So, I've recently realized that I tend to wax pretty philosophical on here, but don't give too many details. So here is a short summary of what's new in my life.
School: I am in a Reading French for Theological and Religious Studies Students class. It is awesome. My professor is a monk (who has been kicked out of a few orders for sticking to his guns) and my TA is an awesome doctoral student who knows grammar better than anyone I've ever met. My classmates are hilarious (one kid and I have been talking about maybe starting an improv group, although he didn't really like my idea for the name: Holy Rollers....get it?). I love the campus and I am really enjoying learning French. I think I've missed the classroom so much more than I realized. Studying is refreshing and SO rewarding.
Work: Cafe Zing! hired me to work as a barista/cashier. I love the manager already, she is hilarious and has great tattoos. The Cafe is awesome. They serve mostly local food and have many gluten-free options, which is actually how I found them. I will be working part-time which will compliment my school schedule perfectly.
Social Life: Tonight I'm having a classmate and his wife (?!) over for dinner. I bought fresh veggies at the Farmer's Market and I'm going to make a nice Ratatouille! I guess the whole French thing is really getting to me!
Other than that, I was invited to go on a Bay Harbor Cruise for free tomorrow, so I'm really excited. I won't know anyone there, so it may be weird, but I really couldn't pass it up. And, if I hadn't lost my camera (probably on the T), then I would promise photos. Alas, I will instead mourn my irresponsibility.
Well, that's the long and short of my life right now. Simple. Fun. Lovely.
Miss you all!
Sierra
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
7:30
I am not a morning person, but I love mornings. I love the way the light feels hazier and the air is a little softer. The way everything feels a little surreal, as if life could not possibly happen this early. Of course, I am talking about the hours of four a.m. to six a.m. Ironically, I knew these hours well when I was younger. My dad always rose before five when I was very small, and I would try to rouse myself alongside him.
As much as I love mornings, I love sleep so much more. I'm the person who can sleep until a nine a.m. alarm and then hit the snooze, stealing every minute of sleep from the day. This lifestyle has served me well since I left home for college. Well, until Ace came into my life.
Ace stirs around 6 a.m. from what I can tell. I honestly have no idea because he forces himself to stay in bed as late as he can. When I was working full-time and kept a "normal" schedule, that meant rising at 7:30 so that Ace and I could go for a walk and have breakfast before I got ready. But now that I can sleep as late as I want (a blessing and a curse), Ace still wakes up at 7:30. He isn't impatient and doesn't get frustrated. He just hops out of bed and walks around my room. Generally, I get up and open my bedroom door so that he can walk around the kitchen and the living room, perhaps stopping for a drink. Generally I doze off of for a few more minutes before I feel him standing before me. Looking me dead in the eye, he wills me to wake. I coax him back into the bed and then our real morning ritual begins. Ace flops down in the bed next to me and I put my arms around him. He rolls onto his back pressing his body into mine and then he tips his nose back, exposing his chin and neck. For as long as we like, we lay there, me rubbing his neck and belly, he stretching and slipping into pure bliss. There is no complicated message or hidden meaning in our morning ritual. Just a dog and his human, happily together.
I've never reflected much on this ritual until this morning. I realized that my favorite part of the day is now opening my eyes to see my loyal friend ready for a tummy rub. The rest of the world hasn't figured out that we're awake yet and no one is leaving the apartment building yet (thus there's no need to bark). I am so lucky to start my day with the happiest dog in the world, doing what I love most--rubbing his underside.
Some days, you just gotta be grateful.
-Sierra
As much as I love mornings, I love sleep so much more. I'm the person who can sleep until a nine a.m. alarm and then hit the snooze, stealing every minute of sleep from the day. This lifestyle has served me well since I left home for college. Well, until Ace came into my life.
Ace stirs around 6 a.m. from what I can tell. I honestly have no idea because he forces himself to stay in bed as late as he can. When I was working full-time and kept a "normal" schedule, that meant rising at 7:30 so that Ace and I could go for a walk and have breakfast before I got ready. But now that I can sleep as late as I want (a blessing and a curse), Ace still wakes up at 7:30. He isn't impatient and doesn't get frustrated. He just hops out of bed and walks around my room. Generally, I get up and open my bedroom door so that he can walk around the kitchen and the living room, perhaps stopping for a drink. Generally I doze off of for a few more minutes before I feel him standing before me. Looking me dead in the eye, he wills me to wake. I coax him back into the bed and then our real morning ritual begins. Ace flops down in the bed next to me and I put my arms around him. He rolls onto his back pressing his body into mine and then he tips his nose back, exposing his chin and neck. For as long as we like, we lay there, me rubbing his neck and belly, he stretching and slipping into pure bliss. There is no complicated message or hidden meaning in our morning ritual. Just a dog and his human, happily together.
I've never reflected much on this ritual until this morning. I realized that my favorite part of the day is now opening my eyes to see my loyal friend ready for a tummy rub. The rest of the world hasn't figured out that we're awake yet and no one is leaving the apartment building yet (thus there's no need to bark). I am so lucky to start my day with the happiest dog in the world, doing what I love most--rubbing his underside.
Some days, you just gotta be grateful.
-Sierra
Monday, June 14, 2010
A Late Night Encounter
Ace and I have been working on some off-leash walks. They are generally short and entail walking to the end of the cul-de-sac and back. He stays within 5 or so feet of me, and we stop together if he needs to relieve himself. These little bursts last no longer than seven to ten minutes and have been an exciting way for Ace to experience our new life in Somerville. Before heading out our big red front door, I make Ace sit and wait, so that I can peek my head out and see if there are any cats, dogs, squirrels, or humans that he might be tempted to chase or that my leaving him off leash might upset.
Last night after completing my ritual of vigilance, I let Ace out. We walked near the park, around the sidewalk and after a quick stop, headed back the apartment. Everything seemed right as rain, so I decided to race him. He is so fast when he's free to run and I love to watch his behind as he leaves me in the dust. I started out ten yards ahead of him and just as he was about to pass me, he dashed off to the right. Oh no. I thought. I had seen the neighbor's cat earlier that night and tried desperately to befriend her, despite feeling that she hated me for owning that black behemoth of a dog. I called out to him, hoping he would pay attention. "Ace, come!" In the dark, I could make out his shape dashing right, then turning on a dime to run to the left. I thought he might by some miracle be coming back to me, but no. There were two black cats in the darkness. Not wanting to chase him, but not wanting him to destroy the neighbor's flower bed, I followed him up the driveway. I could no longer see him in the dark. "Ace," I called in that tone he knows to be annoyance, "come." I heard his tail swish and saw him in the neighbor's unfenced backyard, front paws on their fence. He turned, trotted back to me, and looked up at me, seeming to say, "Almost got the jerk." I grabbed his collar and led him back inside without a word. Once we were inside, I muttered only, "Bad dog," under my breath and ignored him. I felt his big, brown eyes search my face, trying to attract my gaze. Frustrated, I refused to look at him and told my roommate not to reinforce his bad behavior. Noting his slowly wagging tail and attempt at puppy dog eyes, I told him to lay down at my feet.
As his elbows hit the ground, I noticed blood on the floor. There wasn't much, but it was enough to melt my tough facade into a worried mother. "Buddy, where are you bleeding?" Of course, he didn't answer, but wagged his tail happily at my attention. I tried to roll him over to look at his underside. He resisted. I rubbed my hand under his front, right paw. My hand came out with blood. Desperate, I sat down on the ground and he flopped into my lap. I found another spot where he was bleeding, and another. I rubbed his other legs. Two more. I counted a total of five abrasions.
I filled the bathtub with about four inches of lukewarm water. Ace hates baths and usually struggles to get away. I lifted him and he acquiesced. I set him in the water and he tried to lift each of his paws out, one after the other. Removing the mud that hindered me from assessing the situation, I inspected his front paw. One of the pads was raw and bleeding lightly. The other paw was in the same condition. I let him jump out of the tub as I drained the water and gently dried and wrapped his wounds. his back legs had two dime size chunks of skin and hair missing. His ears hung low, his eyes turned down at the outer edges. "Ace, you can't do that. You can't chase cats without regard for how you might be hurting yourself." I don't know what it sounded like to him, but he let me touch his paws (something he disdains), and behaved so sweetly and gently that I couldn't even be mad.
After five minutes, his bandages started falling off and bothering him. I removed all of them, hoping he had stopped bleeding. As I examined the wounds, I saw a toenail on his back foot had been mangled all the way to the quick. I couldn't believe that in a minute and half he had so thoroughly hurt himself. Utterly disregarding all care for himself, he had bounded after a cat and in that pursuit had not just been scratched, but had inflicted real pain upon his own body.
Of course this encounter has given me pause. It isn't that Ace is still shook up. In fact, he seems to be back to normal. He limped for half a minute at one point today, but otherwise he's been excited and ready to explore. Disappointed when I didn't take him out on a run, he stared longingly at his leash while I brushed my teeth this morning.
I, on the other hand, have vacillated from self-loathing for being irresponsible to doubt that I will be able to give Ace the life and structure he needs to amusement at my own wild responses to this occurrence. The feeling that has stuck with me longest, though, is wondering if it is fair to expect my big dog to adjust to a confined life in the city. What should I do? I have promised him time and again that we are together in this. So what is the solution? Should I stop taking him outside? Stop letting him off leash? Then, I realized that someone else probably went through this same line of thinking when Ace was a pup. He probably showed some dominant tendencies or a desire to chase small things that run (hello? he's a dog...), and that scared the owners. I've surmised this much just from knowing Ace for the past few months. Someone didn't feel they could handle him and that's part of the reason he came to me.
Finally today when we went out for a longer morning walk, I realized that there will be mishaps throughout our relationship. There will be times when we are at odds, when what he wants and what I believe he needs are two different things. He will probably chase a cat or a squirrel again. What's important, though, is that I don't shut down, that I don't lock him up inside--and that I don't become afraid. Much like heartbreak, if I close myself (and Ace) off to new experiences because of one disappointment, I will limit our ability to be open and to live fully. We have to embrace our disappointments to know our triumphs. No one lives fully locked inside literal or figurative walls. So, we will continue to know adventure. We will continue to run. And, we will continue to take care of and love one another in this city. The limits of the city are only there if we let them be, and we've only just begun to see what our city has to offer.
In hope,
Sierra (for Ace)
Last night after completing my ritual of vigilance, I let Ace out. We walked near the park, around the sidewalk and after a quick stop, headed back the apartment. Everything seemed right as rain, so I decided to race him. He is so fast when he's free to run and I love to watch his behind as he leaves me in the dust. I started out ten yards ahead of him and just as he was about to pass me, he dashed off to the right. Oh no. I thought. I had seen the neighbor's cat earlier that night and tried desperately to befriend her, despite feeling that she hated me for owning that black behemoth of a dog. I called out to him, hoping he would pay attention. "Ace, come!" In the dark, I could make out his shape dashing right, then turning on a dime to run to the left. I thought he might by some miracle be coming back to me, but no. There were two black cats in the darkness. Not wanting to chase him, but not wanting him to destroy the neighbor's flower bed, I followed him up the driveway. I could no longer see him in the dark. "Ace," I called in that tone he knows to be annoyance, "come." I heard his tail swish and saw him in the neighbor's unfenced backyard, front paws on their fence. He turned, trotted back to me, and looked up at me, seeming to say, "Almost got the jerk." I grabbed his collar and led him back inside without a word. Once we were inside, I muttered only, "Bad dog," under my breath and ignored him. I felt his big, brown eyes search my face, trying to attract my gaze. Frustrated, I refused to look at him and told my roommate not to reinforce his bad behavior. Noting his slowly wagging tail and attempt at puppy dog eyes, I told him to lay down at my feet.
As his elbows hit the ground, I noticed blood on the floor. There wasn't much, but it was enough to melt my tough facade into a worried mother. "Buddy, where are you bleeding?" Of course, he didn't answer, but wagged his tail happily at my attention. I tried to roll him over to look at his underside. He resisted. I rubbed my hand under his front, right paw. My hand came out with blood. Desperate, I sat down on the ground and he flopped into my lap. I found another spot where he was bleeding, and another. I rubbed his other legs. Two more. I counted a total of five abrasions.
I filled the bathtub with about four inches of lukewarm water. Ace hates baths and usually struggles to get away. I lifted him and he acquiesced. I set him in the water and he tried to lift each of his paws out, one after the other. Removing the mud that hindered me from assessing the situation, I inspected his front paw. One of the pads was raw and bleeding lightly. The other paw was in the same condition. I let him jump out of the tub as I drained the water and gently dried and wrapped his wounds. his back legs had two dime size chunks of skin and hair missing. His ears hung low, his eyes turned down at the outer edges. "Ace, you can't do that. You can't chase cats without regard for how you might be hurting yourself." I don't know what it sounded like to him, but he let me touch his paws (something he disdains), and behaved so sweetly and gently that I couldn't even be mad.
After five minutes, his bandages started falling off and bothering him. I removed all of them, hoping he had stopped bleeding. As I examined the wounds, I saw a toenail on his back foot had been mangled all the way to the quick. I couldn't believe that in a minute and half he had so thoroughly hurt himself. Utterly disregarding all care for himself, he had bounded after a cat and in that pursuit had not just been scratched, but had inflicted real pain upon his own body.
Of course this encounter has given me pause. It isn't that Ace is still shook up. In fact, he seems to be back to normal. He limped for half a minute at one point today, but otherwise he's been excited and ready to explore. Disappointed when I didn't take him out on a run, he stared longingly at his leash while I brushed my teeth this morning.
I, on the other hand, have vacillated from self-loathing for being irresponsible to doubt that I will be able to give Ace the life and structure he needs to amusement at my own wild responses to this occurrence. The feeling that has stuck with me longest, though, is wondering if it is fair to expect my big dog to adjust to a confined life in the city. What should I do? I have promised him time and again that we are together in this. So what is the solution? Should I stop taking him outside? Stop letting him off leash? Then, I realized that someone else probably went through this same line of thinking when Ace was a pup. He probably showed some dominant tendencies or a desire to chase small things that run (hello? he's a dog...), and that scared the owners. I've surmised this much just from knowing Ace for the past few months. Someone didn't feel they could handle him and that's part of the reason he came to me.
Finally today when we went out for a longer morning walk, I realized that there will be mishaps throughout our relationship. There will be times when we are at odds, when what he wants and what I believe he needs are two different things. He will probably chase a cat or a squirrel again. What's important, though, is that I don't shut down, that I don't lock him up inside--and that I don't become afraid. Much like heartbreak, if I close myself (and Ace) off to new experiences because of one disappointment, I will limit our ability to be open and to live fully. We have to embrace our disappointments to know our triumphs. No one lives fully locked inside literal or figurative walls. So, we will continue to know adventure. We will continue to run. And, we will continue to take care of and love one another in this city. The limits of the city are only there if we let them be, and we've only just begun to see what our city has to offer.
In hope,
Sierra (for Ace)
Thursday, June 10, 2010
A Summer of "Delight"
These last few days have been great, and a little terrifying. I haven't been unemployed since I was 15 years old (and I worked alongside my parents when I was a lot younger than that, too). I have always worked--and generally very hard. This is a whole new experience for me. It sort of feels like I'm being shown how to just relax. For instance, I had an interview at an organization that works with Spanish speakers to help them get their Spanish GED when I first got here. The interview went really well, but they aren't looking for help until the fall. I have also applied for probably around 15 jobs and have two interviews next week. There are a few more places I think I would like to apply, but maybe it's time to just cool my jets for a while. So, I have all this time on my hands (although I do have a class starting on Monday, so I'll have less free time once that starts), and I've been trying to figure out what to do with it. I've been asking myself what it could mean to have unstructured time.
At my last mediation workshop, my teacher kept talking about "delight." I find this word totally strange and un-relatable, but it stuck with me the whole time we were meditating together. At the time, I remember thinking it meant that this is my summer of delight. Once I got here, though, I forgot that for a while. I've been working so hard to find a job and ways to be part of the community that I got all tangled up in my own thoughts. I had to look up the meaning of the word delight. Hard work, I understand. Pride in my accomplishments, I totally get. Constant busy-ness and an inundation of demands upon my life, call it my bread and butter. But delight? Turns out the noun "delight" means great pleasure. I don't quite know what to make of it, but as my dear friend, Ellie wrote: "Sounds like enjoying your days and not feeling pressured will be part of the unfolding delight." Wise words.
For some reason this poem (that I wrote in the above park in Lake Bluff, IL on my way to MA) seems pertinent:
Cottonwood seeds like
summer snow
cover us.
On our backs
facing sky
we are born anew.
Like those tiny seeds
commissioned with hope
toward disparate horizons,
we find ourselves
alone
and together.
At my last mediation workshop, my teacher kept talking about "delight." I find this word totally strange and un-relatable, but it stuck with me the whole time we were meditating together. At the time, I remember thinking it meant that this is my summer of delight. Once I got here, though, I forgot that for a while. I've been working so hard to find a job and ways to be part of the community that I got all tangled up in my own thoughts. I had to look up the meaning of the word delight. Hard work, I understand. Pride in my accomplishments, I totally get. Constant busy-ness and an inundation of demands upon my life, call it my bread and butter. But delight? Turns out the noun "delight" means great pleasure. I don't quite know what to make of it, but as my dear friend, Ellie wrote: "Sounds like enjoying your days and not feeling pressured will be part of the unfolding delight." Wise words.
For some reason this poem (that I wrote in the above park in Lake Bluff, IL on my way to MA) seems pertinent:
Cottonwood seeds like
summer snow
cover us.
On our backs
facing sky
we are born anew.
Like those tiny seeds
commissioned with hope
toward disparate horizons,
we find ourselves
alone
and together.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Chasing, or Being Chased
Ace and I were just out on our evening walk. We walked up the big hill behind our house (called Prospect Hill, which has some serious historical significance you can read about, including the fact that the first American flag flew here). As we came around the monument at the top, we saw a couple of lovely families, but not a dog in sight (if you don't already know this about Ace, he's not always the best at meeting new dogs. Sometimes he snaps and growls, but it's just because he doesn't know proper greeting etiquette. We're working on it. :) ). I was relieved because we'd had an adventurous run this morning, including Ace tripping me twice, ending up on opposite sides of a telephone pole and a street sign, and other general issues encountered when first learning how to run in the city.
So, we were up on top of the hill, no dog in sight. Suddenly a dog jumps out of a baby carriage (?!?!) and runs toward Ace and I. In that 6 seconds, I tell the owner, "Um. He's not so good at meeting new dogs, but he's quite nice." This little fella comes bowling at us and just starts running laps around Ace. Ace starts barking and getting all wound up in his leash and the little guy darts away. The owner and her son keep yelling, "Zorro! Zorro...come here." Zorro's circles keep getting bigger and bigger, keeping true to his name (zorro in Spanish means fox, or the phrase 'es zorro viejo' refers to one who knows all the tricks). This little guy is loving his life and being chased by his owners is the greatest experience of his life.
Then, it came back to me. Ace's trainer once told me, "Never chase your dog. That is a game you do not want to teach him. If he will not come back to you, turn and run the other way. He has a chasing instinct and will likely follow." So, I called out to the family, "Try calling his name and running the other way." They just laughed and chased after their dog.
Ace and I sauntered off to our own path, down the hill, and home. I couldn't help but wonder if the literal meaning of my statement had fallen on deaf ears, but perhaps more importantly if I had missed the metaphorical meaning of "running the other way" in my own life. Maybe in life we lose the finer, wilder, more natural moments when we choose to pursue a specific, contrived action, object, or emotion. Maybe sometimes we just need to turn and run in pursuit of our own horizons and trust that what we love will follow. Maybe sometimes we should give up the chase.
So, we were up on top of the hill, no dog in sight. Suddenly a dog jumps out of a baby carriage (?!?!) and runs toward Ace and I. In that 6 seconds, I tell the owner, "Um. He's not so good at meeting new dogs, but he's quite nice." This little fella comes bowling at us and just starts running laps around Ace. Ace starts barking and getting all wound up in his leash and the little guy darts away. The owner and her son keep yelling, "Zorro! Zorro...come here." Zorro's circles keep getting bigger and bigger, keeping true to his name (zorro in Spanish means fox, or the phrase 'es zorro viejo' refers to one who knows all the tricks). This little guy is loving his life and being chased by his owners is the greatest experience of his life.
Then, it came back to me. Ace's trainer once told me, "Never chase your dog. That is a game you do not want to teach him. If he will not come back to you, turn and run the other way. He has a chasing instinct and will likely follow." So, I called out to the family, "Try calling his name and running the other way." They just laughed and chased after their dog.
Ace and I sauntered off to our own path, down the hill, and home. I couldn't help but wonder if the literal meaning of my statement had fallen on deaf ears, but perhaps more importantly if I had missed the metaphorical meaning of "running the other way" in my own life. Maybe in life we lose the finer, wilder, more natural moments when we choose to pursue a specific, contrived action, object, or emotion. Maybe sometimes we just need to turn and run in pursuit of our own horizons and trust that what we love will follow. Maybe sometimes we should give up the chase.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Photos from the road and the new apartment (a.k.a. I found my camera cords...in a box)
Yay! I finally found my camera cord. Enjoy the photos with captions!
Mike Best, my roomie, sleeping his way through the country.
Ace is making sure that Chloe doesn't miss any turns.
Mike, Chloe, and Matt Baer in the idyllic heaven that is Lake Bluff, IL. Matt and his lovely family hosted us as we drove across the country. We stayed for an extra day and recuperated. It was wonderful
Our new apartment (it's on the right bottom).
Ace and Mike are sitting in our new living room, preparing to watch some T.V. We got our couch for free on Craigslist from some kid who graduated from Harvard and was off to new adventures. Score!
(in the background, you can see our quaint dining room)
Ace is making sure the neighbors behave.
He's already at home.
My desk and bookshelf that I found on Craigslist from a girl who graduated from Harvard. Again, score!
I'll write again soon about job hunting, running, getting to know Somerville and every great thing I can think of.
-Sierra (for Sierra and Ace)
Friday, June 4, 2010
Colorado Springs - Denver - Ogallala (Nebraska) - Lake Bluff (Illinois) - Mountain Lakes (New Jersey) - Somerville (Massachusetts)
Wow. It has been a crazy week. As of tomorrow morning, I have been gone from my dear home in Colorado Springs, Colorado for exactly one week. The whole trip was amazing, adventurous and surprisingly not arduous. My (now!) roommate, Mike Best, Ace, Jeremy Thomas (the gecko), and I were very lucky to have an extra driver, Chloe Benson. Having Chloe on board made the whole trip not just bearable, but really quite pleasant. There was one moment in particular where I was driving, it was pouring rain in Somerville, we were lost, Chloe was on the phone with our friend getting directions, and Mike kept asking me the same question over and over. I snapped that I didn't know what street we were on and that if he kept asking I would probably hurt him. Then Chloe yelled at everyone, "Listen. No one knows where we are. We're lost. Now stop asking and stop getting mad at each other. We are just LOST." We all burst into laughter and suddenly everything was fine. Chloe truly has a gift for making me (and everyone around her) chill out. And, ultimately, I think her sentiment holds true in all of life. Perhaps everyone is just lost. So, stop fighting. Let's just be lost and happy together.
Anyway...I don't know quite how to describe the trip. It was a breeze. The trailer was easy to pull, Ace behaved himself well, and we got to stay in homes with real live Moms and Dads! Oh man. I forgot how amazing Moms are when they come home and make you lunch for no reason. Or when they pull up an Ottoman for you, even though you didn't ask. And, the way Dads make jokes that make no sense. Or the way they sneak upstairs and change into sweatpants and a t shirt as if that is the normal attire for everyone. I love all the Moms and the Dads in the world. And, I already miss mine!
I think saying too much may spoil how lovely an experience I had. But, I will post some photos after I find my cords, and if you want to know more about where we were, google the names of locations above. There's got to be fun information out there about the lovely places we were able to visit (Side note: I only included Ogallala because the name is hilarious and we talked about this town waaaaay too much not to mention it).
Oh! A word about my new digs. My apartment is great. The bedrooms are huge. Mine is probably the size of my room and living room at my apartment in C Springs. Our living room/dining room is a decent size, the kitchen is tiny (but adorable), and we each have our own bathroom. I brought a futon mattress with me from Colorado and Mike's mom (Joan) gave us each a dresser. In the day that I've been here, I have acquired a bookshelf (for free), a desk (that's super sleek), and a futon frame. I'd say Boston and I are getting along just fine.
That's all for now. I'm exhausted and Ace and I need some rest.
From Somerville,
Ace and Sierra
Anyway...I don't know quite how to describe the trip. It was a breeze. The trailer was easy to pull, Ace behaved himself well, and we got to stay in homes with real live Moms and Dads! Oh man. I forgot how amazing Moms are when they come home and make you lunch for no reason. Or when they pull up an Ottoman for you, even though you didn't ask. And, the way Dads make jokes that make no sense. Or the way they sneak upstairs and change into sweatpants and a t shirt as if that is the normal attire for everyone. I love all the Moms and the Dads in the world. And, I already miss mine!
I think saying too much may spoil how lovely an experience I had. But, I will post some photos after I find my cords, and if you want to know more about where we were, google the names of locations above. There's got to be fun information out there about the lovely places we were able to visit (Side note: I only included Ogallala because the name is hilarious and we talked about this town waaaaay too much not to mention it).
Oh! A word about my new digs. My apartment is great. The bedrooms are huge. Mine is probably the size of my room and living room at my apartment in C Springs. Our living room/dining room is a decent size, the kitchen is tiny (but adorable), and we each have our own bathroom. I brought a futon mattress with me from Colorado and Mike's mom (Joan) gave us each a dresser. In the day that I've been here, I have acquired a bookshelf (for free), a desk (that's super sleek), and a futon frame. I'd say Boston and I are getting along just fine.
That's all for now. I'm exhausted and Ace and I need some rest.
From Somerville,
Ace and Sierra
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