A Gemini in the Twin Cities

I started this post from a most unlikely spot: an internet access terminal at the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport. My flight was delayed by 45 minutes, pushing my arrival in L.A. back to Sunday morning as opposed to Saturday evening. My long suffering best friend must suffer once more as picking me up then became an even later task than expected. He is the best, as you all know from his prolific and amazing posting last week - I owe him big time. Much love to all those who offered birthday wishes, especially my amazing little sister, who I am now calling Little Star. I missed this blog, and read it daily while I was gone. I hope my return doesn't disappoint - the bar was set pretty high...

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Last week, in my first days as a 28 year old, I made my first ever trek to Minnesota. A friend I call The Little Prince lives in Minneapolis. He's an old college buddy of Lucifer and her husband, Cheesehead and has visited L.A. more times in recent years than Cher did on her Farewell Tour. It was about time I returned the favor. I dubbed him The Little Prince for a few reasons. First, I love the book The Little Prince - I even had a chance to read it while I was visiting. Second, he and The Princess are so much alike it's a little scary. Third, when I'm an idiot he makes me feel like a prince. (Good friends have an amazing way of doing that - BF & The Princess also have this particular talent.) Also, Prince is from Minneapolis, so it works on all sorts of cosmic levels.

The trip itself is too much to detail, so I'll give a Reader's Digest version: I was forced to face up to certain fears and crossed several bridges - literally. I may be able to cross the Bay Bridge next time I go to San Francisco without a panic attack. (It will take sometime before I get used to those treacherous skyways, though. I hear they're a requirement in the winter. We'll work on that.) I helped TLP shop for a beautiful Volvo (more fun than it sounds). I got to see all of the old haunts and places where these people I love first met one another (more moving than I can describe). I played Girl Friday all week and discovered an innate talent for keeping track of someone else's life. (More profound than it sounds.) We sang at the top of our lungs on any and all car rides. We walked around the city and I got a sense of the deep history - both of the city and my friends. I tripped over everything - therefore I was dubbed Princess Haha (Haha = falls). I went to an arboretum and a zoo filled with screaming kids and bewildered, yet fascinated animals. I visited St. Paul and reveled in all of the Peanuts statues. I saw a great drag show and made friends with a sweet girl named Jill who sat next to me. I had my first and last White Castle burger - only two bites, though, thank you very much, Cheesehead. The Little Prince and I quoted The Big Lebowski incessantly thurah-ly. I fell in love with the city and at the same time let go of another set of feelings that I couldn't take back with me to L.A. I never got to that tattoo I wanted to get - it's coming soon, though. I took approximately five-hundred-and-one million, six-hundred-twenty-two-thousand, seven-hundred-thirty-one photos. But my favorite things were the moments you can't take photos of.

Obviously, I had an amazing time. It was the kind of trip you never want to end. My senses opened up and I just felt. I lost count of how many times I said, "How am I supposed to leave all of this?" We stayed in the beautiful city of Duluth on my last night there, where I saw my first Great Lake. I wanted to turn into sea foam and stay forever. A fancy thought that passed quickly, but it sounded good at the time. That night, I stared at the stars and fireflies from a hot tub while doing tequila shots.

When I woke up early Saturday morning, I read The Little Prince, which I'd found the night before in our gracious hosts' beautiful collection of children's books. It was kismet. I realized then and there that I had to leave. I couldn't become sea foam. My home planet needed me. It was with that resolve that "How will I ever leave this?" became "How much fun will it be when I come back?"

I was a raw nerve as I said my good-byes at the airport. When I finally boarded my plane I promptly fell asleep under the moonlight. I woke up about thirty minutes before landing time. The children on board (there were many) were getting restless. I could sympathize. We sat on the tarmac for about 15 minutes, waiting for our gate to be free. An adorable baby boy with French-speaking parents began wailing - tired, hungry, anxious to get off of the plane - I felt the same way. I reflected on what I had left behind, what I had brought back with me, and what I was coming back to. Overwhelmed by beauty and gratitude, tears started streaming down my cheeks. And the baby stopped crying. When I saw him and his parents at the baggage claim he was sucking on a pacifier when his eyes caught mine. He smiled at me and I couldn't help but smile back.

About an hour later, I was greeted by the Best Friend Ever at the Flyaway, I took one look and thought to myself, "How did I ever leave this?" We saw a movie on Sunday (see below) - a rare event as we both can't stand most of what's out there - and got back to our old, mean selves. It is good to be back home.

As for what I left behind? I think Le Petit Prince said it best:

"When you look up at the sky at night, since I'll be living on one of them, since I'll be laughing on one of them, for you, it'll be as if all the stars are laughing. You'll have stars that can laugh! And when you're consoled (everyone is eventually consoled), you'll be glad you've known me. You'll always be my friend. You'll feel like laughing with me. And you'll open your windows sometimes just for the fun of it... And your friends will be amazed to see you laughing while you're looking up at the sky. Then you'll tell them, 'Yes, it's the stars. They always make me laugh!"*

-J.

This post was sponsored by the All That You Can't Leave Behind Committee.

Dedicated the memory of Jamie, who crossed the Rainbow Bridge while I was in the sky last weekend. The day she showed up on the doorstep and wouldn't leave, the click-clack of her paws on lineoleum, the wag of her tail, and that time she stole my pizza slice will be in my heart forever.