Minneapolis Part 2

My heart is bursting with the love I have for these two.

After we left the George Floyd memorial, Arne wanted me to meet one of his daughters. She worked as a bartender at a local place set up similarly to a food court but was run by one company. It operated as one business, but the layout was much closer to a food truck court. The bar where Greta worked was the main attraction positioned right in the middle of the pavilion-style building. It was surrounded by walk-up casual food joints offering everything from pizza, fried chicken, and burgers, to sushi, ramen, and boba. Greta was swamped behind the bar, working her magic as she created hand-crafted cocktails and mocktails. She came out to the patio to greet us where Arne, Susan, and I sat, with the boys on their leashes lying on the cement beside me. The patio was a great hangout, it was modern and offered plush patio seating as well as more traditional high tops and stools, we opted for the cozy couches in the shade. It was still so hot out and the shade was our only reprieve.

Greta made me a mocktail with plum something, black pepper, and other unidentifiable ingredients, it was fancy and so unique and delicious. Not overly fruity, which I was happy about. Mocktails can be so boring. Most people make some variation of a blended drink, a Cosmo, a mojito, or a mule. It was refreshing to taste flavors I’d never had before.

We ordered food, and I’m glad I had the mocktail because it made up for my subpar dinner. I wanted ramen, but it was too hot for soup, they had a brothless option, so I got really excited. All the best parts of the ramen, without the hot broth. I should have had fried chicken, or literally anything else. Despite its appealing ingredients, the entire thing lacked any flavor except for the overwhelming heat from the chili pepper. And it wasn’t even a good spice, the flavor was odd and void of actual taste, so I basically had bland hot sauce noodles and vegetables. I added soy sauce to try and enhance the flavor, but it only amplified the chili.

Besides the shitty ramen, we ate extremely well the whole time I was there. Susan made me a smoothie one morning, we ate pizza from a long-standing Italian joint near their house called Carbone’s, I got to try true midwestern cheese curds, and Arne introduced me to the famous midwestern fast food burger joint Culver’s. They are famous for their custard, but I haven’t had it yet, I can, however, attest to their burgers, they rival In-N-Out which is saying something. They also make their burgers to order and serve them with crinkle-cut fries that are clearly homemade. Arne told me they have their own rootbeer that leaves A&W in the dust, and I’m happy to report, that I returned to Culver’s later and I agree with his opinion. They have a diet option too which is nice if you don’t want the sugar. It’s no Coke Zero, which is my preferred soda of choice, but it’s tasty and I’m not really a rootbeer fan. Culver’s would serve as my go-to comfort food over the next few weeks as the Universe threw everything it had at me.

After dinner, Arne mentioned the Vikings were playing a preseason home game that night and my inner football fanatic heart twitterpated. Even though I was a diehard Seahawks fan, I enjoyed all the football, especially the NFL. We dropped the boys off, I put on my Seahawks gear, and we headed for the stadium. I opted for my vintage shirt, a graphic tee with one of the original colored helmets on it. They are finally bringing back the throwback jerseys this year, and I'm pumped. I also rocked my favorite grey flat-billed hat with the famous logo on the front and a muted grey snakeskin pattern on the bill.

I was stoked. We had nosebleed seats, but they were dirt cheap and just being in the stadium is an experience in itself. The heat and humidity were almost unbearable at that point so when Arne said the stadium was closed and air-conditioned I was even more pumped. It makes sense they wouldn’t have an open-air stadium because football season goes well into winter and Minnesota winters are absolutely brutal. Nobody wants to sit in subzero temps even if their favorite team is playing. Unless you’re a Packers fan, I don’t know how they do it at Lambeau.

We got there late. By the time we finished dinner and dropped off the boys, the game had already started. As we walked in, I was stopped by security and informed I couldn’t bring my bag in. I had purchased my small Lululemon crossbody for the Justin Bieber concert the year before because they only allowed clear bags or small ones that fit a certain measurement. The security guy showed me the size of bags allowed and mine clearly fit, but it didn’t matter, he said my bag, in particular, was not allowed, even if it met the criteria, and pointed at the sign with a picture of my exact bag with the Lululemon logo on it and a big red X through it. We pleaded and tried to empty the contents into our pockets, but there was no getting around the rule no matter how ridiculous it seemed.

We brainstormed what to do. Our car was parked several blocks away on the top floor of a parking garage. We saw a line in front of the stadium filled with people carrying my exact bag waiting to pay a vendor to hold it for the remainder of the game. I wasn’t about to pay to have my bag held, and I definitely didn’t want to wait in line and waste more time. Arne gave me his keys and I jogged back to the car in the 100-degree heat and humidity so high you could cut it with a knife. My hair was starting to look wet and my back and chest were drenched in sweat, but I kept running because I didn’t want to miss any more of the game. When I was closing the door to lock my bag inside, I saw another couple closing their doors too. The woman asked me if I’d also been kicked out because of my Lululemon bag and we both laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

The only reason I could think of for them banning the bag was to create a business for this security truck with all of its lockers. I envisioned them asking themselves what the most common bag out there was and deciding to capitalize on the opportunity to make money. Arne did some research later, because while at the game we saw more bags than I could count that looked virtually identical to mine but were void of the logo. Some were even slightly larger. He found out that it was most likely the buckle. Why a plastic buckle was so dangerous, who knows, but I’ve remained a skeptic of that logic.

The game was so fun. Once we made our way to the top of the stadium, we sat in our sweat-soaked clothes drinking icy soda, and allowed the AC to do its thing. It’s such a unique experience to be physically in an NFL stadium because you don’t see all the chants and songs specific to the home team that is playing. I loved hearing the Viking horn, the crowd yelling skoal in unison, and the newish fight song filling the space with its catchy tune.

They lost, but we won because we had such a great time, despite the bag debacle.

The rest of our time together was magical. One day Susan and I walked along the real Mississipi River with the boys. Down in the old mill district, a path follows the river for miles. We followed a loop that crossed the river on a pedestrian bridge, hugged the other side, and then crossed again along this cool bridge with a view of an old neon beer sign that memorialized the time when the flour and grain mills were still in operation. We had passed the sign the night before on our drive home. Arne wanted to show me the area. I was mesmerized by the green and red neon lights that read “Grain Belt Beer” so brightly they illuminated the bridge, also lit with string lights, both of which reflected off the water, adding to the magic.

We went on several walks with the boys while I was there. Arne joined us for one and showed us, Minnehaha Falls. It was beautiful. I was fully expecting a hike in some rural area like everything in Montana, but it was right in the city. The falls are a must-visit if you are in Minneapolis. It didn’t take long to get to, but there were a lot of people who had the same idea, so we decided to explore one of the trails through the trees. We followed a small creek which eventually dead-ended at the Mississippi River. The trail turned into sand and we sat and enjoyed the beauty of it. I felt so far from the city, but it had taken us only 20 or so minutes to walk the trail.

Susan and I also walked through the Minneapolis Sculpture Gardens. It was a sight to see and one of the high points of my time in the city. The park is huge spanning over 11 acres and home to more than 40 sculptures. You can walk through the exhibit any day of the year for free. It’s truly a gem of the city. Notable sculptures include Spoonbridge and Cherry- quite literally a giant metal spoon with a cherry on it, and Hahn/Cock- a gigantic bright blue rooster on a block of what appears to be concrete. Both were impressive, but my favorite was something much more subtle. Near the entrance of the park is a path lined with stone benches engraved with words without any context. I watched as most people passed them by, but made a point of reading each one and taking a picture so I wouldn’t forget. Being a writer myself, I appreciate when other writers have a unique voice and message to share. The exhibit was selections from Jenny Holzer’s “The Living Series”. I could read her work all day. There was nothing special about the benches or the font, but I couldn’t help but chuckle from her words.

Some of my favorites included:

“There’s no reason to sleep curled up and bent. It’s not comfortable. And it doesn’t protect you from danger. If you’re worried about an attack you should stay awake or sleep lightly with limbs unfurled for action. “

“The mouth is an interesting place because it’s one of those places where the dry outside moves towards the slippery inside.”

“It takes a while before you can step over inert bodies and go ahead with what you were trying to do.”

“What a shock when they tell you it won’t hurt and you almost turn inside out when they begin.”

“When you’re on the verge of determining that you don’t like someone it’s awful when he smiles and his teeth look absolutely even and false.”

I loved how random, yet so relatable they were.

I had planned to stay only the two days, so we packed in a lot, but an unexpected ankle sprain set me back a few days.

Arne and Susan were giving me the full tour of the city, which included a drive to St. Paul. We toured the long line of historic mansions that weaved along Summit Avenue, a famous road in the city that once housed many historical figures including F. Scott Fitzgerald. The Cathedral of Saint Paul sits prominently on the corner of the street and also happens to be where Anklegate happened, ultimately setting off a series of unfortunate events I’ll get to later.

Arne stopped in front of the landmark so I could step outside and take a picture. After doing so I miscalculated the level of grass to sidewalk and stepped just wrong enough to roll my ankle. I immediately went down in excruciating pain.

Now I have sprained my ankle a million times. I played basketball and volleyball in school so I was not new to the discomfort from the injury. This time, however, it had been so long, and with the pain so intense, I thought for sure I had done something worse. Normally after a few minutes of acute pain, it becomes more of a dull annoyance and I can walk it out. This time was different. I sat unable to move for much longer, finally, Susan and Arne helped me to the car because I couldn’t put any weight on it. I was in really bad shape and I felt guilty for making such a big deal out of it. I think that comes from growing up with my mom, she was a nurse, so she always downplayed our injuries, even if they were really serious. She also used to say I would cry wolf, so I felt like a burden if I ever needed help or to be cared for. This mentality has followed me into my adult life and was in full force on our car ride back home.

They thought we should go see a doctor and, even though I thought it was more serious than your typical ankle sprain, I declined and had them take me home to assess. When we got home, the situation was still grim so Arne took me to an urgent care so I could be seen.

I watched countless people check in ahead of me while the administrative woman tried to prove to the computer, unsuccessfully, that Montana addresses exist. Finally, we used Arne’s address, but the damage was done, it would be a two-hour wait. Arne offered to get us burgers from Culver’s while we waited.

The burger was delicious but took a backseat to the pain. When I finally saw the doctor they took x-rays and initially didn’t see anything. Because it was too late for radiology to look at them, they sent me home with an air cast, a prescription for an anti-inflammatory drug, and a new set of crutches.

The air cast was useless, I couldn’t wear my shoe with it, so I lay low, kept ice on it thanks to Susan's abnormally large collection of ice packs, and decided to stay a few extra days. I figured if I was careful I would be OK without needing any kind of brace despite the doctor telling me to go easy because my ankle would be vulnerable for the next week and a half.

I was careful, I limited my movement, but when I was able to put weight on it, I started to do more. I wasn’t about to go on a long walk, but I could get around without crutches, thank god.

Staying meant the boys and I got to spend more time with Susan and Arne. They had really taken to Otto and Lars. Susan and Otto were especially close, which I’m sure he loved because he is insatiable for cuddles. Arne was naturally drawn to Lars. He would spend hours if Lars would let him, throwing his octopus toy and having him bring it back to him. It also brought me so much joy watching their love for them on display by the way they looked at them. Both were enamored by the boys and I could tell by the sweet expressions on their faces just how much they loved spending time with them. Susan even enjoyed, not just put up with, their obscene behavior in the car when we would take them for walks. I’ve created two monsters who expect to go anywhere they please while riding in the car. With me it’s fine, but the real test of how much someone likes them is how well they tolerate either one or both of them standing halfway on the center console to look out the front window. This may or may not also include face licks if you are the driver, or being heavily leaned pushing most of their body weight onto you. Susan passed the test with flying colors. She laughed at their behavior in the car and gave me the approval that they weren’t too much.

Staying also meant I got to read Arne’s tarot cards. It was such an honor to be asked by him to do a reading. Arne and I had such an open relationship. It was unusual and far exceeded the pastor/church member qualities. From day one we’d been accepting of and curious about each other, so it was a delight when he asked me. I hobbled my way down to the basement so we could have privacy.

Before any reading, I like to preface what I do and do not do. I’m not a fortune teller, and I’m not saying anything black and white. I merely interpret the cards as I see them, and try to be as objective as I can be, especially if I know the person. Sometimes knowing someone makes it harder because it’s easier to jump to conclusions about what the cards mean. I’ve trained myself to be thorough in my readings and it typically pays off.

Arne knows I’m not a psychic in literal terms, and he appreciates my spiritual curiosity. That’s one of the things I love about him, he’s curious about his own religion and understands its limitations and challenges, and he's curious about other schools of thought. I briefed him on my methods, and we began. The conversation was beautiful. We talked about specific things, but we also talked about his approach to understanding my process. It was a unique experience for me, and I’m assuming him too, because, as a pastor, he’s a much more pragmatic thinker, whereas I was here presenting concepts and ideas to him that required him to throw his formula out the window.

Tarot is very abstract. It can be very specific, but whenever I do a reading I discuss broader themes and ideas for how to explore what the cards are bringing up. Sending someone off with the information isn’t a one-and-done, it requires reflection and space for the mind to review what was said. That’s where the magic happens. Many people have profound experiences while I’m reading their cards, but oftentimes the real insight happens after.

I was grateful for the opportunity to let Arne into this part of my world and that we could both be vulnerable in our conversation. We talked about the reading the next day and I could tell he had taken the information to heart.

Another perk of staying was getting to participate in family dinner, which I was forewarned included an uncensored game of Cards Against Humanity. I was excited for the opportunity to meet their other daughter Ingrid and her partner and spend more time with Greta.

Family dinner did not disappoint. To set the stage, it was 90 degrees outside and the humidity was off the charts. Minneapolis, and other midwestern cities, had made national news that week for their record heat. They lived in an old house, which meant no air conditioning. The kitchen was a furnace because Susan had made the questionable choice to make ziti for dinner. I mean the dinner was delicious, so it was worth the suffering beforehand.

Greta came over early so she could have a drink with her parents. Ingrid doesn’t drink, so they have them before she and her partner arrive for family dinners. I don't mind being around drinking in general. It's never really bothered me, but being sober after previously having a drinking problem creates a quandary for other people who drink that plays out in several different ways. It's awkward when I'm with people who are drinking who feel like they have to explain their reasons for doing so to me, or if they go out of their way to make it not obvious they are drinking. This usually happens with people who don't know me very well. I don't volunteer the fact that I'm sober in conversation unless it comes up, but alcohol has a funny way of sometimes making people treat those who aren't drinking as suspicious. It's always appreciated when those indulging don't make a big deal about my sobriety. Most people don't make me feel like the odd man out, and offer me non-alcoholic beverages like water or soda, but when they go out of their way to make me feel seen and comfortable, like Arne, Greta, and Susan did, the small gesture goes a long way. Greta made me another delicious craft mocktail, the same one with the muddled fruit that they were drinking sans booze. We sat in the living room and chatted where it was significantly cooler. They had installed an air conditioning unit and we were all so thankful as we sat in our sweat-soaked clothing.

The first thing that struck me when I watched Arne and Susan interact with their kids was how remarkable it was that they treated them like adults. They cheered each one on as they carved their own path. Will they fail? Maybe. But that’s for them to figure out. Their job as parents is to love them and show their support and respect every step of the way. And it worked. Ingrid and Greta were incredible humans.

When Ingrid arrived with her partner, I watched as she and Greta interacted. They were clearly sisters- talking over each other, catching up, and calling each other nicknames. I loved watching it. There was so much joy in their exchange. Ingrid had started knitting and her first article of clothing, that wasn’t a scarf, she had brought as a gift for Greta. I sat front row as she unveiled the knitted cropped tank that looked like it was straight from the Free People website. Greta’s glee was palpable. She ran to the bathroom to try it on.

When she came out, I watched, dumbfounded by how the entire family responded to her new favorite top. I come from a family where both my mom and sister dress very conservatively. I’ve never been like them, and anytime I pushed it, showed too much skin, or wore something that accentuated a part of my body that might not be flattering in their mind, no amount of joy I express for my look can stop the criticism from my mom. I don’t blame her for her own opinions, but it had a significant impact on my self-esteem and body issues that still plague me today.

I remember being in high school, or maybe it was even middle school, either way I was young, and shopping with my mom for new school clothes at my favorite store, Abercrombie & Fitch. The hold that brand had over me and all of my peers in the early aughts was unavoidable. Their marketing of exclusivity and sex made for a powerful elixir that drew us in promising the image of popularity and wealth. I was a member of the cult. I bought into the idea that if I spent stupid amounts of money on their basic clothing line where the only thing that differentiated itself from every other brand was the logo, I would have status. And it worked. We threw our money at them and worshipped each other for our It Girl looks.

I stood in the dressing room admiring myself in a cap-sleeved pale blush top. I fawned over the thin cream lace lines that followed the plunging v-neck envisioning the push-up bra I would wear with it in the hopes the boys I had crushes on would think my a-cup boobs were bigger than they were. My mom quickly interrupted my fantasy and pointed out that the flesh-colored, semi-seethrough top clashed with my skin tone and accentuated my love handles.

I've always been thin. My long, gangly arms and legs that plagued me as a kid and teenager made me awkward-looking and I towered over all my girlfriends and most of the boys in school. My only hope for sex appeal was this coveted top. Growing up I had a strong sense of self and could carry an intellectual conversation or witty banter with just about anyone, but my sharp mind didn't do me any favors with the boys, if anything it added to my weirdness. I overcompensated with my clothing. I thought that if I dressed a certain way the boys would notice me, but it never worked. I resented my height until I was much older and far enough away from all my hurtful nicknames. I tried to laugh off being called "Stork" or "Jolly Green Giant", but inside I was incredibly insecure. This insecurity would fuel my sexual promiscuity as a young adult as I tried to connect with men by drinking and letting them use my body. The shallow and short-lived attention gave me power, and also so much shame I had to unpack once I got sober.

As I stood there in the dressing room digesting what love handles even meant, I became self-conscious of a part of my body I previously didn't even realize existed. The comment haunted me because it wasn't about the fit of the top, it was about my body. The delivery, although well-meaning, was damaging and planted a seed in my mind that parts of my body were too fat. I have struggled with disordered eating and body dysmorphia ever since that time in my life. I'm not saying that it was the single comment that started it, but it played into the messages I and so many other women believe that there's something wrong with our bodies. My mom said she remembered that moment so specifically when we had a discussion about my decision to share it. She'd forgotten about it, but the story jogged her memory and her reason for saying what she said. She told me when she saw the top on me she immediately cringed at the idea of her daughter wearing something sexy at an age where I had no business drawing that kind of attention. That was the purpose of the top. I wanted to look sexy. I thought I had to. I'd drank the Abercrombie Kool-Aid and I wasn't going to be reasoned with. She, in that moment, recalled her aunt's sneaky way of turning her own daughter off of clothing she deemed too slutty. Her trick was to, instead of saying it outright, was to instead say her daughter looked fat. Maybe that was worse, but it usually persuaded her daughter to think twice before begging her mom to buy it. I would have welcomed the idea of looking slutty, if she had chosen to say that I would have been even more convinced that the top had to be mine. I'm sure we bought it anyway, because the allure of Abercromie's sex message far outweighed any comment anyone could say to make me think otherwise. I was relentless in my demands growing up, and my mom caved most of the time because she'd rather not have me make a scene which I often did.

I stared at Greta as she walked out of the bathroom. She looked amazing. She wore high-waisted jean shorts that fit her perfectly and exhibited confidence I only dream of having. The top perfected the look. She had several inches of stomach showing and the top didn’t fully cover her bra, characteristics that were frowned upon while I was growing up. I braced myself for the family's response, but I watched one by one as everyone in the room matched her energy and excitement for her new top. Both Arne and Susan were ecstatic with how much they loved it. I agreed. It was a perfect look for the summer and it was one of a kind. I was startled by the way the whole reveal went down. I told Susan and Arne separately later how in awe I was of them and the way they parent their kids. The confidence and joy the girls radiate is no surprise when you see the way their parents encourage it.

I kept waiting for someone to criticize her. Not because she looked bad. She looked fabulous. The top was born for her. I was waiting because I had never seen parents so unjudgingly love their children. I was truly taken aback. It was an experience that I was so grateful to have witnessed and only added to the already profound respect and love I have for Arne and Susan.

Just when I thought the night couldn’t get better, game night proved me wrong. The six of us squeezed in downstairs on the large couch while the boys took turns laying on or near any one of us while we played several rounds of Cards Against Humanity. The game is so vulgar so when you play with someone new it’s always a little unnerving because who knows how they think when the opportunity to be dirty arises. I fit right in. I was prepped, so I came ready to meet them at their already-established X-rated level. We belly laughed so hard there were tears. I really felt a part of the family and didn’t want the night to end. It felt special to be welcomed into the family and have a home-cooked meal, game night, and camaraderie that had been lacking on this trip. Not that I am sad I left all of that in Montana, I’m happy I’m doing this, it was just refreshing to have a reprieve from camping and feel a part of a real home for a second again.

As part of his tour of the city, Arne showed me the house where Prince lived in the film Purple Rain. It seemed only fitting that we spent our last nights watching it. I know everyone loves Prince, and don’t get me wrong, I do too, but the movie was so bad it was laughable. It wasn’t even so bad it was good. It was utter trash. The acting was cringy and the gaps in plot points were frustrating. Prince would fight with his girlfriend, like really fight. Often this included physical abuse, and the next scene it was a different day and they were making out. No explanation, no nothing. The only redeeming qualities were the outfits and the final scene where he finally sang Purple Rain. Prince was in full Prince mode with his wardrobe and we were all there for it. When he took the stage to sing his final ballad, I got chills. I’ll give the movie a 5/10 for those things. I know it was the 80s and so many movies are cheesy like that, but it really was a letdown.

Besides the ankle derailment, the stop was exactly what I needed. It was nice to slow down for a few days and spend quality time with two of the people I love most in the world. I loved being part of their family for a few days. I’d seen them in action with their quirky and loveable exchanges with each other, but it was a treat to see it up close and personal. They love each other so much and you can tell they’ve been married for a while. Susan is so goofy sometimes, and it adds to her charm. Arne could be annoyed, and maybe he is sometimes, but you can’t help but laugh. The two of them together are quite something and I enjoyed every second of it.

One of my favorite insignificant moments was when Arne asked for a cup for his ginger ale. I’m not sure why but Susan brought him a measuring cup. We all laughed hysterically and instead of getting a different glass, Arne embraced it and drank out of it. I loved how they made what could be little frustrations into opportunities to laugh at themselves and each other. Little ones that turn into big ones eventually become bitterness as I've seen so often in my relationships and others'. It’s in those tiny moments, choosing the joy and humor, rather than inconvenience or irritation that I’m sure is a big reason why they are still married and still so in love. What a gift to witness, and what a blessing to be loved by them too.