through these glasses

great minnesota get together, day 3

Inevitably, each year when state fair time rolls around, someone new gets wind of my, um, obsession. "You go HOW many times?!" is the usual turning point in what started as a benign conversation about weekend or evening plans. It seems to be a commonly held notion that 7 or 8 visits is 6 or 7 visits too many. When asked why I like it so much, I usually wax nostalgic about college boyfriend. He grew up blocks from the Heritage Square gates, and was positively giddy when he talked about the fair.

The first summer I stayed up here--partially because I couldn't stand the idea of being away from him for 2.5 long months--there was a steady buildup to Fair time. Not many things can hold up to that much advance buzz, but it did. We had what is still one of my perfect dates of all time there late that August. He knew all the best spots for out of the ordinary food, introduced me to spin-art (a booth I once spent an entire evening at with a friend, not once realizing we were getting more and more silly as the hours went by because of the paint fumes...), won me one of those tacky stuffed animals, and pulled me close at the top of the ferris wheel for a kiss. It was a night out of some hollywood hack's teen angst movie, but it's cliche for a reason. that stuff works on teenage girls. heck, it would probably still work on me now.

Our last stop of the night was the Coliseum--tacky vendors ring the hallways of the building used for the horse show. We moved from one to the next, laughing at sales pitches, before we reached our destination. Now, I'm sure this was his signature move, and I shouldn't have fallen for it (especially since he used the same move on my then best friend a few years later), but alas, the power of the pearl diver's booth was too much for me. For a mere $5.95 you could reach in a grab an oyster guaranteed to contain at least one pearl. (and what a bargain, they could set them in various earrings, rings, pendants and necklaces while you wait!) white, champagne, blue, pink, black and silver. I think I pulled out at least one of each that night. I was hooked. and giddy. whoever discovered oysters to be an aphrodisiac wasn't kidding.

Until last year, when they failed to show up, it remained one of my favorite fair places. And yet, even without it, I am still enamored with everything about the fair. On Saturday, as i was sharing it with older brother for the first time, I realized why. A childhood spent behaving so as to be allowed to accompany him and his motley crew to various outdoor music festivals, king among them, Summerfest, clearly preprogramed me to appreciate the experience just a bit more than average.

Thank goodness Minnesota has done away with 3.2 beer. I wouldn't have wanted to explain that crime against nature to my wisconsin beer country l(o/i)ving sibling.

great minnesota get together, day 2

State Fair highlight of the day? A synchronised performance set to music by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police that would have made Esther Williams wishing she'd taken riding lessons instead of swimming.

Lowpoint? Frozen, chocolate-dipped key lime pie on a stick. I'm not sure if the one I got was transported improperly, or if their formula has changed. Either way, the sumptuous texture was gone, replaced by a vaguely gritty consistency. bah. With so many options, I'm afraid this mean it's off the food list for good. Luckily, the dippin' dots root beer float is as amazing as every.

pronto pup count: 1
float count: 1

great minnesota get together, day 1

for breakfast: a belgian waffle from blue moon drive-in. (they were voted best breakfast last year, but it clearly wasn't for the waffle. hot from the iron, it was soggy. boo! I like my waffles to hold individual puddles of butter & maple syrup in each indentation.

for lunch: a pickledog (last year's new food experience winner for me, which is saying something because ordinarily the pickle and I, we are not friends. I don't like them on my hamburgers. I don't like them made into relish of any sort. And I especially don't want a spear on the side of my sandwich / chips combo because it will inevitably mean pickle juice contaminates and soggifies the bread. But this. This is a masterpiece of flavors. Pastrami slathered in cream cheese and wrapped around a crunchy pickle spear. Who knew it would end up being one of my favorite things?

On the way back tot he car, I grabbed a big bag of kettlecorn. yum.

I'm in the new office this afternoon. My hand is sporting a tempting reentry stamp. If the rain stops, I may just go back for dinner.

ghost of augusts past

As far as anniversaries go, August is jam-packed. It's also the month that leads me directly back to how I got here (and by here, I mean both physically and mentally) in the first place....

2001: irony of ironies, after bucking against being 'stuck' in this city for the past five years, I opt to buy a house and create a post-divorce sanctuary for myself.

1993: got engaged, thinking it was forever, to someone I'd had Danish classes with at the U. In retrospect, I shouldn't have placed so much important on the year he spent abroad as an exchange student in Aarhus.

1992: left for three months abroad with one backpack, my passport, and a eurail pass. Opted to spend most of my time with family in Aarhus, before running out of money and deciding that it's hard to leave everything behind and move across the atlantic, even for a country that holds your heart.

1989: moved to Minnesota, as it turned out, for good. I declare a double major in international relations and scandinavian studies with a minor in danish and begin plotting my escape to Denmark for good.

1986: moved to Minnesota, temporarily, for my freshman year of college at the U of M. I picked the U because at the time, it had one of three Danish language programs in the country. As a plus, it is home to my best-loved pen-pal, a counselor from camp who became one of my favorite people of all time.

1982: exiled to northern Minnesota for two agonizing weeks of sleep-away camp. That it was to be conducted in Danish only added insult to injury. At that point in time, it seemed like I was missing out on half the summer at home by being gone for those short weeks. I already felt alienated from my friends because of the funny little language my family spoke (at that age, the only thing worse than the pitying looks from classmates because I never had funny stories to share about the relatives after christmas break, was the year we went to Denmark. I may know now that jealousy manifests itself as cruelty in kids.  At the time, I just knew that different was bad and shouldn't have been owned up to.) and now this? I was sure I was socially toast. (the teens years are so melodramatic, no?)

As it turns out, it was one of the most life-changing experiences I've had. If there is a patient zero to why I ended up where I am in life, danish camp is it. The connections I made that summer turned out to be lifelong. My ties to the language and culture are secondary only to the friends I met that first year.

This weekend, as many people get ready to make the trek up to camp for a final program that marks the 25th anniversary of that pivotal year one I was so fortunate to attend, I'm opting out. There are three people I'd want to go up there with. One will be in Denmark; the other two are having a hard time rsvping from the afterlife...

I'm trying to be all zen about it and remind myself that it's better to have loved and lost. but that I lost one of them this time last year isn't helping. In his words, I'm filing this under 'things that suck' right alongside black holes and vacuums.