Minneapolis 2016 - A Rainy Day, Hence Another Museum

I had looked at the forecast before I left and knew that rain was likely on Saturday. The prediction was  correct so we were forced to decide on another indoor activity It's parameters, it needed to interest adults and entertain and distract an 8 year old. We chose the Bakken Museum, an interactive institution emphasizing electricity, electrical currents and how they are generated and transmitted. This included how electricity can be conducted through the human body.

The museum began life in a gothic revival mansion built in 1928. Like mush in Minneapolis there is a connection between the mansion and the retailer Target. The home was built with money made from the sale of a dry goods store to the eventual founder of Dayton Hudson which through a  series of mergers and acquisitions eventually became Target, one of the largest employers in Minneapolis. More space has since been added to house additional exhibits which pays tribute to the gothic nature of the original structure.

There are games powered by brain waves and hand grips where one can measure their heart rate (mine is in the mid 50's beats per minute range). On a screen musical instruments can be dropped into the pictured heart which then emit tunes in time to one's heartbeat. There are vintage electrical devices on display, including several medical ones that illustrate how far we have come in that field. There is a book from the 13th century, an early polygraph machine and an early 20th century telephone housed in an small gallery which showcases pieces from the museums extensive archives. The gentleman that started the museum was fascinated by electrical devices and collected them by the thousands forming the core of the museum. In the mansion's grand hall are tables with batteries, cables and small electrically powered objects where children can play and learn how electricity is conducted through wires. In another room electricity is sent to a device which when touched will make one's hair stand on end. A good natured, long haired biker type agreed to demonstrate much to the delight of my grandniece who giggled at the sight of the rough looking character's hair flying wildly around his head.

While my grandniece built various electrical gadgets I took in the mansion's architectural details. It is as if a grand centuries old European castle had been transported to the U.S. and then scaled down. In one room there is a large copper hooded fireplace. A photo from 1975 shows it as the t.v. room where a caption states the family liked to gather to watch, as many others in that era did, Bonanza. Other photos show the home, despite it's grandeur, appearing lived in, homey and comfortable. A stunning carved wooden fruit basket decorates a newel post at the foot of a staircase in a small hall. Beautiful painted glass panels grace the tops of many of the windows. Outside is a small lovely garden where, despite the light rain, I was able to steal a few quite moments. Water trickling over rocks in an ornamental pond created a tranquil background as a tiny blue bird flew across the setting of lawn and flowers.

As we left my grandniece and two other children were treated to a conversation with a small tuxedo clad robot named Oscar. He was remotely controlled by a museum worker sitting in a corner. By texting he can make the robot speak. My nephew asked the robot if he ever had a problem with auto correct. "Ja, you betcha" came the robots authentic Minnesota reply.

Minneapolis 2016 - A Theatrical Labyrinth Followed by Ice Creme

The new home of the Guthrie Theatre stands nearby the Mill Museum. A blue glass structure my nephew thinks looks like an oversized IKEA store. Rather dark inside it is a complex of three stages and several restaurants and bars which were, as we were soon to discover, complex. As we entered there were posters announcing the shows playing at that time. "Disgraced" an excellent Pulitzer Prize winning drama. I had the good fortune to see it in Chicago. It opened the Goodman's 2015/2016 season. As well as the Oscar and Hammerstein warhorse "South Pacific". A deck on an upper floor affords one another excellent view of the river, the green expanse of a park along it's shore and the venerable arched bridge we had traversed earlier in the day.

We reentered the building prepared to make our way out and move forward with the adventures of the day. This is when things started to go a little south. In an effort to "conserve energy", a noble cause, the escalators, which we had used not 30 minutes before, had been shut down and roped off forcing us to find an alternative route to the first floor and the exit. We went down corridors which all seemed to terminate at doors marked "authorized personnel only" or "emergency exit, alarm will sound". Several elevators surveyed did not go all the way to the ground floor. If we had tickets to a production the pathways to various seating areas were clearly marked, however these were no help to us in our present predicament. We passed by the aforementioned bars and restaurants, all closed so there was no one we could ask for directions. I began to feel like a mouse whose intelligence was being tested by being run through a maze ala "Flowers for Algernon". Eventually we did locate an elevator which let us off at the ground floor just before my patience and sanity had reached their breaking point. Bear in mind I had gotten up at 3 a.m. that morning in order to make my plane. The 8 year old grandniece fared better than I, partly due to the fact that she had been bribed by the promise of an ice creme cone at a local shop after we left the theatre.

In a moment of irony the only time the sun broke through the clouds that day was the period of time when the ice creme was purchased and consumed. I left this activity to my nephew and his daughter while I copped a 10 minute cat nap on a park bench, my baseball cap, a memento of my trip to Italy, pulled over my face.

The trio of us returned home via my first UBER ride. It is an app unnecessary in Chicago, one of the few city's in the U.S. where an upraised index finger is just as effective, if not more so, than a cell phone.

Minneapolis 2016 - Mill Museum

Storms slowed down travel causing me to arrive almost an hour late. Once safely on the ground I was whisked away by my nephew and grandniece to a hipster restaurant in St. Paul where two thirds of the menu options were precede by the word "organic". The sky remained gray and a suggestion was made to walk from my nephew's home to the Minneapolis Mill Museum.

From 1880 and continuing for 50 years thereafter Minneapolis was know as the Flour Mill Capital of the World. The museum is built in the ruins of what was once the largest flour mill in the world. The structure was accidentally destroyed by fire in the 1990's set by squatters living in it after it had been abandoned. The riverfront during those years had fallen on hard times and was known as a dangerous area of town The destruction of the mill spurred redevelopment . New construction began and old mill buildings were rehabbed into loft style apartments. Some ruins of old mills along the riverbank were saved and serve as historical artifacts connecting the city's past with it's present.

We crossed the Mississippi on a 19th century arched bridge.Originally built for trains it is  now given over to pedestrians and bicycles. A breast cancer awareness walk was taking place that day. My young grandniece, sporting a pink necklace handed to her at the foot of the bridge, cheered them on.

A sign rises from one a tall tower of one of the converted mill buildings, a five pointed star with the word North Star Blankets. The sign is simple, elegant and inherently iconic. The building, like others in the area, dates from the last half of the 19th century. Build in 1864, by 1925  North Star had become the largest manufacturer of wool blankets in the country.

Visitors to the Mill Museum are led into a large freight elevator outfitted with seats that moves between floors set with tableaus and showing videos of what it was like working at the mill. Recorded voices of former workers tell their stories. A deck on what would have been the roof of the ruined factory boasts an impressive view of the section of the river that was engineered, via spillways, locks and reinforcement of the waterfalls which were once eroding at an advanced rate, to power the mills along it's shores.

By the 60's advanced automation and convenience foods began to toll the death knell for the mills.
Why bake bread, cakes, pies or muffins at home when you can simply drive to the store and purchase them ready made? Apparently housewives felt they had better things to attend to. You go girls!

Minneapolis 2016 - Group Two May Now Board

Airports are fascinating places. Who are these people?. Where are they going and why? Men with suit bags paraded by. It being a Friday it was not unreasonable to assume that they are bound for weekend weddings, rental tuxedos in tow. Perhaps some were even the grooms themselves, heading home for the big day where friends and family are more prevalent. A young girl walks through the food court. A red bandana covers her hair. Her ensemble is completed by brightly colored striped knee socks and a long white lab coat. An attractive, heavily tattooed young man with close cropped bleach blond hair waits at the gate next to mine wearing bright red headphones. He is what is sometimes referred to by gym rats as a chicken. He possesses a thick, muscular upper body, his sleeveless tee shirt revealing powerful looking arms, supported by thin, undersized legs. A more evenly proportioned specimen strode past him, his strong arms also bared. Summer travel does have it's advantages for the voyueristically inclined among us.

I suppose these days one expect air travel to be a horrific experience. Not so this flight. Public transportation was reliable and efficient. Security lines moved quickly and boarding was uneventful. The wait for this last made more enjoyable due to the close proximity of the aforementioned males. There was a short delay taking off due to air traffic backing up over Minneapolis but if this was the worst that happened I considered the hand I had been dealt that morning more than fair.

As we taxied down the runway the glow of the rising sun created a beautiful backdrop to the silhouette of city skyline of the place where I have made my home. The metropolis I have grown to admire, love and respect.

As we neared Minneapolis the clouds resembled drifts of snow as we began our descent.  

Minneapolis 2016 - Preamble

It was early. I mean really early. I mean the time I used to stagger home during my club kid days early. I was waiting outside an el station in the comfortable early morning late summer air for the first run of the day of the bus that would carry me on the next leg of my trip to the airport. I was Minneapolis bound to visit my nephew, his wife, I suppose she is my niece in law if such a designation exists, and grandniece. They are family, fortunately family so cool and fun I would hang out with them even if we didn't share a bloodline.

As I left that morning a small hare greeted me in the parking lot behind my apartment building. As I waited at the bus stop there was an odd bird call from a tree and a sizable rat dashed across the street. Chicago welcomes and harbors a large variety of wildlife.

Taxicab Confessions Parts 3 and 4

Part #3

Chicago's winter cold is legendary. That does not however keep the weather hardened population indoors. So it happens that one evening on the way to a night of clubbing years ago I stood in freezing temperatures waiting for a bus. A cab drove up and the driver leaned across the passenger seat lowered the window and said, "It's too cold to be outside, hop in and I'll at least get you close to a bus. The ride's on me." Grateful for his generosity I got in.

As we rode along he asked me what I did. I explained that I, at that time, managed the men's underwear department at an internationally known upscale department store. He gave me a quick once over through the rear view mirror and asked "You gay?" I said yes, it being past the days when I would lie about such a thing. He grinned and said "You must love that job." I admitted that it did indeed have it's moments.

We came to a strip of bars and restaurants. I offered to get out so he could pick up a paying fare. Looking around he stated "None of these people need a cab" and continued to head forward. Eventually we caught up with a bus which would take me to my destination. I thanked the driver got out and hopped on the bus.

Thank you my anonymous cab driver for that warm ride on that cold night.

Part #4

Two of the numerous things I have learned during my lifetime are, If you want to make friends with a tattooed guy ask him about his ink. If you want to make friends with a buff guy talk to him about his workout routine.

I walked out of the hotel and eased into the back seat of the first cab in line, as hotel etiquette demands. The driver was cute and handsome at the same time, a rare combination. As I discovered shortly he was Romanian. His tee shirt was stretched tightly over an impressive torso. We began to talk and as is often the case with gym rats our conversation turned to our various fitness endeavors. He claimed, as his biceps bulged while turning the steering wheel. that he did not concentrate on weights focusing instead on cardio.

I came to the conclusion that he was either remarkably genetically gifted, or a really good fibber.

Cab rides are brief chance encounters. You never quite know what you're in for until you open the door. Sometimes it's just a ride, devoid of any interaction other than stating your destination and paying your fare. But every once in a while the ride becomes a story.

Taxicab Confessions Parts 1 and 2

Chicago is one of the few U.S. cities where cabs can be summoned by standing on the edge of the sidewalk and holding one's finger in the air. They pull up, you get in and are driven to your destination. A plain and simple act of vehicular commerce on which occasionally hangs a tale.

Part #1

I strode out of the club. A cab set waiting at the curb making it unnecessary for me to make the effort of sticking my finger in the air. As I climbed into the back seat the driver turned around slightly and inquired, "Is the music too loud?" Recognizing the soulful yelps and funky rhythms I replied "James Brown can't be too loud." The driver smiled and I began my journey home through the dark city streets. I don't remember how, but as we chatted the name of the late singer songwriter Laura Nyro came up. I had been introduced to her work by my roommate during my San Francisco days and have over the years collected several of her albums, which I still own. One however, her first, I have never been able to find, despite hours spent in used record stores pawing through bin after bin of vinyl. I mentioned this to the driver. As we came to a stoplight he quickly sifted thorough a box of cassettes, this was a number of years ago, and popped one into the dashboard player. The quirky, unmistakable, sometimes smooth, sometimes staccato voice of Laura Nyro filled the cab. As we pulled up to the dilapidated 6 flat that I called home at the time I attempted to pay and exit the cab. He insisted that I stay and listen to his 2 favorite tracks before I left. We sat in the car enjoying the music together before I paid the fare and left the cab.

I sometimes wonder if he recalls that short ride we shared that evening as I do.

Part #2

My mother had died and I had to travel to the Catskills to help my step father clear out the house and salvage what sentimental family mementos that I could. My mother was, to put it mildly, strong willed. The night she was cremated, as couple of days prior to my arrival, there was a violent thunder and lightening storm. My step father relayed to me how my sisters stood on the porch shooting photos as lightening strike after lightening strike lit up the sky. Schedules did not mesh and upon arriving I had to take a cab from the train station to my mother's home. The driver remarked on the storm, "Lived here my whole life and never seen anything like it" he told me. As my step father and I drove my sister to the airport in Albany we cane to a conclusion. My mother, strong willed even after passing, was, that night, taking her final bow.

In San Francisco, back in the early eighties, cabs, while not as plentiful as in Chicago, were still fairly easy to come by. Many, some nights it seemed as if all, were driven by the gay men that were ubiquitous there in those years. The money was good and drug testing was not yet in vogue. If your driver was chewing gum at a pace so rapid his jaws were a blur there was a good chance that he was speeding his brains out and you were in for a RIDE. I became accustomed to these adventurous sojourns however my mother, when she would visit, not so much. I remember her literally scream one night as we rounded a corner on two wheels before becoming slightly airborne as the cab descended the hill before us. Have you ever seen the car chase scene in the film Bullitt? On occasion a San Francisco cab ride was something like that.