According to the sign in the airport, that is the motto of the city. Or was it the motto of the airport? That would make more sense.
Just arrived here and spent the day scooting around the Twin Cities with my new best friend Allison and her one hundred per cent ADORABLE daughter, Anna, 18 months old. At 18 months, I’d say from observation that the human animal peaks in terms of irresistible cuteness, and little Anna is a prime specimen. I know it is wrong to intervene in the growth of anything, but if Anna were my kid I would consider longer than I’d care to admit the possibility of giving her those growth-stunting hormones, to kind of freeze her in place at her apex of perfection. I know there are serious ethical implications in that kind of thinking but hey, I’m a serious person.
But first things first. When in Saint Paul, go visit the saint himself. Allison drove me over to the holy side of town, which is a city unto itself. Found the impressive cathedral on the hill named for Mister Saint Paul.
I really wanted to see St. Paul, or maybe a tiny sliver of his holy shinny bone or something, and I was very disappointed to find out that he does not in fact reside here in Minnesota. That is always such a bummer for me when I go to a big church named for a saint, and in the case of Paul, a really important one, only to discover that there is no real saint there. In Italy, this is not a problem. Mexico either. I have seen some saintly bodies or little parts of them in my day and I can’t say why but I do find it comforting, like an open-casket funeral. It’s important to see the body. Habeus Corpus, and all that.
So, no Saint Paul, though they put up this incredibly impressive cathedral named after him and here is a granite likeness of him from the outside of the church.
And it turns out, this is his jubilee year to mark the “bi-millenium” of his birth, which is estimated between 7 and 10 AD. Paul had quite a potboiler of a life story, from the road to Damascus where he was converted to Christianity, right straight through to his martyrdom in Rome. Dude got put in jail seven times and nearly killed in many other incidents of preaching and whatnot by angry mobs. Don’t forget about his shipwreck on Malta! He traveled all over the Greco-Roman empire and is considered the “apostle to the gentiles”.No Saint Paul, however there are loads of Latter Day Saints around Minneapolis-St. Paul, as the Google taught me. Though they are prolific producers, the Mormons are not really giving the Lutherans a run for their money around here. So many varieties of Lutherans, who knew? Latvian, Evangelical, Norwegian. And one called Faith Free Lutheran, which makes me wonder where the clarifying hyphen should go in that name. Faith or not, you choose. Personally, I would be torn between Creamy Ranch and Nacho Cheese Lutherans.
I know, it’s easy to make Lutheran jokes or hot dish jokes or you-betcha-doncha-know jokes. I’ll try and refrain in the spirit ot trying to say something new.
Went over to one of the latino neighborhoods and to a swell market called mercato central which was full of bustling stalls of sellers, hawking everything from tamale platters to baptism dresses that look like wearable wedding cakes. Sorry the picture is sideways but I am just not that adept in the technology department.
I bought a bottle of water from a pupuseria which had this touching sign on its counter.
Strange to see the word “corpse” used, so without the usual gentle coating I associate with the language of death. It was downright medieval, especially against the backdrop of the cheerful food court area.
At Mercato Central, it all is in the mix. Life, death, tamales, devotion. There's a lovely little shrine to protect the shoppers right by one of the entrances.
So much more comforting than passing through metal detectors!
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