A Weekend in the Twin Cities

 

I should really call it a trip to Minneapolis, because I don’t think we actually made it to St. Paul. Or maybe we did, I can’t be sure. Midwestern geography is not my strength.

We flew in Friday evening and went straight to — where else — a baseball game, where we met up with the rest of the extended family in town, took in a lackluster performance by the Twins and marveled at their new stadium situated directly facing the [kind of small] Minneapolis skyline.

The next morning after coffee and muffins at the global market next to the hotel, we rented bikes and headed out to explore the city. I don’t have pictures of anything after the bike ride, like the wedding we traveled there for or the all-day brunch we spent with the family before flying out Sunday.

But I do have pictures of the bike ride around the city:

 

Some Summer Photos I’ve Had Lying Around

 

I’ve been taking pictures all summer. I swear I have. And we’ve been doing things worth photographing, I’ve just been on rocky terms with Norma Jeane my computer, so my sharing of our photogenic adventures is months behind. Better late than never, though, right? Right.

In May, I met up with Elizabeth and a puppy named Lily to venture to the waterfront and watch Hugh race dragon boats.

We spent Memorial Day weekend at the Bay house with friends and family, caught crabs, steamed and picked ‘em ourselves.

Hugh and I guided ourselves on a historical walk through Old Town Alexandria and I picked a few too-expensive homes for us to buy one day.

Hugh played lots of baseball in lots of heat and saw his first pig roast.

A few weeks ago we walked down to Roosevelt Island just for a Sunday evening walk, but also to watch the airplanes come in over the river and see the sun set behind the Rosslyn skyline.

I’ve set a goal for myself to not let months go by before sharing pictures from last weekend’s trip to Minneapolis.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

 

An Olympic Time Warp

As I sat on the couch last night struggling to stay awake through yet another round of Olympic diving, it occurred to me — as it has often occurred to me in the past year — that life has changed.

Just four years ago, Hugh and I had a ‘date’ to watch the Beijing Olympics. We ordered Chinese food (to feel closer to Beijing?) and sat on the couch in his parents’ house in Vienna. Hugh was living at home and interning before heading back to Blacksburg for one more semester. I had graduated in May and after some odd jobs around campus, had moved back home with no solid future plans to speak of.

Now, four years later, I sit next to the same guy on our own couch in our own home watching the London Olympics. We are both gainfully employed and instead of Chinese food, he scarfs down several nights worth of leftovers. We cheer shamelessly for a Team USA win that happened earlier in the day, discuss the physical appearance of every athlete, and occasionally fall asleep on the couch. Okay, the sleeping part is just me.

And some nights — when I’m feeling particularly crazy — instead of scheduling an Olympics-watching date with my boyfriend, I have my lady friends over to gorge on Olympic coverage, snacks and wine.

Go Team USA.