see, this is why the suburbs scare me

Made it through three months of Central America without getting my purse stolen only to be robbed at Ikea in Bloomington, MN.

We both have old people backs, so we thought we'd better lie on every mattress/pad/ever-so-clever-swedish slatted base combination at least three times each to decide what bed we'd be saving up towards. Had to put down the coats and purse to do this. Back turned. Purse gone.

Here is the list of things I no longer own, but will still irrationally waste brain cells remembering:

* pink iPod (actually I wanted red, I thought it was red, it looked red on the box)
* old cell phone (the replacement has a camera, yay)
* very old PDA (seriously, an antique - dr. foster just sold me a ferrari in comparison)
* checkbook (had the old address anyway)
* wallet (ok, this was the cutest little red wallet ever)
* $31
* credit cards, driver's license, ATM card (lots of holding on 800 numbers - "we are experience unusually high traffic on our customer service lines", yeah right, unusual my butt
* allergy medication (hopefully i never see that rare fruit again)
* my favorite three barrettes (very handy for dealing with hair that hasn't been cut in five months)
* a nearly new burt's bees lip balm, dang it (i hope they don't use it because that's kinda, you know, intimate)
* my prescription sunglasses (god, i spent so much on those because they were so cool, won't be replacing those soon)
* here it is, the part that steams me, my travel journal (which also had all my notes from all meetings in the last two weeks, lots of crazy but important lists, my calendar, contacts, you know all the important stuff, but most of all, the daily summary of what we did for three months - now i have no idea how i spent those three months)

anyway, that was a few days ago and i was really angry, then felt dumb, then very depressed, then a little moody, then i had a really great full-on rage dream where i told everyone everywhere to kiss my ass, then i did some unpacking and nesting type stuff in our new place, then i felt better. all better.

but still, those fucking suburbs, i'm never going there again.

Homeless no more

By the time we move this weekend, we will have been officially homeless since October 26th - about five months. Wow.

Two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, a front porch, and a yard for Future. Such luxury ... we're very excited.

officially home

Ironic it seemed when, after 13,000 miles, the car died 80 miles outside of Minneapolis. Saturday night, St. Patrick's Day, in Kellogg, MN - a very small town. Dark, cold, not a lot of people at the Kwik Trip gas station. But a very nice woman named June put us on the phone with a very nice man named Brennick who drove on over and looked at the car. Turns out he's a very good mechanic and his shop's just down the road. We walked over to the Town & Country Cafe and had some really nice pie while he fixed our car. An hour later we were back on the road and felt like we'd had the perfect Minnesota welcome home.

The next day we visited Bill, the most perfect uncle a dog could ever want, and picked up Future. We rode around looking for apartments with him in the back seat all day. What a happy reunion. He missed us, we could tell.

Actually, I think we've spent three days in a row now, riding around looking at apartments with Future in the back seat. If nothing falls apart, I think we're signing a lease on a perfect little place tomorrow. By the way, to all the fabulous friends out there who hosted us along the way, we'll have a guest room. Speaking of hosts, Annie, one of the nicest people on the whole planet, is hosting us again until we move.

Can I just say that the best part of traveling, and the best part of coming home, is being reminded just how many really damn nice people there are in this world?

Minneapolis, here we come

Tomorrow, Saturday, we hit the road for the very last leg of this journey. Minneapolis, I hope you are warmer than Chicago was today. But I'll take any temperature to be back home. Looking forward to seeing Future. Our dog, Future. And the future that is not a proper noun too. Was fun to step back and see a bigger world; a vague glimpse of the big picture and my little place in it. I feel humble, grateful, happy, hungry. Ready to leap forward with some slightly specific ideas about where to land next.

One of the first revelations of going on an adventure like this was that there's no reason to call this the last leg of the adventure. During this entire trip we clung comfortably to the motto, "We're still lost." As I said, humble. No reason to let go of that motto. And no reason to stop looking for the next detour, unexpected left turn, or enticing dirt road.

So no, it's not really the last leg, just the next one, and the first one pointed towards home in a while. As I said in a past blog, there are many places called home, but currently Minneapolis is a particular kind of home, and I'm clapping my hands and jumping up and down like a small girl at the thought of getting back to it.

Life is what you make of it. Family is the people you keep. Home is where you hang your hat. In this modern world we have the luxury of choosing it all. But once you make some choices - good, bad or otherwise - there you are. As stuck as if you'd been born there that way. The ruts start to stick, the grooves get ground. That can be paralyzing. It can also be tremendously comforting. Which, I suppose, is why you finally pick some eventually.

So Minneapolis, despite your freaking five freaking months of freaking winter and your people who don't really get sarcasm and your tedious inferiority complex and your small-town politics and your passive-aggressive sociopathic pride and all your blondes, I love you. Because you have the Bryant-Lake Bowl; and lots of lakes; and brilliant, talented, successful people who are perfectly comfortable at cocktail parties talking about heirloom tomatoes; and a mayor who has shaken every single resident's hand, twice; and Norwegian/Swedish/German values, whatever that means; and a premier modern arts institution with a gigantic, fantastically silly sculpture of a spoon with a cherry right out in front; and friendly, normal millionaires; and good schools; and mostly clean water; and Nigerians riding the bus with Mexicans riding the bus with African-Americans riding the bus with white suburbanites, and all of them being crabby in a really polite way; and those so-gay and so-beautiful Target lights over downtown; and people who cry every single time you mention Paul Wellstone; and bike trails right down the middle of Hennepin Avenue; and a thousand other things I occasionally roll my eyes over but most just love with all my heart.

Seriously, it's a big wide world with endless possibilities, but there's nothing better than seeing a bit of the big world to remind you that home is home. The other day, as we were driving Alan's niece, The Adorable Aliza, to the aquarium, she was reciting the entire script and score of "A Wizard of Oz" to us. Somewhere around the eighth repetition of "there's no place like home," I started clicking my heels.

Adorable Aliza and me in Chicago at the home of Alan's brother, Paul and sister in law, Amy. Chilling out after many adventures at the aquarium.

Many places called Home

Arrived in Chicago late last night to discover just a teeny bit of dirty, ice-crunchy snow on the ground in the shady corners of the north sides of things. I'm not sure which is wierder, that crunchy bits of snow make me feel at home or that Chicago itself, vicariously, through Alan, feels homey.

Hangin' around various sides of Chicago for a few days catching up with all of Alan's peeps. Then, finally, the very last leg of this trip back to Minneapolis. If I could have my perfect wish for coming home (as though I'm entitled to wish for anything after missing this year's blizzard-plastered Minnesota winter), it would be 50 degrees in Minneapolis, but it would snow big fluffy snowflakes one more time after we got there.

Standing on top of a pyramid. Phew, quite a climb.

The pyramids of Tikal towering over the jungle,

Carlos Castejon at his coffee and cardamom plantation in Copan Ruinas, Honduras.

One of the prettiest beaches in Honduras in a tiny Garifuna village called Triunfo de la Cruz.

Puerto Escondido. Surf competition in the background. Kids playing soccer in the middle. Hot surfer in the foreground.

OK, it doesn't look like much, but this place perched on a cliff over a completely empty stretch of the Pacific Mexican coast served the yummiest fish.

Me in a KFC in Mexico. Just couldn't take any more Mexican food.

Sorry, lame picture. The view from my friends'backyard in San Diego.

My Aunt Betty and Uncle Rod in Pahrump, NV. Two of the coolest people on the planet.