Moscow on the Hill

Mari thought summer might just frazzle away, but it didn't. It almost came unglued. It had something to do with Joe Mauer and about half of her faculty experiencing bilateral leg pains or viruses or something, so she has had to find last-minute work-arounds. She says she understands Ron Gardenhire and the Twins, and what a Disability List is, much better, now.

She worked late yesterday, but we arranged to ease the disabilities with a nice dinner somewhere in St. Paul before she came home. We agreed to meet at a restaurant bar, and I strove mightily--I am learning how to talk biblically by listening the Republican presidential candidates--to get to the bar in good time. I did not want to be rushed into dinner, bone dry!

A peculiar group of locals mingled familiarly at the end of the bar. One of the minglers gave the impression that she was still at work, and another, perhaps forty years her senior, caressed her arm with one hand and his wallet with the other. She didn't cringe, so I assumed it was just business.

When Mari came, and the unwinding had begun, we decided to go to "Moscow on the Hill", a Russian restaurant in the shadow of the Catholic Cathedral of St. Paul. "What," I wondered, "does Moscow have to say to Rome?"

One of the delights of real cities is that there are restaurants! There are ethnic restaurants! The faces were Slavic, except for those of us who had Scandinavian or Irish or African faces. The food was Russian, even when the fish was Canadian walleye.

Having begun my hydration early, I found my way to the restroom. Like the building, it was old, and not originally Russian, but there was a small, round table in the corner, covered with a blazingly deep red cloth, and dubious flowers. "They have added a Russian touch here, too!" I thought. There was music playing: "Standing on the corner, watching all the girls go by. Standing on the corner, giving all the girls the eye."

Cathedral Hill: a perfect remedy for school daze and dazed politics!

Comments

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SmokeSound

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