Scarlet Stone

Years ago, when living in Alaska, if someone left to visit relatives in Minnesota or elsewhere, they would say “I’m going outside for a couple of weeks” or “gotta head to the lower 48.”  I kind of felt that way on a recent trip when I busted out of Soudan to go to Minneapolis. I hadn’t been anywhere south of Virginia since last October when my son got married in Kansas City. When you “bust out,” you certainly discover what’s changed in the big wide world.
On Saturday, April 5, my son Keaton, and his wife, Ashley, picked me up in their car with Ashley‘s parents Joe and Leah Hiller following in another car. We were going to Minneapolis’s city center to explore and go to the Guthrie Theater. I had recently started collecting my Social Security, and in my state of happiness, I decided to spend it on a lovely weekend with the newly-combined family.
Without too much lead time, I booked three rooms on my credit card and also theater tickets to see The Mouse Trap by Agatha Christie. There were only a few seats left, and they were in the closed caption section. “How does that work,” I thought, so I did a little research and decided the seats would be fine and the captions useful.
Our caravan stopped at McDonald’s in Virginia for lunch and rather than using the usual drive-through, we went inside to eat. Immediately I was faced with a new challenge when I noticed people were ordering at payment kiosks. I do it now at Walmart, Target, and the Virginia clinic, but I don’t really like it, and now it’s become the norm. “Go with the flow,” I say, and stay relevant in this rapidly changing world.
When we got close to the city, I had suggested we go to Rosedale Center to shop for “just a little bit,” and was able to convince the guys. It was my first time in Von Maur’s department store, and I delighted in seeing the lovely nostalgic displays on beautiful wood tables that reminded me of the old Dayton’s and to top it off, a man in a suit was playing a baby grand piano. The excitement launched me gleefully in the direction of the shoe department. I had money to spend and planned to “go for it.” After all, taking Social Security is a big deal in one’s life, and a celebration is in order. The others drifted away, and we met up later with me carting numerous bags in contrast to the others with small purchases and Joe sporting a new haircut.
We left Rosedale and headed towards the city center and the hotel. The GPS gave Keaton some trouble, so in carnival-like fashion we swirled up and around a clover leaf or two before arriving at our destination. We pulled up in front of the hotel and utilized the valet parking. This was something I had not ever done before because I come from a free parking region in my state, but here it seemed a great idea. From this point on, contact with the valets would be done on a special phone app by tech-savvy Uber-Joe who booked and generously paid for all the rides. It eased my senior senses that I was not in charge of this. Once inside the hotel, it took us 20 minutes to squeeze into an elevator to go up to the 16th floor because the hotel was filled with young adults who were attending the Model UN Conference.
Soon I was settling into my room when a knock on the door revealed Keaton brisking in with his suitcase rolling behind and Ashley with a smirk on her face. I instinctively knew they were hijacking my room for the better view; however, I got a couch in the trade. Joe and Leah’s view featured a grand cityscape, neon theater marquees, and a huge Prince mural. As I settled into my new room, I noticed a bottle of water on my TV credenza with a six-dollar price tag hanging around its neck, so I was aware that being charged incidentals could occur here.
I eased onto my king-size bed as a new goddess of Social Security ought to do and decided to review my bank account on my iPhone. To my shock, there were charges from the hotel totaling $600 because they had deducted $100 per room per night. Yikes, I thought, and called the front desk person who explained in three to five days the money would be returned if no damages occurred. Geez, there goes my shopping money into an unexpected temporary savings mode. I realized I’m certainly not upbeat and relevant with metro traveling.
We freshened up and Uber-Joe summoned a ride that took us to eat at the famous Hell’s Kitchen with its fabulous food and service. The basement location featured plenty of red decor and had funky vintage portraits of the dead in the bathrooms with eyes that followed you as you moved. After dinner, with a tip from Leah who manages karaoke at a bar in Ely, we took an Uber across the Mississippi River to Otter’s Saloon. We were all carded upon entry, and I perked up and stated, “Even me, I’m old!” I actually got carded, which gifted me an experience I hadn’t had since I was 37. The bar was located on a corner, and the interior was an obtuse triangle shape with an antiqued green tin ceiling, vintage signage, and boho bartenders that worked together like a well-oiled machine. I managed to get a barstool and sat drinking a string of cranberry spritzers…. having ceased the drinking of spirits 15 months prior. It was another savings plan as the price of mixed cocktails was $14 a bang!
The sign-up to sing karaoke was done through a phone app, and after about two hours as we were nearly leaving, Leah’s song finally came up, and she was able to sing. She was a hit with screaming young female groupies jumping up and down next to her. A rose vendor came easing through, and I received two lovely pastel roses from Ashley and Leah that are still blooming. What remains stuck in my head from that bar is the insanely popular song....Pink Pony Club by Chappell Roan. We left Otter’s and Uber’d to another karaoke bar that was crowded, had a beverage, heard Pink Pony Club again....then left for the hotel to relax in our own fine company and enjoy the views.
The following morning, Leah and I awoke early and went down for a buffet breakfast. A staffer told us to fill a plate, so we did and found a seat in a lovely glass room nearby. Before my fork hit my egg, another staffer told us to leave the room, explaining that we were in the VIP lounge. I could see relevant-Keaton outside the glass frowning and motioning us out. Lightly embarrassed but giggling, we picked up our plates and walked them to an appropriate area whereby avoiding arrest and possible deportation to a prison in El Salvador. As it turned out, it was not continental, and each plate was $20. Following the breakfast from hell, I was feeling like I should be taken immediately to a rest home.
After a bit we took an Uber to the Guthrie to see the matinee show. Nothing unfortunate occurred at this event, the show was great, and Joe and Leah enjoyed their first Guthrie visit. We decided to walk a couple of blocks to grab some lunch at The Clay Oven, an Indian restaurant where chicken coconut curry, naan, and tikka masala graced our table...receiving high praise and shared tasting all around. After lunch, the others took the skywalk over to the Crystal Court plaza to look around. I was still tired from the Pink Pony Club extravaganza and opted for a wee nap...once again merging with that lux king-size bed adorned with four tubular pillows and crisp white sheets and comforter.
I awoke to a knock and Keaton happily entered with a white paper bag of treats he had bought me from the candy store across the street. “Oooooh,” I happily exclaimed, opening the bag to his description of white almond bark, turtles, and a toffee crunch. I started to sample with random bites, and he shortly returned to his room. How great it is to be a senior, on SS with a thoughtful son and a body free from diabetes. I watched the big-city TV for a bit, slid from the bed to grab my water, and on return saw a long brown streak on the fitted sheet that certainly was not what it appeared to be. “Good God, what next?” I texted Leah, who chuckled and urged me that trying to clean the stain would make it worse but suggested I leave a note.
On Sunday morning, we “hurkle-durkled” (Scottish expression of lounging in bed longer than one should), then I composed a note of apology with a candy store alibi and drew an arrow pointing to the skid mark. I propped it against a pillow in a state of paranoia, fearing the hotel would hold back the $200 damage deposit for my room.  
We checked out in festive spirits under blue skies with the valets delivering our cars to the tune of $248 for the parking with valet accommodation. We drove to Bloomington for a fun visit with the Springborgs; Leah’s mother, brother and his wife, and Lucy the plump cat.
The trip back north had to include that stop at Tobie’s for unhealthy pastries and another traditional pop-in visit at The Warming House in Cloquet.
Over the next days, the damage deposit charges dropped out of view from my bank account, and I continued to relish the happiness and humor of the trip.
Happy Easter to you and your families.