Changing the Clock to Mountain
I am now an official Chicago ex-pat. M. and I have rented a lovely little condo in the Wildernest section of Silverthorne, Colorado. Currently, I am nursing my morning coffee and staring out our deck at nothing but mountains, pine and aspen trees, dappled with snow (Snow!? That's April at 9,000 ft.) Better than staring at the brooding boxes yet to be unpacked. We arrived after a grueling 20-hour trek and I am now convinced that Kansas beats Texas in the Worst State In the World competition (condolences to you Kansans). I also have a new-found appreciation for what that little 4-cylinder Subaru Forester can accomplish, after towing the most fully-loaded 5'x10' trailer imaginable 1,000 miles with only stops for fuel. We pulled into the parking lot around 12:30 am (MTN), promptly off-loaded our incredibly pissed-off cat (who retained his lungs for crying despite the altitude), let ourselves in and collapsed on the naked king bed (thank god the place is partially furnished). M. got cold and since all our blankets were trapped in the trailer, had to resort to pulling down the curtain covering the closet. An auspicious beginning!
Still, it has always been M.'s dream to live in the mountains. And something peculiar happens when you love someone - you find yourself adopting their dreams, having your dreams adopted. I can't say I blame M. for wanting to live here, either. Even after having grown up in tiny town Iowa, I retain my naive preconceptions about small towns. Always friendly, always quiet, where things happen in their own time and not one minute sooner. I've yet to have any of these preconceptions blasted by this place. Now, I am certain that there will be a little bit of frustration at some point and likely it will be snow-related. For the time being, however, I greatly prefer Colorado frustration to Chicago frustration. If nothing else, I can turn out my door and go for a good long hike to blow off steam. In Chicago, so often, I was forced to keep little bottles of frustration everywhere in the apartment. I left a lot of those little bottles behind in the alley and will likely be fined for it (damn vindictive condo board).
I have an interview this afternoon and am in the running for a job with the county - I won't go into details to avoid breeching confidentiality regarding that process. M. will be cleaning carpets for the time being, as the Forest Service (his ideal place of employ) had hired all their staff by the time we began making our inquiries. I hope to volunteer some time at the library and have a tentative appointment to sit down with a local bookstore owner to exchange ideas about poetry and making some poetry-related things happen in the area (writing group, reading series, ?). Mostly, I would like to be a poetry beacon. That would be excellent.