In all the flurry of finishing school and settling myself into Denver, I’ve finally sat down to fulfill my dream of writing a cute quirky update for the folks back home. So quaint. You would think finishing my last seventeen pages of research papers last Monday might make me a little sick of hearing delicious laptop keyboard tappings. No, man. Time 2 blog.
It’s been nearly three weeks, over which people have asked me four or five different times how the cabin fever is treating me. They are genuinely concerned. Meanwhile I’ve been pitter-pattering about this condo and its one-mile radius all the livelong day, learning the neighborhood, getting all my administrative ducks in a row — I’ve had exactly one job interview — and haven’t been bored for a second. Oops? No idea how long it might be until I start to go stir crazy, but at this point I’m living it up. Good grief, I have a Kitchenaid mixer and I’m reunited with my lava lamp and all MY books are in the LIVING ROOM. Sometimes the disoriented Nanny Bird just likes to be cozy, and to bask.
And so I begin geographically, starting right where I sit. The Home is almost fully tricked out now (I get harassed for calling it a house “because it’s a condo,” and there’s no way I will call my dwelling “the condo,” and if I’m left with only cheesy options I will embellish them all with C.S. Lewis case distinction and definite articles), but I still want to hang some things on walls before I tour The Place for those asking. (Someone tell Joe. No way he’s gonna read all this.) I just got a package of picture hooks from Susan (the best ones ever — THANK YOU!), so I’ll decorate and record a walkthrough as soon as I confirm with my landfather that I’m allowed to stick nails in his property.
Aside: hooks have not been my only happy mail so far. Mom sent me the chocolate I forgot on my way to the airport (originally a gift from Aunt Joyce), which is now gone, and Lea sent me a bunch of Norwex cloths, which have now touched most of The Home’s surface area as I slowly remove its fine coating of steel grit — Derek’s personal brand of fairy dust, courtesy of his former job.
We live pretty much on the campus of the University of Denver (just when I thought I was out…they pull me back IN!), which is a pretty swanky private school. Lots of beautiful brick buildings. Picture it balmy and green…full of domes…and bricks…gold leafed…a lot like Stanford, I would say, until it’s midnight and the drum circle/performance art/poetry slam gathering is right outside our window making cultish noises again, and I remember the academic standards are probably a little lower here. Then again, all my neighbors are probably hearing me at 8 o’clock every morning when I croak tunes out of my freshly signed psalter, so I can’t be too bothered.
Other than driving to Derek’s work and his parents’ house (or being driven anyplace else), I’ve been trying to foot it everywhere. I got lost going to Safeway, which was a problem because it was hot, and there are random blocks without sidewalk all over the place, and I was carrying a boatload of canned food and broth. I did not get lost going to Chase to hound my new best friend, Chris, for a credit card. I got a little lost going to the post office, but that walk was so pretty I didn’t mind. (Also I could pretend — as a grown adult, I’ve been doing often — that I was a young bewildered artist who just got off the train in New York to start my life afresh, or an ancient maiden making her perilous trek in shimmering heat to the only well within three villages.) Let me tell you I am living wild and free.
Everyone’s been so welcoming and hospitable so far. The Beckers are having us for dinner tonight (remind me to write something in future about the ridiculous Colorado phenomenon that is green chili) and I’ve gotten to spend a lot of time with the Lillys, particularly Oriana. That Simon kid is also making a lot of appearances, go figure. Times have been had at the aquarium downtown (where there are tigers, and a porcupine on a leash), the incomparable Lakeside amusement park (remind me to write something about that too), and Spanky’s Urban Roadhouse (known hereafter as The Place Having the Lil Piggy Tots). No luck finding genuine Colorado postcards yet, but after I do they’ll probably turn up at the home of every FOPC member with a child age ten or under. The weather is neat and the sky is large. Finally reunited with my personal coach for all sports, my throw has gotten pretty decent and my golf swing has not (will never).
I could go on, but I’m very distracted by the new license and debit card in envelopes next to me. Until next time, be sure to ask my mom for her thoughts on the title of this post, and thank your local Jake for buying domain names and navigating his minion through Markdown and Github so she can basically have a public diary.