Parallel Parking Brings Joy to Minneapolis Woman

Lately, I've been thinking about simple everyday things that bring me joy. I'm not talking about the sissy stuff, like kitties and lilacs and waving to kids on school buses. I'm talking about the joy of parallel parking. I just love it. I admit that I am a predatory parker, stalking what some call "The Alpha Spot." There's just such an unmatchable thrill in squeezing perfectly into a tight little space. When I'm driving the Kia, I forget how much I love it, because there's no power steering. But the Subaru is an excellent tool for the parallel park. Perhaps after going to the U and living in Uptown I just had to convince myself that I really like it. But I do, I really do.

Today I had scored a super sweet parallel parking spot, and when I returned to my car, I saw that there were new cars in front and behind me super tight. I was so psyched. Unfortunately, the car in front had just parked, and the driver was still there. He offered to move so I could get out more easily. I quickly said, "Oh, don't worry about it, I can make it out." There was a brief exchange in which he insisted, and I, well, what could I say? Of course he was just being nice and also probably worried I'd bang up his car. Big bummer.

Another thing I love is sleeping outside. I wish I could do it every night. My family lives on a lake in northwestern MN, and I spent many, many summer nights sleeping in a hammock down by the lake (covered in mosquito spray and wrapped up like a mummy). One night the hammock broke (thunk. ouch.) and after that I slept on the trampoline. I love the still night air and the gentle lapping of the lake water. Man, it is the best.

In the spring of my freshman year I went to school in London. We were housed in a huge apartment suite in Kensington. We had a little balcony, and from there, I could climb onto the roof of the building, where I would sleep several nights a week. I pulled the cushions off the couches and hauled them up there to sleep on. Well, it was springtime in London, and it rained almost every night. Not crazy rain, though. Just a quick drizzle. I just let it rain on me. It wasn't so bad, and I would fall asleep and it would pass over in a few minutes. One night, though, it wasn't over in a few minutes. There was a huge rainstorm. I woke up at the first drizzles like I always did, then pulled a blanket over my head and slept through it. I woke up soaking wet. The cushions were ruined.

Shad won't let me to sleep outside here. Says it's too dangerous. I suppose he's right--our yard isn't fenced, we've experienced theft, and then of course there's the recent car fire. But since he's gone this weekend and I was lounging on my little patio sofa last night and was oh-so-comfortable, I decided I might just, um, take a midnight nap. Well, I quickly became aware of night noises in North Minneapolis. So different from the lapping of the lake or the night sky in London. Dogs were barking. There was a baby a few blocks away that wailed for about 15 minutes straight. The wailing didn't stop until I heard a gunshot. Or a car backfire? Or...a firecracker? The kid stopped screaming. Oh, my God, I thought, someone shot that kid. I wondered if it really was a gunshot, and waited for sirens, but there were none. The kid eventually started screaming again. I stayed out there for several other minutes thinking, ugghghhh, Shad would be pissed if something happened to me out here. Better pack up and get inside.

This brings me to a third source of joy. I love walking in the rain. Shad and I spent a summer in Europe, and I remember arriving in Krakow at night and during a huge storm. The trams weren't running because of the storm, and the rain was pouring down. We didn't have reservations anywhere and we just walked and walked and walked. We were soaking wet. I love that memory, loved how that made me feel. Kind of rugged and adventurous and free.