So last weekend I was in St. Paul, Minnesota with a laptop that stubbornly refused to connect to the Internet. This was, to say the least, highly annoying. But never mind. Since I couldn’t work between the Friday day and evening sessions of the WoF event, I went for a little walk. It was a beautiful day in St. Paul and I decided to visit the Cathedral.
The elevator operator at Excel Energy Center told me, “It’s just up the hill.” “Up” being the operative word–I’d have sung “Climb Every Mountain” on the way up, but didn’t have the breath.
It’s a lovely cathedral, with gorgeous stained glass (including two rose windows), multiple sculptures (including a recreation of Michaelangelo’s Pieta), and a fabulous domed ceiling.
I’m a big fan of cathedrals. I love the vastness of them. They remind me that God is huge and I am small and that’s the way it should be. I’d have taken more photos but people were praying and I didn’t want to intrude.
After taking in the sights and having a nice chat with God, I wandered outside and found myself in a rather lovely area called the Summit-Selby neighborhood. It was identified by a sign that also informed me it was (or had been) the home of several writers, including F. Scott Fitzgerald, Sinclair Lewis, and Garrison Keillor. That’s nice, I thought, the other guys are dead, but I wonder if Garrison Keillor still lives here? Nah, probably not. Regardless of the residents, it was a pretty street and I had time to spare so I strolled down the street admiring the homes…
Walking along, I noticed a number of nicely-dressed people driving up and going into a pretty white house on the other side of the street. Someone’s having a party, how nice. Then I observed a plethora of political signs in the yard and decided it was a pre-election affair. OK, whatever.
At the end of the block I decided I might not be able to get back to the arena that way and turned around to walk back the way I came, only on the party side of the street. Which is how I came to find myself on the sidewalk outside the party house only to be warmly greeted by the homeowner, who apparently mistook me for a fellow political enthusiast.
Whaddya know, Garrison Keillor DOES still live there.
I was rather startled to find myself face to face with the host of A Prairie Home Companion, but he was genial enough and I managed to retain enough wits to get the picture. And after some slightly scattered conversation, I walked down the hill and back to work. Bobby Flay on Monday, Garrison Keillor on Friday . . . it was quite the week.
Tasting God 