No mojo for NaBloPoMo (or something like that...)

Some days you've got it, somedays you couldn't buy it with all the gold in Fort Knox. (That is, if there actually IS gold in Fort Knox...had to toss that in for the conspiracy theorists out there!)

I've taken many photographs over the last two days--of everything from landscapes to interiors to close ups of vintage cooking utensils--and nothing turned out. Over-exposed, under-exposed, slightly out of focus (thanks, autofocus and your gazillion zones...) too close, too far, no depth of field. You name it, there the glaring fault was in any of the photos I've taken. Not wrong enough to be really bad (in most cases), but wrong enough to elicit a sigh of frustration and merit a drag to the trash can in iPhoto.

And maybe it's the same for writing today...because none of my photos inspired me (and likely because I'm pretty tired and in the parlance of a friend "feeling rougher than a badger's arse" from some LONG days) and I'm rather drained, the words just don't want to flow.

So, that said...you're getting a shamelessly lame blog post for today and a perfectly "nice" autumn photo of some chrysanthemums. Let's hope for better things in entry 4...

When in Rochester...

Since I'm still in Minnesota (and why not since my part of Connecticut is still mostly dark and rather chilly) today's entry will once again be centered around good old Rochester.

On the day when the Northeast was being pummeled by the Nor'easter, I was enjoying a quiet stroll around the Mayo Clinic campus here in town. The weather was lovely and since the clinic buildings themselves aren't really open on weekends (the Mayo hospitals are, obviously, but not the clinic buildings) it's the perfect time to soak up the beautiful plantings, the architectural details (as per yesterday's post) and enjoy the bells pealing out from the carillon tower. The carillon is rarely--if ever--on tour, but if you get the chance to visit it, snap it up immediately. The tower offers stunning views of the hills surrounding Rochester and you can really appreciate the terra cotta work and the gargoyles from that vantage point, too.

And since Mayowood, the former home of Dr. Charles H. Mayo (and later his son Charles W. Mayo) has been in the news lately, I took the time to stop and "chat" with Charlie and his elder brother, Will, in the small plaza where they hold court behind the Gonda building. It seemed only fitting to stop and spend a few minutes with two wise and utterly old-school gentlemen. The two men were incredibly close, living next door to one another during their early married days in homes that were connected by a speaking tube. There was even a double rocking chair on Charlie's front porch...for the Mayo brothers even rocking in a chair was a cooperative effort. Charlie always looked a little rumpled and somewhat like the town grocer, whereas Will was steely eyed and the picture of sophistication and stoicism. Charlie, who would eventually move his large and active family out to the farms that made up Mayowood (there were seven farms including a dairy and greenhouse, riding stables, and a sulky track), considered himself an agriculturalist, not a farmer. The difference being that farmers made their money on the farm and spent it in town and agriculturalists such as Charlie made their money in town and spent it on the farm. A subtle, but keenly observed difference.

I think their own words..."Always do what is in the best interest of the patient" ring as true today as they did 80 or so years ago and I hope that the Mayo Clinic in the broadest sense will keep those words in mind as they go forward with their new partnership at Mayowood.

Dr. Charles H. Mayo (l) and Dr. William J. Mayo (r)

Charlie (l) and Will (r) with the new(ish) Gonda Building in rear

The view of Will (l) and Charlie (r) from the back, I like to think their
families often saw them similarly positioned. 

NaNo Something Or Other, Entry 1.

It's November 1st and that means it's National (fill in your favorite form of writing) Month. I'm generally wary of these kind of "marathons," but as I'm toiling away at getting a writing project ready for primetime, I thought that this challenge might be a good way to keep the creative thoughts flowing and keep the words streaming from brain to keyboard and/or notebook. So in addition to the new levels of productivity on my non-fiction project, I'm also committing (wow, even typing that word makes me shift a little in my chair...) to a new post here--of some kind--each and every day during the month of November. No doubt some will be short on words and long on photographic content, but I hope that it will help reinforce the general writing habit.

With that in mind then, I'm going to start November with a little photo study of The 1927 Plummer Building, part of the Mayo Clinic campus in downtown Rochester. Dr. Henry Plummer was the local genius, a physician who designed the structure with the architects from Ellerbe and Company. I would doubt that there is an ornament or motif in this building that he didn't have a direct hand in. His interest in (and respect for) art, history, literature, and medicine can be seen in every corner of this building. It's beautifully constructed and while it's not used for patients any longer, it's an architectural gem with some wonderfully ornate and detailed interiors. Wandering around the exterior on a quiet weekend is a real pleasure. The giant bronze doors (16 feet high, 5 inches thick) have rarely been closed over the history of the Mayo Clinic, so when they close it's a historic occasion. They were closed after the assassination of JFK, after the 9/11 attacks, and if I'm not mistaken for the deaths of the Mayo brothers in 1939.

The upper floors and carillon

Astrology beside mythology on the building's facade

St George, mid-slay

The Canada Geese that (over) populate Rochester

Minnesota's state mascot...the humble gopher

There are little gophers hiding in many spots, here on the large, solid bronze doors

Interior door detail

The newer (1960s) Mayo Building reflected in Plummer's windows

Griffins on the entry doors

The beautiful lighting fixtures in the main lobby

What appears to be a caparisoned horse, used as a door handle

The 1927 Plummer Building reflected in the sleek glass
of the very recently built Gonda Building

"Well, it's been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon, Minnesota, my hometown, out on the edge of the prairie."

It seems like I've been making a lot of admissions lately. From my addiction to Mad Men to my penchant for gray-colored horses and all things autumn. So you'd think I was done for a while, wouldn't you? But as it happens, I'm not so much done yet.

I'm also a big fan of NPR. I love mornings with the usual NPR morning suspects, and always appreciate the keen insights and varied guests of Tom Ashbrook and his On Point program. The quiz show, Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me! is a never miss for me and I can't help but love the Magliozzi Bros. on Car Talk...they rock.

As a native Minnesotan, though, I have a favorite of favorites. It's Garrison Keillor and his brilliant ensemble at A Prairie Home Companion. I'm not talking about the movie, I mean the weekly radio gig. With the Guys All-Star Shoe Band, Guy Noir, Dusty and Lefty; Bee-Bop-A-Ree-Bop Rhubarb Pie, The Ketchup Advisory Board, Powdermilk Biscuits. And then of course there's, the News from Lake Wobegone--perennially my favorite segment.

When I lived in Minnesota, I didn't pay much attention to PHC. I was always trying to get myself to the East Coast or Europe and was too busy to fully appreciate the warm comfort of the world Keillor built with his broadcasts. After chasing around Europe, New York City, and other points East, finally landing in lovely Connecticut, I started to find myself in my car at the time when PHC was on air. The occasional segment here and there grew into planning my weekend errands around being able to have Garrison Keillor and his uber-talented cast-mates as my companions.

Of course parts of it remind me of home and the people in Lake Wobegone, fictional though they may be, aren't so different from quite a few people I knew of in Minnesota and Wisconsin. This is undoubtedly part of the secret to PHC's success--it reminds transplanted Midwesterners (and maybe even wannabe Midwesterners?) of home, traditions, idiosyncrasies, and quirky characters. It's comforting with out being twee or too quaint. Keillor knows his audience so well and while he's often nostalgic, he's never maudlin. We remember the good times and smile at his recreation of a church picnic or town celebration because we've been to them. It is Keillor's spot-on assessments of people and fond reminiscences of 'good times had by all' that bring smiles to the faces of millions of listeners across the globe.

So imagine my sadness at hearing that Keillor, after suffering a minor stroke and being seen to by the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, was looking toward a future--one where he wasn't doing News from Lake Wobegone or his other contributions to PHC. (So as not to sound too overtly selfish here, my first concern was for his welfare...it wasn't until he announced his future plans that this really settled in for me!! HERE's a link to the St. Paul Pioneer Press' little blurb on Keillor's announcement. ) Now of course I realized intellectually that he couldn't do the show forever, he is, after all, 67 and has given an awful lot to his listeners, so he's earned as restful retirement as he'd like to have. But selfishly and emotionally, it was a different feeling. How could he deprive us of Guy Noir or the News? What would become of the touchstones that we've all connected to for so many years? And the answer was a perfectly sensible one--they'd all still be there, of course. Mr. Keillor will never give us as many anecdotes as we'd like, just like the U2 concert will never be long enough, the stretch drive in a horse race will go by too quickly, and the summer will end before you've gotten rid of some of the unfortunate tan lines you may have acquired. It's just part of the deal. We're all greedy for more and more of the things that make us happy, that's human nature. The upside is that we've had PHC for all these years and we will be able to listen to reruns for many years to come. (Thankfully U2 keeps putting out new albums, youtube.com showcases horse races so we can re-play Rachel's Woodward victory over and over and over again, and those ill-planned tan lines will fade.)

Maybe Garrison Keillor's "chastening experience," as he called his minor stroke, is a good reminder for us all to keep following our passions and to stop and look around every now and then to right the compass.

So I hope, and I bet many of you out there join me in this, that it's a good long time before we hear the final sign off of the radio family of A Prairie Home Companion. Until then, that's "the News from Lake Wobegone...the little town that time forgot and the decades cannot improve ... where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average."