This serene view of a post-rainstorm Minneapolis rooftop scene is hardly what I remember when the two words "PARTY BUS" are uttered. I recall chaos, as the giant raindrops we dodged soaked us while we sprinted across a parking lot to Nye's Polonaise. I remember the madness that ensues when actual BEER is allowed in a MOVING VEHICLE. Scouring new (to me) bars, frequented by my friends who actually live in the city, was a new experience altogether. After the rain subsided, our little band made it to the rooftop of Brit's Pub, with its appropriate British flags. Knowing my pride for my homeland (great-grandfather came to the US of A from Cornwall, England through Ellis Island, that's right), I am sure I announced "THESE ARE THE FLAGS OF MY PEOPLE!" repeatedly. Prior to this photo, there are at least four of me, with and without flash, posing with my flag; one of my friend Eric saluting it triumphantly. Ah, party bus. I'm glad I know ye.
Sure, it's not late August, but we revel in the springtime when it comes. Something is refreshing about rainstorms like these with their elements of danger. We had our first tonight. The air, now humid yet exhausted of moisture, has just enough of a chill to remind me of the near flash-flood I witnessed from my apartment tonight. For a few minutes, all I could see from our sliding doors was ...white. Wind, rain, branches blowing, hail. Then, a few minutes later, all cleared up. The sunlight came back for its last few hours, reflecting calmly off the river, and the diligent fisherpeople jumped back to their respective places to snag their last carp of the day. I felt like walking across the bridge to the coffeehouse, to escape the prison of my own making (home for 2 days straight with some kind of virus, who knows). Along the way, I took in this unique, incredible air with a mix of relief and gladness. The brief terror of the storm squall and it's subsequent after-storm serenity does this to a person.
The cloying smell of humidity and blossoms is completely Minnesota, whether on a late August night in the city or down here in Northfield in late April. In my constant struggle to define what exactly constitutes home, I would have to say this kind of spring night puts one giant notch on this side of the country.
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