Sidewalk of the Week: Cedar Avenue

This sidewalk, at the corner of Cedar and Washington Avenues in Minneapolis, has a story to tell. Originally, there wasn't supposed to be any sidewalk here at all. This land is right next to Washington Avenue as it has its brief moment in the high-speed, limited-access, four-lane sun, speeding over the Mississippi River, under the University's pedestrian bridge, and through the Metrodome corridor until it lands in Minneapolis' downtown core, right next to the Star Tribune parking lot. The only sidewalk at this corner ran along Cedar Avenue -- a lovely poured concrete sidewalk, though a bit lacking on scenery what with the freeway running underfoot.

But, after they realized that a bus stop at this corner was necessary, someone poured asphalt along this patch of land, in the attempt to have people stop walking on the grass. But even that didn't work -- people love to cut their corners as they process from the bus stop to the dense, diverse Cedar-Riverside neighborhood. Now you can see the muddy tracks of those bus riders cutting through the snow. Perhaps another sidewalk is in order?

Tales from the Bus

Update: I saw her again, on one of the coldest nights of the year. She was sitting on the #16 with her big bag on the seat next. She was quieter this time, though I did hear her soft, high voice as she asked the kid next to her about his day at school. He mumbled something back before getting of the bus a bit early. I wonder where she slept last night?



Original Entry:

This lady gets on the #16, she's old and hunched and round and carrying a ton of bags -- probably five large grocery or cloth or trash bags. Who knows how she carries them all? She is old and wrinkled but it's not apparent at first just how wrinkled her face actually is because she has a blue, powder blue blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a cape or a cloak. Its the big kind of blanket, the large kind you might find on a bed, and it has that texture of a cheap polar fleece, the brittle unnatural kind that reminds you of fallen leaves or styrofoam. It's this powder blue blanket wrapped around her shoulders and clasped at her chin by a large safety pin, and on her head is a knit sweater or scarf, something that keeps her ears warm, pulled over the top of her head like an old Russian woman, and her sweatshirt has some sort of small dog on it. She places all her bags slowly on the only open seat on this, the crowded #16 bus, and excruciatingly clings to the pole until the college kid next to me gets up.

She sits down and says thank you in the highest voice you've ever heard, sucking on a helium balloon kind of high-pitch sing song cadence, on an on … and I started listening to her. “Each day is a new beginning” was the first thing she said. “Every day God gives you a chance to start anew,” she went on, this little wrinkled quite probably homeless blue-blanketed lady with a high, high singsong voice. “And Jesus said I am branch and the vine,” she squeaked on. I was the closest person to her, just a seat and a half away on her left, and when she would speak she would almost turn and face me, almost but not quite looking in my direction. Almost making a sidelong glance, “Each day is a new beginning. The Lord Jesus Christ heals all sins,” almost looking at me but not quite, instead turning her head back to stare straight ahead, then turning again three quarters back to me. “I am the light and the truth and the way. Each day is a new beginning.”

She went on and on and it was like she was talking to me. It was exactly like she was talking to me, in that she had her head turned almost to me, and I could see her eyes, and I started at her openly as she sang on with her high voice. Turning almost to me over and over for what seemed like a lot more than three minutes. It seemed like an hour. I wanted to say something back to her. I wanted to say “thank you” or “good luck,” but I just got off the bus and didn’t look back.

Grand Theft Auto: Baghdad

The parallels between driving while playing GTA and while serving in the Armed Forces are eerie.

Winter Sidewalks

Sidewalks in winter take on an affect entirely their own. As water freezes, it cleansing properties disappear, in much the same way that grit and sand do not. Things stick, and accumulate, while people start moving at faster paces, no longer willing to dawdle, stroll, amble, meander, &c. Sidewalks in winter -- or winterwalks -- are lonely places.


This sidewalk displays the accumulation of snow, which the gentleman pictured is rapidly trying to remove with a shovel. This is a common practice in parts of the Twin Cities, and less common in others. It is possible that these areas of shoveled walks develop in conjuction with each other, as the chances of shoveling seem to rise according to the proximity to already-shoveled sidewalks. As each individual shovels a section of walk, in increases the sidewalk peer pressure on each remaning show-choked stretch, so that entire blocks are likely to be shoveled or unshoveled in large-scale units. You have to keep shoveling to keep up with the Joneses.


Though winterwalks are less likely to bear traffic, those steps that are taken are more visible. The long-term traffic patterns are suddenly laid out before the naked eye. Which walks are popular? Where is the walk less traveled by? How many people passed, and how long ago? Suddenly the neighborhood doesn't seem so empty.


Snow isn't the only thing that accumulates on winter sidewalks. Other things can stick to their surfaces: shoes, mittens, rubbish, foodstuffs... all frozen in time, arrested in their moments of careless, carless clarity. This shoe sits along a curb. How did it free itself from its rightful foot?


Beacuse the Twin Cities are unusually cold for a place at 45 degrees latitude, we get a great deal of sun in the wintertime. Days are relatively long, and the typical sky is a clear, pale blue. The far-off sun casts shadows on its canvas of white snow, forming elaborate shadowplays of divots and dimples. At a certain hour, our shadows assume the long, gaunt aspect of those cowboys that go from the 16:9 ratio of the big screen to the 4:3 confines of the television set.

Twin City Vending Machines

At the Wal-Mart in Saint Paul, the vending machine reads, unbelievably: "Sam Walton believed in the ability of American workers to produce the finest products in the world."






























This unusually perky Coke machine in a University Avenue office building reads: "Refreshment N' Change, From Your Dollar Bill," before warning, "Not a Dollar Bill Changer."


























This is the new iPod vending machine at the Humphrey Terminal. It's a great concept. The only catch is that you need to have with you $250 in quarters.
































And the icing on the cake, the cigarette vending machine from the now defunct bar, rest, and smoky hole "The Buttery" in downtown Saint Paul. The sign reads: "Trespassers Beware! No person, snitch, decoy, or agent of Hubert H. Humphrey III, Ember Reichgott Junge, or Phyllis Kahn under the age of eighteen (18) is allowed in this designated facility/area/space/room for any purpose whatsoever. Violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Remember: Please help keep our children safe."