home again home again jiggity jig

Minneapolis has been on my shit list for some time. Not for any reason in particular, at least not that I can remember, but for some reason as soon as I left for college I dreaded any return to the North Star State.

Maybe it was the bitter cold, that horrible biting freeze that hits you directly in the face when you open your front door, and freezes your gloves hands to your steering wheel. Maybe it was the elongated vowels, which I learned to mask in the non-regional dialect country of Cincinnati, OH. Maybe it was when Dayton's turned to Marshall Field's, and then, in a horrifying turn of events, ended up as a Macy's. Maybe it was when my mom packed up all of my most sentimental possessions and gave them to Goodwill, telling me as I wept for the lost relics of my childhood that I was welcome to go to Goodwill and buy them back AS IF A GIANT FRAMED POSTER OF THE VELVETEEN RABBIT OR A LAMP SHAPED LIKE A GOOSE HEAD WOULD GO UNPURCHASED!

At any rate, my visits became fewer and further between and by June of 2006 I hadn't been home in 9 months. My whirlwind trip to the City of Lakes for Cara's wedding involved flat tires, bridesmaid dresses, red wine and a hangover, par for the course as far as my weekends go. Minnesota seemed different that weekend--maybe because it was all a blur of emotion--but either way, that anxious trapped-in-a-box feeling I usually got when the plane touched down at Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport was noticeably absent.

[I think this is a good point to add that I don't hate Minneapolis. I'm even considered somewhat of a fan, especially here on the East Coast where people proudly announce their ignorance of "flyover country" and mix up Minneapolis with Milwaukee or Michigan (which is not a city but an entire state the last time I checked, which was around 5th grade) as if it's somehow a mark of high culture to be totally ignorant of 50% of your country.]

This time, I flew into Minneapolis at 10am on a Thursday morning, having left the office the night before with my shoulders and neck so tight that I was afraid to turn my head for fear of shattering all of my muscles in a messy display on the subway.

My Grandma turned 90 yesterday, so we threw her a party on Saturday night at Pulaski Hall in Northeast Minneapolis. If you haven't heard of it, it's because you're not Polish. We're not either, but we know a guy who knows a guy. Four generations of Farleys/Nagans/Whathaveyou were present to celebrate the most amazing woman I know. To be fair, the Fourth generation spent most of their time on the floor participating in the 2007 Baby Summit, but they showed up and stayed awake past 7 and that's what counts.

After Granny's party, the McInerny siblings hung out together for the first time in over 2 years. TWO YEARS since all the little birdies had been back in the nest together. So what did we do? We played Tetris on Jeremy's PS2, screamed, fought for attention, farted on each other, sent Patrick to Byerly's at midnight to buy some snackities and finished the night with a few episodes of The IT Crowd.

I left on Sunday feeling like I had purified myself in the water of Lake Minnetonka. Four days of intensive family time, the kind where my brothers and sister and I alternately laugh hysterically and threaten each other with physical violence, the kind where my brother and I find my mom's black bra in the backseat OF MY DAD's car, the kind where my brother-in-law has to remind me to stop saying the F word in front of the baby to the point where I think he thinks I'm doing it on purpose, the kind where I mock my Dad for getting a nose job JUST BECAUSE I'M JEALOUS, the kind where I'm amazed that with all the fluffy towels, amazing coffee, poached eggs, Apple computers and high-quality crafting products around the house I would have ever LEFT THE NEST, I soaked this shit up like a sponge.

I'm back in Brooklyn now, staying up too late, eating take-out for every meal, drinking 100 ounces of coffee a day.

I feel great.