It feels a bit strange to be “blogging”. Whatever happened to a good old leather-bound journal or some diary with a lock on it? People seem to put a lot of faith into technology, and reveal such intimate details to the public. I play things somewhat close-to-the-hip, but I can give it a try. I have a fairly busy life, and my job keeps me on my toes. I prefer that sort of lifestyle though. I think I always have. I also never thought my life would bring me here to the Midwest.
I suppose it’s a place like any other, really, but it’s not what I’ve heard many people say it is. I’ve heard things about never-ending dairy farms and hillbilly folk, and while maybe that does exist, I just haven’t seen any of it. The city is my solace—it’s busy and sometimes frustrating and harried, but it’s a wild place to be, and I think I thrive when those conditions arise. It’s not only humorous to me, it’s downright ironic. But we won’t go there. Not so early in the game, that is.
I saw my family for the holidays, as most of the country (if not the planet) tends to do at that time of the year. I wasn’t able to stay very long, but that comes with the territory. When you’re in such a dangerous line of work, you learn to embrace every article of the moment you find yourself in. You try to absorb it completely and ready yourself, since it’s guaranteed to be cut too short. My flight was delayed, so I arrived pretty late on the 22nd, but just seeing The Flatirons’ silhouette looming over Boulder was so comforting. There’s a more close-knit, familial feel there than in St. Louis. It smells a lot better, too, thank God.
I ended up having a surprisingly quiet stay. For the first time since high school, I went to Chautauqua Park. I used to hike the trail just past the quarry with classmates. Oh, how I miss those days sometimes! The scent up there is amazingly clear and I highly recommend hiking the trails if you are looking to connect with nature for awhile. I remember breaking my ankle when a few of us were on the lower trails after park hours one early summer. I rolled my foot on a rock when I wasn’t paying attention and the joint swelled up like a cantaloupe. Two of my friends had to carry me all the way back to the car. My dignity was actually wounded more than the ankle, as I’m fiercely independent and hate to be babied. Of course, I am not at liberty to explain why a sizeable group of young teenagers was traipsing about in the woods that early in the morning. I’ve taken a solemn oath, and the details of those exploits shall remain sealed. While waiting in the emergency room, I tried to explain to my family that it was “all in fun”, but my uncle audibly announced: “you wouldn’t know fun if it were a startled porcupine inside your boot.” I had no idea what the old man meant by that, but I’m sure some may have a clue.
To get back to my original purpose for this entry—before I wandered down memory lane there for awhile—I do not know how much time or patience I have to talk about my daily routine, or how many people would care to hear me talk about spiny mammals and cities. I’ll give it a try, though; a friend of mine said it would be “good for me”. (Ben, you owe me one.)
So here I am, back in the frigid city of St. Louis. I’m glad I came home long before that enormous storm came through. I hope I can dig my car out tomorrow and get back to reality.
02.01.2011 Constance M.
