The daily digest of Twin Cities culture | Secrets of the City

About a year ago, on an April afternoon, Al Wolter drove to his neighbor’s house in Sandstone to help with a controlled burn. The neighbor, Cynthia Gamble, a wild-animal trainer, was his best female friend and the two regularly shared cocktails and sang karaoke together on his home machine. “She had an earthy sense of humor,” he said, an affectionate way of indicating that Cyndi could tell a good dirty joke. Gamble seemed to be most comfortable with male friends and often phoned Wolter to let off steam about personal problems. Lately, the problems had been mounting.

It’s a bit foggy aboard the Queen Mary 2 on our second day out of New York. The sky merges seamlessly with the ocean, obliterating the horizon in mushy blue-grayness. But deep inside this massive vessel—the newest, largest, fastest, and most luxurious ocean liner in the world—and behind the doors of the Illuminations auditorium, the stage lights are so bright that I can’t see anyone beyond the second row. What I know (and sense acutely) is that there are 150 people in the room, and that their attention, in just a moment, will be trained on me.

The rooms in the labyrinth beneath the Christ the King retreat center in Buffalo, Minnesota, are sparsely decorated with religious iconography, and the place has a settled, monastic atmosphere of tranquility. Located on a quiet edge of town, on a bluff overlooking Buffalo Lake, Christ the King advertises itself as a “sacred place for meditation and quiet time.” The facility’s posted schedule is booked with retreats for Catholic singles, engaged couples, parish secretaries, and members of Overeaters and Emotions Anonymous.