Usually we are lucky anyway, for some reason. Lucky that the sun is shining so much that we need to build a fort in the backseat, tie the corner of a blanket to my side, and stick an edge through the crack in the sunroof. Experiment. Laugh when it falls down, make shadow puppets. Tease Brian that we’ve disappeared from the backseat when we have finally constructed a masterpiece, our eyes relaxing towards long-drive-sleep. And then that glow of sunset that leaks through. The best memories are when we make do.
There’s a sixth sense (but only on holidays) that makes us get up and look out the window just as a flock of trumpeter swans make their landing on the water that is not quite frozen. When someone new loses the love of a lifetime, we pass this gift on, like an heirloom, a space to hold what might have been.
My first trip to the Library of Congress from early August. That is Queen, a fellow MACS student and an amazing storyteller. We got stuck behind a barricade after the library closed, and the sun was starting to set behind the capital. By then I had calmed down from a bit of a panic attack as a result of only having three hours in the library.
My first party in Fergus Falls… think family reunion-style gathering, possibly designed by relocated hipsters from the city (clue: mannequins at the end of the driveway pointing at where to park). In attendance: farmers, bakers, and their kids. Not pictured: dogs wearing glowing necklaces stealing food off the tables.
Conversation between a recently located Minneapolis/Santa Cruz musician and me:
Me: “Is this Michael Jackson? Or is this Prince?”
Him: “It’s totally Michael Jackson….. right?”
Me: “Wow. I feel stupid right now. Oh yes, of course it’s Prince!”
Him: “This is why we moved to Fergus Falls, isn’t it.”