My kind of town.

Sometimes, if I think just one good sentence in my head, a whole post will blog itself.

Sometimes, if I just log on and start writing, the screen will suddenly be full.

Sometimes, I stare at a blank, white box for a long, long time.


On Wednesday, I made the split-second decision to go to Duluth for the day. I had been pondering it the night before, but some of my texts didn't send, and I wasn't sure if people would be available. I went to Verizon, I went to Target. It was a nice day, and it felt good to drive. I got back on the highway and decided, yes, I'm going to Duluth. Right now.

I got 45 miles to the gallon. I listened to mypod, spilling music wonderfully through my speakers (in my first car, I had a set of battery-operated speakers that I would hook mypod up to for drives). I almost got blown off the road by the wind.

I went on a walk, I went to Green Mill, I went to the house with the murder room, I went to the house of brews. Er, the Brew House. I was going to leave that night, the better to be back in town to meet my grandma for lunch on Thursday. But I was ginger-peer-pressured and group-voted into getting tossed and staying the night.

So I did.

It was magical. I love Duluth. I love those people. I loved the whole world on my drive back home the next morning. I didn't have even a hint of a hangover (well, maybe a tiny hint, but not for long), I had a McDonald's breakfast burrito digesting away. The wind was gone, so the drive was smooth and easy. Mypod was being cooperative and playing great songs. The trees were varied and gorgeous shades of green. My favorite lake to drive past was looking fresh and vibrant. (I'm unsure what lake it is. Every time I drive by it, I think, "One of these days I'll get off at the next exit, find it, and take pictures." It's at mile-marker 220.)

Remember the seven-touches-a-day thing? These are the people with whom I can be close and connected. These are the people that breathe new life into me when I need it the most.

One asked me when I was moving back. I told her that when I win the lottery, I'll buy a house up there and visit all the time. "Just for the summer? Come stay up here," she tried to coerce me.

The city itself makes me happy, feels like home. It feels familiar (though still annoying) to drive up and down the pothole-infested roads. It's natural to drive downtown, park at Fitgers, and walk past the store with window manikins that always make me drool. The air revitalizes me with every breath. I don't know how I live without that lake in my backyard at home. As soon as I turn that corner on the highway (if you've ever driven there, you know the one), I feel calm, happy, home.

I'd give my right arm to live up there again, just for the summer. Or just for ever.