Coffee

Twenty Years Ago on FITK

It was a strange rendezvous, this meeting in a funky coffeehouse in Moorhead, Minnesota.

How she ended up on that lonesome prairie was a long story that I was eager to hear. We had graduated together, done a few things in college with each other, and then drifted apart, she was on a career track, while I was spinning my wheels. Then we both got married, she moved away, and then we both had kids, and then: silence. Finally, at the thirty year reunion, we saw each other again, and it was good.

But this meeting was different. A date of sorts, social intercourse reduced to its most basic level: Man+Woman, coffee+pastries, in a quiet+private place to open up and be together. In high school we had shared many moments of comradery, exchanging views on the world and its dilemmas. I was crazy in love with her, but I knew that our paths were to diverge, and after graduation the private school/community college class divisions became all too apparent. There would be some subtle comparing of notes at this affair but I hoped it wouldn't get in the way of our rediscovery.

And then there she was, walking up from her car, and it was good again. The eyes are the window to the soul? They were certainly an ageless constant in her appearance. We selected our light comestibles and beverages and then retreated to a back room, sat down, and let our rivers flow. As we spoke, the music in the background changed from lively pop to more emotional soul, and considering the circumstances, it was appropriate fare:

Me and Mrs. Jones, we got a thing going on,
We both know that it's wrong
But it's much too strong to let it cool down now.

We meet ev'ry day at the same cafe,
Six-thirty I know she'll be there,
Holding hands, making all kinds of plans
While the jukebox plays our favorite song.

Me and Mrs., Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones,
Mrs. Jones got a thing going on,
We both know that it's wrong,
But it's much too strong to let it cool down now.

We gotta be extra careful
that we don't build our hopes too high
Cause she's got her own obligations and so do I.

Me, me and Mrs., Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones,
Mrs. Jones got a thing going on,
We both know that it's wrong,
But it's much too strong to let it cool down now.

Well, it's time for us to be leaving,
It hurts so much, it hurts so much inside,
Now she'll go her way and I'll go mine,
But tomorrow we'll meet the same place, the same time.

Me and Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones.

As the tune ended, I thought I saw a small smile pass over her lips.

Planting the Crops

Morrison County, Minnesota, c. 1918:

From the Oscar Anderson archives.

Hot Fun in the Summertime

Beer party, Morrison County, Minnesota, c.1918:

From the Oscar Anderson Archives.

The Music Store

Twenty Years Ago on FITK

Google street view image of what was once Amanda Bacon's Studio

Located between the Polka Dot dairy store and what was once a candy store, Amanda Bacon’s Music Studio was an anomaly.

Run by a feisty sexagenarian, this small shop in what was otherwise a cultural desert sat there unpretentiously for years, with Miss Bacon making a modest living giving piano and stringed instrument lessons. Her business model changed abruptly when a certain combo from Liverpool appeared on the Ed Sullivan show. Suddenly dozens of teen-aged boys were seen there loitering, buying guitar picks and strings, even getting instruction. And there they came face to face with the real deal, Amanda from Kentucky, roots music personified, long before anyone even knew what that was. I’d stop in almost weekly, my purchases minor, but every visit was a little mini-lesson in some facet of guitar-playing. “Now I’ll sell you those picks, two for a quarter, but don't go bendin’ “em, hold it just so, no, no, like this... ” She had a lot of students now, but she was always looking for more. She sold instruments too, and amplifiers.

Amanda was on a roll.

I drifted away from her little shop and went elsewhere, to places that opened doors for us: “ ...buy a set of gear and we'll see to it that you get a shot at the teen fair, in August... ” Amanda couldn't compete with that. She persevered for a few more years, but the music that young boys wanted to learn to play became louder, stranger, darker. She closed her store, and moved back ‘home.’

My band had actually gotten to the point of playing out a bit, one day we had a chance to attend a practice with a ‘name’ local band, a band that had just put out a record. They let us play on their gear, and made some helpful comments and gave us words of encouragement. “So where are you guys from?” the lead guitarist asked. We told him and he immediately broken into a wide grin. “You bought your first strings from Amanda Bacon, right?” Half of that band had taken lessons from Amanda for years. “She taught us almost everything we know about guitar pickin’.”

So Amanda was cool, hipper than me to be sure, and I bet that she would have even appeared cool to The Beatles, at least to George.

Andy said...

Ah, Miss Bacon...a stern taskmaster. I remember my dad telling me "If you're going to play, you need to take lessons!" He even paid for them... It's a shame they didn't stick...

Reposted

Scenes from a Carnival

Anoka, Minnesota, 1989:

No phones needed…

GDRN

Icelandic chanteuse Guðrún Ýr Eyfjörð Jóhannesdóttir:

Performing at Grund Senior home, Reykjavík, November 6, 2025

Riverfest Rockin’

My home town has a thing for summer festivals. I’m sure it is in no small part due to the three months of oft-times brutal winter weather we endure. Then again, perhaps this is some form of fertility rite, with lots of skin on display and somewhat suggestive food trucks (The G-Spot truck was selling tacos):

But nothing could top the apparently topless vendor selling her CBD Sweet Mana nostrums (body butter, anyone?):

A few days later our town had a concert in a downtown park. “Power of 10” were the headliners, doing respectable Sly Stone and Van Morrison covers:

Pontooners in the river made for a surreal backdrop:

“I’m gonna add a little bottom, so the dancers just won’t hide…”

Family Values

Twenty Years Ago on FITK


Two Harbors, Minnesota, July 7, 2006

After three hours on the road (and six hours since breakfast) the need for sustenance became apparent. "The Vanilla Bean Cafe and Bakery"- how inviting! We pulled into the side parking lot and left the car to go inside. On the way to the front door we passed by a row of Harley-Davidson motorcycles- big ones. Oh my...could be trouble...a vision of Marlon Brando in "The Wild One" emerges in my fevered imagination...oh well, you can only die in a gang-fight once, right?  We entered.

Inside, there were only frazzled tourists, like ourselves. No signs of the hooligans- perhaps they were at the bakery next door. The server bade us enter a side room, wherein she proceeded to sit us right next to the bikers! With leather jackets, chaps and proper motorcycle boots, their long hair falling down over their collars and...

...and it was carefully braided, on four young women and a girl, all absolutely beautiful in a fresh-air, wind-blown, healthy, no make-up way. Their parents sat in the corner, also in leathers, keeping an affectionate eye on the girls. When their food came, one of the Mothers led both tables in a silent grace. They ate their meal in a pleasant, congenial way, with no bickering or sibling jealousy. We ordered, and while we waited spent time admiring the "Coffee Art" which adorned the walls. A Finnish couple had perfected a way to make oil paintings with coffee as a pigment (think shades of brown) and, according to the guide, had exhibited in Finland, Iceland, California and Minnesota.

As we sat enthralled by all this beauty (the girls, not the pictures) the biker group began to migrate, from table to table, to the bakery next door and the bathroom. They then came back, one at a time, and proceeded to crowd into the corner until all nine were sitting at a table meant for four. One of the Biker Dads told a story, quietly, and then they arose, en masse, and departed.

Later, I mentioned to the Weaver that they were "Like the Amish, except they had Harleys."

RS commented:

Words and pictures blend into one. Your art is brilliant, storyteller.

Reposted

Mulder’s Signs

Deuel County, South Dakota, c. 1995

More on Mulder’s farm…

Mulder’s Parlor

Deuel County, South Dakota, c. 1995

More on Mulder’s farm…