Saturday, February 25, 2012

2.25.12 Icy In, Icy Out

This morning it was as cold as the woman deeply in love with whom you have dared to flirt. I wore gloves but my hands were soon stinging anyway and I had to curl them into balls inside the gloves. (These gloves do not keep the fingers warm at all.)

So I set out early on this fine (but cold) Saturday morning, happy to have concluded the work week and have the chance to re-connect--up close and personal--with my island environs. I motor briskly off to work each morning and slide back into a spot along the curb at about 5:30 pm--head inside for dinner and the brief evening I have to myself before doing it all again. This workaday life is for the birds.

I circled the island, taking my old familiar route. I encountered one dogwalker on either side, and one jogger in the middle, at my beloved southeastern tip, where I was gratified to see that my Christmas balls remained hanging on their respective branches. I raised a hand in greeting to each one I passed and each responded in kind, including the mail carrier in his truck who passed me when crossing the railroad tracks on E. Island Ave., his island deliveries accomplished and my walk nearly concluded. He is in my good graces, as this week I happily removed the first mail delivery to hit our new mailfox ... I mean, mailbox.

Once again, the southeastern tip of the island was where I happened upon the most eye-catching photo opportunities. Here I couldn't resist capturing a spot where the river caught the light, which I snapped while looking down over a shoreline border of rocks. I realize that so many of the beautiful natural visions I behold on the island come to me courtesy of the river and the wondrous manifestations created by its waters. A river may be good for a great many things, but contributing beauty to the world is one of the things I value most. I didn't have to walk much farther before stumbling upon another unique aqueous display, a phenomenon the likes of which I'd never quite beheld before.


Here we see the low hanging branches of a tree caressing the surface of the river, where the elements have conspired to form small baubles of ice around each branch where it kisses the water. Truly one of the cooler manifestations of water (literally and figuratively) I've encountered here or anywhere. This was something I felt worthy of more than one photo, so I ended up with a few. Next, I'll share a more close-up view of these crystal jewels, where they nestle upon the face of the gentle flowing current.

It is as though Mother Nature has seen fit to create her very own Christmas balls for this tree, as if to show up my own clumsy attempts to improve upon nature. I daresay she has made her point, and I have no choice but to acknowledge the superiority of her handiwork.

Up along the eastern shore I proceed, along the return journey, and soon come upon the phenomenon encountered in my last post, this one engineered by man. This, as you may recall, is the small but ornate cluster of ice formed at the shore where a hidden pipe is pumping water into the river, for reasons unknown to me. This morning I manage to get a far more lovely shot of this manifestation, in which Mother Nature manages to play her part by throwing down a sunstream that fans downstream along the surface.

This is my favorite photo of the day, and has made my outing on this frigid morning well worth the pain coursing through my numb fingers, curled up inside my gloves like the rigid digits of a corpse. As I continue in a northwesterly direction, along the island's western shore, I grow pensive and poetic thoughts begin to flow into my mind. Where they come from, I know not, but I do know that they are generated, or rather, summoned, by the solitary and peaceful bubble in which I find myself, this blessed freedom to roam around a beautiful and tranquil place, the freedom that allows a mind and a heart to dance and play and to follow its very own promptings, rather than those of society. And so, as I contemplate this bubble I inhabit, a poem begins to form. When I reach my door, I pull out paper and pen and scribble it down:




Life flows on, in and around us—and the beauty of its many forms is there for the taking.

D.E.S.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

2.20.12 Views Along the Shore

Nice to end my first week on a new job with a 3-day weekend, courtesy of dead Presidents. I took a walk around the island, and it was pretty frosty out, unlike yesterday, but not too cold for these two fair-weathered, fine-feathered fowl who were making quite a racket as I walked by. I figured they were in need of some attention, so I humored them and hopped over the guardrail by the side of the road and went down to the shore to snap a few pics. This was perhaps the best shot because they were so busy posturing that they wouldn't hold still for long.

Before clambering back up to the road, I spotted an interesting ice formation and moved closer to get a better look. I wondered what had caused the ice to form in this way, then on closer inspection noticed there was a pipe in the center of the ice cluster, pumping water into the river -- why? Who knows? But it created a pretty cool ice sculpture there on the shore, to endure for as long as the temperatures will allow. I returned to the road and was soon back home, ready to enjoy the rest of my holiday. I didn't do much, but sometimes that's a good thing. In the evening we watched a sweet Cuban film about a young boy and girl--best friends who run away together to avoid being separated by the girl's impending relocation. We chose the film in honor of the trip to Cuba we're planning for next fall. It was a good choice, the name of the film: Viva Cuba. Give it a try.

Life flows on, in and around us—watch it closely and enjoy it, before it melts away.

D.E.S.




Monday, February 20, 2012

2.19.12 Your Island Blogger Redux

I guess the goal of writing a daily post was doomed from inception. My return to the work force last Monday effectively sealed that doom. But that's life, I guess. I will continue this record of my life on Nicollet Island, though no longer on a daily basis.

I spent today working on what I have dubbed "Operation Mailfox." It was so warm out (mid-February in Minnesota!) that I was working outdoors with no coat. In the early morn, I crept down to the eastern shore of the island where I had found and earmarked a fallen tree, which would be furnishing a branch to serve as my mailbox post. I brought along a saw and labored for about a half hour, since the branch had to be cut at both ends. There were a few passersby, whom I ignored, and who may have wondered why I was sawing a branch, or maybe they gave me no thought whatsoever.

I lugged the branch back home and set it aside until later, after I had obtained a weathered looking old whiskey barrel, typically used as a planter, at Home Depot, along with a couple of simple L-brackets. I also picked up (literally) a couple of 50-lb. bags of garden soil. Back home, I screwed the branch into the bottom of the barrel using the L-brackets, dumped in a layer of empty plastic coke bottles, then dumped in the 100 lbs of dirt. Oh, and before attaching the branch, I had also nailed a small rectanglar piece of wood to the top of the branch, upon which I intended to mount the mailbox, secured with a couple of screws on each side.

When I wasn't doing the above, I was inside applying three coats of polyurethane to the painting (of a fox) on the mailbox to help ensure that the acrylics paint could withstand the island elements and endure, hopefully as well as the living foxes could.

While I was outdoors working on my project, I walked to the car in front of the house to get something and who should I spot but old foxy himself, prowling around the house across the street! I crossed over and followed him around for a while, and he ultimately led me to E. Island Ave., where he crossed the road and descended the bluff, while I did likewise though I halted at the cliff and looked on from above. Meanwhile, I noticed a couple out strolling who had stopped to observe us both. After Mr. Fox effected his departure, I struck up a conversation with them, a friendly couple from Hopkins named Mark and Diane, out to enjoy this unseasonably warm day with a walk on Nicollet Island. I think they were entertained by the fox's performance, and by my less than graceful pursuit of him, with my crappy cell phone camera in hand.

I came back home, and some time later, mounted the mailbox on the post, and here you see the result. As weather permits, there will be shrubs/flowers/reeds/vines, etc. added to the planter. And this accounts for one day of my all too fleeting weekend.

Life flows on, in and around us—and when it flows in the form of letters and bills and solicitations, it must find a mailbox to receive it, come wind, snow, sleet, or driving rain.

D.E.S.

Monday, February 13, 2012

2.13.12 Foxes on Parade

Today was my first day on a new job, so I dispensed with the early morning island walk. It was a wonderful day and thus far I'm very happy with my new employer, workplace, and co-workers (those I've met). Snow had begun to fly moments before I left the office, and it was a slow and careful drive during the height of rush hour and still I reached my island home in 25 minutes.

I pulled over in front of the house a tad too rapidly, and the car slid, bumping into the curb. As I turned to open my door, silently hoping the car had sustained no damage, I caught a glimpse of something through my window, out of the corner of my eye. I did a double take and marveled to see my old foxy friend sauntering along in the middle of the street, right past my astonished eyes. No sooner had my amazement subsided when along comes another one, following behind, just as leisurely. "Holy crap," I think, "the island is being overrun by foxes!"

I didn't have my camera with me (wished I had!), but they looked just like the one in this picture. They continued sauntering down the street as I got out of the car and called and whistled to them. They didn't pay me any mind but just continued on their way. I felt more vindicated than ever in the choice of what I'd painted on our mailbox.

For those who may not recall, here is my tribute to our island co-habitants, and after this evening's sighting, I don't mind saying it's a pretty good likeness. I now feel surer than ever that I haven't seen the last of my vulpine friends. My reading tells me that red foxes either establish stable home ranges within particular areas or are itinerant with no fixed abode. Given the urban landscape that surrounds us, I suspect that these foxes would be most apt to adopt the stable home range provided by the island. With any luck, I will have my camera with me during our next encounter.

Life flows on, in and around us—and sometimes it is covered with fur and walks on four legs.

D.E.S.

Sunday, February 12, 2012

2.11.12 Coming Home

As wonderful as it was to spend time with our children and grandchild, there is no denying the pleasurable feeling of arriving back home to our island sanctuary. We got back last night, and first thing this morning I logged on and learned of Whitney Houston's passing, saddening if unsurprising news. Then, having missed the island and eager to renew our acquaintance, I bundled up and headed out for my morning constitutional.

I made a quick circuit of the island, and it was cold enough to freeze a few nose hairs. I saw nothing especially noteworthy, except perhaps for a group of about ten runners loping along E. Island Ave. as I headed up that shoreline toward home. Before that, though, I paused on the Merriam St. bridge when I noticed that a train was passing and would block my way unless I dilly-dallied a bit. So I hung fire on the bridge and snapped this photo, which only served to remind me of what a schlumpy, nerdy picture of a doofus I was. Oh well, in Minnesota in the winter, there is no place for vanity.

I would much prefer to reflect upon this photo of a pleasant family meal enjoyed at a highly touted Chinese restaurant in Kansas City. Here we see my eldest son, my younger son and his girlfriend, and my wife and I. The meal was fantastic and we all left feeling very satisfied. I miss them already, and our granddaughter, who joined us shortly after this shot was taken.


There was a considerable amount of reflecting upon Whitney Houston this afternoon and evening. Although the cause of death remains unknown, the conclusion one leaps to is that drugs were involved. And I can't help feeling saddened for her, and for all those who allow drugs into their lives, not fully realizing how strong a hold those substances can have, and the extent of the dangers they represent. My own brother, like Whitney, was a user of crack cocaine, and many other drugs. He died in his bed at 36 after shooting up what he surely did not realize was to be his final high. I'm thinking that maybe Whitney did the same thing, just another occasion of getting high, not realizing the toll that drug use over many years had taken on her poor vulnerable heart.

The human heart is good for so many things—but there are so many things that are not good for the human heart.

Life flows on, in and around us—embrace it, protect it, and love it as long as you can.

D.E.S.

2.10.12 The Game of Life

Last night we played the game of Life. And all I have to say is: this game is in serious need of updating. Put another way: the game sucks! And I'm glad to see that I'm not the only one who feels this way.


Granted, I don't feel strongly enough about it to emblazon my proclamation of disdain across my chest in a permanent manner, and I do suspect the person in this picture may be commenting upon more than the Milton Bradley game, but I do feel that the board game is no longer politically correct (if it ever was), and my family members agree.


First of all, just as each player must choose between attending college or going directly into the workplace, there are certain other aspects of real life where choice is a factor, and accordingly, this damn game should present them to the players as such. For example, since when is marriage a given? Only I should have the say-so as to whether I am joined in my vehicle by a little blue or pink companion. When it comes to the question of marriage in the game of Life, put me down as Pro Choice! Having made the college/no college decision, players should then be given the choice of marriage/no marriage, where each option then precipitates appropriate benefits and/or disadvantages (I'll leave these to your imagination).

The next decision (you can see what's coming, right?) should be that of whether or not to have children. The board game, as currently constituted, presumes that everyone desires the pitter patter of little feet in their lives. Pardon me for stating the obvious, but—hello!not all do! Once again, players should be given the choice whether or not to have kids, which then results in appropriately corresponding benefits and/or disadvantages.

As we finally ground our way to the game's finale (and it was a long time coming, I assure you—if only real life lasted so long!), everyone began to contemplate the ultimate reckoning. I refer to the criteria which establish who is the winner—do you recall what those criteria consist of? That's right, the winner in the game of Life is the player who ends up with the most money—the greatest net worth.

Seriously?

I sincerely hope that, when I die, nobody presumes to judge how successful a life I had based upon how much money I had when I died. It would be absurd. While money may be important and necessary for survival, it is a poor barometer of how happy or successful or worthwhile of a life one has had.

In the film It's A Wonderful Life, George Bailey is reminded that "no man is a failure who has friends." With all due respect to the friends I have had, and to Frank Capra, I would submit that life is not a popularity contest, and the merit of my life depends on the number of friends I have had no more than it does upon the number of dollars I have had. If, after I've died, I were given the chance to judge the success of my own life, I would consider my life successful to the degree that I made it the kind of life I wanted it to be. And I think everybody else's lives ought to be judged by the same criteria. It's not about how much you loved or how much you were loved, it's not about how much money or how many friends you had, and it's not about how successful others considered you to be. Your own criteria are all that matter with respect to your own life. And there's no reason that all of us can't be winners. Milton Bradley—take note!

Life flows on, in and around us—we takes our chances, we makes our choices, we lives with the consequences—and it is what we make it.

D.E.S.



2.9.12 Leaving Home

I title this post Leaving Home because my lovely companion and I have left our island home for a short road trip, a 7-hour jaunt southward along Interstate 35 to visit progeny in Kansas City: our two sons and 3-year-old granddaughter.

The title might also refer to our sons, both of whom have (obviously) left home, to build lives of their own in a place considerably distant from the island home of their parents. Whether they remain long in that place, return to Minnesota, or move someplace else, time alone will tell. They have not yet seen their parents' new island home, the place for which the home of their childhoods was forsaken, but it is expected they will visit in the spring or summer. Whatever possessions they had left behind in their parents' house have now been delivered to them, and I suspect they are now spending some time inspecting items long unseen and unmissed, which are perhaps now evoking fond memories of their childhoods and youth.

Most of us leave home at least once in our lives. Some of us, many times. My sister left home when she turned eighteen (by the way, Happy Birthday, Pat!), I left when I was twenty-two, and my brother never left. He died in his bedroom at the age of thirty-six, but that is another story. (See Sunday's post for a little more about my brother's premature departure.)

I do wish our boys were making their own homes a bit closer to ours. But some circumstances are out of our control, and we must make the best of them. Both of them are gradually making homes for themselves, according to their means and lifestyles and preferences, working out their own definitions of what sort of home they would ultimately like to have. I realize that home can mean something different to each of us. The kind of home that makes one person happy might make another miserable. And the kind of home that makes a person happy during one period of his or her life might make that same person miserable during a different period.

I'm very happy with the kind of home that my companion and I have made, and are continuing to make, on Nicollet Island. It perfectly fits the type of people we are during this period of our lives. Our island home is compatible with our lifestyle, our interests, our means, and our goals. It is a small hobbit hole of a home, but it is snug and cozy and a place to which we are happy to return after having been away. How much more can one ask of the place he or she calls home, except that it also be a place where kindness and love abide and prevail, abundantly and consistently? At this time in our lives, we can ask no more. So we visit the children we love, offer them our love and support, enjoy their company, and return to our island home, thankful for a safe journey.

Life flows on, in and around us--we make a home for it as best we can, and when it outgrows that home, we make it another.

D.E.S.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

2.8.12 Branching Out

This morning was pretty uneventful, sort of a ho hum outing as I wandered along the banks of the river searching for a stray section of tree limb or trunk that could serve as post for my mailbox. I could easily go purchase a 4x4 at Home Depot, but the idea of using a piece of timber from the island, as I did for my coat rack, is much more appealing. I did spot one recently fallen tree that could serve my purpose, but I would have to return with saw in hand and cut the section, something I'm not disposed to do this morning.

So instead I'll share a couple of poems composed this week while wandering around the island with my head in the clouds.

The initial thought relating to work comes to me as I prepare to rejoin the workplace. My first day on a new job is next Monday, about which I have mixed feelings: excited yet apprehensive and a tad melancholy at the understanding that my carefree life of leisure will soon come to an end, and my time for indulging in writing, painting, playing music, wandering the island, and composing blog posts will be in far shorter supply than heretofore. But one is obliged to generate a certain amount of filthy lucre to survive, and also to afford certain of the pleasures that add spice to one's life. Travel, for example. One motivation for shedding the responsibilities (and expenses) of being a homeowner was so that we could devote more time and money to travel and other stimulating endeavors. I do have passion for, and derive satisfaction from, the line of work I have done for many years, and look forward to being anxiously engaged in it once again. Existing in a bubble of contemplation and artistic activity on an island is all well and good, but no man is an island, as they say (or rather, as John Donne said), and even an artist (or especially an artist) needs interaction with others and engagement with the world at large and the pressing concerns of humankind.


And so, as I head back into the workaday world, with days filled with time that is perpetually running out, I hope I can make the best use of it, wherever I may be, whether in a conference room discussing the most effective application of available data mirroring strategies, or on an island in the Mississippi River, wandering on the banks and over bridges and through timberlands in search of the perfect branch.






Life flows on, in and around us--while at work, at play, and when feeling our way, hand over hand, along a branch we have never embraced before.

D.E.S.

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

2.7.12 Moon Over Minneapolis

Yes, there was a moon over Minneapolis last night, but I didn't get a decent photo of it, so I ask you to use your imagination and pretend that the light shining on this door is really the moon. The moon was up there, I swear, while my lovely companion and I strolled for hours, through the Warehouse District of Minneapolis, down the west bank of the river, over the Stone Arch Bridge, up St. Anthony Main, and finally back over the Merriam Street Bridge to our island home. The unseasonably temperate weather made me question whether we were actually in Minnesota in February. We passed this door on North 1st Street, near the Acme Comedy Club.

Here is a nighttime view of Nicollet Island, in which--if you click to enlarge--the Hennepin Bridge and the Grain Belt Beer sign can be seen reflected in the river. I look at this picture, and once again think how much cooler it would look if the Grain Belt Beer sign were illuminated--as it was designed to be! What exactly is the obstacle? C'mon, Grain Belt Beer folks, get on it!

Here is a picture meaningful only to me, and to those who have followed this blog. Shot from the downtown side of the river, it is a view of the spot on Nicollet Island where I cross underneath the Hennepin Bridge while out on my daily constitutional. As some may recall, it is the spot where, on a couple of occasions, a bundle of clothes and/or bedding has suddenly appeared (one is still there, tucked up underneath the bridge's underpinning); it is the spot where I noticed someone parked on the sidewalk behind one of the bridge's large stone pillars; and it is where someone had scrawled on the sidewalk in large letters: FREE BRADLEY MANNING (still visible to this day). The bottom half of the picture is the river and the lights which are reflected therein.

Here is perhaps the clearest shot I've gotten of the Gold Medal Flour sign, whose words blink on consecutively all through the night and can be seen when standing in front of our house. The sign is mentioned in a song I wrote this past Christmas, which some of you may recall, and if you don't recall, I include the link again below. Once upon a time, the individual letters of the Grain Belt Beer sign also used to light up consecutively. I really would have liked to see that. Are you listening out there? Fix the damn sign already, will ya! The Gold Medal Flour sign sits atop the Mill City Museum which opened in 2003. Built in the ruins of the Washburn "A" Mill next to Mill Ruins Park on the banks of the Mississippi River, the museum focuses on the founding and growth of Minneapolis, especially flour milling and the other industries which used water power from St. Anthony Falls.

Gold Medal Christmas:
http://www.reverbnation.com/play_now/song_11490851

Here is the best shot I've ever taken of the North Star Blankets sign, which crowns the North Star Woolen Mill building just a bit northwest of the museum. This building was originally a textile mill for the North Star Woolen Company. The mill was built in 1864 by W.W. Eastman and Paris Gibson on the west side of the west side canal. High quality wool blankets, scarves, flannels, and yarns were made at the facility which, by 1925, had become the nation's largest manufacturer of wool blankets.

Just before heading over the Stone Arch Bridge, I gaze across the river and snap this shot of the St. Anthony Main sign, which sits upon the Salisbury & Satterlee Building and overlooks the popular St. Anthony Main area. On the first floor of this building is a bar & grill called Tuggs Tavern, which, it just so happens, is where my companion and I stopped for our evening meal, after crossing the Stone Arch Bridge. After our long walk, a burger and a beer seemed just the thing, and so it was. A quick game of foosball and we were back on our way again, strolling down the cobblestoned street toward home.

But I've jumped the gun a bit, since there were a few pictures snapped before reaching Tuggs that I have yet to share. This one, for instance, taken almost midway across the bridge, shows the pantheon of playwrights constituting the outer shell of the Guthrie Theater, Minneapolis' premier theater. You can easily make out (from left to right): George Bernard, Eugene, Anton, and Tennessee.

And here, a picture of one bridge shot from another, is the rebuilt 35W bridge. As you may recall, this is the one that made headlines in 2007 when it collapsed into the Mississippi. As you can see (click to enlarge!), the bridge is looking pretty spiffy now and makes a beautiful picture when paired with the pollution-spewing smokestack to its left. Lovely blue reflection in the river, if I say so myself.

And finally, the last picture before we reach Tuggs Tavern (and before my camera battery dies a well-earned death), here is the neon self-assertion of a place called the Soap Factory, a non-profit art space founded in 1988 whose mission is stated thus: "The Soap Factory is a laboratory for artistic experimentation and innovation, dedicated to supporting artists and engaging audiences through the production and presentation of contemporary art in a unique and historic environment." The building which houses these artistic hijinks is none other than the historic (so much around here is "historic") National Purity Soap Factory (a 48,000-square-foot warehouse). I have been inside this building where I have viewed traditional artwork such as paintings and photographs, as well as performance art which included performers on stilts. A pretty cool place to experience something new and/or different.

And so ends our evening promenade through the Warehouse District, along the river, and over the bridge to St. Anthony Main and Nicollet Island. Each day we discover new restaurants, new businesses, and new entertainment venues, while making new friends and getting to know our world a little bit better in fun and interesting ways.

Life flows on, in and around us--sometimes over bridges, sometimes illuminated for all to see, and sometimes quietly and with meaning that only we, in the deepest wells of our consciousness, can fully understand and appreciate.

D.E.S.

Monday, February 6, 2012

2.6.12 A Cardinal's Virtue




every once in a while
there comes a day
when a living thing
like this brilliant cardinal
shows up to say
all that needs to be said






Life flows on, in and around us—and sometimes it flies past before we can even catch a glimpse of it.

D.E.S.

2.5.12 Keeping It Holy

My lovely companion and I took a stroll around the island this morning, then a detour that took us past Our Lady of Lourdes church. On this Sabbath morning, it seemed appropriate to feature this house of devotion, or at least a couple of its salient features. The steeple is perhaps the most salient, visible from various points in the immediate area, including Nicollet Island. It is one of the various architectural treasures that, taken together, comprise the picturesque charm of the St. Anthony Main area. The oldest church building in Minneapolis, Our Lady of Lourdes has been in continuous use since the mid-19th century.


Here we see the fleur de lys motif ornamenting the bars on the lower windows, as well as crowning the uprights of the fence which encircles the building. I can see parishioners arriving for services near the front of the church, as we slip discreetly around the side. We proceed to the local grocery to stock up on refreshments to accompany Super Bowl viewing later in the day. While not big football fans, we've decided to indulge in this once-a-year ritual, which seems to inspire in the homes of many Americans a religious ferver seldom seen within a traditional house of devotion.

I can't say that either the hope of eternal salvation or that of temporal athletic glory inspires much of a fervor in my humble breast, but I hope that--if only on this one day--Providence sees fit to smile on those who have a passion for such things.

Life flows on, in and around us—sometimes with the deafening roar of a packed stadium, other times with the serene yet impassioned reverence found in a house of worship.

D.E.S.


2.4.12 A Bridge to Tomorrow

Though a dreary day, or at least the dreary start of a day, since often the day brightens up after my early morning stroll, I wanted to present this view of the Merriam St. Bridge, seen from St. Anthony Main: the portal of entry for most visitors to the island. As you cross the bridge, the Nicollet Island Inn greets you on your right, while to your left stands the Nicollet Island Pavilion building and the southeastern tip of the island.

The southeastern tip of the island, if you recall, is where, one day early on in the life of this blog, I found a Christmas ball and hung it on a tree branch, only to find, after about a week, that it had vanished. It is also where, some time after that, I found two Christmas balls and hung them on a branch, where they remain hanging to this day. Some things endure, while others don't.

The southeastern tip is also where, only a few days ago, I discovered that someone had painted this piece of shoreline detritus with an inspiring message, visible from the Central Avenue Bridge. My camera's zoom feature doesn't really convey how far away I am when standing on that bridge, but it is quite a distance away, and I am looking down from a pretty respectable height.

Today I am selling off most of the large items that remain in my former residence, thanks to craigslist. The shedding of my former life, along with most of its material encumbrances, is nearly complete, and I look forward to the day, not long from now, when I no longer have to visit that former residence and attend to its final homeownerly demands--when I can remain here on the island, savor the pleasures it affords, and pursue the interests that most enrich my existence--that fill it with the greatest possible degree of satisfaction and joy.

I can hardly believe the nature of this year's winter, and choose to believe that Mother Nature has seen fit to ease us into this new location as painlessly as possible, to lighten the burdens we might have faced when traveling to and fro by blessing us with one of the mildest (if not the mildest) Minnesota winters on record. And I can hardly believe that Spring will soon be upon us, a time when the beauty of the island will burgeon and flourish, and I can discover on my daily walks all the treasures that a new season has to reveal.

Life flows on, in and around us—and sometimes there is a bridge right before our eyes, waiting to usher us into a new and life-changing reality, if only we have the will and the wherewithal to cross.

D.E.S.

Friday, February 3, 2012

2.3.12 Art & History: The Legacy We Leave

A couple of days ago, on Jan. 31, I painted this fox on a mailbox. Since moving to Nicollet Island, I have enjoyed working on and completing various art projects. This one was inspired by the fox whose tracks I came upon one day, and whom I spotted in the flesh, or rather, in the fur, some days later as he wandered about on the frozen Mississippi, heckled by crows.


I'd never before painted a fox on a mailbox. I'd never painted anything on a mailbox. You just never know what you can do until you try. And that, I guess, is a maxim according to which I've pretty much always lived my life. I've always been open to trying new things, and am saddened when I think of all the people who are not, and consequently miss out on a lot of rich experiences and self-discovery.

I'm convinced that some of the most talented artists, musicians, writers and thinkers live their entire lives without ever knowing the power which, all along, they have carried within. My own talents may not fall under any superlative headings, but cultivating them has brought joy and rich feelings of achievement into my life, which are not bad things to carry during this all-too-temporary sojourn on planet Earth. If anything I've done or produced has brought joy into the lives of others, so much the better--I think that, if nothing else, we should try to leave this world just a tiny bit more beautiful than it was when we arrived, a tiny bit happier, wiser, better. And that is how we ourselves should be when we depart: just a tiny bit happier, wiser, and more beautiful--in some tiny but meaningful way, better.

Some of my posts include a certain amount of historical data pertaining to Nicollet Island, but I lay no claims to being a legitimate historian, nor is such my primary purpose in writing this blog. I write this blog to record my impressions of the environment in which I now find myself, the meditations provoked by those impressions, and to some extent, an account of what my experience has been like, and is like, in downsizing from an entire house (of my own) to a 600-square-foot rented apartment which I share with another person. I hope to gain, and provide, some insights into the attempt to live an uncluttered, minimalistic existence, and what it is like to do so with one foot in a city and the other on an isolated piece of land in the Mississippi River, adjacent to that city.

The island has its own legitimate historians, and I leave the record of all its verified and authenticated historical data in their capable hands. Their names are Christopher and Rushika Hage, and they are my near neighbors. I had the pleasure of making their acquaintance on Halloween when they were out trick-or-treating with their children. They are the authors of two books which, together, comprise a rich history of Nicollet Island. Here is a glimpse into both books, each with its official summary (not written by me), and links to where you may purchase them:

Above St. Anthony Falls, in the middle of the Mississippi River, hidden in the heart of Minneapolis, lies Wita Waste (beautiful island). Named Wita Waste by Dakota Indians, it is known now as Nicollet Island, the only inhabited island in the Mississippi. Over the centuries, it has been a sacred birthing place, at the center of the lumber and flour-milling industries that built Minneapolis, and involved in the collapse of the Eastman tunnel, which almost doomed those industries. One of Minneapolis's largest fires, the great conflagration of 1893, started there. It has been the home of pioneers, veterans, elite barons of the Gilded Age, Roman Catholic monks, hippies, artists, vagrants, and donkeys. Many of their houses still remain, preserving Minneapolis's architectural heritage. Nicollet Island has been at the center of numerous controversies ranging from its original land claim to proposals to locate the state capitol there, to, more recently, the threatened demolition of its historic houses. Nicollet Island is the history of Minnesota in miniature, and its tale is one of beauty, romance, disaster, and conflict.


PURCHASE HERE: http://tinyurl.com/78ggeey


The photos and stories contained in Nicollet Island tell the history of Minnesota in miniature--a tale of beauty, romance, disaster, and conflict. Nicollet Island lies at the heart of old Minneapolis, and its buildings are steeped in history. Authors (and island residents) Christopher and Rushika Hage tell the story of the island and its inhabitants over the centuries.

[For whatever reasons, there is not much of a summary provided for this book, which focuses on the architectural aspect of the homes and buildings which have stood on Nicollet Island through the years.]

PURCHASE HERE:
http://tinyurl.com/7mtcs37




While my writings and art may not endure to enlighten people centuries from now on what life was like for me here, in the 21st century, on Nicollet Island, I am content to continue doing what lies within my feeble capacity to leave this world, this city, this island, a tiny bit more beautiful that it was when I arrived.

Life flows on, in and around us—what lives today is succeeded by what lives tomorrow, and all we have is what we have today, and what we leave for tomorrow.

D.E.S.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

2.2.12 Wandering the Moors

This morning I walked the island early, before the dawn, and it was ... otherworldly. Like Heathcliff wandering the moors, as those moors of England appear in my fancy ... ghostly still, enshrouded in fog, comprised of a silence so thick and ominous you can feel your body swaddled in its sepulchral embrace. I wasn't really thinking about taking pictures, as I preferred just to open my senses completely to the surreal nature of a setting usually so familiar but now wholly transformed into a scene out of Dark Shadows--the beloved Gothic soap opera of my childhood that featured a storyline centered around the vampire, Barnabas Collins. So taken was I by this creature that I earnestly wished to take Barnabas as my confirmation name, when that rite fell upon me during my Catholic upbringing. My mother wasn't having it, and I ended up with Gerard, my brother's middle name and that of the patron saint of motherhood.

Dark Shadows enthusiast that I once was, you can imagine my surprise and delight when, one evening out walking the island, my lovely companion and I happened to notice, through the window of one of the island's attractive Victorian homes, a painting of Barnabas Collins himself gracing a central wall of the front sitting room (somehow, it seems appropriate to call it a sitting room). We also noticed a number of guitars adorning the adjacent walls, and I thought to myself, the resident of this home is someone I must meet. The house itself would not have been out of place in an episode of Dark Shadows. I have yet to meet the inhabitant of the house, but I'm sure that I wil before long, as the warmer weather returns and people become more visible (the Minnesota winter tends to make people invisible).

And so, it wasn't until my walk was nearly concluded that I pulled out my camera to capture the ambiance of the morning. This shot, I think, nicely conveys the atmosphere surrounding me. The sun had begun to rise, lending a silver-blue tinge to everything it touched. I thought I might happen upon my foxy friend, as I have learned that foxes are nocturnal creatures, most active between dusk and dawn, but no such luck. So I continued wandering around the NW tip of the island, as birds began to call to one another and the islands human denizens began to stir, with the occasional car or jogger breezing past.

Here is a fine example of one of the island's Victorian homes, in which I daresay Barnabas might have felt right at home (as long as it had a basement suitable for coffin storage). I think the picture is not as sharp as it might be, due to my unsteady hand rather than to the morning's murky fog. Nevertheless, I think the picture nicely conveys the beauty of the architecture and the home's Gothic character.

For this shot, I descended to the Tweedy-Loweth Bridge and gazed out to the northwest, where the river comes down from its origins in the much more distant northwest, Lake Itasca in central Minnesota--where you can cross the river's compact mouth in a few steps (a place I have yet to visit!). If you look closely, you can make out a few ducks gliding calmly on the surface (but paddling like hell underneath, or so I am told).

And here I have simply turned to face the opposite direction, where the channel that hugs the island continues to the southeast before rejoining the main body of the river. My morning outing concluded, I head back home to dash off this post and begin the business of a day from which, in all likelihood, the fog will soon lift.



Life flows on, in and around us--often seen and experienced but through a glass darkly--or through a mist that time and nature eventually dissipates; or in other words, that which you cannot see now, you will almost surely see later.

D.E.S.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

2.1.12 Dare to Dream!

Today I walked out on the Central Avenue Bridge and this is the picture I took from the middle of the bridge. What you see in the picture is the southeastern tip of Nicollet Island, which has for some time now been littered with this large piece of plywood. I have seen it before, but always it had been the yellowish color of wood and covered with incomprehensible scrawls of graffiti. It was truly an eyesore. Today, however, it would appear that some enterprising local has decided to send the world a message. Whomever he or she may be, I send out my thanks for the encouraging word, and for turning an ugly piece of refuse littering the shore into something that blends in more attractively with its surroundings and serves a noble purpose: reminding us all that it is important to dream.

Life flows on, in and around us—sometimes calling out to us with a single word that has the power to cast our day—our lives and what we are doing with them—in a whole light.

D.E.S.

1.31.12 Watching the Watcher

Today I got a glimpse of what I must look like to others as I scrabble about the island taking pictures. My lovely companion and I took a walk on the downtown Minneapolis side today, observing our island from afar. We spotted this fellow near the Grove Street Flats, photographing the houseboat moored at the shore--which I myself have examined and photographed on many occasions.

Here is what the fellow is photographing--and what I too am photographing, though from a different perspective, and with an attractive reflection in the river not available to my counterpart on the far shore. Something else which my perspective reveals, also denied to my counterpart, is the way in which the colors of the boat and the colors of the Grove Street Flats complement each other.

This is something that my companion and I are noticing for the first time (duh!), and also how the colors of the 2nd houseboat and the colors of the Grain Belt Beer sign also complement each other. Surely this is no accident, and the owners of both boats have painted their vessels in a way that would best complement their surroundings--for which I thank and applaud them.


Life flows on, in and around us--giving rise to beauty in similarities as well as in differences.

D.E.S.

1.30.12 Embracing Life's Flotsam and Jetsam!

Today I walked off the island and over a bridge to the downtown Minneapolis side, where there are some scenic riverside nooks and retreats that provide some interesting perspectives on the river.

Here, for example, I am crossing a small wooden foot bridge when these fine feathered fowl decided to climb out of the water and traipse over the ice. They made a rather comical picture as they sallied forward, like an intrepid band of Three Musketeers out to wage battle. They were definitely attracted by yours truly, as they looked up expectantly, mutely petitioning me for anything I had to give.

Unfortunately for them, I had nothing to give, except the immortality of appearing in my blog, which I'm not sure would have impressed them. But, too bad for them, I happen to be well acquainted with the signs posted in the area cautioning against feeding the local water fowl, and I wouldn't dream of breaking the law just to make a duck's day.


As I turned in the other direction, to look out over the river, I spied this peculiar configuration of sartorial castoffs adorning the shore. I must say, you see some strange sights if you hang around the river often enough. Was it merely some local joker wishing to force passersby to do a doubletake, or did The Incredible Shrinking Man meet his ultimate destiny here on the shore? Whatever the case, I didn't dwell on these rags for long, but allowed my eye to travel on, along the shoreline. It didn't have to travel far before falling upon another peculiar sight. At approximately the center of this next photograph, you will perceive an article that undeniably belongs on the shore of every great river: a rocking chair!


I guess today was just a day for happening upon strange things. We all have those days, don't we? We suddenly come upon something in a place where we never expected such a thing to appear. And how do we react? Do we embrace the unexpected? Do we scoff or sneer at it? Or do we simply ignore it and go on our way, as though it were never there at all? I suspect the latter is what most people do, and the reaction I myself would hope to avoid if possible. I would prefer to be one who embraces the unexpected and incorporates it into his day--even celebrating it should there be even a tenuous reason for doing so. For isn't the encountering of the different, the strange, the unknown, what makes life interesting? How boring would life be if everything were always just the same--if everything we saw was always exactly what we expected to see, in exactly the place where we expected to see it!

Life flows on, in and around us--and how delightfully it can vibrate and sing when it flows in ways, and in places, and into circumstances it has never known before!

D.E.S.