For the love of life’s adventures

Only anecdotal evidence exists regarding how the proud and pretty Irishamerican Mary Kathleen Mcclure slipped through the cracks to snag a Minnesota birth certificate.

It was way back in junior high geography class that I was taught the “Land of 10,000 Lakes” was colonized by Sweden. I have it on good authority that every Swede up there drives a Volvo and, by law, must buy all their dorm furniture at IKEA.

Getting to know Kathleen is one of life’s exquisite delights. As she unfurls her love of travel, my ancient Rand Mcnally globe spins faster and faster in my head. I can eavesdrop into her power-packed mind, watching the little pins glow that identify a bumper crop of international ports of call. Memo to Rick Steves: hire her.

Kathleen was the oldest of six children; her dad was a commercial artist and part- time painter. “It was his passion,” she declared. With such a large brood, Kathleen was pressed into action as backup mother. “This was back in the day of cloth diapers,” and laundry hanging on the backyard line.

“I was very serious, kind of tied down” performing her domestic duties.

Summer always meant one thing: the 800-mile car trip from Minnesota to Tennessee. That’s where Kathleen’s grandparents owned a farm near Memphis. “They raised peanuts and cotton. The nearest store was the Jot ‘Em Down store.”

Kathleen, her senses always on high alert, couldn’t help but spot the differences between the daily rhythms in the Upper Midwest and the Midsouth. “The people in Tennessee were so free! Not too many things could happen, because everybody was related.”

Back home, one of her favorite go-to spots was the famed Minneapolis Art Museum. “Dad and I had that special thing. It was my little getaway. I wanted to meet different kinds of people.”

After earning a degree in art history from the University of Minnesota, Kathleen worked a number of “nothing jobs” around the Twin Cities. “I washed hair brushes at what they then called beauty parlors.’ I worked in the billing department of a car dealership.”

Along the way, Kathleen remained faithful to the whispering spirit of wanderlust inhabiting her interior. It assured her that her longing for a deeper connection with the world beyond the headquarters of General Mills (think Cocoa Puffs and Wheaties) was ready to leave the station.

When she found out the university sponsored summer trips, she grabbed it.

With her then-boyfriend, they flew to London. Then Paris, where they rented a car. “I think we went up to Innsbruck, Austria, and down the coast to Italy. We were gone for two months. I was just in love with that adventure,” she said, the exuberance climbing.

Later, while searching for a husband, Kathleen met a Scotsman who ran a business in East Africa, “taking care of British expats and their insurance needs.”

Throughout the course of our talk, the word “loved” kept busting through the late-winter ice. It didn’t take me long to figure out, my friend truly enjoys breathing the air surrounded by fresh cultural and historical influences. “Every three months, I went with my husband to Africa. I loved it! I loved Zimbabwe. I loved Botswana. The people there were my friends. I stayed with them, not in hotels. I loved the people!”

Although the expats in her orbit seemed settled, Kathleen noticed that they had plans that didn’t involve Africa. “They’d stay, but at the end of their lives, they’d always go back to their roots, to South Africa or England. They were selfreliant. They didn’t expect any government to do anything for them. Oddly enough,” she continued, “they didn’t know many Americans. I was an anomaly.”

What about the quality of the British cuisine that was transported to Africa?

“A lot of them still had afternoon tea. And the Brits still make horrible food. Bland. Oh, they make great cakes.”

Now in her 70s, and like so many of us, Kathleen is dealing with her share of health challenges. Which you assume has sidelined her from booking reservations on planes, trains and ships. No way. Kathleen, along with her new beau, John, share the joy of movement.

With a February Viking cruise to South America still fresh in their minds, they’re already gearing up for a seven-week trip in late spring to countries like Slovenia, John’s beloved ancestral home. Part of the journey features a cruise along the Danube and the Rhine.

After many years on the go, Kathleen is back on the Front Range, sharing her life with John. I found that Kathleen, her favorite word always at the gate of her lips, easily drops it when describing some of her favorite foreign capitals, ancient sites like Petra, the ancient archeological city in southern Jordan. And, of course, the treasures that beckon from within the four walls of the iconic Louvre in Paris.

As we closed, I singled out the name of this feisty, fun-loving cashier at King Soopers. “She’s so warm, so chatty,” I reported. “I get a big kick out of her.”

In the time it takes to download the store’s app in search of coupons, Kathleen seized the moment.

“Oh, I know exactly who you mean!’ she chirped. “I make it a point to go through her line. I love her!”

Channeling the words of the Fab Four, “All you need is love.” Hmm. I forgot to ask Kathleen if she’d been to Liverpool.

I already know the answer. I’m willing to bet my sturdy IKEA nightstand.