constant replay (September 2007)

It's that season again. Cider has returned.

This evening, I woke up from my post-work cat nap with a strong desire for Goodbye Blue Monday Coffeehouse. All I wanted was a blue ceramic mug of cider, my laptop (with the motivation to actually write!), and something calm and familiar playing on the overhead speakers. I arrived and set up my laptop at one of the Formica tables near the espresso machine and counter, facing the doorway: my favorite place to watch the Blue Monday clientele shuffle through the entryway.

The above photo was snapped by my friend Molly in the fall of our senior year in college. I used to come here quite a bit (a lot with her, actually) under the guise of "studying." Usually, "studying" at Blue Monday meant sitting with books open but ignored, coffee in hand, and a laughing conversation about something funny this weekend or a quiet one-on-one chat about something deeper. I'm wearing the same sweatshirt right now, actually, but have a far less contemplative expression -- possibly because I can't help but be incredibly distracted by the conversations I can overhear right now. I'm sitting between two tables of college students, presumably studying. One table chirps loudly about Saturday practices and their mesa de conversacion; the other chats about the college search and how Boulder is a SWEET town. That table could be high schoolers, actually, but who can tell the difference these days? (PS. They are definitely high schoolers... they're talking about the ACT and complaining about their 30 and 32 scores. Oh, kids).

The point is, I still come to this place for the same comfort as I did two or even six years ago. It's more than just a coffeehouse. It's a social hub; a place for people to meet their friends at 6AM; to get a smoothie midday while strolling Division Street; or come in and sit (even loudly), with a group of friends under the front of productivity. Every bit of this place has been thought out and cultivated by its founders and owners -- but sitting here, you don't necessarily realize it. It's just natural that there are multicolored Formica tables, unique lamps, a cozily saggy couch, and random artwork hanging from the walls. It's part of the landscape of this place, and its owners are fiercely protective of its authenticity. Rightly so.

This place has served as more than just a vehicle for my coffee addiction. It was where my parents and I sat one last time before they moved me into my first-year residence hall, the first year of college. My dad told me the story of his tattoo as a rite of passage (and that story deserves its own post, at some point). Blue Monday is where I always came when my friends and I escaped the Hill for an afternoon on the town. It's where I sat, sipping a latte, when I first dreamed up my senior art show. My dad, who loves coffee more than me, always brought us to Blue Monday five times daily for a scone and large coffee when my parents visited (including his "large, dark, to go" order at 9PM). I was here when I got a phone call from a close friend, where, to my shock, out flooded his true feelings for me -- all the while pacing back and forth repeatedly, since it was snowing outside, until my friend/co-barista Laura made me sit down and process. When I faced graduation without any job prospects at my alma mater, I turned to Blue Monday for employment, promising my boss at least six months and my relentless dedication to all things Blue Monday and all things coffee. While I worked here full-time, I became part of a family so mismatched but complete, I actually survived months of uncertainty while living in a fungus-infested basement. When the area around my apartment flooded badly this past weekend (worse than the previous post ever could have foreshadowed), I couldn't simply cross the bridge to my coffee and it felt too strange.

This place is run unlike any business I've seen, down to the last detail when a new menu item is added or new piece of equipment introduced. The bosses/owners/managers keep it this way by investing themselves into it. In turn, they also became sort of mentors to me, offering anything from Catherine's thoughts on online dating to Dan's advice on how to remove fungus from carpet. Dan has a fantastic love of music, expressed without filter or hesitation, and uncanny ability to predict the next big bands (he predicted Yeasayer MONTHS before they exploded). Catherine, in her calm, even-keeled way, asks about life updates and offers glimpses of their kids' latest antics.

They have become part of my morning routine, a few minutes in my mornings there to jump-start my day. Now, as I'm a "barista emerita," I enjoy meeting the newbies and watching them become more comfortable with the rhythm of this place. It isn't for everyone, in terms of employment. But, Dan and Catherine seem to find a pretty incredible mix of people to trust with this place. And for what it's worth, I'm grateful to them for letting me in.

Back to this table, at this moment: ZachAttack working to close behind the counter, my mug cooling since I finished my cider an hour ago, and the satisfaction that I finally calmed my day enough to sit, listen, type, and sip.

season change (today, 2010)

I have bad news... for me, at least.

Somehow, my computer reloaded its iPhoto or something and my thousands of pictures over the last year or so are missing. Completely MIA. I talk about it in this way because it happened a week ago, and part of me clings to this tiny glimmer of hope that it isn't all erased. It is heartbreaking, in a way. In times like these, I wish I knew more about computers. Maybe all I need to do is simply hit some combination of "control + squiggly icon + fn"? Probably not. I don't even know the terminology...

I thought about this page twice today. This could mean a few things: 1. it has been forever since I posted anything of substance, which is embarrassing when you consider its name; 2. I thought about it in the way you remember an old friend who you knew so well for a short amount of time before he disappeared: fond but fleeting good memories; or 2. fall is approaching (well, here, as of this minute actually), which means winter follows. I always write more in the winter. Here's hoping.

Speaking of fall, as I write this, I hear rhythmic breeze against my window and I can't wait to see what awaits me when I leave for work tomorrow. Leaves are undoubtedly blowing from their stems and scattering in a matted mess across the cobblestones, along with the ceaseless rain. Fall in Minnesota always brings a monsoon season of sorts, but I haven't seen flooding like this in quite some time. Today, as I saw the river water rise hourly, I was reminded of the way catastrophe (or at least, impeding doom) can bring together communities. A few hours ago, in the dark, I leaned against my railing and watched the above scene as the sky was dark and the water even higher. Townspeople, high school kids, and college students walked across the bridge, stopping with frequency to take pictures. One brave student, along with his friend, propped up a tripod and rolled up his jeans to wade in the water. He didn't get far -- at this point, the water is coming in waves over the stone wall. The strobe-light effect of so many camera flashes made me realize how big a deal this must be. The riverside bar, Froggy's, was sandbagged at 4PM today and that probably didn't last until now. Sadly, tonight is Thursday night karaoke at Frog's. The painful irony.

It is also painfully ironic that after three solid days of travel (including two consecutive 5:40am flights followed by some harrowing hydroplane driving), I am still awake. Adrenaline keeps me awake on nights like this, but from what? I'm not sure. Fall travel season causes me to wake up in the middle of the night and stare into the darkness, wondering what I forgot to arrange for a flight, car rental, high school visit, college fair, interview... the list grows. Even as I wrote this, I logged onto my work email and wrote myself a reminder email for a call I need to make in the morning. Is this symptomatic of a workaholic, or just the excitement of this season of work? I will come to the realization as soon as it's over for another year.

However monotonous, cold, and damp the transition into the colder months in Minnesota may be, I appreciate the side-effect of coziness. I love summer for wonderful, lively days outside, but in more ways than one, this raw cold weather makes me feel alive.

There are no rules at the Wagner cabin. Actually, I take it back. There is one rule: you do whatever you want to do. There is no pressure. If you want to fish, go fishing. If you want to take the kayak for a spin across Johnson Lake, take it for a spin. If you want to drink a Summer Shandy while laying on the wooden dock with your book, do it. I identified so much with this lifestyle during my four-day weekend at the cabin over the 4th of July. Total, complete, 100% leisure and pleasure.

My friends, siblings Dave and Laura, are fantastic and wildly entertaining together and separately. On one particular night, during an incredible sunset, their individual pursuits of happiness collided in one display of woman vs. man in nature. Dave wanted a nice, refreshing sundown swim, and Laura (though she hates fish to the max) wanted to cast in her line to see if she could get any bites.

summertime (june/july/aug 2010)

My intention never was to kill this blog. I just somehow drifted into that summer state of mind, where going outdoors or lounging at the Tavern with friends seemed a more viable alternative to, well, sitting indoors and typing on a keyboard. The truth is, I have missed writing. So many times over these past three months, I have wanted to jot things down here, at least to jog my memory for later, but haven't quite put two and two together well enough to make anything legible.

A lot has happened this summer. And, a lot hasn't, but I think that's okay. I think I've managed to (almost) conquer my third summer as a true Minnesotan. Humidity, mosquitoes, warm nights in the city and down here in this little town -- it all seems like part of my soul now, almost to the degree I feel when I'm home. I went on more excursions to lake cabins (as seen above) than in years past, which led me to discover something I never knew I missed so much as a child: LAKES. Up at the Wagner cabin, I spent the 4th of July in a blissful heatstroke, laying on a wooden dock and reading until it was too hot to bear, then walking into the lake when it felt too hot. Nights were spent laughing until I couldn't sit up at their father's hilarity and mom's even-keeled humor. During a different weekend, my friend Kelsey's cabin brought my first pontoon experience, complete with me emerging as hero after a particularly intense tube rescue. Later, we sat around the fire with our Summer Shandies, played charades, and from what I remember, entertained ideas about our bigger life plans.

Speaking of life plans, whew. This summer brought my first wave of friends' wedding invites, mainly for the fall. As I write this, I'm fresh off attending my first friend wedding, which was like nothing I've ever experienced. A complete celebration, lavishly tasteful, and full of so much love it sort of renewed my outlook on a few things. However, on the other side of the spectrum, I've witnessed some dear friends go through the kinds of breakups so gut-wrenching it's hard to believe you'll come out alive.

I said goodbye to one long-term roommate; hello to a lovely short-term squatter; and finally welcomed my third roommate to our little apartment for the coming year. It will be full of so many laughs, I can tell already. You know when you have a friend whose laugh alone makes you chuckle? This is how it will be with this one. Just tonight, we had Ryan Reynolds Night, unintentionally -- our viewing of "The Proposal" was punctuated by her frequent comments of "...I MEAN CAN YOU BELIEVE HIS BODY RIGHT NOW?!!!! SICK!!" and my agreeing.

Finally, I took two trips to see the people I love dearly: my best friend in LA, and my family in Wyoming (the Wyoming trip for 2 weeks, amazingly). It was difficult to leave home this time, for reasons I can't seem to completely grasp. I realized (especially during this particularly horrendous bout of humidity and heat this past week), that I genuinely miss home. Wyoming has a way of exposing even the strongest to a point where it feels like there's no return. You feel a sort of self-reliance in Wyoming, which I miss. I miss its raw quality. And, I miss my parents. Two people so incredibly full of love, and dedicated to each other and to our family, I constantly wonder how I'll ever be able to find that kind of best friend.

I will try to post more frequently, especially as I begin to unwrap these summer months and get deeper into my upcoming travel season for work. In the meantime, I'll enjoy what weeks are left of summer and try to grasp the start of what is my "junior" year of real life.

if tomorrow wasn't such a long time (May 09)

Not everyone who leaves a campus wants to come back, and I understand this. Attending reunions, donating to the college, and roaming the buildings post-graduation is not appealing to some people. But, for a good number, returning to a place like this provokes such an overwhelming response, sometimes it's best to pause and take it in.

Hopefully Liv won't hold this photo against me. Last May, she came to visit our little group of friends in the cities, and had time to come down to Northfield over the weekend. As it turns out, her visit to town was the same day as our college's graduation. Unlike our own ceremony the previous May, this occasion was sunny, warm, and picturesque (ours was held indoors to avoid rain, turning the entire auditorium into a sea of sweaty parents and dripping mortarboards). I sat with Liv on the hillside, watching the Class of 2009 process down the side of the hill and to the stadium. We trailed them to a vantage point above the field, where we could see them diligently line up in rows to sit and listen to the commencement speakers. The college hymn began, and it was all we could take; Liv, wiping her eyes, took a moment. My parents, who trailed behind me, both got choked up as they realized one kid graduated the previous year and the last kid would graduate in the coming year. And, there's no better recipe for a show of public emotion than when you mix the beauty of our campus with our college hymn AND the celebratory nature of the day.

So, this week, we say goodbye to the Class of 2010. I am blue. It is infinitely worse to attend graduations when siblings are involved, as my brother is graduating. I know I'm not the only one, but there's nothing I can't stand more than when I cry in public. Unfortunately for me, there's also nothing like 1. the Olympics, including commercials (heart-wrenching!), and 2. graduations to make me blubber. It's tough stuff. I think the tougher situation is the realization that for both kids in my family, it's time to grow up, and move on into the stage of "real life." The relatively carefree days of college classes, breaks, and summer vacations have come to an end.

To maintain any sense of the past, it's a good idea to return to places of significant impact. Even though I roam this campus on a daily basis, at times I have flashbacks of moments I knew would leave a mark. I'm fascinated by the effect a simple plot of land with buildings can have on a person.

just a plot of land (July 09)

Summertime in my backyard. There is no location more peaceful than this piece of land. Forts in the corners, near the trees; spying on neighbors from the top of the shed; sprinting back and forth with dog; playing catch and batting practice while waiting for the steaks to grill. Before laptops, before high-speed internet, before freedom from parents' "no TV during the day" rule (until Nick-at-Nite came on and we were allowed a few episodes of something vintage).

Here, my mom watches as the new pup Lucy explores the yard. I can identify. As a kid, the backyard was a blank canvas, a place where my brother and I could create our own little worlds of fantasy and unaccountability. I would go outside for hours, dragging along simply my imagination, maybe a dress, and a blanket. Every element to the yard came alive, from the birdbath (used to wash clothes) to the grove of pine trees (makeshift shelter from the outdoors, naturally). My favorite times were when I could invite my best friends over to get wrapped up in my own little world, as well. I still have such vivid memories of playing, so vivid, in fact, sometimes I confuse them with real memories of childhood. I guess it is hard to explain, but hey, it happens.

Always, I've been grateful for my parents, who simply let me go and be a nut in the solace of my own fenced-in yard. I wonder what they thought when they saw me drag item after item of kitchen-ware and vintage dresses out into the yard.

These days, when I return home, my backyard has the same effect on me: a place to lay, relax, listen to the birds near the creek, and let the humid-free Western air wash over me.

breathe in, breathe out (Aug 09)

Finally, it's springsummer and we can all go to our favorite outdoor bar decks, order summer drinks, listen to the river, and watch the town come alive as everyone shakes off their collective cabin fever. After a week of dreary, cold rain, yesterday finally brought bright sun and blue skies. No better kind of day for a post-work happy hour that turned into squeezing every ounce of sun from the Tavern deck.

When we have visitors to our little town, these outdoor drinks are a necessity, as it was last August during a visit from my friend Peter, pictured above. There's a sort of serenity that comes with sharing outdoor air together. Maybe this is why summer is so addicting for everyone... and why Minnesotans love it so much. After months of toiling in negative degrees, beautiful days like these make us forget the challenge of what can seem like endless winter.

That said, I'm heading out to enjoy it.