Escaping all forms of ICE, being grumpy in Miami, and ???

Jenny and I are headed to Uruguay. It's a trip that was planned last summer at Venn Brewing on a warm night sipping Northodox beers on the patio. Back then we were thinking about the many places that could be a good retirement landing spot (or a safe place to flee, should fleeing be the new cool thing to do in the United States), The trip to check out Uruguay was born. But today when we left Minneapolis, it certainly felt like a fleeing kind of trip, one that left all the folks I love behind. I debated whether I would blog at all on this trip, because I didn't want to post stories and pictures of good times on the other half of the hemisphere when my beloved Minneapolis is being invaded by a ridiculous number of ICE agents terrorizing the community. It feels like some kind of movie, living in Minneapolis right now, one that wins Oscars for the drama and hardship and ruthless depiction of unconscionable cruelty. Cinematographers would love the landscape, all smoky from tear gas and backlit with fire and prayer candles. Jen reminded me that not blogging just lets the bad guys win, so blogging will happen, with all of the wonder and frustration and novelty of seeing something new. And I think Minneapolis will also be present, because so much of me feels connected to the city, even so far away.

Today we jumped on the light rail at 3:30 AM to catch our so very early flight to Miami. For weeks, Jenny has been warning me that she can’t sleep on planes, that the early hour will be rough, and that she will be experiencing all forms of discomfort on our - no joke - 24 hour sojourn to Uruguay. A few weeks ago she bought this space helmet thing to keep her comfortable on the plane. It's got like five parts to it, all syncing up to create the perfect head position for the sensitive, and very head-position-specific traveler. So right away she donned her helmet, and added earplugs to keep out that raucous noise of an early morning flight. Then, to wrap up the ensemble, Jen tied her head to the seat back with a scarf, in an attempt to ward off the effects of gravity. The guy sharing the row with us didn’t even turn his head towards us once. I think he was afraid. 

Arriving in Miami, we were so excited to find a good breakfast spot. The airport was crowded and cold (according to the uncomfortable traveler) and there were almost no places to sit down to eat. We searched. We failed. Then we ate consolation bagels. Post haste, we found our gate. It was 11 AM and our flight didn’t leave until 11 PM, but you can’t be too careful. I’m not going to bore you with the details of the next several hours, but I will point out that these sisters dislike Miami, and it’s all because of the airport (and it’s Florida - sorry not sorry Floridians). Discomfort. Excess baggage. Noises. It all contributed to the airport funk we are experiencing right now, sitting on the floor and complaining. Our plane takes off in 4 hours. FOUR! If our summer 2025 selves could see us now, they’d stop drinking and rethink their life choices. I’ll end here but must include what Jenny just said to me. “Your whole blog will be about me trying to cope.” And she’s not wrong. It’s hard to be a Jenny in transit. Everyone knows that.