Day 76, Saturday May 18, 2024: Minneapolis, Minnesota
- Mark Carl Rom
- May 22
- 4 min read
Carnegie libraries visited: umner, Franklin, Hosmer in Minneapolis; St. Anthony Park and Riverview in St. Paul, Minnesota
As far as I’m concerned, the history of the world (through my child’s eye) followed a direct line from Adam and Eve to the Flintstones to my nuclear family to, someday, maybe, the Jetsons. Like those others, the Rom nuclear family had almost no contact with our relatives. On my father’s side, we sometimes got to visit (or were visited by) Sister/Mother Mary Grace (Betty), my father’s older sister. Both of his parents had died when he was a child, and I never met his two younger sisters. On my mother’s side, I only remember visiting her mother while she was already in a nursing home. It smelled like disinfectant and old people, and I wasn’t eager to stay very long. I do remember my grandmother (or maybe it was my mother) asking me “Do you know why your eyes are so blue?” Answer: “Because God put a little bit of heaven in them.” I don’t remember seeing my mother-side cousins growing up. Arkansas was a long way from everywhere, back then.
My sisters have always been much better at keeping in touch. On this trip. Gretchen suggested that I contact her sister-in-law Katie (in Nashville) and Cristine put me in touch with our cousin Lisa. I wouldn’t have thought to reach out to either of them, and I’m so glad that I did. I spent two nights with Katie and her husband Sonny in Nashville, and now I’m spending two nights with Lisa and her partner Tim in Minneapolis.
The table was full last night, with Lisa’s daughter Kate, son Dan and his wife Katie, and Lisa’s “bonus” (in their words step) daughter Anne joining in. It was such a lovely time, with each person joining in with their stories. They did ask me “Are you going to write about us?” and I answered “Perhaps.”
Before dinner, Lisa asked me if I wanted a glass of wine. I responded that I don’t think my friends in rehab would be cool with that and she said “Oh, you’ve been in rehab?” Indeed, I have been. I assured her that it was perfectly fine if the others had drinks over dinner, and they did.
Observation: I can tell I’m getting better, because I didn’t obsessively watch how much anyone was drinking. I could tell that no one was drinking very much – they went through maybe a bottle and a half of rose among the five of them. At some point in the evening we started talking about John Mulaney’s show Everybody is in LA. I hadn’t seen it, so I asked if anyone had seen his Baby J special. The reviews were not favorable. The one that hit the hardest was that addiction and recovery humor is just not that funny, especially when given by a handsome, famous, rich guy who obviously has risks of relapse (e.g., the handsome, famous, rich parts). Mulaney projects the “I’ve got this” vibe of someone recently sober. Kate had a close friend in recovery who presented himself in the same way. That friend recently died of an overdose after his “I’ve got this” became “I’ve gotta have this (drug)”.
One of my family’s venerable traditions was the Sunday after church critique of the Good Shepherd Lutheran church’s music, given by my mother, Meg. Meg had a keen and discerning musical ear (she had been the church’s organist for a number of years, and had admirably taught herself to play the organ’s foot pedals when she was in her 50s). In her role as critic, not a mere parishioner, her reviews were usually detailed and harsh. I’ve inherited this role regarding the spin classes I attend. I’ll give the instructor of my spin class today two stars. Her musical choices were solid (special props for beginning the class with The Bodeans’ “Closer to Free”) but her use of them was not. Songs have a beat for a reason: it’s what you clap your hands to, or shake your hips to, or spin the pedals to. The beats were irrelevant to this instructor; she would tell us to ride at 100 rpm when the song was 70 beats per minute, and vice versa. Here’s a challenge for you. Pick out your favorite dance song, dance to a widely different beat, and see how that feels.
Not all recovery meetings are models of pathos and bathos. I didn’t really want or felt I needed to attend a meeting today, yet I went. The church’s basement, where the meeting was held, was painted as black as the burnt coffee on the counter. The mood was glum; I heard no laughter. Everyone looked pretty beaten up which, I admit, is how recovering alcoholics can often appear.
Oh, and I visited five Carnegie libraries today, as well as the awesomely modern Minneapolis Central Library.
Commentaires