Look at this view anyway you wish. It’s a high-80s interior of a residential tower with a two-story commercial area. I was heading to the end of downtown to take the weekly pictures of the RBC Gateway, and decided to take an inside path. Wet snow. Eventually I had to go down to the ground floor, so I took a stairwell.

The ground floor door was locked. And I thought: what about the skyway door I just used? What if it locked behind me?

In normal times you could bang on the door and someone would open it, because there were people in the food court, people walking around.

You know, people.

But there wasn’t anyone around.

Hmm. Who would I call to escape?

If they find my bones, maybe they’ll name this stairwell after me in memorial? I suppose the entire stairwell is a lot; it’s a 14-story building. Or 16, something like that. I couldn’t lay claim to the whole thing. Maybe just the area between the skyway and ground floor.

Bottom line, the skyway door was open, so there won't be any plaque.

Today in telecommunications: phone rings, it’s a guy I called two weeks ago about our oven install problem. He apologizes for not getting back, and says he is on a mountaintop in Colorado. He’s been in the wild.

The call dies after 30 seconds; I call him back, and he apologizes, says he climbed a bit higher to get a better signal. Then we talk about the problems of replacing a 2000 AD Thermador, a situation with which he is well versed.

Half an hour later: have an idea for the Peg Lynch podcast, start writing a text to Astrid in England, and then realize it’s too much. So I call her on WhatsApp.

Now,, think of that. I made an international call. At no cost. And talked as long as I wanted. When we chatted the other day we switched to video so I could show her the deserted office. When I was growing up, making an international call was like arranging a summit meeting between Nixon and Brezhnev.

In the evening I gave a speech to a group of Edina ladies. I seem to be popular in this circuit. I put on a shirt and tie and jacket, because that is what you do when you give a speech. I’m staring at a wall of faces that fills the whole screen, tiny faces in tiny rooms. Everyone has their sound off, so I can’t tell if I’m landing with a thud or going over like gangbusters. Of course, one does not go over like gangbusters. One comes on like gangbusters. You know what I mean.

Earlier that day I’d thought: did I agree to talk about something in particular? I emailed the head of the org, and I asked “say, was I expected to talk about a particular thing?”

“No! We just want something cheerful and uplifting in these dark times.”

Okay, I can do that. We'll talk about lefse. Everyone loves lefse.

Someone asked me in the Q & A portion how I kept a cheerful mood in the columns, and I said it was two things: A) assume the mood until you occupy it, and B) the columnist ought to be able to sit down and do what they do in an hour, and do it every day, or they are in the wrong business.

But that's everyone's job, right?

Well. It was a fulsome day. It was a fulsome week. Two more podcasts to do, and I'm looking at the reward of Friday:


Later, the really good popcorn!

Later, my favorite ice cream!

And somewhere in there, a project you won't see until 2022.

I'd be working on 2023 updates for the site, but I'm not nuts.


Okay you can start to step back and get interesting any time now

Its height will be its strongest advantage, I think.

Everyone's view will be: the other guy

My favorite view today. Big!

The weekly sweep:




Solution is here.






Bob Hope: let's all get behind the big guy.




From the end of the same show, a reminder: people really whistled in the old days.






Really: music to paint by.






From the 1950 Bob Hope episode: our friend Aunt Jenny!

That'll do, and I thank you for your visit. Next week, as I like to say - the same thing! But different.




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