Mississippi Love Affair #4: Levee Drive

 

Our condo is right behind Waterworks Park, upper left

Levee Drive. That’s what we call it. The one-way, less than 4ish block route ends only ½ block from our condo building and skirts Levee Park. Any time we’re on our way home and have a moment to divert a block off the main road home, our Subaru, as if possessing a will of its own, veers toward the river to slowly take the beauty in.  (Process of full disclosure: it often does the same thing for casinos, as did my last car. Well, back in the day when our automobiles actually left town.)

Even though we view the Mississippi River from our condo windows, it feels different when you’re right down next to the Ol’ Man. His shiny skin sparkles more in the ripples. His power reigns more palpable. A 19- year-old boy drowned right across the river from levee drive within the last couple months. Not the first or last time for dive teams in our area. Not all bodies are recovered within such a short amount of time, his quick enough to encounter fruitless CPR on the shore.

Respect the river. 

 Officially the levee drive is named East Front Street, which I only discovered during research to type this paragraph, this after driving it since the 90s. (Thanks, Google!) You enter East Front Street via Walnut Street (the Subaru veer) where you currently pass by the busy-bee construction site of Bay State Milling’s new expansion and storage facility, the old site of Godfather's Pizza.

Aside from her occasional rebellions, even though the river stays the same, there is always change around her.

When Godfather’s Pizza suddenly closed, most in town hoped a new restaurant would take over the space since it’s prized river view location came complete with an outdoor deck. Before we moved here from Illinois—back when we rented a hideaway place in Winona where we’d stay to visit our son and family and I’d come to write under book deadline--I spent many a leisurely lunch sitting on that deck, eating, lolling, visiting while discouraging scrounging birds and seagulls from heisting parts of my meal.  You know how it is around the water.

Memories gathered along the river, like the river itself, run deep. Fond crisp memories, as crisp as the edges of a good pizza dough.

I often parked my backside in that very Godfather’s pizzeria after the lunch pizza buffet shut down (1:30 I think it was) until shortly before they’d reload for the dinner buffet around 4ish. After pigging out on lunch, I wrote major portions of my Dearest Dorothy series for Penguin Books looking at the river. Unlimited self-serve drinks, those last couple pieces of dessert pizza I’d hoard before they’d remove the remnants, taking a bite between typing words while watching the river and towboats and   … What’s not to love about that kind of working environment?

Although I also owned a laptop, I never took it to Godfather’s. I mean … pizza grease. So I often wrote on an AlphaSmart, later moving to the Neo version of same. You can still find used ones on the Internet. They run hundreds of hours (like 600-700!) on I think it was 3 AA batteries. The best news: they do not (at least my versions) access the Internet. They were big in grammar schools and nearly indestructible. You can only see about a sentence at a time, so there’s no getting bogged down in editing. Nothing but you, a keyboard and words that seem to blaze forward. Many of my author friends loved them for the same reason: no distractions; you can edit later. Then when home, after a simple tethered connection, you push a button and it dumps those words into your computer. You actually watch them TYPE IN across your screen!

This YouTube video affirms my take and shares everything else I recall, right down to people passing by asking, “What in the world is that?” The only thing you don’t see in her short take is the words actually typing on your computer screen when you dump them in. They’re kind of fun to watch, akin to a player piano.

I always tried to ignore checking word count as I worked and was amazed how the input would type and type, going to a next page, and a next page … I’d do a word count after they uploaded and consider how much lack of interruptions for self editing can accomplish. Even while licking pizza grease off your fingers.

Pieces of my past. My imagination set free and recorded in Godfather’s restaurant at the head of  levee drive, the Mississippi as a backdrop. Such a peaceful and productive time.

Before Godfather’s moved in, I have a very brief but warm memory of drinking a cocktail at a higher end restaurant, Finn and Sawyer, at that location. We dined there with our son and his college roommate during one of our many visits to see him, waaaaay back (he’s going on 50 now!) when he attended Winona State University. I recall him pointing out the gorgeous stained glass mural map section of the Mississippi River they’d commissioned and had installed. The beauty remained in the building when Godfather’s took over. I learned when Bay State razed the building it was saved and reinstalled on the 2nd floor of the 201 Walnut building in Winona, picture courtesy of their landing page which also gives you a hint of the beautiful restorations going on around our fine town. Thank you Peter Shortridge for this info and your hand in preservation around Winona.

 All these ingrained memories, right where we turn the bend to enter levee drive. Memories that spark my enjoyment of the jaunt; it’s more than simply viewing the river. The ongoing igniting of great moments along that stretch cannot be underestimated. 

For instance last year, for our 50^th wedding anniversary, as part of our celebration we invited friends on a charter of the Winona TourBoat, which departs from levee drive. We told our guests we’d be serving Golden Mimosas and snacky treats. I remember walking up and down the tour boat aisles, champagne bottle in one hand, orange juice in another, filling and refilling during the 90-minute journey up river through Yeomans Lake, up past the Dam Saloon near the lock and dam, the cut into Pollywog past our friend’s cabin, downriver past the boat houses, continuing the loop past Bay State Milling right back to levee drive.

One guest asked, “What makes this a Gold Mimosa?” He looked perplexed at the typical mix.

“Fifty years. Golden Anniversary,” I said. “Golden Mimosa.” Bam! Shortly thereafter I knocked back yet another, "Hold the orange juice for me!"

Further back in time, our beloved dog Kornflake (RIP) and I would often sit by the river together for writing breaks. He also loved walking along the cement walkway watching the ol’ man roll by. His tail activated into hyper-drive when he’d take note of the car veering over to the levee road. He knew what was coming next.

 

If I had a tail, it would do the same.

 

 

Seat Mates

Late last week, George and I drove to The Farm in MN from our permanent residence in IL. We set out on the five-hour road trip in order to celebrate first our anniversary, and then three days later, my birthday. We decided it would be fun to hold my birthday festivities near our youngest son Brian, his wife and our grandgirlies (3.5 and 1.5), who love to party with their Grannie B and Grandpa George. Or anyone.

After 39 years of marriage, you’d think we’d be better at getting ready to hit the road together. But instead, the usual happened: we yelled at each other while packing the car. George puts stuff in the car too early, even though I’ve spent 39 years asking him NOT TO DO THAT! I forget things and we have to go back home, even though he’s spent 39 years asking me if I have everything—and I always answer YES! For an engineer, he seems to harbor a block against the spatial concept of “nesting” items for tighter packing. For a creative type, I seem to harbor a great hostility when pointing this out to him. But in spite of ourselves, eventually we got Kornflake, our big red dog, in the back seat, and with a great exhausted sigh, we backed out (for the second time, after we had to return for whatever it was I forgot) and settled in for the drive. Since we were finally in Party Mode (once we got over the SCREAMING part), about half-way to our destination, we even veered off and enjoyed a short visit with friends who have been married a very long time, friends who know what married life is really like.

The next day was our anniversary. What to do? Brian told us about a band that was appearing at the historic Trempealeau Hotel in Trempealeau WI, about a half-hour drive from The Farm. We decided to make an evening of it, and thus a dinner reservation was made for 5:30.

Dinner reservations. Now there’s something we almost never do. We are decidedly your “extreme casual type”.

Since we’re old, we arrived a half-hour early. Yes, they could seat us anyway. Would we like to be out on the screen porch so we could see the river? You betcha! We ordered an hors d’ouevre (which we almost never do—and we highly recommend the walnut balls), a cup of soup, entrées (we never have a taste for the same thing), and we even split a dessert, something in which we almost never indulge.

But before we ordered, we experienced a SHOCKING FIRST, and it seems we had to be on the road together in order to do so. Hang on to your carry-ons: we sat on the same side of the table - next to each other! If you want to see a 6’2” man freeze, picture George staring at the placemats when the hostess set them down side by side. To be honest, it gave me pause, too. But, why wouldn’t we both want to have that terrific view facing the river? So I seated myself. After a moment, so did George. But it just felt so strange.

I noticed the couple at the table to our right were side-by-side, both facing the river, too, as were the couple to our left. I guess the assumption is: couples are comfortable this way, even if they’ve been married a billion years. Or, perhaps after a billion years together, it’s a relief not to face each other. Who knows.

“It’s our anniversary today,” I said to the gentleman to my right. “Thirty-nine years, and this is the first time we’ve sat on the same side of the table!” (I have no self control when I’m flabbergasted.)

“We do it all the time,” he said, gently smiling at his wife. “There’s no going back. You’ll love it!”

George did not look convinced. My jury was still out.

By the time we’d devoured half our hors d’ouevre, the couple to our left received their main course, each of their plates set before them on the same side of the table. It was then I witnessed a hostile break in this “no going back” new “norm.” As soon as the waitress disappeared, with a look of great relief, the man to our left moved himself, his placemat, his plate and his glass of wine across the table from his wife, river view be darned. His wife’s expression was hard to read since it was mostly hidden in her giant wine glass, which she seemed more intent on keeping to her lips once he moved. Read into that what you will.

I glanced sideways at George, waiting to see if he noticed, wondering if he’d be next to break ranks. But he did not. Not even after our meals arrived. All the way through dessert (warm cranberry cake with vanilla sauce—mmmmmmmm), side-by-side we sat, staring not into each other’s dreamy anniversary eyes, but at our food and the river.

When we were done with dessert and ready to move onto the next thing, George asked, “Do you have everything?”

“I think so,” I said.

We took my to-go box to the car and retrieved our lawn chairs. Time to set up camp (side by side, which was only sensible for this part of the evening) for the entertainment out under the stars. (See September 20.) Of course George liked the opening band best, while I preferred the headliner (oh, baby, I love a wailin' harmonica!); we are almost never on the same wavelength about anything. The ol’ Mississip rolled by in the background while we sat side by side and people watched—again not staring into each other’s dreamy anniversary eyes.

When we decided we’d had enough, we packed up our stuff (“Do you have everything?” “I think so,”) and headed back to The Farm. I yawned all the way, thinking, “What a lovely anniversary evening. Isn’t it funny what we had to go through to enjoy it? We had to yell at each other while packing the car (usual), drive five hours (usual), unload our stuff (usual), cross the river from MN to WI to go to the Historic Trempealeau Hotel (hardly ever), all in order to, for the very first time, sit on the same side of the table during dinner

.

Since I often travel alone, one of my favorite pastimes is people watching. I’ve always noticed and wondered about those couples who sat next to each other. They appeared so romantic, so pleased with themselves and each other. And now I know that perhaps it was their first time ever to do so too. Maybe they didn’t stay that way after I left and the main course arrived. Maybe they yelled at each other all the way home. Maybe they were just sick and tired of looking at each other. Maybe they never sit any other way, even at home. (Maybe it was a blind date and they were trying to impress each other.) I’ll never know.

But I do know this: for a few hours on a beautiful fall evening, we were those lovebirds. And it was Just Right.

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How about you? Ever sit on the same side when there's just the two of you? Always? Never? CHIME IN and post a comment!