Our son and his four-year old son were coming from Japan to the Twin Cities in the last week of August. My wife planned to stay in the Twin Cities until Labor Day and then bring our grandson back to Duluth with her. I didn’t want to stay in the Twin Cities that long and wanted to spend most of the weekend at our cabin.
There was no point in driving two cars down so that we could come back separately. Ah ha! This is my chance to try Jefferson Lines’ Rocket Rider. I went to Jefferson Lines’ web site and determined that my best choice was to get the bus at 5:55 P.M. at the University of Minnesota stop. That seemed the easiest to find. The bus would arrive at UMD at 8:55 P.M., just in time for me to catch the 9:00 DTA bus down the hill.
I ordered my ticket online, printed it out and tucked it in my backpack.
After I had my ticket and before we left for the Twin Cities, the rains came. And the rains came. Our sump pump turned our lawn into a swamp. There was so much water that it washed the mulch and gravel down from the side of our newly-built steps to the front walk. It even undercut the steps. There goes going to our cabin on Saturday.
I fretted about it for the rest of the week, even more so when I was in the Twin Cites and more rain was coming in Duluth.
Well, it wasn’t raining when my wife dropped me off at the U of M stop in Minneapolis. The bus arrived on schedule. I gave my ticket and travel bag to the driver and got on a nearly empty bus. Plenty of window seats left.
The next stop was the Union Depot in St. Paul. I was glad that I didn’t chose that as my stop. Even though I have some familiarity with Downtown St. Paul, I couldn’t keep track of the streets that the bus driver used. Besides, there must have been twenty people waiting for the bus.
Two young men got on that were speaking some foreign language that sounded Slavic to me. I asked the man that sat next to me “What Slavic language are you speaking?” He looked at me in consternation and said that was German, they were from Basel, Switzerland! Finally, I understood why my German colleagues in Basel were upset with their Swiss colleagues for holding meetings in Schweitzerdeutsch. Anyhow, the two young men were impressed that I had spent several weeks in Basel. We had sporadic conversations after that; my seat mate was engrossed in a book, as was I.
The driver announced that we would be at UMD by 8:30. But he didn’t consider the heavy traffic going north for the long weekend. It didn’t really clear up until Forest Lake. Although the bus driver allowed lots of room behind the cars he followed, my guess is that he was going 75-80 miles per hour. It seemed that he spent more time in the left lane than the right.
As darkness fell, I had a harder time knowing where we were. I would see the signs as the bus approached them, but I never saw them as we passed them. Of course! There often were not any cars close enough behind to shine lights on the signs.
We arrived at the West Duluth bus station sometime before nine. Most of the passengers got off there. The Swiss asked if I was familiar with an address in the 300 block of E. Superior St. One was getting the address out of a guide book, but I didn’t think to ask to see the entry. I suggested they take any of the buses on Grand Avenue and offered to look up the schedule on my iPhone. They said they would take a taxi.
The bus arrived at Kirby Plaza after nine. I didn’t want to walk home with a heavy backpack and a travel bag, and so I had to wait until ten. Oh, to be back in Basel where one tram line ran every ten minutes even at midnight!
I’ll spare you the details of how I fixed the erosion by our front steps, but I think the new sod will hold and be green. But the task left me too tired on Sunday to go to our cabin, and I was still to tired on Monday. So, my rocket ride left me at a standstill.
What did I think overall about the Rocket Rider? It beat driving alone for two-and-a-half hours. The seat was comfortable and I got to read a good portion of a book. The overall time was longer, considering having to come from Shoreview to Minneapolis and waiting forty-five minutes for a local bus ride of three minutes. The $27.99 I spent for a senior ticket would beat the $50 or so that I would have to spend for gas. But that’s round trip for gas. I would be ahead with an SUV over a bus had I taken the bus both ways. If I had taken the Prius, I would have spent less for gas for a round trip than I would have spent for one way on the bus.
If you consider a family of two or more, then the car is definitely a better deal than a bus trip.
I couldn’t find any quick information about the Northern Lights Express, but my guess is that it may be a good deal for somebody traveling alone city center to city center. All others would find a car cheaper and quicker. That’s a hard thing to write for a guy who likes trains.
Mel would move back to Basel but it would be too far from his cabin.
Showing posts with label University of Minnesota. Show all posts
Showing posts with label University of Minnesota. Show all posts
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Wednesday, March 06, 2013
Quote of the day – responsibility
"No snowflake in an avalanche ever feels responsible." - Stanislas Jerzy Lec
This was a quote used by Dr. Anita Nowak of McGill University in her keynote address at the program "Cultivating Compassion, Empathy, Leadership, and Social Change" at the University of Minnesota, Duluth, today. Her speech was entitled "Empathic Action Rocks: Join the Movement That Can Change Your Life and Change the World.”
It was the only note I took because I couldn't keep up with her presentation and take notes, too. I wanted to double check it before posting, but in doing so, I found the same thought a couple of centuries earlier.
"Aucun flocon de neige ne se sent responsable de l'avalanche." - Voltaire
"No snowflake feels responsible for the avalanche."
I think Nowak's point was that we should feel empathy for those who have problems whether we contributed to those problems or not. And empathy is beyond sympathy; it is doing something to help solve another's problem.
Putting the quote another way, no one person taking water from a well will feel responsible for the well running dry.
This was a quote used by Dr. Anita Nowak of McGill University in her keynote address at the program "Cultivating Compassion, Empathy, Leadership, and Social Change" at the University of Minnesota, Duluth, today. Her speech was entitled "Empathic Action Rocks: Join the Movement That Can Change Your Life and Change the World.”
It was the only note I took because I couldn't keep up with her presentation and take notes, too. I wanted to double check it before posting, but in doing so, I found the same thought a couple of centuries earlier.
"Aucun flocon de neige ne se sent responsable de l'avalanche." - Voltaire
"No snowflake feels responsible for the avalanche."
I think Nowak's point was that we should feel empathy for those who have problems whether we contributed to those problems or not. And empathy is beyond sympathy; it is doing something to help solve another's problem.
Putting the quote another way, no one person taking water from a well will feel responsible for the well running dry.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Pondering while wandering led to floundering
As I returned from a University for Seniors class this morning at UMD, walking on snow-packed and icy sidewalks, I thought of how parental advice can be problematic in these situations: "Stand up straight" and "Watch where you're walking!"
If you stand up straight, by looking farther ahead, you might not see a slippery spot at your feet.
If you watch where you're walking, you'll get a sore back and might walk into an overhanging tree branch or protruding shrubbery.
As I pondered these profound thoughts, I stepped off a curb at an alley, my boot skidded on some ice, and I went down on one knee and then to one forearm. I didn't damage anything, but I soaked a knee of my jeans and my gloves.
Nobody saw me that I know of. I picked myself up and continued the couple hundred feet to my house without any soreness.
I don't remember which advice I was following - "Stand up straight" or "watch where you're walking!" Whatever, one of them didn't serve me well.
If you stand up straight, by looking farther ahead, you might not see a slippery spot at your feet.
If you watch where you're walking, you'll get a sore back and might walk into an overhanging tree branch or protruding shrubbery.
As I pondered these profound thoughts, I stepped off a curb at an alley, my boot skidded on some ice, and I went down on one knee and then to one forearm. I didn't damage anything, but I soaked a knee of my jeans and my gloves.
Nobody saw me that I know of. I picked myself up and continued the couple hundred feet to my house without any soreness.
I don't remember which advice I was following - "Stand up straight" or "watch where you're walking!" Whatever, one of them didn't serve me well.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Quote of the day - the Suzuki method
"Though the Suziki method has shown amazing musical achievements, Dr. Suzuki's primary purpose is not to produce professional musicians, but to develop every child to his or her highest potential, giving each individual a sense of self worth and sensitivity to others."
From the program for the Senior Benefit Concert presented by the Lake Superior Suzuki Talent Education Program, UMD Fine Arts Academy, 2013-02-03.
From the program for the Senior Benefit Concert presented by the Lake Superior Suzuki Talent Education Program, UMD Fine Arts Academy, 2013-02-03.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Food, A Personal Essay
I was cleaning my desk and came across the printout of the following essay. At first I couldn't find it on my computer, but then I did as a WriteNow document. I was able to get a scrambled version with Word and edited it to its original form. I originally wrote it 2000-08-03 for a Split Rock class at UMD, “Personal Essay Seminar” with Bill Holm.
What is it you remember of “memorable” meals: the food, the place, the guests, or the conversation? I find that I remember the place and where I sat more than anything else. I may remember the guests, especially family members. Sometimes I remember the food. Rarely do I remember the conversation.
I can remember sitting with my wife and children on the terrace of a restaurant on the road between Rome and Naples eating a fish of some sort. I don’t remember the name of the fish, only that it was a small, whole fish that I ate without a bit of squeamishness, an achievement that I felt proud of. But I remember better the terrace above the road and the road above the sea which was about a mile away, each being separated from the other by a bright, green band of trees which we looked down on.
I can remember sitting in another outdoor restaurant near Pompei on the same trip. I remember that we sat in the ell of the building with a trellis overhead. I don’t remember the food but I remember that we drank Lacrima Christi (Tears of Christ), a pleasant white wine.
I can remember eating Wiener Schnitzel, pommes frites, und gemichste salat at a restaurant in Basel, Switzerland. I should remember as I ate there frequently and selected that food most of the time. I was alone and sat at one of many sanded tables. I may have had the table to myself or if the restaurant was crowded I would share it with strangers.
I can remember eating lutefisk for the first and only time in an office building in Sweden. I didn’t like the lutefisk. My Swedish colleagues chose something else from the menu.
If I remember the food, I remember little of its texture and taste. The place is much more memorable. My position at the table, the position of the table in the room, the decor of the room, the neighborhood of the restaurant. Why is this?
Do we remember more by sight than taste because we spend so much time navigating with our eyes? How rare is it that we move toward a smell? We may turn into a restaurant because of the good smells coming from it, but we didn’t criss-cross a neighborhood like a predator sniffing the air for prey. We first went through the neighborhood using our eyes to find our way. I remember loving to walk or drive by a commercial bakery, feasting with my nose on the invigorating smell of fresh-baked bread. But I got to the area using my eyes, not my nose. I wouldn’t be able to smell the bakery three blocks away.
Great chefs and good cooks understand the importance of sight in appreciating food.
Bör dock ögonen ha sin spis och födo till fyllnad.
Yet must the eyes have their nourishment and feed until filled.
A Swedish chef lays out a smörgåsbord as a series of platters and dishes in a pattern suggesting the appropriate order to select groups of dishes. Silver herring, golden cheese, and dark hard bread. Red salmon, green parsley, and yellow lemon. White chicken, brown paté, and red tomatoes. Golden flounder, pink sausage, and green beans. Red berries, yellow melon, and ginger cookies.
The staff of a Japanese ryokan serves dinner and breakfast in a dozen lacquered dishes for each person. Most of the items have bright colors and they lay out the dishes in a specific pattern. A clear soup with red snapper and green onions. A slice of golden rolled omelet with green daikon. Chilled white tofu with black sesame seeds. White and green cabbage with dark shitake mushrooms. They hide the workaday electric rice cooker and airpot of tea on the floor at the end of the table.
A German cook piles a plate from edge to edge with meat, potatoes, and vegetables. The large servings suggest abundance and encourage Guten Appetit!
A French chef places a few ingredients on each plate of a many course dinner. The chef balances the flavors and the appearance. The small servings suggest that the dish is to be savored slowly.
On the negative side, one of our friends turned our stomachs off just with how the food looked on the plate - burnt chicken with mushy canned peas and lumpy potatoes.
We also remember the service we receive.
At a Holiday Inn we ordered lunch at a busy time. We placed our order and soon after a waitress served my wife’s food, our kid’s food, and my bottle of beer. A couple came to a nearby table. They ordered. A waitress served their food. The couple ate, paid, and left. My wife and kids finished their food. For forty-five minutes I tapped my foot and twiddled my thumbs, but nobody brought my sandwich. I said we were leaving. As we stood up, a waitress pushed a cart with sandwich came through the door but I ignored her. I told the hostess that I would pay for my family’s food and my beer but not my sandwich. I felt an immense power when I noticed that her hand shook more than my voice.
At a restaurant outside Rome eight of us had had a reasonably pleasant meal and good conversation. When we were ready to leave we asked the waiter, “Il conto, prego” (the bill, please). He replied, “Subito” (right away). Five minutes later, we asked, “Il conto, prego.” He replied, “Subito.” And again, “Il conto, prego.” “Subito.” And yet again, and again. After about twenty minutes, we all stood up and started to leave. The waiter wrote the bill subito!
At a restaurant near the Houston space center, the service was impeccable. As soon as I finished a course, the waiter would appear, remove the dish, and bring the next course.
This little exercise is bringing back so many memories of memorable meals. I do remember many tastes but almost all of them are associated with place.
I remember eating kielbasa in the train station in Budapest but neither the flavor or the texture. But I can still taste the Polish sausage from the Twin Ports Brewing Co. in Superior, Wisconsin.
I can remember the melted ice cream sandwich that still held its shape but not where I contemplated eating it. I can remember sitting in our dining room savoring every spoonful of Ben & Jerry’s The World’s Best Vanilla Ice Cream, the only ice cream worthy of the name “ice cream”.
I can remember the calamari at a long-gone Thai restaurant on Hennepin Avenue in Minneapolis; it was so hot that it made my eyes and nose run. I can remember picking jalapeño peppers from our garden in Plymouth and nibbling them as I took them to the house; “Ooh, that’s hot! Mmm, that’s good! I’ll have another bite.”
This is making me too hungry to continue. My wife just came back from the deli with supper. I’m going to check out what she bought.
Postscript: The deli food was so-so veggie stuff but she also bought a fresh, locally-grown, organic beefsteak tomato, picked fresh raspberries from a co-worker’s yard, and bought Ben & Jerry’s The World’s Best Vanilla Ice Cream!
What is it you remember of “memorable” meals: the food, the place, the guests, or the conversation? I find that I remember the place and where I sat more than anything else. I may remember the guests, especially family members. Sometimes I remember the food. Rarely do I remember the conversation.
I can remember sitting with my wife and children on the terrace of a restaurant on the road between Rome and Naples eating a fish of some sort. I don’t remember the name of the fish, only that it was a small, whole fish that I ate without a bit of squeamishness, an achievement that I felt proud of. But I remember better the terrace above the road and the road above the sea which was about a mile away, each being separated from the other by a bright, green band of trees which we looked down on.
I can remember sitting in another outdoor restaurant near Pompei on the same trip. I remember that we sat in the ell of the building with a trellis overhead. I don’t remember the food but I remember that we drank Lacrima Christi (Tears of Christ), a pleasant white wine.
I can remember eating Wiener Schnitzel, pommes frites, und gemichste salat at a restaurant in Basel, Switzerland. I should remember as I ate there frequently and selected that food most of the time. I was alone and sat at one of many sanded tables. I may have had the table to myself or if the restaurant was crowded I would share it with strangers.
I can remember eating lutefisk for the first and only time in an office building in Sweden. I didn’t like the lutefisk. My Swedish colleagues chose something else from the menu.
If I remember the food, I remember little of its texture and taste. The place is much more memorable. My position at the table, the position of the table in the room, the decor of the room, the neighborhood of the restaurant. Why is this?
Do we remember more by sight than taste because we spend so much time navigating with our eyes? How rare is it that we move toward a smell? We may turn into a restaurant because of the good smells coming from it, but we didn’t criss-cross a neighborhood like a predator sniffing the air for prey. We first went through the neighborhood using our eyes to find our way. I remember loving to walk or drive by a commercial bakery, feasting with my nose on the invigorating smell of fresh-baked bread. But I got to the area using my eyes, not my nose. I wouldn’t be able to smell the bakery three blocks away.
Great chefs and good cooks understand the importance of sight in appreciating food.
Bör dock ögonen ha sin spis och födo till fyllnad.
Yet must the eyes have their nourishment and feed until filled.
A Swedish chef lays out a smörgåsbord as a series of platters and dishes in a pattern suggesting the appropriate order to select groups of dishes. Silver herring, golden cheese, and dark hard bread. Red salmon, green parsley, and yellow lemon. White chicken, brown paté, and red tomatoes. Golden flounder, pink sausage, and green beans. Red berries, yellow melon, and ginger cookies.
The staff of a Japanese ryokan serves dinner and breakfast in a dozen lacquered dishes for each person. Most of the items have bright colors and they lay out the dishes in a specific pattern. A clear soup with red snapper and green onions. A slice of golden rolled omelet with green daikon. Chilled white tofu with black sesame seeds. White and green cabbage with dark shitake mushrooms. They hide the workaday electric rice cooker and airpot of tea on the floor at the end of the table.
A German cook piles a plate from edge to edge with meat, potatoes, and vegetables. The large servings suggest abundance and encourage Guten Appetit!
A French chef places a few ingredients on each plate of a many course dinner. The chef balances the flavors and the appearance. The small servings suggest that the dish is to be savored slowly.
On the negative side, one of our friends turned our stomachs off just with how the food looked on the plate - burnt chicken with mushy canned peas and lumpy potatoes.
We also remember the service we receive.
At a Holiday Inn we ordered lunch at a busy time. We placed our order and soon after a waitress served my wife’s food, our kid’s food, and my bottle of beer. A couple came to a nearby table. They ordered. A waitress served their food. The couple ate, paid, and left. My wife and kids finished their food. For forty-five minutes I tapped my foot and twiddled my thumbs, but nobody brought my sandwich. I said we were leaving. As we stood up, a waitress pushed a cart with sandwich came through the door but I ignored her. I told the hostess that I would pay for my family’s food and my beer but not my sandwich. I felt an immense power when I noticed that her hand shook more than my voice.
At a restaurant outside Rome eight of us had had a reasonably pleasant meal and good conversation. When we were ready to leave we asked the waiter, “Il conto, prego” (the bill, please). He replied, “Subito” (right away). Five minutes later, we asked, “Il conto, prego.” He replied, “Subito.” And again, “Il conto, prego.” “Subito.” And yet again, and again. After about twenty minutes, we all stood up and started to leave. The waiter wrote the bill subito!
At a restaurant near the Houston space center, the service was impeccable. As soon as I finished a course, the waiter would appear, remove the dish, and bring the next course.
This little exercise is bringing back so many memories of memorable meals. I do remember many tastes but almost all of them are associated with place.
I remember eating kielbasa in the train station in Budapest but neither the flavor or the texture. But I can still taste the Polish sausage from the Twin Ports Brewing Co. in Superior, Wisconsin.
I can remember the melted ice cream sandwich that still held its shape but not where I contemplated eating it. I can remember sitting in our dining room savoring every spoonful of Ben & Jerry’s The World’s Best Vanilla Ice Cream, the only ice cream worthy of the name “ice cream”.
I can remember the calamari at a long-gone Thai restaurant on Hennepin Avenue in Minneapolis; it was so hot that it made my eyes and nose run. I can remember picking jalapeño peppers from our garden in Plymouth and nibbling them as I took them to the house; “Ooh, that’s hot! Mmm, that’s good! I’ll have another bite.”
This is making me too hungry to continue. My wife just came back from the deli with supper. I’m going to check out what she bought.
Postscript: The deli food was so-so veggie stuff but she also bought a fresh, locally-grown, organic beefsteak tomato, picked fresh raspberries from a co-worker’s yard, and bought Ben & Jerry’s The World’s Best Vanilla Ice Cream!
Friday, October 30, 2009
Why should students stay in Duluth?
Many in Duluth complain that not enough students stay in Duluth. The implication is that there are not enough jobs for them in Duluth and the cause is that Duluth is "business unfriendly".
One would hope that a large percentage of high school students would remain in the town in which they attended school. If many remain, it would provide some stability and continuity to the town. On the other hand, no locality has all the possible opportunities that graduating students might seek. To be in the cutting edge of many ideas, a student has to move elsewhere. How many foreign service officers can Duluth support? How many computer scientists can Duluth support? And on and on.
One cannot expect a large percentage of college students to remain in town. The reason is simple; most of them didn't grow up in Duluth and will move on for personal reasons and for the reasons above.
I saw a good illustration of this in a UMD theatre program. Of the 24 student collaborative artists in the production of "Sugar", only three are from Duluth. Thirteen are from elsewhere in Minnesota, four are from Wisconsin, three are from North Dakota, and one is from Zambia. Of these 24, fourteen are seniors. Can a metropolitan area of 100,000 people support fourteen new actors and designers in any given year? Most of them are going to go elsewhere for graduate school or to become part of a pool of actors and designers in cities across the country.
What many people don't look at is how many students do stay in their home town and quietly build businesses. Some are modest, some are large. Almost every week I read of some little success story of local people in business. These are the people who follow the zoning rules, don't ask for government subsidies, and don't demand tax breaks to even consider their projects.
The mayor of Eden Prairie said some years ago, "We didn't do anything special to attract business; we just made Eden Prairie a nice place to live." Do you think she was on to something?
One would hope that a large percentage of high school students would remain in the town in which they attended school. If many remain, it would provide some stability and continuity to the town. On the other hand, no locality has all the possible opportunities that graduating students might seek. To be in the cutting edge of many ideas, a student has to move elsewhere. How many foreign service officers can Duluth support? How many computer scientists can Duluth support? And on and on.
One cannot expect a large percentage of college students to remain in town. The reason is simple; most of them didn't grow up in Duluth and will move on for personal reasons and for the reasons above.
I saw a good illustration of this in a UMD theatre program. Of the 24 student collaborative artists in the production of "Sugar", only three are from Duluth. Thirteen are from elsewhere in Minnesota, four are from Wisconsin, three are from North Dakota, and one is from Zambia. Of these 24, fourteen are seniors. Can a metropolitan area of 100,000 people support fourteen new actors and designers in any given year? Most of them are going to go elsewhere for graduate school or to become part of a pool of actors and designers in cities across the country.
What many people don't look at is how many students do stay in their home town and quietly build businesses. Some are modest, some are large. Almost every week I read of some little success story of local people in business. These are the people who follow the zoning rules, don't ask for government subsidies, and don't demand tax breaks to even consider their projects.
The mayor of Eden Prairie said some years ago, "We didn't do anything special to attract business; we just made Eden Prairie a nice place to live." Do you think she was on to something?
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