Ah, what a weekend.

What a SUNDAY.  I was debating what to do on my “Sunday Off” for much of the weekend; in fact, I was still debating it until I went to sleep last night.  Friday’s post detailed all of the options I could’ve chosen yesterday and, I won’t lie, I was trying to make it a difficult decision for anyone weighing in on the issue.  Why?  Because it’s always difficult for me.

I was reframing. You see, the impetus for me laying out my weekend for some third-person consideration was to generate a little bit of excitement in the process.  Usually, I’m staring down the barrel of deciding my future, blowing woefully into my popped and deflated paper party horn, thinking, “Yay.  Another decision I get to make for myself.”  Woo-hoo.  Self-pity sets in that I have no “dedicated person or people” in my life to share the days and nights…and I usually choose cable.  No, it’s not my default response to watch TV when in a cycle of self-pity, but it works as a free solution that really is rather harmless. So, by putting twelve…or seventeen…or thirty options out there on Friday, I was trying to spin it into an interesting/I’m exciting/you want to hang out with me/don’t you just want to be me situation.  No, not really.  I was mostly just trying to look forward to Sunday, somehow.  Historically, I don’t like to do things by myself.

As Sunday approached, I started whittling down my options.  Money was spent on Saturday, so Sunday should be as free as possible.  Antiquing, the Pride Parade, and the Farmer’s Market aren’t as fun solo and don’t involve dogs.  Since Grendel was crated much of Saturday, he deserved to get in some good exercise and fresh air on Sunday.  I didn’t quite have the intestinal fortitude to go to church.  The CSA roadtrip meant that I spent a tank of gas on Saturday, so Franconia, Stillwater, the arboretum, Vacation Land, and Taylor’s Falls were out.  Working on the deductive reasoning, that pretty much left walking, coffee, and MIA, Lakewood Cemetery, movies, and St. Anthony for consideration.

The Minneapolis Institute of Arts was indoors which would be a shame on such an idyllic day, nix.

I was at St. Anthony and went to a movie the night before, nix and nix.

Walking and coffee are a matter of course, so those were in…but for a Main Attraction, Lakewood Cemetery it would be.

Andy’s Sunday:  Woke up and lolled around.  Made a lovely breakfast with eggs, stale French bread, ham, scallions, and white cheddar cheese with a sprinkling of smoked paprika and a deep, dark, creamy cup of coffee.  Threw on rags and piled Grendel into the Jeep.  Took Minnetonka Mills by storm, letting him climb all over the place, snurfle through all the long grass, wade into the marsh, and then clean off in Minnehaha Creek.  We walked to my favorite (suburban) Dunn Bros. on Minnetonka Boulevard and enjoyed a leisurely cup of Kenya in the sun on the sidewalk.  Grendel mostly behaved.  Upon returning home, I showered and got ready for the day of adventure, opting for an outfit with cropped cargo pants over carrying a purse.  Gasp.  I was Ms. Adventure and I would not be weighed down by the trappings of femininity.

I loaded ID, cash, debit card, and lip balm in one pocket with the other pocket carrying gum, camera, and keys.  My pants were riding low due to the cargo.  Red undies were the wrong choice.  Smokes were in the Jeep (sigh).  I was excited.  I was thrilled that I had made a decision and it seemed to be a good one.  Sure, I’d never been there before, but what could be so scary about a cemetery during daylight?

I hopped into the Jeep.  The Skyslider Roof was retracted, Los Straitjackets were playing on MPR’s The Current, and–best of all–I remembered to wear my pink bucket hat so I wouldn’t burn my scalp to a painful crisp.  I was aimed and ready to fire.  Solitary Sunday was going full speed.

Sunday continued…but this post will not.  Not right now, at any rate.  To do justice to my experience at Lakewood Cemetery, I have to spend a little more time on it than the time this took to write and post…which is all I have today.

Check back soon.  Until then, let my photo of a monument at Lakewood speak to the beauty of a solitary woman.  Something I forget to notice too often, myself.

Rollins Memorial.