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"Painted Turtle" My husband rescued a turtle from the highway today, ending its suicidal asphalt-crossing mission. After showing our toddler son (who refused to touch it, but for the first time in weeks was momentarily speechless) we tucked it under the stroller and brought it to Powderhorn Lake. If this were the kind of world I read about as a child, the turtle king would have appeared and granted a great favor. This is modern Minneapolis, so it simply swam off. No gratitude, no vows to live a better turtle life, nary a backward glance. Its peabrain has already forgotten us. The satisfaction didn't come of gratitude, but of witnessing the grace of a living thing doing what it was born to do: slender claws scrabbling toward the lake, leathery legs heaving hard carapace over sand until it slipped into silken water and disappeared to the depths. Perdóname por no tener tiempo para traducir el poema anterior, pero tiene que ver con esta historia: hoy mi esposo rescató a una tortuga de la carretera, que después liberamos en el Lago Powderhorn. No nos agradeció, y ya ha olvidado de nosotros, pero encontramos satisfacción en la gracia de ver un ser vivo haciendo lo que nació para hacer.
"A hole lotta effort" Nick, a foreman for Minneapolis Public Works, supervises a road repair crew as they fill potholes along 31st Street, between Bloomington and 11th. As we (and our car suspensions) know, PoHo potholes grew to sinkhole sizes during this "freeze-thaw" winter. The city responded by nearly doubling the number of crews citywide. (There's usually six; the city has ordered up 10.) They'll be patching our street craters for the next three weeks, so cancel that class action lawsuit you and your neighbors have planned and instead give a salute, shout, or hug (if it seems appropriate) to your city's workers. And send in your tax forms in this week.