Day Six - Rochester
Sunday night we fell asleep to the tunes of Sasquatch hunting on Animal Planet and the helicopter pad outside the kitchenette window.
Monday morning, two snow ploughs rolled down the street in the early light, pushing a whole inch of snow north and south of the pavement. That’s about the only fluff we witnessed to date after they forecast it every day.
Carrie-Bri and I holed up for some work and mind-numbing television at the motel while Mom enjoyed another hour or more at her new favorite antique shop, returning with some glassware. As much as Carrie and I aren’t huge into shopping, I think Mom got the better end out of the deal that morning. No wonder so many of our senior citizens eventually succumb to memory loss – I would lose my mind too if all I had to entertain myself was that black box stuffed with this level of disturbing American reality programming. I do not miss having television.
By the afternoon we picked up the same old shuttle to the Mayo: Bruno Mars’ “Treasure” crackled over the sound system. Same elderly driver with the white mustache. Friendly fellow.
And, of course, flashing a little STL whenever applicable. T-shirts, ball caps, etc. We do what we can. Represent. Although, if there’s another thing I’ve noticed about these Minnesotans, as much as they don’t seem to mind invasion of personal space, they seem to keep their eyes – and comments – to themselves. Not too interested in learning your story. Except for the sister at the convent. Polite though.
Carrie-Bri’s first appointment was the longer of the two. While we waited for the second visit, she taught Mom a little “Candy Crush” on her phone. Five minutes on the 17th floor was all she needed for that second appointment (a phone call across the street to her general practitioner working a floor at St. Mary’s). I people-watched a little: smoker-voice woman wearing a hair scrunchie, Japanese woman in a fuchsia fleece jacket studying a guide to New York City, another woman with a wheezing laugh, the receptionist behind the desk – snowflake window clings – the only season-identifier available in the room. Everyone has a story.
After dinner we ended up at Flapdoodle’s sometime after dark. In Oxbear’s honor, I chose his favorite ice cream flavor: chocolate peanut butter.
Capped that off with yet a little more writing, a little more television. You know: balance.