Sometimes we make proclamations. Like this, “Let’s eat only potato chips and bottled water for the entire day!” and then we realize, not only do our bellies hurt, but also, it will be physically impossible as we have run out of potato chips.
Then there are ones like this, “Let’s blog every day for a month!” Then we realize, we only get internet every few days, and with Mallory’s unfortunate data plan, and Scott’s big split on his phone screen, options are debilitating.
So this is more of the amendment, more “Let’s blog every day meaning any day we have internet and catch everyone up on the day to day then!” That’s what this is.
Which brings us to this point. We last left you by a crackling fire in Granite Falls, MN, where Scott’s s’mores were melting onto his clothes and Mallory took to using her marshmallow stick as an instrument for cave painting charcoal letters on bricks. Wednesday, Scott formally unstuck himself from the marshmallow goo, and Mallory considered painting her face with ashes to escape from mosquitoes and potentially start her own cult. Which is why Thursday, even though a bit soggy, was a huge relief– a city skyline.
We admit we have been less than prompt with booking shows these days. Back when we traded all of our former life for our current life, booking took a backseat to things like how to drain a black water tank and whether or not we can legally park here. So we expected only next to nothing when we sent one final, desperate text to one, Dan Stewart, in Minneapolis and begged him to check in town for a show. Dan, for you deep cut fans, is the kindly gentleman that long ago filmed our video for Not Polite. We shouldn’t have been surprised. He pulled through for us then, and he pulled through for us now.
So Thursday we found ourselves in a room full of people at Bull Run Coffee Bar with the assisted effort and promotion of Tommy Rehbein, and talented acts like Faith Boblett and Taylor J.D. We had plenty of post cards filled out to unsuspecting friends of our new friends, a place to park, and a full belly by the time the evening was over– all on a few days notice. It was the happiest and most accommodating welcome we have received in a new city, yet. And that was only the beginning.
By 12:30pm on Friday, we had dropped our postcards off with the postman who passed by our camper that morning (who also carefully inspected our work– postcard stamps have gone up 1 cent since May, you know), and were sitting across from relative strangers in the most delicious Indian restaurant we’ve encountered to date (that’s Ghandi Mahal, for those of you looking). Brian and Sheralyn Barnes are kindred spirits, artists, and aspiring #camperlife hopefuls who have the ease of old friends and the addicting fervency of talented workaholics, and who happen to be the cousin of the grandfather of the children Mallory nannied in Nashville. Try saying that ten times fast. Before we were even able to, they adopted our sorry Twin Cities wandering selves and carved out some street parking and a key to their lives for laundry and showering purposes. Food, water, and the finest company in town– turns out, that’s how to keep a tiny folk band alive. Though it doesn’t seem to be working on our plants. A peak in at their goings-ons would also be in your favor…
This nonsense of “Minnesota nice” we’ve heard so much about– the perhaps less than favorable take on the tundra-to-Eden-to-tundra region of people? Completely debunked by this gathering.
Friday night, we learned the pros and cons of parking in an underground loading dock filled with trash, and the minor adventures of getting locked underground after a three hour set. But Saturday took us to Minneapolis’ fine Sculpture Garden, where we asked ourselves the hard questions like, “Where do sculptures from gardens go when they are replaced?”, and then searched about to empty our tanks in the suburbs, where we also wasted time in the suburbs, which then brought on the hard questions of why we spent so much time wasting time when there was so little time to be wasted.
Sunday we spent at Harriet Brewing, playing to attentive new friends and a couple of old friends from Nashville, who told us things like “You are happier than we’ve ever seen you!” And we believe them. Because, even when things are weird schlepping under the florescent lights of Target, or the gray water tank doesn’t seem to want to drain, or we have to write massive blogs because we haven’t had any internet for days (or electricity) instead of cute, solid ones that people with actually get to the end of, we are really happy out here. And we are finding a way to make that work, too. And to spread it. It’s likely coming to a city near you.
We are surrounded today, a Monday, by the artwork and instruments of Brian and Sheralyn (really, you need to check them out) in their apartment while they are away. Our laundry is swishing around in the basement. Our dog is snoozing in the camper while we take on the company of a geriatric cat. We are putting our fingers to the keys of computers in hopes of another weekend like this one. And we are making a lot of proclamations.
“Let’s keep doing this.”
That one, we think, will stick.