After the University of Minnesota women's hockey team won the NCAA Tournament almost two weeks ago, I had some time to kill. Thank goodness for mid-afternoon start times. I wanted to at least bask in the team's glory, so I stayed around for that. I then made sure I got enough pictures to capture the scene, so I spent some time doing that. A lot of it was for one shot, the exterior of Ridder Arena with a banner welcoming fans to the Women's Frozen Four being played there. I had my camera shot from the other side of the street all planned out. Problem was the coach buses for Boston University, the team the Gophers defeated to win the championship, were camped out front.
I gave myself some time to mill around the area, even go see if this coffeeshop on the quieter side of campus was still open (it was, just not on weekends), to see if the buses would pull away. And just as I was going to walk to my car (which, because it was a Sunday, was parked at a meter close to campus instead of on the other side of 35W, where I usually have to park), I saw one of the coaches roll by. The other one was gone by the time I walked all the way back to Ridder. Snap, and I was done being a photographer.
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And I still had several hours, and some daylight, to kill before I had to go home around 9 or 9:30, like I told my parents. I had time, for example, to stop by Taco Bell (and listen to the Gopher men's basketball team's season end on the radio). I then was able to work out for a little bit before going home.
But I realized I had the time to do something I should have done sooner: Visit The Store. I hadn't been there in a while. And through the chaos of the home remodel, I had not truly realized that at some point my parents did not go to The Store. The Store is, for all intents and purposes, closed, gone, no more. And I am saddened and even ashamed for not knowing the exact day they decided going to The Store was not going to be part of the day.
Well, at least from now on there's no chance that I would, for example, drive by them if and when I scrounge up enough money to go back to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division), which is a bridge away from The Store. Nor would I worry ever again have to worry about what I wanted to do this late day after leaving the U. and before going to eat and work out: Drop by The Store again, or at least parking at the back door.
I did this once before, but I had to do it again. Overheard my folks say that they turned over the property and land to the business right across the parking lot, so I have no idea if they're going to tear it down or what. But as long as I'm standing, I want to revisit as much as I can, and if that means I can only retrace the path of parking in the same lot I and my parents did for so many years, OK, I'll take it. (However, late last week Father said that there's been a hangup with the sale of The Store. I really don't know what's going on, but admittedly I still don't want to know.)
Like the first time, I gave myself 15 minutes. Turned off the game, right in the middle of the Gophers losing, turned off the car, and I sat. I didn't really think about The Store or have my memories of it take me over emotionally and force me to cry tears. I just wanted to ... be there, even if "there" was just a few inches of icy snow, our old van, the now shut-down freezer vents and the brick edifice that used to be a fire station and lodge. It was kind of like seeing uncle in his quasi-vegetative state: I had no useful interaction with The Store, but I wanted to just immerse myself in it.
Finally, after my 15 minutes were gone and I started to think staying longer would just be weird (even though there was no one around; the milk-producing plant is usually always hopping but there weren't many people there on this late evening Sunday) I did the same thing I did back in the winter: I went up to the red back door, touched it, closed my eyes for a bit, said a prayer, then kissed it and left.
How many more times can I do this? Will I have time in the future?
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