I Channeled James Blunt When James Blunt Wasn't Cool...

[And before for he was uncool again.]

Sometimes, for no particular reason, we're moved in ways that we don't immediately understand.  Let me explain…
 

It was ten years ago, and I was in Grand Marais, Minnesota, on a weekend getaway.  For those who don't know (and why should you?) Grand Marais is a lovely little artist's community that caters to tourists from the Twin Cities some 3 hours to the south on famous Highway 61.  (Famous if you're a Bob Dylan fan, that is.)

Grand Marais is nestled on the north shore of Lake Superior, just a short distance from the Canadian border.  The word quaint might be applied, except that it is anything but quaint for most of the year, at least in the Courier and Ives sense of the word.  The north shore of Lake Superior has only about 2 months of true summer, and perhaps 7 or 8 months of winter, in a typical year.  That is relevant only in that it helps to define the kind of people who live there.  If one lives there, one must savor all aspects of nature… the fierce beauty of the deadly November winds on Lake Superior that have sent many mariners to their cold, wet graves… the striking beauty of the winter ice storms that glaze the landscape… and of course the lovely autumn colors that can be more striking here than anywhere else.

People who live year-round in the Grand Marais area are special.  I knew this on one level before ever setting foot there.  I didn't fully appreciate what that implies until I dined at one of the local restaurants.  I was so taken by the hostess, a "outdoorsy" gorgeous woman who seated us at our table that I couldn't concentrate on anything else.

Have you ever encountered someone who was so unlike anyone you have met before, yet as unique as they are, they are also more beautiful than you might have imagined.  Our hostess was in that class of beauty.  Not the soft, delicate beauty of a Victorian novel heroine or the voluptuous beauty of a Playboy centerfold… this lovely woman was athletic, strong, probably in her thirties but hard to say… she had that healthy complexion of someone who spends a lot of time outdoors.  Ageless in her own way, hers was a beauty that lcould outshine a twenty year old "barbie", yet easily last well into what would be her silver years.

The restaurant was The Angry Trout, a popular spot immediately on the shore of the lake.  The setting helps define the restaurant's ambience… tastefully done with a Lake Superior Mariner theme… lots of paintings by local artists, depicting the local landscape and area features.  When we first arrived, I was starving for a good meal.  Our hostess changed all that.  Once I saw her, the menu was little more than an annoying distraction... my dinner mates were just so much background noise… yes, I was being rude, but I wasn't responsible.  Not really.  After all, who could be hungry when our thoughts turn to an infatuation with timeless beauty.

Her long hair was predominantly red, but laced with blonde highlights nurtured by the outdoors.  She wore running shoes and hiking shorts, topped off by a tee shirt (from a local running event) and a sweater.  (It was October, after all… October on the north shore of Lake Superior!)  She seemed to be in complete control of her life, not dependent on any man, fully aware of her striking beauty, but downplaying it rather than flaunting it.  Complete, total infatuation took hold.  I was pathetic in my adoration… completely unable to tell her how incredible she was.  'm pretty sure that she had heard it all before anyway, and probably would have rolled her eyes at my confession of completely irrational yet undying love and dedication (based upon a full 10 minutes of visual contact!)

And then it happened.  A chorus echoed through my mind, and it was all I could do to restrain myself from singing aloud… "You're beautiful, you're beautiful, you're beautiful, to me…  You're beautiful, you're beautiful, you're beautiful, it's true."

What was happening to me… had I lost all self-respect?  A real man does not confess such things to a virtual stranger!  Close to the vest… that's how we play it.  Yet, ten years later, when I first heard the much played yet much maligned James Blunt song, I understood his lyrics as though they were my own.  Those are the thoughts that echo in the mind of a man who sees an unattainable beauty, in a crowd, on the street, even in a restaurant.  Perhaps we're wussies, but at that moment we don't care.

Our food came; I ate my entrée in a subdued sense of resignation.  I couldn't tell this exciting woman how I felt, because it was so irrational.  Yet I wanted to.  Not because I had any delusions of beginning a relationship… simply because I felt as though I should acknowledge the effect she had on me, if only for a short while.  I never said anything to her other than to thank her for a great meal and wonderful service.  I may have padded the tip just a bit, but that's my prerogative, after all.

In the intervening years, I've often thought about that lovely woman, and wondered what she might be doing now.  Is she still at the restaurant?  Was she the owner?  It's all totally illogical, I realize.  Yet I still enjoy the thought of that day, and what a wonderful experience it was to encounter someone so beautiful that they affected my life for a much longer period than I would have ever expected.

I'm sure this tale is better for the mystery, but I still wonder…