Joy's Laundromat

I've been completely out of it lately. I've felt like I'm inside of this bubble where I observe everything around me, but in no way feel the interactions I have with other people. I haven't tasted the food that enters my mouth and I've simply generally felt numb.

But today, for the first time in weeks. I felt genuinely happy, and for no real reason. This intense feeling grew inside me as I drove home after an 11 hour shift at work. And just as I realized the word that inexplicably defines such happiness, "Joy", I simultaneously drove by a sign that said "Joy's Laundromat." It was as if it reaffirmed the fact that I was right. I rediscovered my Joy. My happiness came back.

Contributed by Aryn.

The Arc of History

I met up with my friend, Kiel, late one night at Perkins off Highway 169. He was reading in a booth near the back. As I approached, Kiel stood and we embraced. I hadn't seen him in nearly three months.

During our rambling conversation that lasted to nearly two in the morning, Kiel told me something from the book he had been reading before my arrival, a chronicle of America during the life of Martin Luther King, Jr.

"The thing about proponents of nonviolence," Kiel said, "like King, like Gandhi, is that they believe nonviolence requires a kind of religious faith. They would consider it irresponsible to let someone participate in a demonstration or something if that person didn't believe in a higher power, something that guarantees human beings are intrinsically good and this good can be awakened within them. In fact, King says that the bare minimum is a belief that the arc of history, though long, bends toward justice." Kiel stirred his coffee and smiled. "I can do that," he said. "I can believe that. I want to."

Zeus and Buddha

Once, when I was in high school, I took a trip to the Minnesota Institute of Art with my friend, Paul. After wandering around the exhibits for a few hours, we decided to grab a late lunch at the restaurant in the museum.

While Paul and I were eating, an eccentric older woman with dark hair came over to our table and, after making small talk for a while, she reached to touch Paul's long, ferociously curly hair. "You're like an Olympian god," the woman said to Paul, "like Zeus." Then she looked at me. "And you, you look like you have the inner-light of the Buddha." The woman laughed nervously. "Imagine that," she said, mostly to herself. "Zeus and Buddha eating lunch together in an art museum." The woman shook her head in private wonder and walked off.

Corporate America

A friend of mine works as a lab technician at firm that makes various medical devices. I was talking to her last night about her day at work when she laughs suddenly and says, "Let me tell you why I love Corporate America. I love it because it's so funny."

"How's that?" I asked.

"Well, I found out today that later this week, the company is going to shoot some photos of people working in our lab for some brochure they're putting out."

"So, you're going to be a model?"

She laughed. "That's the thing. The company is bringing in professional models to stand in for actual employees in the lab."

"I bet they'll all be wearing designer safety goggles and the most-slimming lab coats available," I said.

"Who knows?" she replied. "At the very least, it's funny."

Jump, Emma, Jump

Our two year old granddaughter is visiting us for the week. It never ceases to amaze me what comes of the mouths of babes.

Emma was entertaining us after supper by hopping around her four foot stuffed dog, working up a sweat. As she was making me dizzy, I wondered when this tiny pogo stick would topple. Thinking I could interrupt her motion I asked, "Emma, are you a bunny rabbit?"

Nonchalantly Emma looked me in the eye, continuing to jump. "No Gamma," she replied. "A kangaroo."

Contributed by Ann.

Good Friends Make One Feel Like a Legend in the Making

I sent my friend Matt a message letting him know I am heading to Duluth to visit him this weekend. Here is his reply:

"Oh I can feel it. The rumble from your tires shakes Duluth's core, streets sprouting veins. Children are crying and dogs are silent on taut chains. As for me, I'm all Chris Columbus/Jackie Chan on the telephone pole outside my house, hand shielding the horizon. Make haste, young lads. There are so many unborn martinis that depend on your arrival."

Last Flowers of the Season

I went to the post office yesterday to mail off a few letters. While I was there I decided to buy some stamps. It has been snowing a lot and so the bright, beautiful flower stamps just felt right. After rummaging through his drawer the Postmaster says, "Well, it looks like you got the last ones," and takes the beautiful stamps out of the glass case and puts them in my hands.


Contributed by Sarah.

Sleep Soundly

I received a postcard the poet Derek J. Rhodes sent me from Gruen, Texas, the other day. On the front was a picture of a dilapidated farm shed that purported to be the oldest dance hall in Texas. On the reverse, D. J. Rhodes wrote the following poem:

Someday we shall sleep soundly
Like God's own babies must.

A Dog Named Shelby

I was eavesdropping in the coffee shop today and I happened to overhear one of the girls behind the counter tell the following story to an older woman who had ordered a medium Americano.

"A girl I used to live with came in here the other day with her fiancé and this beautiful golden retriever pup they'd just bought. My friend holds the puppy up and introduces it, as proud as can be, 'This is our girl, Shelby.' And Mick, the owner of this place, busts up laughing from behind me. 'Honey,' Mick says, 'That's a boy dog.' My friend turns her dog around and, sure enough, the truth of the matter is pointing her straight in the face. I've never seen her turn so red. I haven't heard if they're going to rename it. Something like that just sticks."