Eggboo

There's a restaurant here called Eggboo. The sign states that it is Thai and Sushi, and in that context, I suppose the name makes sense. However, I can't help but envision some woman in the Projects frying up breakfast and hollering out to her man, "Come get yo' egg, boo!" Not exactly what the owners of this particular establishment had in mind, I'm sure, but regardless of the clarification below the name and the accompanying Asian flare smiley face (The eyes look like this ><. No really, they do.), I'm still picturing Shanequa and her eggs. I guess it's a product of living on the edge of the DC ghetto for too long.

Jane Austen and the Rockies

I took a walk yesterday through the fields across from the neighborhood where I'm staying. I felt a bit like Elizabeth Bennett. They didn't really do much in those days, aside from read a lot of books, sit prettily around the house, and go for long walks through the English meadows. I've always been a bit jealous of being able to take a walk through all of that space and air, but while Boulder is much more brown than England in summer, the Bennetts never had the cornflower blue sky and the Rockies at which to look, and I was able to get in a similar walk after all. There was still a lot of time left over after walking the fields and breathing in the sunshine, but that's what I have tea for. Of which I have been drinking copious amounts.

Someone told me that it is sunny here 300 days out of the year. I could definitely get used to this. Even when it snows, she said. Sunny and blue skies. I need to get my tail out on those mountains soon. Every time I look at them, they seem to ask me to come play. I don't know if Lizzie Bennett would ever have gone running all over some mountains, but I like to think that if given the chance, she would. She never struck me as being very conventional.

Just. Breathe.

The immense blue of the sky reached down into my chest and expanded there, no matter that the size of my ribcage is akin to a grain of sand in comparison. The highway stretched on, up, and over the land as we traversed the length of it on our way from the airport. The mountains hung like a back drop in the distance, unreal in their flatness, sunlight cascading down through the clouds in beatific streams. From my first step into the airport, I felt like I could breathe easier. Everything is cleaner here, the atmosphere everywhere more crisp. I can almost reach out and touch the air, it is so present in front of me.

I chase the sunlight to the edge of the yard, soaking it up like a sponge, thankful for the darkness of my jeans warming up like a heating blanket. The grass is lush, shiny and cool on my bare feet; the water from the tap liquid silk in my throat. The hours given to me here are frightening at times in their multitude, but it is no easy feat to learn the art of being. I read somewhere recently that more can be learned in a moment of silence than all the noise in the world could ever teach.

"Hey McFly!!"

Going to my high school reunion was like stepping into Michael J. Fox’s Delorian and blazing a trail back in time. I’m not on Facebook, so I’ve heard hide nor hair of most of these people since we walked across that rather shaky stage and took our diplomas, but some things never change. My friend Adam’s greeting upon my entrance was, “Hey, you’re not dead!” and a few other utterances throughout the evening served to prove that he’s just as charming and obnoxious as ever. Except now also the father of three. 

There was the cheerleader/Homecoming Queen/Miss GHS coming up to hug me like we were good friends back then (we weren’t); the brashy redhead who was my on again/off again friend, the only girl I’ve ever met who’s just as willful and sarcastic and stubborn as me (she still is); and the rest of the rather popular eight who besides different hairstyles and slightly better fashion sense hadn’t changed much. We even sang our football team’s fight song, and after doing choo-choo arms in a conga line around the room to the Train song, I had to double check the date on my phone. Arriving back to the soft, sleeping darkness of my parents’ house, the lamp in my room left on like years before, I almost looked in my bookbag for unfinished homework. (I hope Mark will be in class on Monday!!!) 

My friend Jessica told me I looked totally different. I told her I just straightened my hair. Maybe it's because I've lived lifetimes since then. Or maybe it's because they finally got to see me dance.