I don’t know when it started. I don’t recall having an epiphany and a corresponding conversation about getting out more and enjoying the many great things we can continually experience here. We live in a great place, in a wonderful part of the country, but with some of the harsh weather we can have it’s easy to slip into a phase where you just turn on the fireplace and watch TV. And that’s a shame, because you can do that anywhere. We live in the Twin Cities. This is not just “anywhere” and at some point in the last few months Barbara and I have found ourselves not just accepting more invites but seeking out new adventures and fun experiences. And it’s been a very rich thing. It’s on us to keep it up, and we’re having a ton of fun doing it, so why wouldn’t we?
With regard to this week’s headline, I shall get to the salt part in a bit. Bear with me. It’s worth the wait, especially if you suffer from severe allergies and lived through a childhood that featured chronic asthma, like me.
I’ve been a music fan for as long as I can recall. That’s a little odd, because I am completely devoid of any “music playing” genes in my DNA. The most complex instrument I could ever master was the steering wheel, although to be fair to this blogger I was, and continue to be, a world-class percussionist on said steering wheel. I’ve really just been a fan all my life. Music takes me places, and over the years those places have varied widely, from incredibly happy locations to darker “we’ll all get through this together” corners. It’s what music does best.
One year ago, when we had our “Men of Woodbury Epic Retreat” up at Larsmont on the north shore of Lake Superior, April turned from kind and welcoming to vicious and cruel. A massive snow storm hit the northern plains and we were “holed up” in two luxury condos riding the storm out (cue REO Speedwagon). The waves on the lake were 20-30 feet high and crashing ashore just yards from the building. It was a lousy and cruel way to say hello to spring, but somehow we had riotous fun anyway.