We stayed in Sioux Falls, SD a few weeks ago after a quick trip to Omaha for one of my niece’s high school graduations, but we stayed in a different hotel than we usually do. Sioux Falls is not often a destination for us, but on this particular trip, Lisa wanted to check out some businesses similar to hers in the downtown area. I was intrigued by the idea that although I have been to this city dozens of times over the last 25 years, a slight alteration of our routine gave me a completely different window on the community.

I wondered how often I’d formed a faulty opinion of a city, even a smaller one like many of the other Midwest ones I visit like Bismarck, Fargo, Minot, Aberdeen, Bemidji, Sioux City, or the Quad Cities, when in truth I had only seen a small fraction of it- as well, those cities change over the years, like a familiar friend, but still with the possibility of renewal by a new idea or nudged in a different direction by a younger generation. Had I been in enough restaurants, music halls, museums, ballparks, bike/hike trails, and neighborhoods to even know? Have I seen it through the eyes of family, friends, or acqaintances? In my own town of Grand Forks, I have lived in a number of different areas, but where I had lived were areas that were also separated by time or era. I certainly was aware of all of the neighborhoods, but the change my in perspective has sometimes proven to be subtle yet transformative. Perhaps my other destinations have this power too.

We were in the city, so I thought we’d make a stop; I was following along on the map on my phone, and realizing our route to downtown would take us right by. Dalton needed to see this place, so at the last second, I’ll told him to turn off and head over to the side street where soon we parked right in front of the sacred place.

As we passed through the door, I felt a little unsettled, which was unexpected; I had been here many times before dating back to my mid-teens, but not for a long time. I’d spent many happy hours here, as I had in similar places in many midwestern cities, having even worked in one, curating and caring for these companions. Unsettled turned to blank as I walked the aisle, aimless as I tried to find a place to land. I turned mindlessly and spotted Dalton, noting I’d wandered away from him lost in the reverie of old thoughts and feelings; so much pain, hurt, and sadness that caused the tragic break, it was traumatic and I’d never looked back.

Soon I selected one in its 12 by 12 home, smooth, black, cool. Holding it in my hand, just the way I used to in a careful slide out, a rush of memories and rituals, the studying, careful handling, cleaning, only using high quality equipment to create and foster a relationship, which I now found that I still had. Tears turned to smiles as I engaged with Dalton about everything I was now thinking, stream-of-consciousness, finding the places and thoughts I had divorced myself from at the cold and muddy river all those years ago where I watched them all drown, thousands gone. This old room full of their friends who were happy to take me back, maybe wondering where I’d been all this time, Dalton meeting them for the first time.

We browsed some more, chatting up some of the clerks, and he finally settled on The Black Keys at The BBC, Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits, Fleetwood Mac- Rumours, and a nice classic style Technics turntable. I wasn’t quite ready to have a listen with him upon our return to home the next day, but he texted me later to tell me that he was listening to the music in a different way through playing them as records; I immediately know what he meant, thinking about the days back when I was doing the same with all of the little steps that go with it, changing the way I thought about everything. 
Hello, Old Friends.