I've Been Away

I've been away for a while.  

Now I'm working at an urban community college, where our students range in age from 16 - 80. They are studying everything you can imagine.  And with our amazingly diverse student body comes a wide sense of style.

Let me start on the ground floor where the guys (and gals) in the trades programs can often be found in work boots, Carhart jackets and baseball caps.

On the first floor, in the kitchen, the culinary students wear toques, checked pants, and white jackets.  Girls with long straight hair and flip-flops are in the cafeteria drinking diet coke and eating potato chips, writing essays for their American Lit class.

Wandering to and fro everywhere are young women from East Africa in long skirts, bright head scarves and matching sandals.  

Up in the cosmetology lab (everything is a lab) are stylish African-American girls with beautiful manicures and intricate hair practicing theiNr styling skills on elderly blue-haired ladies from the neighborhood.  

At 5:30 as I'm leaving,  the evening students arrive, hurrying across the parking lot in their button-down shirts and chino pants to study entrepreunership.  (Sometimes I wonder if I'll see Stringer Bell coming to learn the art of management.)

Today I was in the bathroom and a student was changing her clothes in one of the stalls.  All I could see were her bare feet and her green Converse sneakers.  

And so I decided to return to my blog and search again for style in the streets of Saint Paul.

Where the Wild Things Are

I used to live with Wild Things. Now they've grown up and flown the coop. Sometimes the Older Wild Thing stops by and starts a wild rumpus ...


but it's just not the same. (Even though he's really good at juggling avocados.)


But what about the movie?


I read the review this morning in the NY Times. Manohla Dargis liked it pretty well.


http://movies.nytimes.com/2009/10/16/movies/16where.html


This Older Wild Thing is against the movie. "People in my generation," he said, "just like anything that reminds them of their childhood. Even if they don't remember it very well."


I pointed out that all generations are like that. He said his generation, Millennials, are more like that. I forgot to point out to him that my generation invented Oldies stations, but I usually forget to make my argument-winning points with him.


I've been thinking about this all day. He had me convinced that it would be wrong to see the movie, a betrayal of our times reading the book together and everything Maurice Sendak stands for. Even though Maurice Sendak must have approved of the movie. He had me convinced that because of the movie, nobody will ever read the book again.

I even dug the book out of the bookcase (which needs dusting). It's so great. Max has such a little expression on his face, the Wild Things are scary yet winsome, and the story ends perfectly with a dinner (still hot) waiting for Max. It's filled with love.


Maybe I'll see the movie, even though there's no child to see it with, just my fellow baby boomer husband. We will love it that James Gandolfini is the voice of the head of the Wild Things. And on the way home from the theatre, maybe we'll listen to the oldies station.

A Bit More about Baltimore

Our Baltimore experience continued with a visit to the Mt. Vernon neighborhood, home of the Peabody Institute of Music and the Walters Art Museum.

Along the way we saw some Baltimore police.

These cops did not resemble Kima, McNulty or Bunk. Can you picture any of them on horseback? Or Landsman?

We also saw a statue of Lafayette, a very elegant horseman.

The Walters is a free museum, so we stuffed spare dollar bills into the donation box. It was established by the Walters father and son and is lovely. http://thewalters.org/

Self Portrait (1929)

We saw an exhibit of paintings by Herman Maril, a Baltimore artist (1908-1986), whose paintings reminded me of of a combination of WPA era style and Georgia O'Keefe.

Or maybe Georgia O'Keefe is a WPA style painter. Maybe some art history students can help me with this issue.

Art museums can be a tonic for what ails you.

In our case it took our minds off leaving our son at school, although we did see some sculptures that reflected our sad empty nest feelings.

Baltimore

Shortly after we returned from Heston's, we headed out to Baltimore to drop off Sam at Goucher College. We stayed in Fells Point, right on the water. We could see the Domino's sign across the bay, familiar to us from The Wire.

Can you see the Domino's sign on top of the building?

We weren't due at Goucher until the next day, so we spent some time exploring and having dinner with Harry at Mezze, a terrific tapas restaurant, very reasonably priced, with a Mediterranean-influenced menu. Try the white sangria, perfect on a muggy Baltimore night.

http://www.kalismezze.com/

In the morning, as is my habit, I went for a walk while everyone else was sleeping. I saw this sign, which you would never ever see in St. Paul.

Then, on the other side of the pier where no signs were posted, I saw someone crabbing!

He said the crabbing was great there, and directed me to look in his bucket which was filled with crabs.

He pulled out a net full, and told me that crabs this size would cost $2.25 at the grocery store.

I'm surprised everyone isn't crabbing. You can easily spot them not far from the surface.

But then it was time to set off to Goucher.

I was able to hold my tears until after we said our good-byes, and then I clung to Jon as I sobbed my way to the car.

In the Pines

I know this is supposed to be a blog about St. Paul, but

Heston's Lodge on Gunflint Lake is our home away from home.

We go there every August. It's a huge relief to arrive, but it's

bittersweet because it signals the end of summer.

This year there were plenty of cloudy days ...

but that didn't stop the porch musicians.

One day I went for a hike by myself while everybody else was still sleeping.

I saw lots of beautiful wildflowers that I was able to identify with my wildflower book.

Fireweed and goldenrod.

Pearly Everlasting.

I did manage to get myself lost, but then I saw signs of civilization.

And I made it back in time for sunset.

Res Ipsa Loquitur

Sometimes no comment is necessary.

Today the strange street sign made me think of ice cream so I rode my bike up to Izzy's, one of the four ice cream shops in my part of town. There's also the Grand Creamery, Snuffy's (where you can also get a greasy burger and fries), Dairy Queen, and Izzy's, my favorite.

If you have trouble finding Izzy's, just watch for Choo Choo Bob's. This shop wasn't around when my kids were small, or I am sure we would have spent many rainy days there watching the trains go around on the tracks.

I like Izzy's because the ice cream is good, the scoopers and customers are down to earth, it has a great neighborhood feel, and there are plenty of cute kids to watch any time you visit. And with every cone or cup, you get a little mini-scoop on top,

known as an "Izzy."

This little girl had a vanilla cone with a peach Izzy.

Her friend had a cone too. But it met with this sad fate.

Fortunately she was able to get a replacement, but she accidentally got blueberry, not cotton candy, her favorite (both blue colored).

She was amazingly calm about her calamities.

By the way, no overweight people visible at Izzy's, maybe because everyone rode their bike.

My favorite flavor? I really like Bananas Foster with a Coffee Break Izzy (coffee with pieces of Oreos). I've sampled Beet (not so good), Green Tea (serene), and Cotton Candy (makes your teeth hurt).

But no ice cream today, just tepid water from my water bottle.

No bike ride in St. Paul can really be complete without a stop at the river.

Down below, a man has his own riverfront patio while he does some work.

If this was a detective novel or a crime show on t.v., we would get a close-up of his notebook and find out that he was plotting to overthrow the government. But I think he's a hydrology or an ichthyology student, getting source inspiration while preparing for his final exams.

Yoga in Frogtown

My yoga studio is in Frogtown, an old, ethnically diverse neighborhood that has a rich and lively street life, as well as its fair share of urban troubles.

There are different theories about why it's called Frogtown. It was settled by the French - the "frogs"; it was originally a swamp inhabited by frogs; it was near a train switching yard and the switchers were called frogs. The name stuck.


I do Bikram yoga, in which we do our 26 different poses in a hot, steamy room. It's sick, I know. The neighbors all seem to think we are crazy, but they're nice about it. They may be sitting on the sidewalk, grilling chicken on their hibachis, watching the kids play ball, when we come out, red-faced and dripping sweat. They ask in a friendly way, "How was yoga today?" We laugh and say, "You oughta try it!" They shake their heads, chuckling at our folly.

On a summer day in Frogtown, you can stop and watch an artist painting a wall, like Rob, a classically trained artist donating this beautiful mural to his neighborhood.

Riding my bike down University, I could hear drumming, and I came upon the Half Pintz Drill team practicing their drumming while their parents grilled up some delicious smelling treats.

In Frogtown you can have your fortune told ...







Or learn how to defend yourself ...







Or you can pick up some barbeque.

Some days when the garage doors are open at this old fire station, built in 1904, neighbors stop to chat with the firefighters, but today they must have all been inside, resting so they'd be ready to protect us.