit of air wafted by with no hint of heat or humidty; nor chill for that matter. The street noise came on instantly like a raido being turned on in a quiet car. I started across the street.
People sitting on the ground and on the planters holding their signs. Oh. Shoot. I guess this is why i don't walk down the street. The guilt of not giving to these people. The guilt of giving to just one of them. The guilt of not looking them in the face. The guilt of not even turning my head to look at their sign. The guilt of wearing a badge for a company that is known for giving, but i personally am not representing that. I move along. I hear the music of someone playing an electric acoustical guitar on an amp.
I cross one street and look down it at the same time. Two men leaning through a car window. Women standing behind in short shorts. Sigh, it's like the old neighborhood and while i want to believe nothing "bad" is happening, the skeptic in me knows it's not good buisness.
I get to the block that my building is on. I see a man and a woman arguing as they sit on a cement bench. Apparently the streets aren't a place to hide your emotions. It almost feels awkward because it's like walking in on friends who are arguing.
In a sense, i'm glad i don't live in a big city because i feel like this would be happening all over. On the other hand, in a big city, it seems everyone is moving too fast and there are too many people to notice the oddities of life.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
Rockin' the Lodge
Monday night was a rather interesting night. My mom had called last week and said my grandmother wanted my mom and i to go with her to a widow's dinner. Yup... Go ahead, re-read that sentence. No, there is nothing i need to share. Jason is healthy and alive.
With my grandma, when she asks us to go somewhere, we go somewhere. I remember as a kid my grandmother would drag me to all sorts of social functions. Order of the Eastern Star luncheons, church things etc. I learned how to say "lapel" at the age of 9 and actually know what it meant.
As time went on of course, and i hit junior high etc., i didn't go to those things anymore. Now that my grandma doesn't drive anymore, it seems my mom is slowly getting roped back into my grandmother's social events. It's getting to the point where i'm now going with. I think it's so my mom and i can keep each other company while my grandma "runs off" to chat with everyone. This brings me back to the widows dinner.
We met at my grandma's apartment and went to the Plymouth Lodge in Crystal. We pull into a long and narrow parking lot. The front of the buidling is the enterance to a barber shop. There is one other door but it is not marked. The three of us stood in the parking lot wondering where in the heck the entrance was to the Lodge.
No sooner had our thoughts crossed our lips, a tiny man pulls up in a big car and waves at us. He parks, gets out, tosses his cane to his right hand and scuttles up a ramp. It leads to a blue door. No markings, no nothing. He waves at us, "come on! this way!" As we get closer (slowly) this tiny guy is on his cell phone hollering at someone. "Where are ya? Why dontcha bring a cart up here. I'm here!" No lie, he is shorter than my 5 foot mom.
His hair is coifed like he is a greaser from the Outsiders. He has a thin beard running his jaw line, meeting at his chin. His pants are halfway up his torso. His shirt is a madras pattern with two pockets, both of which are full of something.
He is holding the door for us. We get in and there are three metal doors. All closed. One elevator. The only button, down. The man says, "go ahead, press the button" in between shouts at the person on the phone. I press the button, we board the elevator and down we go...
Now, when we first arrived, there were maybe 5 cars in the lot. It didn't seem like a lot of people were there and i could tell we all had thought that maybe we should just turn around and go home. We were encouraged by the man leading us to the door, and further encouraged when my grandma recognized someone else walking up the ramp. We had a bit of confidence with us on that elevator. As soon as those elevator doors opened, there was instant noise and activity. I was completely surprised.
We no sooner got off the elevator and my grandma is off hugging someone. My mom and i look at each other, shrug, and know our duty is to be the logistics team. My mom prints out each of our names on a name tag. I dutifully put one on my grandma's shirt while she is talking. I grab the dinner tickets and then we scope the situation out.
There are three rows of tables, all varying in degree of length. There is punch and appetizers were out on the table. Welcome to happy hour. My mom and i spy three seats. We take my grandmother's purse, verify the seat is okay with her and then we claim our spots. My mom gets my grandma some punch and a napkin. Then my mom and i sit and chat. My grandma, off talking with everyone.
Jim-the-choir guy is being his usual loud rambuctious self. Telling jokes, sitting whith one arm across the belly and the other holding his chin up. I recognize a few people from when i took my grandma to a friend's birthday party.
As i sat talking with my mom, my mind starts to fall into the routine of being the grandaughter who helped in the kitchen at such events as this. Watching the women work together in the kitchen, setup dinner, and dishing out the food really brought back a flood of memories. It was more of a feeling, a step back in time.
The appetizers were egg salad sandwiches, chips, crackers, and olive/pimento/cream cheese spread. Picture a cookbook from 1970 and you have our appetizer table. I took courage in hand and tried the spread and it was REALLY good. Not a single calorie in it.
We were served salad in a styrofoam bowl. Our dinner was either fried chicken or beef served with green beans, mashed potatoes and gravy (on a styrofoam plate). Each of which were contained in two huge roasters, foil pan, and stockpot. The men helping that evening served the food to the diners. The ladies in the kitchen served the food to the men (a job i used to do).
Afterwards a gentleman stood up. Pants held up by suspenders. His hair is neatly coifed 40's style. A little curl-flip in the front. He said a few gracious words and turned the floor over to the host of the evening. The host, well... he hosted. He was somewhat younger, but was not used to speaking in front of people. He gave out roses to honor the widows in attendance. Took a picture with them etc. There were only a handful of widows. The host was left with half a dozen roses. So... he proceeded to give every lady in the kitchen a rose. There was one left. You got it. I got it. He wants me to stand up and say why i'm there and to find out more about me. Apparently i wasn't as underneath the radar as i thought i was. GREAT...
"I am here tonight with my grandmother, Aldys White. My grandfather Clayton White was a member. He is no longer with us and i'm here tonight to honor my grandmother." Picture taken. Lovely.
With my grandma, when she asks us to go somewhere, we go somewhere. I remember as a kid my grandmother would drag me to all sorts of social functions. Order of the Eastern Star luncheons, church things etc. I learned how to say "lapel" at the age of 9 and actually know what it meant.
As time went on of course, and i hit junior high etc., i didn't go to those things anymore. Now that my grandma doesn't drive anymore, it seems my mom is slowly getting roped back into my grandmother's social events. It's getting to the point where i'm now going with. I think it's so my mom and i can keep each other company while my grandma "runs off" to chat with everyone. This brings me back to the widows dinner.
We met at my grandma's apartment and went to the Plymouth Lodge in Crystal. We pull into a long and narrow parking lot. The front of the buidling is the enterance to a barber shop. There is one other door but it is not marked. The three of us stood in the parking lot wondering where in the heck the entrance was to the Lodge.
No sooner had our thoughts crossed our lips, a tiny man pulls up in a big car and waves at us. He parks, gets out, tosses his cane to his right hand and scuttles up a ramp. It leads to a blue door. No markings, no nothing. He waves at us, "come on! this way!" As we get closer (slowly) this tiny guy is on his cell phone hollering at someone. "Where are ya? Why dontcha bring a cart up here. I'm here!" No lie, he is shorter than my 5 foot mom.
His hair is coifed like he is a greaser from the Outsiders. He has a thin beard running his jaw line, meeting at his chin. His pants are halfway up his torso. His shirt is a madras pattern with two pockets, both of which are full of something.
He is holding the door for us. We get in and there are three metal doors. All closed. One elevator. The only button, down. The man says, "go ahead, press the button" in between shouts at the person on the phone. I press the button, we board the elevator and down we go...
Now, when we first arrived, there were maybe 5 cars in the lot. It didn't seem like a lot of people were there and i could tell we all had thought that maybe we should just turn around and go home. We were encouraged by the man leading us to the door, and further encouraged when my grandma recognized someone else walking up the ramp. We had a bit of confidence with us on that elevator. As soon as those elevator doors opened, there was instant noise and activity. I was completely surprised.
We no sooner got off the elevator and my grandma is off hugging someone. My mom and i look at each other, shrug, and know our duty is to be the logistics team. My mom prints out each of our names on a name tag. I dutifully put one on my grandma's shirt while she is talking. I grab the dinner tickets and then we scope the situation out.
There are three rows of tables, all varying in degree of length. There is punch and appetizers were out on the table. Welcome to happy hour. My mom and i spy three seats. We take my grandmother's purse, verify the seat is okay with her and then we claim our spots. My mom gets my grandma some punch and a napkin. Then my mom and i sit and chat. My grandma, off talking with everyone.
Jim-the-choir guy is being his usual loud rambuctious self. Telling jokes, sitting whith one arm across the belly and the other holding his chin up. I recognize a few people from when i took my grandma to a friend's birthday party.
As i sat talking with my mom, my mind starts to fall into the routine of being the grandaughter who helped in the kitchen at such events as this. Watching the women work together in the kitchen, setup dinner, and dishing out the food really brought back a flood of memories. It was more of a feeling, a step back in time.
The appetizers were egg salad sandwiches, chips, crackers, and olive/pimento/cream cheese spread. Picture a cookbook from 1970 and you have our appetizer table. I took courage in hand and tried the spread and it was REALLY good. Not a single calorie in it.
We were served salad in a styrofoam bowl. Our dinner was either fried chicken or beef served with green beans, mashed potatoes and gravy (on a styrofoam plate). Each of which were contained in two huge roasters, foil pan, and stockpot. The men helping that evening served the food to the diners. The ladies in the kitchen served the food to the men (a job i used to do).
Afterwards a gentleman stood up. Pants held up by suspenders. His hair is neatly coifed 40's style. A little curl-flip in the front. He said a few gracious words and turned the floor over to the host of the evening. The host, well... he hosted. He was somewhat younger, but was not used to speaking in front of people. He gave out roses to honor the widows in attendance. Took a picture with them etc. There were only a handful of widows. The host was left with half a dozen roses. So... he proceeded to give every lady in the kitchen a rose. There was one left. You got it. I got it. He wants me to stand up and say why i'm there and to find out more about me. Apparently i wasn't as underneath the radar as i thought i was. GREAT...
"I am here tonight with my grandmother, Aldys White. My grandfather Clayton White was a member. He is no longer with us and i'm here tonight to honor my grandmother." Picture taken. Lovely.
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