The city is buzzing with the change of the seasons.
Despite the dread with which we foresee the frost that will coat our windshields, the sidewalks that will break our bones, we nurture a wee spot of glee for the coming of fall.
Sweaters! Socks! Caps and scarves and gloves!
For cryin’ out loud, people! Gravy!
Frankly, we’re sick of summer.
Out on the street, the tourists bustle and point, the guys with the hand-lettered cardboard signs panhandle, and freshly picked produce, carefully tended by elderly Hmong farm women in striped pants and patterned shirts are sold by their grinning, hardworking grandchildren in the stands that line Nicollet Avenue.
I love this city.
I board the bus at the stop across from the statue of Mary Tyler Moore. It’s a common spot to have your picture taken, particularly whilst pretending to throw your cap, jauntily, in the air.
For at least three-quarters of the year, Minneapolis is all about the jaunty cap.
From my seat near the window, I watch as a woman in a burqa stands next Mary Tyler Moore. While not rare in Minneapolis, she is easily the only woman on the block wearing a veil. Dressed all in a dark purple, only her eyes are visible. Her friend, dressed in a modern and modest fashion, head covered, grins at her, motions her closer, back, closer, as she raises her camera for just the right shot.
And like hundreds of women before her, the woman in the burqa raises one arm and pretends to throw a cap in the air.
The woman taking her picture holds her arm up, shouts what is probably “Let me get another one!”. The woman in the burqa poses again and, laughing, they turn link arms and enter Macy’s.
And on the bus, I chuckle to myself.
Everywhere you go, you need to take that second picture.
Because so often on that first one your eyes are closed.