The Minnesota Fugue Finale ...

I promised myself that I would never quote anything from Wikipedia but in continuing with my “fugue”, I thought this explanation was pretty spot-on:

A fugue state, formally dissociative fugue or psychogenic fugue (DSM-IV Dissociative Disorders 300.13[1]), is a rare psychiatric disorder characterized by reversible amnesia for personal identity, including the memories, personality and other identifying characteristics of individuality. The state is usually short-lived (hours to days), but can last months or longer. Dissociative fugue usually involves unplanned travel or wandering, and is sometimes accompanied by the establishment of a new identity. After recovery from fugue, previous memories usually return intact, but there is complete amnesia for the fugue episode

It seems that my Minnesota fugue state will be ending pretty soon. I have been offered a position back in Pennsylvania and plan to start working there in late August. Indulge me in a “memory dump” before my Minnesota amnesia kicks in.




It has been an eventful 10 years.

I moved here fresh out of residency with the woman I thought I was going to spend my life with. Almost giddy with the possibilities we rented a duplex in South Minneapolis for too much money from a landlord that we later learned was a total asshole.

The wife started her fellowship at the U of M, and I scrapped around for urgent care shifts. After enduring 3 years of intense scrutiny, I was happy to be relatively unfettered by work responsibilities. Eating out, exploring the new city and sleeping in on weekends became the new norm.

It was good, or so I thought.

I soon took a Locums position in Red Wing to stabilize our meager income and things started to unravel. I soon experienced the “Minnesota nice” of rural Minnesota in full force. “You ain’t from around here, are ya doc?” No, I wasn’t, and everybody pointed that out to me, albeit passive-aggressively.

The wife seemed to be doing better. Making new friends and acquaintances; even a new “study buddy” from class – study buddy with “benefits”, it seemed.

I was operating on an assumption that the wife and I both wanted the same things out of life and each other. But alas, I was wrong. I wanted kids, and she, well … wanted to sleep with other people.

Usually a deal breaker.

Definitely was a heart breaker.

To deal with the heartbreak, I got a job and threw myself into it. I would rather have bought a dog, but the wife not only abandoned me, but she also relieved herself of her 2 obese cats as well. So, the job became catharsis in a weird way.
Suddenly single with some disposable income, another catharsis was travel.

One trip back to New York reintroduced me to an old friend of some friends who later would become my best friend and wife. (I know – awkward sentence – the best friend and the wife are the same person for clarification; also my new, 2nd wife for even more clarification. ok, I'll stop now.) A singular entity who is smart, beautiful and one of the few truly "good people" out there that can really make me laugh. Not just polite chuckles but real honest to goodness guffaws that cause you to smile involuntarily when you think about it later when you’re alone.

We planned some more travel (a little trip across the pond in the fall), this time together. We got re-acquainted over a few months via AT&T long distance - planning our trip.

We fell in love in walking around Paris in the rain and making out on the floor of out friend’s apartment when we should’ve been sleeping off the jet lag.

A few years and a lot of frequent flier miles later, she moved out here to join my Fugue.

Bought a house, got married and set up establishing a home. Distractions abounded with dinners out, trips around the state, sleeping in. My dabbling in bonsai became an obsession. I finally took that “Learn to Row” class that I always wanted to and 6 years later, I’m on my third single scull. I’m regular on the Mississippi River at 6:30 am most weekday mornings from May to October, dodging barges, flotsam, jetsam and an occasional dead carp.

We decided to visit our mutual friends (from New York) in their new digs in Lausanne, Switzerland. Two weeks of travel, new experiences and good old fashioned fun – proved to be life-changing in many ways.

Peter was born 9 months later.

Brought into the world kicking and screaming through a Pfannestein opening, he has not ceased to amaze, astound and confound me every day.

Three years and change later, Matthew followed his brother’s path, literally, and is possibly the happiest soul I have ever encountered.

I’ve done some cool shit in my life and have accomplished a lot, but it all pales when I watch my sons make a new discovery or master a new idea or concept. Proud is insufficient.

The wife and kids are joining the journey back east of course, so they’ll be exempt from the fugue. And for that I am thankful.

Some things that I want to forget:

1) “Coon Rapids” – Really? I’ve been told it’s not a racial slur, but … come on! I don’t care if the houses were made of gold and diamonds grew on trees there, I would never, ever live there.
2) Once again, not supposed to a racial slur, but if I ordered a “Hot Dago” sandwich in South Philly - I’d seriously get my ass kicked.
3) Minnesota Nice. Sorry. It does exist. It’s not out in the open, but it’s the tangible feeling between words, quick looks between natives and general aloofness that permeates the day to day interactions that make it hard, nigh, impossible to make a true friendship. With that said, Laura will miss the Moms and I’ll miss the Dads, but probably not that much. Cathy Larson, you are the exception. Bruce, a close runner up.

Let me be clear. I don’t hate Minnesota. In fact, we're sticking around just long enough to hit the awesome spectacle known as the Minnesota State Fair one last time.

I don’t begrudge my time out here. I have learned a lot and have changed a lot, good and bad, I’m sure. But I’ve never felt like I was “home”. I know now that Laura and Peter and Matthew are my home, but deep down I know that I “ain’t from around here”, and I want to go back to where I know I am from.

I can’t wait to “UN-disassociate” my fugue.

Peace. I won’t let the door hit me on my ass on the way out.

Well, it was better than Titanic's maiden voyage...

Let's start out by stating that lake water in Minnesota on May 1st is ... chilly, to say the least.

I wasn't going to let that stop my maiden row in my new single. I had the day off and the planets were aligned just right, allowing me a few hours to get out on the water for the first time this year. (Plus, I had an "ok" from the missus.)

I had thought about this all winter. I had scoped out the lakes near my work and had chosen Lake Josephine for a few reasons - a sandy swimming area I could lauch from, it was 2 miles from my work, and my boss has a house right on the lake with a nice dock (for possible launching and storage of my boat!? - all I have to do is ask him). However, it's the wrong shape and locale for optimal rowing. It wasn't long and thin and protected like Lake Hosmer at Craftsbury, it was more round and open. But, hey, we can't all be lucky enough to live in "God's Country" in Vermont.

But I digress.

The air temperature this morning was in the low 50's at best. And it was windy:



Which sucked.

Because when I got to the Lake, it was choppy.



There were 6 to 12 inch waves lapping the shoreline and the chop looked treacherous especially to a newbie like me. Out for the first time of the year. In a 'tippy' boat (only 12 inches at its widest point). With water temperatures in the 40's. Nice conditions for hypothermia.

I was bummed. I had bought this boat half a year ago and trekked it halfway across the country, only to be stopped by some wind. And bone-chilling water.

Fuck.


I lumbered back to my car and called my wife to leave a message that I was just going to the YMCA to slog away on the erg instead and will be back around noon.

As I hung up my iphone, a thought hit me - this is Minnesota, for gosh sakes! There are 9,999 more lakes for me to try. (actually, 11,842 more lakes)

Also, my iphone has google maps and a GPS built in. So, thanks to Jobs and Woz, within minutes I was following the turn by turn directions to Owasso Lake less than a mile away.

I pulled up to the beach area which was in a nice little protected cove. The cove was only about 100m wide but 400m long. It's not a big space - it's not uncommon for one stroke to carry you 10m or more, so I'd only get 20 strokes or so and then I'd have to turn around. But I didn't care. Most importantly, the water was calmer:




Jackpot! The wait was over.

Unfortunately, I was flying solo, so I wasn't able to take any pictures of me rowing. But I did get to row.

And it was fun.

It was a little touchy at first. I haven't rowed on the water in 6 months and haven't been in a single for close to 8 months. So after I almost flipped just getting into the the boat, I was able to take a few tentative strokes and it all came back to me. So far, so good.

So I got cocky and took a couple of good pulls on the oars and ... I almost ended up in the drink.

Humbled again by this sport, I went back to the basics and did some drills and I felt much more stable.

Finally, after about 30 minutes I was able to put together 10 or so good strokes and the boat set up, took up some speed and for a brief few seconds carved a nice straight line over Lake Owasso.

Awesome.

It was better than the feeling of driving a golf ball to within inches of the cup, or hitting a baseball over the center fielder's head or smashing a racquetball into the back of your opponent (I never said I was an good at these sports!).


I'm not ready for Ole Muddy just yet, but give me a few months. I could imagine myself rounding Pike Island and gliding back downstream.

Then I almost ran into a bouy ...

A look back in horror ...

... well, maybe not "horror" but 2008 had a lot of sketchy moments for me, the country, our planet.

But - I'm not going to blog about any of them. Who wants to reminisce about the crappy stuff? Life's too short for bitching and moaning all the time.

So, today's the last day of 2008 and I can't believe how fast time flew. In fact, I threw a clock and a banana out the window this morning to compare and contrast how things fly. Not very well, I might add, and now I'm going to be hungry and will probably sleep in tomorrow.

Anyway, family life continues to be fun and comfortable. Peter can be a handful at times, but he's also the spark that lights my way home after work each day. Laura, who hates to be mentioned in anything on the Internet for fear of identity theft (and doesn't know I have this blog), is becoming an awesomier (probably not a word) mom every day. Laura and I are able to catch our breath every now and again, and remember to be crazy-in-love couple of 39 year olds.

Our extended families are doing well and we're thankful for their love, guidance and distractions.

We are starting to make a few "friends" out here in this barren wasteland, so staving off insanity and depression for another year is definitely a plus.

Work is fine - there are sick people in the suburbs as well, I have found. Some of them actually take their meds and listen to my advice. It's shocking, frankly.

I was able to row and scull much more this last summer and while I have an extra few pounds on these days, I'm pretty healthy for the most part (knock on wood). My bonsai's are doing OK and I had my first official visitor to the "Steve Cytrynowicz Saint Paul Bonsai Reserve" this summer (Hi, Linda!).

Laura and I are trying to scrape together offspring #2, but it's taking a few months more than the last time. Keep your fingers crossed that my swimmers are good and her eggs aren't past their expiration date. Guess we'll have to keep on trying (wink, wink, nudge, nudge).

So, the economy sucks, we have too much debt, we still live 1300 miles away from our closest family members and we still don't have too many friends in this weird state.

But, all in all, I fell pretty lucky and thankful these days.

So, until the "fugue" clears ... Peace and Happy New Year!

The Kid is allright ...

Peter wasn't feeling too good.

He was tired and cranky. Being a 17 month old and having teething pain ... sucks.

You know you hurt, your parents know you hurt and there isn't much to do than NSAIDS, orajel and time.

The lack of communication would be the most frustrating thing to me - all I do is talk, and type and go to meetings. To be in his world of not being able to express feelings and concerns and most of all, pain, would probably drive me or any other sensible adult insane.

So, on saturday morning we were playing in the living room. Well, we were trying to play in the living room - he was mostly whining and throwing his toys around while I was trying to keep my eyes open - it was a long night prior.

After an hour or so and maybe only minutes before a full-blown toddler meltdown, I had enough. I sccoped him up and started towards the stairs. It was naptime and instead of the usual kicking and screaming, he slumped into me, resting his head on my shoulder and letting out a little whimper.

It made my heart break.

We got into his room and I had to put him down to change his diaper - also usually a kicking and screaming event. But not today. He just looked up to me with a pleading and exhausted look in his brown eyes.

All I could say was "I know" over and over as I fastened the new diaper on and pulled his shorts back up.

I carried him over the bookcase and picked up the ibuprofen. He gave it a wary look and started to shake his head and say "No" - one of his 3 or 4 words.

We sat down onthe glider and I drew up 5ml of the thick liquid. Peter was still saying "no" but in one instant our eyes met - he was staring more intently than I had ever seen him stare before.

He held my gaze as I calmy said, " I know - this stuff tastes yucky, but I promise it'll make you fell better ... I will never hurt you. (pause) Will you drink this?"

He had stopped whining and studied my face for a good 10 seconds and then looked back at he little shot glass of medicine in my right hand. Then he looked back at me.

"Yeth", as he shook his head emphatically.

There was complete trust in his face as he slurped the goooey liquid down. He clambored off my lap, picked up his rabbit and held him in a headlock as he pointed up towards his cradle. This was the most deliberate he had ever been in anything.

I scooped him up, gave him a kiss on the cheek and laid him in his crib. He immediately grabbed his Pooh bear in the other arm and closed his eyes. He was asleep almost before I closed his bedroom door.


A few hours later I could hear him on the monitor and I went into his room to get him out of his crib. We reached towards each other at the same time as I hoisted him out.

He gave me a big hug. And then pointed out of the room - his sign language for "let's go downstairs".

I was still carrying him as we walked out of the room. As we approached the door, he patted me on the shoulder, pointed at the medication sitting high up on the bookshelf, smiled and tightened his grip on me.

Wow. I had never felt like a parent before.

All in all, I'd rather be in Philadelphia ...

Holidays in Minnesota are a strange affair when you're not from there.

There is a social phenomenon in this state called "Minnesota Nice" - which means the natives (them) are very cordial and outgoing but incredibly superficial and guarded to the transplants (me).

So, while they'll say "hi" and ask how you're doing, they really don't care. In fact, if you don't give the appropriate non-committal glib answer in a funny colloquialism (e.g. "just dandy, Fred, thanks for asking!"), they often stop, frown and move on shaking their heads like you were the retarded offspring a diseased monkey. While you may be concerned about your sick dog and the new rash your kid developed - for some reason, this is way to much information for most Minnesotans.

Back on the east coast, this exchange is a chance to vent and have a little friendly competition with an acquaintance - or better yet, that guy sitting next to you on the bus. It's like therapy, but cheaper with less social stigma.

Around the holidays in the northstar state, the "nice-ness" kicks it up a notch - people smile, hold doors for each other, exchange inane banter all in the name of holiday cheer. For god sakes, we actually had a bunch of employees at my work caroling in the lobby at lunch hour!

However, the silo-ing also kicks up a notch as well. The natives will stop by and wish us transplants "happy holidays", but innocently ask them what they're doing for the holidays and it's treated like a veiled invitation request. There's a lot of sputtering and elaborate explanations ("yeah, it's a small house ... we barely have room for all the kids, they eat on the folding card table in the living room").

The funny part is that 99% of the time, I don't want to be invited to these affairs. Besides the whole "nice" thing, Minnesotans are well ... not really that nice. It's kind of weird.

However ... if anyone wants to invite me and my family to their lake cabin this summer for some boating, drinking and barbecuing, then ... by golly, you all are the nicest people I've ever met.

Happy holidays. Peace