America First

I'm in Minneapolis tonight and I was looking for something to do and saw that CSNY: Deja vu was playing in a movie theater. Any fan would know that was Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. I went and found out what I suppose everyone else knows already — it's an anti-war film. Um. Well, these guys are troubadours and that's their job — to sing about life and what's going on in the world and they never shied away from it before.

Anyway, I shouldn't say it's an anti-war film because it was reported by a guy named Mike Cerre who works for NBC and was embedded with Marines in the Iraq War and he put everything in, all the people who were angry and defending Bush, all the negative reviews and all the jibes about how old they look. They sounded good though and some of the new songs by Neil Young were really beautiful.

Most affecting to me were Iraqi war veterans especially a Marine named Josh Hisle who wrote and sang a song called "A Traitor's Death". He was a gung-ho marine, all for the war, played and sang for his batallion hours before the invasion, winning the talent show. During his second tour in Ramadi, he started to change his mind about the necessity of the war . . . now he's home, still in the reserves and maybe going back for a third tour.

I'm not a conservative but I'm not a bleeding heart liberal either. I think there should have been a war in Afghanistan, not in Iraq. I watched the second plane at the moment it flew into the tower and I knew it was an act of war and I wanted the persons responsible dead, I could have killed them with my bare hands at that moment. If Osama bin Laden was standing in front of me right now and I had a gun, I would shoot him. I could say I'm sorry, but I wouldn't mean it much.

Mainly, I think this war is a big waste of money and if you really want to know how I feel, watch this video, America First by Merle Haggard. I was thinking about it today as I drove through Minneapolis, over sad patches that had been patched over two or three times. We can't even fix our damn roads and bridges. I guess I should have had a warning that this was a rant.

time to go

Tomorrow morning I leave for Duluth, down Highway 61 (this is Bob Dylan country), then on to Minneapolis to see some friends, slowly re-entering civilization.

No, the book is not done but it's a lot closer. I felt like I was on a roll every day for three weeks. So I'm sad to leave but happy at what I got done (plus the hiking and kayaking).

Beaver Flicks (above): It took me some time to get up the nerve to go into this store — I don't think I need to explain why. But I wanted some good maps of the Boundary Waters for my drug-running character. It was a fisherman's dream inside; everything you could possibly need except the boat. The Beaver Flick is a fishing lure with supposedly supernatural powers and I bought some for fishing friends.

Confession: Blogger has a handy trick where you can schedule blogs to post even when you are not physically there. So I wasn't online as much as it appeared . . .

Water: On Wednesday, it was 74 degrees and sunny and I went back up the Gunflint Trail to Poplar Lake and kayaked for 2 1/2 hours. The water was calmer this time and the air warmer and I went farther up the National Forest side of the lake (uncivilized). In and out of coves and around tiny islands. The silence was profound, meditative, wilderness.

This is the old Gunflint Trail sign which I think I prefer — it seems more like the spirit of the trail.

Mosquito bites and lonely nights

I always wonder if I should include the mosquito bites and lonely nights. These things are boring and mostly inconsequential but they do occur and I had my share. Total solitude would be too much; I had my cell phone, my iPod, a laptop and rented DVDs and a library card and, of course, my blog.

It took me awhile in Grand Marais before I stopped feeling like I stuck out like a sore thumb, got to know the town and started remembering where I parked my car, before I felt at home enough to chat with people and learn where to really find a moose, which Indians were here first, that that was a mink I saw not a black fox and bald eagles do eat road kill.

And, of course, solitude makes you think about yourself and how you are living your life which is not always a comfortable thing but if you're lucky you shake loose some barnacles (and start talking like a sailor).

Above: Grand Marais Dragon Boat Festival. About 20 rowers per narrow dragon boat with a steersman and a drummer/coxsain.

Good food: The Pie Place

I do my own cooking most days here, but on Sunday I treated myself to breakfast out at The Pie Place. I had excellent blueberry pancakes; very light with huge, juicy blueberries. They make a long list of pies every day and homemade jams. I made a reservation for Saturday night for my almost-birthday when there will be a violinist playing for several hours.

The waitress asked what I was reading (the person eating alone must always carry a book for entertainment) and we got into a book discussion, always fun. She read "The Secret Life of Bees" and decided to become a beekeeper which she has been doing for five years.

What I Was Reading: Ruby O'Hara (heroine of "Get Lost") is searching for her North Star so naturally the title of this book caught my eye: "Finding Your Own North Star" by Martha Beck. I've read her stuff in O magazine and liked it. She is a life-design coach and wrote this book as a map for that. It's very good and very funny.

Quote: "Your family is the generalized other thrust upon you by fate, without any decision making on your part. If you're planning to wait for them to locate your true path, draw you a careful map, pack you a lunch and drive you to your North Star, you might want to take up needlework. I hear it passes the time."

Paranoia runs deep

I was chatting with a woman yesterday and discovered she had lived in my city just outside of Washington DC. "I suppose you've noticed the Muslim invasion there." Not really, I said, there are so many languages being spoken and so many different cultures, no one stands out. I think I hear more accents around DC than I do in New York City and you can find any kind of food, a lot of it good. Oh, they stand out, she said, with their veils and their long robes. Nothing I said made a dent. Later, on my walk on Artist's Point, I heard two people speaking Russian. I wanted to go back and tell her the Communists had landed.

The part I've added to "Get Lost" involves drug running in the Boundary Waters. There were always drugs involved but, wandering around the boundary waters between Canada and the U.S., seeing the scarcity of people and the thousands of lakes and rivers making up the border -- well, what would you think? It's an ideal setting.

On Artist's Point sits the U.S. Coast Guard and Dept. of Homeland Security. A guy came out of the house and I found myself wishing I was the sort of person who had the nerve to ask questions. Then I thought, wait, I just interviewed over 20 people for stories for a book, asking them intimate questions -- I am that sort of person!

Yes, he said, entirely possible. He was with the Coast Guard and working on setting up a task force to address that very problem. Cool. The next day I was walking there again and went over to take a photo of the little Coast Guard boat (above). A man walked out of the house and over to the boat, watching me, his hands on his hips where there were three weapons. Well, maybe two communication devices but definitely a gun. So I spent the rest of the day worrying that my name would be on a list and I would never be able to leave the country again.

An overactive imagination has its good and bad points.

Going Grey: Last entry

This is it. My hair is grey. The whole thing was fairly painless. Took about 8 months altogether. I would recommend cutting your hair as short as you comfortably can -- it makes the whole thing go faster and better looking. And don't worry what anyone else thinks.

Get Lost: Because I deepened the plot and added a character and made more connections everything has changed or at least altered. It's hard work now, making it all fit together. It's like building a house: you don't want any part to be weak and fall down and you want the end result to be solid and lived-in and long-lasting.

Garden Club

When I was little, my mother belonged to the Garden Club in our small town. They would put on a show: members entered a place setting with china plates, cup and saucer, crystal water glass, cloth napkins and silverware (the knife with the serrated edge facing in) and a vase filled with a flower arrangement. I was my mother's 'helper' and took pride in the blue ribbons be her setting.

So naturally, when I saw the announcement for the Cook County Garden Club Flower Show, I had to check it out. It was pretty and creative with a theme of flowers arranged around artifacts from the 1800s: "My mother wore this bonnet on the boat from Sweden", "These were my doll house dolls and furniture", "This was my grandfather's fishing coffee pot."

Above: Fever few and forget-me-nots in a teacup and moustache cup.

Fog

A horn has been blowing with a mournful echo all day; fog drifted in this morning and stayed. It's hard to believe now in the fact of yesterday: 72 degrees with sunshine in the midst of big, billowy clouds. Thank goodness I saw it coming and planned accordingly: getting extra work done the night before, assembling possible activities.


Good food: I had breakfast at the Trailside Inn, some 30 miles up the Gunflint Trail, where I had an unusual breakfast of eggs scrambled with wild rice and cheese melted on top. It was good. Wild rice, harvested by Ojibwe Indians, is a staple here, nutty and chewy.

Then a drive down Clearwater Road to see a lodge on the historic register, old and cool and built with big solid logs. Looked for moose on the way but it was too late in the morning. They come out at dawn and dusk. Then a steep hike up Honeymoon Bluff with a view of Hungry Jack lake.Then another hike down another trail to a swamp where moose might be. I didn't expect to see any and I did not. Then back up the Gunflint Trail to Poplar Lake for kayaking. It was windy and choppy but the sun was out and it felt so good to be on the water. Poplar Lake has 28 islands; I saw about six of them and a loon, Minnesota's state bird. It's a striking bird, all in black with patterns of white dots and that skittering, haunting cry.

More birds. On the way back down the trail, I came upon some birds intent on road kill. They were huge and then I spotted the white on their heads and then they flew up, even bigger -- they were bald eagles. That was a thrill. Finally got back into town at 4:00 pm, having spent the whole day outside.

a dark and comic heart

I'm reading a book I picked up in a little bookstore in Minneapolis; "Sunflower" by Hungarian writer, Gyula Krudy. I was exposed to Eastern European literature when I lived in Budapest and got hooked on it. There isn't anything like it in American literature; it's very dark with a poetic sense of the absurd. There is something about it that I relate to, maybe it's my heritage: a lot of Czech, a little bit of Hungarian mixed in with all the other stuff. I think it's had an influence on my own writing. Slavenka Drakulic "How I Survived Communism and Even Learned to Love It", Bohumil Hrabal "I Served The King of England", Sandor Marai "Embers", Tibor Fischer "Under the Frog". Serbian, Czech, Hungarian, Yugoslavian -- these are free countries now but their literature still isn't flowing freely across the ocean to the U.S. If you can find these books, I recommend them.

"The sad-looking gentleman whose haircut and poise of head were both slanted. He looked as if he had fallen a-dreaming some autumn evening in front of the first fire lit in the stove, burning the tokens of a past love, letters, locks of hair, little flounces, maybe even a garter - as if he were still holding his head in the same pose he had taken when he gazed at the feminine letters going up in flames." -- Gyula Krudy

Something Funny

This is the little town of Grand Marais, MN (pop. 1350) as seen from Artist's Point. While I was walking there, a little boy had been following me, I suppose the way kids try to reach a goal in the distance. I had spotted the ice lichen and crawled down to take a photo of it. I was just sitting there when he ran up on the path above me, stopped and with his arms akimbo, shouted "At last, we meet!" He couldn't have been more than six. I laughed and waved to him and then he was off running again. An infectious exuberance.

"If you're funny, if there's something that makes you laugh, then every day is going to be a good day."
— Tom Hanks

Competing with God

That's the title of a chapter in Sol Stein's book "Stein on Writing". The subtitle: "Making Fascinating People" and it's all about character. I started out with a character, Ruby O'Hara, and built a story around her. I dreamed her up in Los Angeles on a bus on my way to work downtown (see Blade Runner for L.A. downtown). She was a waitress in a Space Cafe. That was more than 20 years ago, a long time to have an idea in your head. But it wasn't until I looked up and saw the Hale Bopp Comet in 1997 that I decided to do something with it. (Sorry, no logical explanation goes with that). Now I've gotten to the point of a second draft but it was all done in stolen moments, between work and laundry and kids and everything else in an ordinary life. Once you know all that, maybe it's easier to see why a writer craves long spaces of solitude, why a tiny cabin in the woods seems like heaven.

But back to character: I've got a new one — a slim, blonde potty-mouth ex-wife. She appeared because the plot got deeper and more complicated and she had to show up. I can see my characters and I know their life stories and how they will act but they don't exist. That sounds mildly deranged and it is a strange thing to do — build a whole story and characters and work on it till it moves but I think it all comes down to the fact that some people just feel the need to entertain, to tell a story.

"Don't say the old lady screamed — bring her on and let her scream."
— Mark Twain

What Does a Writer Fear Most?

Well, I know what I fear most: that I will run out of my Precise V5 rolling ball extra-fine black ink pens. They're not fancy, you can find them in any drugstore, but this pen has somehow become essential to me and if I don't have one I feel anxious and bereft.

My routine: I work on "Get Lost" in the mornings in the cabin with lots of coffee I make myself with lots of milk. I'm working hard but it is a great pleasure. It's funny — I got used to working in the mornings for an hour or so at Panera Bread surrounded by music, kitchen noises and chatter. Here, I like the silence.

Writing advice. Every writer wants to get some point across, even in a mystery/romance and it's hard to keep your own voice out of the telling. But you must, for the rhythm, for the flow, for the story. From a book I'm reading:

"If the reader is also rewarded with insights, it is not always the result of the writer's wisdom but of the writer's ability to create the conditions that enable pleasure to edify."
--Sol Stein, "How to Write"

Sometime in the afternoon I go for a walk:

This is Artist's Point, a walk out into Lake Superior ending up at the lighthouse, one of many on the lake. On this walk, I saw some beautiful lichen which for some reason reminds me of icy climates. That would be here -- for the last few days it has been in the 50s. Had to buy some wool socks for hanging around the cabin. But I prefer that to high humidity.

Omens

This is only for people who believe in omens but I think everyone does a little bit. Since March, I had been wishing I could see a Minnesota license plate (for obscure reasons I won't go into here). This is pretty much impossible where I live (Washington, DC) and I gave up after awhile. Then, the week before I left, I wished again and there was one right in front of me. The next day I saw a Wisconsin license plate and the next day, Michigan, all the states that border Lake Superior. The day I saw the MN plate there was a double rainbow. And when I was in Minneapolis, I looked out the window and saw the car above. It's a Chrysler but it looks a lot like the '56 T-bird that I modeled Ruby's plane after. Ruby is the heroine of my novel. And the mouse droppings outside my cabin formed an arrow that pointed towards Lake Superior. OK, now I'm kidding but it's nice to see positive signs when you're off on a big adventure.

I'm here

Drove up yesterday in shorts and T-shirt. Got out of the car and into 54 degrees of cold. I've been looking for the perfect sweatshirt but decided now was the time to buy one. Sweatshirts with any kind of specific souvenir-ish stuff on them are stupidly expensive but I found one for a good price with BWCA on it. That stands for Boundary Waters Canoe Area (thousands of lakes between Canada and Minnestoa) and I was there in 1970 something on a two week canoe trip. It still stands out in my memory as one of my best vacations.

I was all set not to like my cabin as I walked towards it -- it was too close to the office, the highway, blah blah -- but when I walked in I fell in love. It is tiny and very old-fashioned and perfect. It's tucked away behind trees and flowering bushes (lilacs are just coming out here). I can only see woods out of three sides. It's good.


WARNING: THIS IS A RANT
I've been sending map postcards to my friends on the East Coast and elsewhere because it became clear from their conversation that they had no idea where I was going. Being from Iowa, I'm used to hearing "Idaho, Ohio? Where is it you're from?" but I think every American should know where the Great Lakes are. And Superior is the biggest lake in the world. You can't miss it on any map. You can't miss it from outer space. But of course to many people it's just one big, flat deserted wasteland stretching all the way to Los Angeles with a bump of Rocky Mountains somewhere in there. I wish I could describe the awesome beauty of my surroundings: pine forests, birch, deep blue lakes and rivers everywhere. Moose, bear, elk, deer, fox, eagles. Fresh, balsam-scented air. And plenty of culture as well here in the Midwest. Minneapolis was named the most literary city in the country. And they invented Post-It notes, for God's sake. Even history is different out here: you probably didn't know that Leif Ericson actually discovered America (see statue above). Anyway, Europe is great, I've been there and back. But the dollar sucks now. Go out and see your own country -- it is damn beautiful.

I WILL ADMIT
that when I moved to New York it took me awhile to figure out how the states were arranged on the east coast -- they're all squished together. But I did it.

WORK
Got a lot done today. I'm doing a read-through as if I were reading a novel I picked up somewhere. An interesting task.

GOOD FOOD
I'm going to stop by the Dockside Fish Market which my sister Pam just told me was written up in this month's Food & Wine. More on this later.

In Duluth

I was in Duluth in 1974, on a trip north to Canada with college friends. We had just graduated and I remember it was like going backwards in time from green and flowers to tiny buds not yet open. Duluth was depressing and bleak and we had trouble finding a place to eat. The streets go straight up from the shores of Lake Superior and I remember wondering how people could drive on them in the winter. Duluth was still under the black cloud of Reserve Mining and the dumping of taconite tailings (iron ore dust) into Lake Superior. 67,000 tons a day (equal to 50,000 junk cars a day). The city and state are still cleaning it up but Duluth looks so different: an elegant, attractive city -- a tourist destination.

I went to the Great Lakes Aquarium this morning. I wandered around for two hours learning about how the lake was formed from a deep rift in the earth, volcanos and glaciers; looking at native fish, frogs, otters and other creatures; touching sting rays and fish and other fun things. It was a research project. . . I also went to the beach to put the ritual foot in the waters of Lake Superior. Actually, I dove in that being the way I usually enter cold water. I think my heart actually stopped. I couldn't breathe. Later I read that the average temp. is 40 degrees F.

Driving up here was lovely: pine forests and birch trees and the deep blue of hidden lakes and no billboards! None. I'm glad it's taking me awhile to get to my cabin. I didn't even know how tense and stressed I was and even a tiny bit depressed and that is all very slowly leaving me. I should be relatively light-hearted by the time I reach Grand Marais tomorrow.

Odd event: Three Harleys pulled up behind me in Minneapolis with guys wearing the usual beards and bandanas. But above the roar I could hear Yo Yo Ma on the cello.

Good food: Minneapolis again, Sunny Side Up Cafe on Lyndale Ave. The Prickly Omelet with cactus "paddles" pickled in a jalapeno brine. Just spicy enough to leave a little tingle on your lips and still be really tasty.

Good book: Yes, I bought a book. My 3rd one this year (I'm trying to clear off my shelves of unread books). But this is a Minnesota author, Leif Enger who wrote "Peace Like River", a very good book. This one looks like it will be great as well, "So Brave, Young and Handsome". I leave you with a quote from it . . .

"You are no failure, on a river. The water moves regardless -- for all it cares, you might as well be a minnow or a tadpole, a turtle on a beavered log. You might be nothing at all."

Leaving tomorrow

I think this is where I used to live in Minneapolis. It's been fun exploring the city. Tonight I was lost for about 30 minutes. Distractions: it was dark, there are a really unnecessary amount of one-way streets and bicycle riders everywhere, everywhere, like locusts. But I don't mind being lost as long as I don't have to be anywhere, have enough gas and have a general notion of where I am because it almost always results in a better understanding of the city and sometimes the discovery of cool shortcuts or parks or whatever. There are 32 lakes in the twin cities area and I went swimming today in Lake Calhoun and read a book, very relaxing. I'm having trouble dialing myself down from a stressed state of being but I'm getting there.

Tomorrow I leave for Duluth, one night there and then on to Grand Marais. It's about 300 miles from Minneapolis. There's been some confusion about location. Grand Marais, MN is on the north shore of Lake Superior, one hour from the border between Canada and Minnesota. The Canadian province is Ontario. Lake Superior is in Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota and Canada. It is the largest lake in the world. It can hold all the other four great lakes plus 2 more the size of Lake Erie.

Faces Stand Out in the Rain

People are strange when you're a stranger.
-- Jim Morrison

I am afflicted with that little worm of loneliness and doubt that all travelers feel at one time or another: why am I here, all alone? Why don't I just stay home like a normal person? But these fears are born of fatigue (all the things that had to be done to leave work and house behind) and jet-lag (the soul catching up with the body). I'm already starting to feel better and more like myself: a person who considers friends and family great treasures but who needs solitude like flowers need the rain.

My big adventure (a month-long writer's retreat on Lake Superior) came to a stop before it started on the tarmac at Dulles airport with an hour-long fueling problem causing me to miss my connection in Chicago. But once in Chicago, I made my way to a Customer Service kiosk and discovered I'd already been rebooked on another flight, leaving in an hour. I didn't have to argue with or even talk to anyone. And my checked bag made it to Minneapolis with me. Impressive. (United airlines).

I'm staying in Minneapolis a few days in a hostel. I'm by far the oldest person here, it's amusing. My room is tiny and spare and I share a bath but it's only $38 a night and I don't care anyway. There is a lovely lounge and they have wireless AND the Minneapolis Institute of Art is directly across the street.

Good food: Looking for something healthy in O'Hare airport. Saw "Chicago Hot Dog" and forgot about healthy. It was excellent, with a thick slice of dill pickle, several kinds of hot peppers, good mustard and a sprinkling of spices.

Good movie: "Mongol" Ghengis Khan as misunderstood child, affectionate father with a strong and beautiful wife and a blood brother. It was great fun to watch, romantic landscape, great battle scenes with artistic blood. The men would break out in a low, rough and oddly captivating humming sound. Part of "Get Lost" involves Mongolians and a Mongolian band called "Yat Kha" is on my soundtrack.

Good art: Saw an exhibit of photos by Lee Friedlander. I always wonder how photographers are able to capture a beautiful image but these photos were beyond that. Huge, taken on a big camera, they were full of stuff that all fit together in a beautiful symmetrical way. One photo stands out in my memory: in a shop window, at least seven small ornate mirrors each one with a scene inside of people looking in the window or eating or walking past, each one a perfect little scene.