Uff Da, Doncha Know...Ya Sure You Betcha
Let me preface this incredibly long account of elderly adventure by saying: vacation with your grandpa and mother is only as fun as you make it. That being said, Minnesota is a wonderland of experience.
It all began at hours too early in the morning to mention, before even the roosters have rustled their tail feathers and begun their listerine regiments to optimize the sharpness of their crowing. I don't remember most of what happened; I was still recovering from a terrible hangover. There was some guy named Josh and an airport and my grandpa having no idea what to do. "Grandpa take off your shoes and belt!" my mother and I chorused. This was met by blank stares and no removal of metallic objects from his person. "The whole reason I put all this garbage in my pockets was so it wouldn't have to be removed!" he yells at some security line attendant.
Eventually, through some stroke of magic, we make it to the plane. I did not think it was possible, the rate at which Grandpa was going. I take an aside with my mother: "Mom," I say, "you know how when you ride a bike if you go too slow you fall over?" "Yes," she says. "Well, I didn't know the same thing applied to walking." At this point I get a look from my mother that says "He is very slow but he's also the one paying for your plane ticket." This is the first of guilt's little triumphs.
After a time we arrive at the Minneapolis airport. We take pictures.
Next we checked into the hotel, my grandfather confused me with a sultry Jamaican lady, we had a waylay at an IHOP and an interlude with a rude waitress, there was some confusion about car rental pickups and promptly at 5 pm my grandpa tucked in for the night.
*whiney face*
My mom and I decide to go to the Mall of America because it is literally right next door to our hotel and because we are not crippled with fatigue as soon as the sun sets (note: the sun had not even set. It didn't until well after 9).
"Mom," I say.
"Yes?"
"Where are the sprinklers?"
"There are none."
"What?!"
"It rains here."
My mother, being raised in the Mid-West, looks at me like I am insane and do not understand the difference between a desert and a forest. It is not my fault that it is all I know.
"So who waters their plants," I ask, not catching on.
"No one. It rains here."
I cannot praise my mother's patience enough.
Meanwhile, a herd of tall blond people rush past us muttering something in unintelligible accents. My mom looks pleased.
At the mall we were stunned by the grandness and hugeness that is the Mall of America (not the "Mall of the Americas as my grandpa insisted on calling it constantly driving me into silent fits).
Just as I was marveling at how much better malls are in Minnesota some Bruno wannabe attacks me with some kind of smelly oil and pulls me into a chair while massaging my head. "Oh you lahvley like mowdell!" he croons like a mad person as he proceeds to rip my hair out of its ponytail and starts straightening it. "You lahvley califoreneeah gurl and you need lahvley hair. All other gurls staring, they jusht jealous of you mowdell looks!"
what. the. crap.
My mother is trying to suppress her giggling, all maternal instincts to protect her daughter from strange vicious men wielding dangerous hair products swiftly ignored. I hate her in that moment and realize a mall is a mall no matter where you are.
Eventually he finishes, and as is the way with most men it is better to just let them do their business, pretend you're enjoying it, and then go your own way careful never to talk to them again.
After being molested, neither my mom nor I was too keen on staying at the mall and it was getting late anyway so we went back to the hotel.
The next morning my grandpa calls us at 7:30 am to remind us that the continental breakfast is only open for two more hours so we head down there to curb an impending panic attack.
Two hours later when the mall actually opened, we arrive. Since I know you are all sick of my commentary, I will keep it to a minimum and bombard you with photos instead.
This is the Mall of America (but you already know that because I'm assuming you can read). Cool Minnesotans call it MOA which is an improper acronym which is how all the cool Minnesotans roll.
This is my mom and me in front of the mall. You can't tell by our tiny expressions but we are about to explode/implode/a third type of "plode" with excitement.
We walk through the mall (s.l.o.w.l.y.) and see various things that I will be posing with later.
Such as a Spongebob statue that encourages proper anal hygiene (note: bidets are fun and very powerful, but not to be operated without adult supervision)
and Aang with all his airbending powers.
Plus who can forget Blue? Not me...squatting uncomfortably next to a tiny person in an itchy costume.
But we are not to be distracted from our destination:
Underwater Adventure (only slightly plagued by paranormal activity).
This is a huge underwater aquarium with about a mile of moving sidewalk that takes you around various underwater habitats. However, before you reach this mile of moving sidewalk you get to take a tour through a fake Minnesota wilderness full of fun facts, animal pelts and foliage made of felt.
I was not aware that koi were part of the indigenous Minnesota fauna but apparently they are. My mom demonstrates that the "Koi Face" is good for: eating, attracting a mate, scaring off enemies and blowing perfectly shaped bubbles.
Another thing I learned about Minnesota is that it is always very dark. So dark your crappy camera cannot capture the beauty of waterfalls or forest but only gives everyone pan face (and in case you've been wondering: yes, my grandpa is wearing antlers which he stole from the miniature golf course in the mall).
There are also beavers that parallel the work ethic of Minnesotan construction workers (leaning against something, thumb-upping suggestively).
Eventually we did make it to the actual fish and sharks and sea turtles. My mother and I got separated from my grandpa when he took off down the moving sidewalk (the one time he decides to move fast) but we stayed behind and watched the sharks get fed. It sounds thrilling. It isn't. It's basically one fish vacuuming another into its face. One second there, next gone, with no trace or gore or anything fun.
The tunnel leads out in a play area with posable creatures, a boat, and a crab pond. "Pet the crabs" accented employees encourage the children. I am skeptical because I was always taught not to touch angry things that can pinch you. Then I see that you get a sticker if you touch them that implies you have crabs or have touched crabs or something else...
so I touch it (VICTORY STICKER!)
here.
I proudly press sticker to boob and begin climbing on things because I am a child and my guardian clearly does not care if I make a fool of myself.
I massage a turtle...
I separate from my torso so I can leap out of treasure with intense red eye...
...and most importantly, I learned it all from my mom (koi face or porthole?).
and more importantly, my mom learned it from slutty fish.
We proceed to the gift shop (since all things dump out in gift shops eventually) and point out tacky things to each other.
Kelly likes shoes (especially in the form of a personalized croc keychain?)
Emily likes being crabby (or murderous...even I'm frightened).
It's 11:30ish at this point so it's time to feed Grandpa. We get pizza, we talk and all is wonderful.
That is until we get up to continue our mall exploits. I am walking around minding my own business when I see Sharky the Shark being led by a lady with a bucket. My mom urges me to hug him. He looks damp and sketchy so I refuse. Then I see the contents of the bucket: stickers that say "I hugged Sharky" or something else that teaches children to approach dangerous carnivores affectionately. I look at my right, stickerless boob and know what I have to do.
I have to hug the shark. Really it was more of a styrofoam box that pulsated as the sweaty man inside it guffawed and groped me (note: apparently the thumbs-up is the most popular gesture in Minnesota).
All of this was too much of a physical (and emotional?) strain for my grandpa so my mom and I sat him down on a bench someplace and abandoned him to go look at stores and pose with things some more.
Like Dora and Boots while some benched lady marvels at how hot I am.
And my future pineapple home complete with home invaders.
To the flying dutchman to become a confused? pirate.
My mom and I wanted pictures with more ridiculous characters but they actually wanted us to *shudder* pay. Not likely. Instead, we plagiarized photos like this...
...and this. These are not my children and I don't care.
Back to posing with things that don't have fees and are just fun to say. BLUE'S SKIDOO!
This has absolutely no significance except that it is the tiniest horned unicorn I have ever seen/ridden/broken with my thighs.
We left the Nickelodeon Fun Zone (or something like that) for a little while so we could explore the two-story Lego Imaginarium (or something like that).
Basically my mom loves legos. A lot.
In fact, they make her make her "stealing babies" face.
But honestly how could you not go crazy for legos when they are this epic? Is that robin holding a gun or a violin and why is a chicken playing the banjo?
Plus the day laborer lego people reminded me of Brian and how he wasn't there. Where is the lego facial stubbery?
We left the legos to go check up on my grandpa who was busy taking a nap. We woke him up and took him to the bus and hoped he would get back to the hotel okay. Do not think that we were being cruel...MOA has a strange hypnotic power that you cannot ignore.
Plus, if we had left with him I would have missed the best photo op of all time:
A midriffed Dora high-fiving the only slightly ethnic people we had seen since landing in Minnesota. RESULT!
Danny Phantom thought it was cool too.
Even God agreed that Nickelodeon and MOA are awesome by joining me next to the bronzed Spongebob idol.
So much action you just can't control yourself.
I mean this is only a partial pic of the mall. There is a theme park, an aquarium, a mini golf course, hundreds of stores, and so much more! You feel exhausted scrolling through all of these pictures, but picture my mom and I after 10 hours of mall, tons of posing and a near hug experience with a giant, stuffed Bubba Gump Shrimp.
My mom and I went back to the hotel, collapsed and slept, eagerly awaiting our 7:30 wake-up call. Not.
As I alluded to earlier there was some mix-up with the rental car. By mix-up what I mean to say is my grandpa didn't understand what a "reservation" is and assumed that even though he didn't go to pick up the car on the correct day that they would keep it for him if/when he decided to actually get it. He was very mad when he discovered the car was gone. He was not as mad as I was when I saw the replacement. There will be no photos of it because I didn't want to break my camera by aiming it at pure evil but suffice it to say it was a tiny two-door can that didn't have enough room in the back seat for my feet let alone the rest of me and I had to crawl in and out of it about 1,000 times a day in a completely horizontal way that challenged the very laws of physics. At least I had my own tiny window that allowed me to see one foot in one direction at one time.
Nothing could destroy my mood though. I said goodbye to MOA from our hotel parking lot
by poking it in the eye, and plunged head first into the car.
Our first drive-by tour was of the University of Minnesota.
This is my mom standing next to it. She is smarter than me.
I crawl foolishly up the sign, get stuck about halfway, presenting myself to oncoming traffic, hear honking and wooting in strange accents and finally pull myself up only to plop ass-deep in spider webs. *grumble grumble* Whatever. Worth it. I got to rub them off struggling back into the car.
My mom is driving and my grandpa is pointing at things and people and minerals and I am wiggling about the back seat trying to see them all.
We drive by the Metrodome. I was made to believe that this is an exquisite stadium only to have my whole world shattered minutes later as we drove by the Target Center and future home to the Minneapolis Twins.
It took us about ten minutes to get through downtown, it being about the same size as your average Orange County suburb, but it was beautiful and old and I wanted to get out and touch things but my grandfather looked at me like I had a death wish so I just shimmied my feet further under his seat and harrumphed quietly. Meanwhile, he explained to me that they have indoor sidewalks that run for blocks so they can keep them heated during the winter. No more dying in snow drifts for the modern Minnesotan!
We left the city again and found a garden to frolic in. It was Longfellow's garden. He didn't mind us tromping through it.
Mom and Gramps and possibly a restroom.
omg flowers! Minnesota has lots of these. They own us at growing them.
Perhaps that fact makes me depressed...or something...I really can't account for why I look so retarded except that I might have been scared of getting back in the car.
Little did I know that the car was the least of my worries. I thought California had bees. Untrue. Minnesota has bumble bees. They may look cute and fuzzy but they like swooping at your face and being huge and threatening and probably hot with all that extra bee fur. No wonder they were so angry.
More driving, more beautiful countryside and we reach the Mississippi. My grandpa had been going on forever about this river. FOREVER. I wanted to get out and be near it and grab a raft and float down it with some kind of illiterate minority...until I saw it.
Curse you Mississippi! This is as close as I was gonna get. Even still I was scared to fall into the foamy filth water. I blame Minneapolis and all its pollution. LA would never let things get so bad...
My mom and I ignore the smell of dirty water and pose together to prove 1) we are at the Mississippi and 2) that we look nothing alike.
During this time my grandpa has straggled out of the car (even though we gave him specific instructions not to) and began chatting it up with some fisherman. Why? No idea.
I was too busy posing.
My mom was too busy posing too. If you look very closely you can see my grandpa harassing the poor guy in the very background. I, the photographer, was oblivious.
Eventually we got Grandpa back in the car and continued on our way. "Take a picture of that weird building Emily" my mom shouts at me from the front.
"Why?"
"Cause you'll want to remember it!"
"Why?"
"To have an example of the interesting Minnesota architecture!"
"Okay..."
I do not remember this weird building except that it looks weird and apparently is an example of the interesting Minnesota architecture. I'm pretty sure they play some kind of music in there...or display some kind of art...
These are St.Anthony's falls. I don't remember them either. I do remember my grandpa getting directions from the sketch fisherman to some abandoned flour factory. I also remember us getting lost about five times on the way there. I remember my mom ripping the map from his hands, throwing it at me like I had any idea where we were and having me try to direct us someplace. I remember "uhh..."ing a lot and eventually getting to these falls. I remember my mom getting out because my grandpa was too exhausted from getting out to exchange pleasantries with the fisherman and trying to take pictures. I remember her coming back, telling us where the actual photoshooting place was, my grandpa pouting and us leaving. I looked up the falls just now. St.Anthony's.
After more confusion, and me trying to navigate on a map that my grandpa had cut into pieces because it was "too big" when it was whole, we get close to my great aunt Lorraine's place. Unfortunately, my grandpa remembered the address wrong and had it confused with the address of Broadway from some musical from the 50s or something...but he recognized the place and after a lot of swerving and yelling we pulled up in the driveway.
I don't have an actual picture (yet) but uh...I'll let you know when I do? To sum up the visit: Lorraine is old, like my grandpa, but very loving and touchy and wouldn't let go of my thighs. My dad's cousin, Grace, was there too, is some relation to me, and is a clown/jeweler. It was fun but very strange and tears were shed randomly and without warning.
Afterwards we drove to Princeton. Towns in Minnesota are marked by water towers, not signs. It is amazing. They're all painted up like artwork and they're so much taller than everything else. No mountains, no skyscrapers, just lots of open space. There are no roads besides the one you're on, stretching on for miles and miles. I loved the lakes and the houses and the smell of the air right before it rains...
...plus back town Minnesotans are hot. In a "what time period are you from" kind of way. I especially liked when my grandpa made me stare at our large-breasted waitress's large breast tattoo of a mermaid. Gramps is a bit of a perv. I never stood a chance...
Mom and I had a long day and so after we dropped Grandpa off we went out to the local grocery store and stress ate. mmm...
7:30 am = time to wake up always. ARGH!
We drove out at a brisk 9:00 am to visit my Grandpa's old college in St.Cloud. YAY!
This is me at St.Cloud.
This is my mom upstaging me at St.Cloud.
After a brief car tour of the university my grandpa directed us across the Mississippi to see where he lived when he went to school there. It had been demolished quite some time ago, but in its place was a garden. And it was gorgeous.
See what I mean?
This is me with snapdragons, burning my retinas out of my face and hoping for rain.
It was much nicer in the shade next to the Mississippi.
Now can you see why I love Minnesota?
Screw California, I'm out!
At this point I need to draw your attention to just how touristy my Mom and I are being. In case you haven't noticed, we are wearing matching shirts. We took this picture to commemorate the moment and were even brave enough to bother a stranger, asking him to take the photo. "If I have to..." is what he grumbled in response. Meanwhile, my mother is ranting about how polite everyone is in the Mid-West and I am hoping this guy is not a prime example.
Isn't the rubble from my grandfather's old home beautiful?
Still, we know it's time to head back to the car where Grandpa tells us a thrilling yarn about how long the walk to the bathroom was but how proud he was that he made it. My mother and I applauded him and drove back in the direction of the University.
Mom and I were still a little restless so we asked Grandpa if we could go on a walking tour. With some convincing he agreed to stay at the car and wait until we got back, and we agreed to do what we wanted and take pictures to show him later.
The campus is really wonderful: another example of the skilled architecture of Minnesota right Ma? There's even one of those indoor sidewalks in the background!
I've noticed that the more things there are for me to climb around on, the more likely I am to like a university.
Needless to say, LOVE ST.CLOUD! Plus their mascot is a husky and they're known for their awesome hockey team and both those things end in y like my name. Can it be any better?
Answer: yes, in form of rampart-esque bandstand. Oh how I would play my handbells in you...
This particular part of the tour was Mom-less. She was in hiding. Sure, there was a thunderstorm going on but it wasn't raining that hard and it only lasted like ten minutes. I really miss the weather there. Oh Minnesota...
But eventually the rain stopped and Mom came out from her shelter long enough to get lost with me on campus. We kept crossing over the stupid Mississippi which you would think would give us some indication of where we were but that river is EVERYWHERE!
This is Mom booking it across the river. In about fifteen minutes we will run into a strange man in a husky sweater (is he not aware of how humid it is?) who when we ask him for directions will look at us like we came from some touristy nation (matching shirts not such a good idea after all) but will help us out regardless.
We end up back at our dear old friend...
The impressive (if not mysterious) Skalicky Plaza.
I decided to run up the steps and do a victory dance, as my hero Rocky once demonstrated, even though Rocky has nothing to do with Minnesota at all. At this point I had gone a bit mad so it all made sense to my addled brain but in retrospect...well...never apologize is what I've always said.
After the Skalicky, Mom and I decided it was time to go retrieve Grandpa and the car, which was easier said than done. We got lost about three times but by a series of "compensating errors" (Grandpa's catch phrase of the week) we finally found our way back to the car. It would have been smooth sailing but by the time we get there we discover that Grandpa has locked the car keys in the trunk. Why was he in the trunk? No idea. Once we did get the keys out of the trunk we had to do a bit of reshaping...not only had he left them in the trunk but he'd also smashed them in the door denting them until they were useless. Still, the car started and that's all that's important.
We drove away from St.Cloud, stopping just long enough to capture the following:
This was not my favorite house, not even close, but I had forgotten to take pictures of all the houses of Minneapolis. The style of the houses is so timeless it made me want to pack up my bags and just leave. Even my mom had a pang of longing for her old home and the two of us felt sad to leave a new state, a state we had come to love.
Okay so we didn't exactly leave the state. Grandpa wanted to visit the place where his Bible study videos are taped, St.James. We are on our way, have already bothered two strangers asking for directions and are told it's six miles until we hit St.James. After two Grandpa demands we pull off the highway at St.Josephs. "Close enough," he says. Mom just groans.
The town is abandoned and quiet like something you'd see out of a horror film. Slowly, people start creeping out of the woodwork and confirm that we are, as expected, four miles from St.James. Mom takes a picture of this church
so that the detour isn't a complete waste and we get back on the road.
Corn corn corn and geese.
That is all you see along the road. Maybe trees, definitely lakes. Sky and more sky and some clouds and probably more corn and silos to store the corn in. "Take pictures of the Canadian geese!" says Mom and I do because we are close to the border and because who doesn't like flocks of birds.
Before we know it we are in St.James. It is another beautiful town right off the highway and I'd get out and explore but my legs are cramped and I'm busy reading about Pi Patel's boating escapades. Still, Grandpa gets out to try and find his building and my mom goes with him. They end up roping what appears to be a custodian into leading them to the right place. Only by "custodian" I mean monk from Haiti and by right place I mean "place Grandpa settled for because he didn't want to bother looking for the real place."
Whatever the case, photo opportunities were abundant.
I've noticed now that there is a clear lack of Grandpa representation, so...
...CLOSE UP! of sorts.
Meanwhile, Mom decided to take inadvertent MySpace photos of herself. You can't even plan stuff that perfect...
...or maybe you can? For the next couple of nights we stayed in Grand Casino which is obviously a misnomer because I think it might be the only dry casino in existence. gross...just gross...
Gramps and I find ways to have fun anyway.
Of course this was all before the buffet. I don't think he would have been able to push me afterwards. I don't want to go into detail about how much I ate because half of you wouldn't believe me, half of you already know, and all of you would be properly disgusted. Mom was. She wouldn't even rub my belly later as I begged her to from my bed of pain. "I will not reward your self-indulgence," she scolded.
Next day was the day we had all been waiting for: Mille Lacs Lake. I still have trouble figuring this one out. I do not know if it's supposed to be the 1,000th lake in Minnesota, because it's only 100 miles around and there are 10,000 lakes total in the state...
I wasn't going to complain.
The lake is huge, as you can see.
Mom kept remarking how much she missed the smell of lake. I had no idea what she was talking about seeing as it just smelled like nothing. "It smells like water," she insisted. "You don't understand because you're too used to the ocean." I could have told her it smelled faintly of fish poo but I doubt she would have appreciated that.
Besides, I was too busy imitating the mossy rocks to pay much attention to what water does or does not smell like.
And before we left, I said goodbye to the lake (for now) just like I said goodbye to MOA, by poking it in the eye.
This house was by the lake and if it was important it was only to my mom. She said something insightful about something but, as always, it was clearly lost on me.
We had a little time left before Grandpa had to be at his 60th High School Reunion so he took us around Onamia, the town where he grew up. It was, for the most part, overwhelmingly depressing. The whole place was a ghost town, just closed up, old-fashioned shops that no one visits anymore and houses for sale and overgrown with weeds. He had difficulty weaving around the unfamiliar streets but he showed me the house he was born in, the fields he ran through as a child, the river where he would fish, the places most likely to be overridden with mosquitoes, etc. I really enjoyed it, even though it was tinged with sadness, so it only seemed fitting that we finished the tour in the cemetery remembering relatives long lost.
At this moment I found out two things. That my last name is actually pronounced Fie-duck and that Kenneths run in the family. I would complain, but somehow it seemed fitting that everything was different here, and that in moving to California my grandpa had left it all behind.
A quick stop by Rum River and my grandpa's old life before dropping him off at his reunion.
Once we dropped him off Mom and I went to the "famous" Happy's for lunch.
Clearly it made her very happy, and it was very good.
Then we decided to go on an adventure to figure out what the rural Minnesota was all about.
What we found out is that they like large fish statues. This made no sense to me...neither did standing on a soap box to take a picture with them...
...but Mom seemed keen on the idea.
I wasn't about to stand anywhere near a giant fish...but Paul Bunyan looked like a piece of hot man. That is until I stood between him and Blue and felt like I was somehow lodged in the middle of a scary bestial love triangle. Trying to block the frightening front hump of Blue did not solve anything...
...and only seemed to aggravate the nearby animals. I almost got attacked by a dog and some kind of bird and it wasn't my fault I was just trying to take in scenic moments.
I even walked knee deep in bug-infested tall grass to pose with tacky thing after tacky thing. "You want everyone to see how exciting Minnesota is," Mom says, "That way, everyone will come and visit thinking it's full of giant fish and totem poles." Disclaimer: it is not. We made sure to point out every single one.
Even still, I do love the country.
Oh Onamia. Such fond memories.
Like this meaty dwelling. Mom even made me go inside. It had the pungent reek of lots of piles of meat. Mom seemed to love it. I was gasping for breath. So. much. meat.
I tried to get revenge by cow tipping the fake cow out front, but I chickened out and besides it was rusty and heavy.
Afterwards, we picked up Grandpa from his visits, went back to the hotel and didn't drink. There may have been some Native American moments, bead weaving, "tall tales" of offense, learning to to maple your syrup but none of it quite beat the penny machines.
That is right, when in Minnesota you gotta gamble your brains out. The casino gave me $10 free to play with and so I sat down at some aquatic-themed penny slot expecting to lose it all. Instead, some sketchy old codger coaches me on the finer points of randomly pressing buttons and I end up winning about $75. Sweetness!
We can't pick how attractive our winning faces will be, and mine is awful but whatever. I won and you didn't.
With my new found riches, I became exceedingly tired and slept through most of the rest of the vacation. Visited with some more relatives, pet some ten-hour-old puppies, fed the pigs that would soon feed the Fiduk's of the east, learned how to make lumber, etc. It was all too amazing to describe and I miss it already. The plane ride back was sad and seeing my dad's face picking us brought me back to California for reals.
Vacation with your mom and grandpa may not be perfect, but it's pretty darn close...