Osler's Razor

After ten full and relaxing days on Osler/Sleepy Walleye Island, I'm back in civilization and ready to blog. It was a great break.

Still, I did have one of the top bonehead moments in Minnesota history last week. Because Osler/Sleepy Walleye Island is, uh, kind of remote (off the grid-- no electricity, phone, or running water), you need to go into the nearest town once in a while for provisions. That town (a boat ride and 64 mile drive away) is Grand Marais, one of America's most beautiful little towns.

Beautiful, but a little weird. You would think that would let me fit in, but you would be wrong. Grand Marais has its own oddities, and they are different than mine. Plus, after all these years I still haven't figured out the rules there.

My trip into town began with a trip to Johnson's IGA for groceries. Unfortunately, because I love groceries, this took longer than expected and I felt rushed by the time I got to the check-out. Johnson's IGA has special, unspoken rules of behavior-- you use a regular cart in the store, then at the check out they put your bags on a different kind of cart and a sullen teen wheels them out to the car. My mistake was thinking that this second step was optional. I started to throw my bags into the cart I used in the store. One of the sullen teens came up, alarmed, but (because he is Minnesotan) he just said "you know 'dere, uh, hmmm... " and looked down. Not getting the message I brushed him off and said "I've got it" and kept loading the in-store-only cart. Soon I was surrounded by IGA reinforcements, all muttering about "you know... about 'dat cart" and pointing at the cart. Finally, they basically blocked my path-- it was sort of a scene. The woman behind me in line said "Ya, some people are stubborn." Oops.

Next stop-- the laundromat. After the confrontation with the grocery-cart posse, I was really pressed for time. But... laundromats have changed since last time I used one (1989). Not only the dryers but the washers are front-loaders. Confused, I threw my dirty clothes into a dryer and prepared to dump in some detergent. Again, I was surrounded by concerned and strangely polite Minnesotans (including the same woman who was behind me in line at the grocery store). One lady said "So, you just trying to save some time, dere?" in a tone of voice usually used on a tot lot. Oops.

Now really behind, I got done with the laundry and realized that I needed to get ice for the cooler full of provisions. I went back to another store (they probably won't serve me ever again at Johnson's) and got some ice. My task was to break up the ice to dump in the cooler, as I stood behind the car. Now, most people would just drop the bag on the ground to accomplish this, but there was a break in the bag and I didn't want the ice to get dirty. So, instead, I decided to break up the block of ice with a serious of head-butts, strategically directed at the problem areas.

It was just then, as I was banging the bag of ice against my head, that the woman from the grocery store and the laundromat rode by in a bike. She stopped for a minute, looked at me for a moment with almost as much disdain as the furious not-fat Dallas socialite, and rode off. I'll bet that's a story she will tell all through the long, cold winter...