Cannon Falls to Red Wing to Republicans

We biked over 40 miles this last weekend, Thiz. You rode in the Burley (a trailer that attached to a bike) and we pedaled and groaned about the soreness seeping into our rears. At the half-way point (Welch Village) there was a snack stand, some restrooms, and (of COURSE) an 82 -year-old man dressed in leiderhosen playing the accordian. After playing Edelweiss, the man was also up for talking about the difference between Jews in Hitler's Germany and blacks in the present-day U.S. "She, for instance," he kept saying, nodding his head toward Agnes, "will never be equal in this country. People think it's this way but it's not. It won't ever be." He claimed to be disgusted by racism but he also never addressed Agnes directly. So, you know, it's hard to say.

The hotel was sketchy--smoke-scented nonsmoking rooms, a drunk guy in the pool area, and no hair conditioner supplied with the shampoo (really, what could be sketchier than that?). To battle the sketchiness, we devoured German food--well, I had saurbraten and everyone else had American food served in a German restaurant. Auntie Agnes knew the bartender. They had drinks.

While the rest of the family bowled (there was a bowling alley attached to the German restaurant. Duh.), I took you back to the room and nursed you to sleep. The next morning we biked to Perkins for breakfast and then biked back to Cannon Falls. It was hot but beautiful. The trail is an old railroad bed--flat, paved, well-maintained. For the most part shaded. Farmland and forest and creeks and boggy swamps. Butterflies flitting across the path. I even got to see one of my very favorite things. Minnesota grows a lot of corn and soybeans. Farmers rotate the crops and so sometimes, in the middle of a field of soybeans, you can see corn stalks poking up and out and through this perfect mass of green. I love that. Gorgeous imperfection.

Now we are home again. Preparing for the semester and for John and Anna's wedding. I get teary every time I think of the wedding and anxsty every time I think of the school year. You've been getting anxsty too. An awful neediness these last two days. You're independent and happy with Daddy--but when I come home you wrap your arms around my legs and look up and me and sob. I take you in my arms and you arch your back and scream to be put back down. I put you down and you crawl over to me, the saddest wounded soldier, and hold your arms out as if to say, please help me, please, I'm dying here. This kind of behavior makes me shrug in consternation and then (20 minutes later) makes me want to unwind a roll of duct tape. Seriously. When in doubt, however, we resort to our favorite refrain: "maybe Thisbe's teething!"

I have no idea how we will explain your behavior once you have all your teeth.

("maybe Thisbe's on drugs!" "maybe Thisbe's having an existential crisis!" "maybe Thisbe's joined a cult!" "maybe Thisbe is possessed by Satan!" "maybe Thisbe's become a Republican!")