Montana is forever, you guys. We may be trapped within this state’s borders for the rest of our lives. Send help.
Writing this from the lovely Super 8 in St. Regis, Mont., a little over 400 miles away from Seattle. Not bad considering we left town barely before noon.
Here’s something meaningless I’m going to read into: We moved around a lot when I was a kid, and every time we left a house, I would turn around in the backseat and stare at our old home out the rear window until it disappeared from view. I’ve done that with every single home I’ve left, even the houses and apartments in my early 20s that I hated. But today, I realized when we were already about six blocks away that I’d forgotten to give our old home that last, final look. I literally did not look back.
But, anyway, I’m looking now:
I loved that place. I started to feel homesick for it weeks before we actually left. Sigh.
Not just running from somewhere, but running to somewhere. These are the first few lines of one of my favorite books from childhood, “From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs Basil E. Frankweiler.” I read it for the first time on the recommendation of my 2nd grade teacher, and in the years after that I read it over and over. I still have a well-worn copy in my bookshelf that I will never give away.
If I’m honest, the first time I read this was the first time I dreamed of running away to New York City. (Although as Claudia would say, You can’t run away and to!)
E.L. Konigsburg died this weekend, and there haven’t been as many obits of her as I expected, but this one was nice.
- OH on the bus, said in a bewildered voice, like “Swamplandia” was some small, unknown title.
Isn’t seattle supposed to be a bookish city? Because that … has not been my experience.
(Also I really wanted to turn around to ask what they were reading. Was it “St Lucy’s Home for Girls Raised By Wolves” or “Vampires in the Lemon Grove” and also can I pls join your book club.)
Have decided my spring/summer project will be Learning To Keep Score At Baseball Games. This was the start of my first attempt last night while watching the Mariners. (We got to our seats halfway through the 2nd inning, hence the blanks.)
It was exactly the kind of mindless, repetitive activity that my weird brain sometimes finds really soothing. Planning to watch the game from home tonight and try it again, although at my apartment there are unfortunately fewer hot dogs than there are at Safe Co.