5/16/2013. - Day 51 - Becoming Real: My love/hate relationship with the Midwest.

5/16/2013. - Day 51 - Becoming Real: My love/hate relationship with the Midwest.

Today I drove to my dear friend and vocal coach Julie Ann's house to see her new home and enjoy some lemonade on the patio. Julie Ann is an amazingly talented woman who has happened to share some of her gifts with me in the form of a few voice lessons and some lovely conversations over the years. The amount of relaxing I've learned to do on this trip is substantial. When you have nothing pressing, nothing constantly begging for your attention or calling you off to another appointment, it's amazing the room you have in your life for simple conversations in the sun on the patio at a friend's home. More to love about unemployment. Stay tuned for the chapter on its downside and the resulting poverty.

After vising Julie Ann, I decided to spend some time on the beach at Lake Calhoun. It's about the time of year that everyone gets out of school, so there are roughly a million college kids clumped onto a tiny beach area. This is no ocean. But there is sunshine and that is enough.

Lake Calhoun

I have never been to Lake Calhoun and it's still early for beach season for the Midwest. Few are brave enough to get in the water as its frigid so early into this Minnesota spring. As I relax in the cool sand, I'm vaguely disrupted by the buzz around me that is filled with drama and other superficial subjects. Perhaps I was too much in my own world of peace and quiet while I was by the ocean to hear the conversations around me, but this is more disturbing due to the quality of the conversation rather than just the disruptive noise. Negative energy abounds.

"You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't
happen often to people who break easily, or have
sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally,
by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been
loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose
in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't
matter at all, because once you are Real you can't
be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

Life when you are younger feels so focused on looking and acting a certain way. I wish there was a way to know when we are kids that none of that really matters at all. It reminds me of the Velveteen Rabbit, and how to become "Real". Why should it take us until we are late in our years to figure out that the important things in life aren't things or appearances, and that learning to let go is one of life's most brilliant discoveries.

Little kids know it. But that innocence falls away quickly. I didn't seem to encounter any of this gossip filled, first world problem dominated culture when I was on the coast. No one seemed to have time to talk about others and go on about who they do and do not like, and all that they didn't have. They seemed more interested in sharing their story, and learning yours in turn. The negatively seasoned small talk is something that's quite common where I'm from, and I hadn't noticed or appreciated the absence of...gossip for lack of a better word, until now. Here, back in the Midwest, I'm aware that we spend way too much time worrying about others, and nowhere near enough time taking care of and shaping ourselves, or just enjoying the small things like sunshine  over a calm lake in the middle of a Midwestern hub. I've been guilty of both the destructive gossip and the ignorance of the world's small gifts many times in my life. There is much perspective to gain in taking the time to run wild by yourself for awhile and really ponder what you really need in life, and be thankful for all that you have.

I take a few passes up and down the beach before returning the truck. Back at the townhouse, we enjoy leftovers for dinner. The finale of "The Office" is on which means the whole family is on the couch. Afterwards, Tessie and Tyler continue with a hardware project they began previously. They disappear into the laundry room where they are fixing to hang a drying rack from the wall.

A few minutes into their absence there seems to be a discussion taking place, and I leave the couch to investigate. I enter the laundry room to find Tyler skeptically holding a drill against the wall from a distance, as though he's shooting a pistol at a far off target but needs to stay an arm's length away from the firearm. I explain that he needs to put his shoulder into it and really hold the drill firmly against the wall while he's drilling to which he responds, "We don't know how to do this stuff; we're ARTISTS!" The artists seem to be doing OK at small household fixes, they just need to learn to put their back into the drill a little more.

I marvel again at how cool it is to see my friends, married, and just doing what married people do--housework, watching TV, hanging drying racks in laundry rooms--simple things. But always with someone, with a partner in crime as they drill into their drywall or watch in suspense as Dexter drags out another sheet of plastic. What a cool thing marriage is, and what a neat gift from God to us. He invites us to offer ourselves wholly to another person, forever, taking all of their parts--completed, broken, finished, or just getting started--and love them. I've always believed we are meant to live in community, and marriage is just another form of community. It's the gateway through which you walk side by side, creating your own family to walk down life's path together with. I'm hopeful right now, reflecting on my married friends and their happiness, that perhaps there is someone for those of us who find ourselves hopeless at times, thinking no one will be able to love our brokenness, our strange or odd quirks, our off kilter sense of humor, or our strange need to compulsively check that our door is locked a dozen times. Maybe God really has tucked someone away for each of us, and we need only to walk this path alone for awhile, to experience fully the emotions which will shape us and give us time to decide just who we are, before he reveals to us our person, who will know us almost as intimately as He does. Maybe our person is a businessman, or a farmer, or a writer--or maybe he's an artist just doing his best at using a power tool.

5/15/2013. - Day 50 - You really DON'T need those fancy sunglasses with the flip up lenses, let me show you...

5/15/2013. - Day 50 -
You really DON'T need those fancy sunglasses with the flip up lenses, let me show you...

Today I had a lunch date at El Loro with the one and only Buddha, my dear friend Donna Gray. It was a late lunch of course, as neither of us are fond of early mornings. The day began late as it was, since I have nothing too important to rise early for. Later that morning, or rather early that afternoon, the black escalade rolled up to the townhouse and Donna emerged from the driver's seat. She agreed to take Lola out for a walk since I was nervous about it. Watching Dodger, a sturdy mixed breed, is much different than caring for a tiny chewenie. I didn't want to break her.

Buddha and I enjoyed some Mexican food at El Loro and then made our way to MOA. Donna revealed that she wanted me to be a life sized model in place of another mutual friend who was in need of some competition outfits for an upcoming pageant. As part of her plan, she fed me then lured me to Bloomingdales under the guise of shopping. After that it was all "squeeze into this suit so I can see what it looks like". We sure know how to have a great time.

After spending about an hour or two trying on all sorts of lovely fabrics, Donna delivered me back to the townhouse. I was home just in time to catch Tyler arriving from work. He made some comment about how he is going running and I suggested that since it's nice out we go outside. Calm down, I didn't suggest I would run with him; I took my rollerblades.

I showed Tessie how to use sunglasses when you can't or
don't want to wear your contacts: put your regular
sunglasses OVER the top of your glasses. Ta-dah!

Tyler and I enjoyed a brisk tour of their neighborhood during our brief bout with exercise. Honestly watching him run made me tired and a little sick inside. I'll never be a runner. But we did have a nice conversation before returning home. Tessie had already arrived when we returned and suggested we gather at a favorite restaurant of theirs, Jensen's Cafe. We enjoyed breakfast for dinner, a fave of mine since childhood, and some much welcomed late afternoon sun on the patio.

We relaxed on the couch to the tune of a few episodes of Dexter that evening. This whole peaceful family routine is something I could get used to. I'm thankful again for the time I'm able to spend on this trip with friends who have welcomed me into their homes, into their lives, and into their family.

5/14/2013. - Day 49 - Illinois: Land of the Troll Toll. A trip down Memory/Mann Lane. And peace in the Red Room.

5/14/2013. - Day 49 - Illinois: Land of the Troll Toll. A trip down Memory Mann Lane. And peace in the Red Room.

We were moved to action very early this morning due to our departure time of 10:00AM sharp. There were showers to be taken, bags to pack, suitcases to be carried out (at least 7 if you ask Grandpa), and last rounds to make in the house to ensure it was "viewing ready." The Bridger's have been in Naperville for several years, and have long been the good friends and traveling companions of my grandparents who have visited them often in Illinois. This is the first time I have ever met the Bridger's, and the last time I will see their home. They are relocating to the Northeast so it is a very strange series of firsts and lasts.

As I sit down to pack, somehow I am again wondering how I fit all of the things I have brought in into the bags I have also brought in. It seems that I cannot possibly get all of my belongings back into these suitcases so I must have accidentally gone shopping. We all make mistakes...

Where is the lane option for "neither" or "confused"?

When everyone is packed into their respective vehicles, we start the caravan: Bridger's, me, Grinden's. I'm not paying attention and almost miss the first turn into the gas station just a few blocks from the Bridger's house. This is not a good sign. Soon after the gas station we start a round of tollways and I sense things are not getting off to a good start. At the first toll, I hesitate because it wants change, and of that I have none. I look ahead at Bridger's and back at my grandparents, trying to figure out how to mouth "what do I do?" before getting honked at by upcoming tollway goers. I'm so shaken from the experience that I don't take stock of the signage and instructions, and just blow through the next tollways because it seems like the only way through and thus a good idea. It was most certainly not a good idea.

The caravan continues onward and upward, then diverts briefly from our main route to stop at yet another eatery. All meals are strategically planned out in this company. We dine outdoors on a patio overlooking a scenic almost rural area with a river running below. After a hearty meal, "good byes" and "so longs" are exchanged. Sadly, I'm not sure when I'll enjoy the company of the Bridger's again; but I will see my grandparents in a few days when we rendezvous back in Duluth.

I am alone again, back on the road, but closing the gap between the unknown adventure and the quite comfortable zone of my previous existence. I have several routes to choose from which will all eventually take me to Minneapolis, my destination for the night. I am toying with the idea of driving through River Falls, WI, the original hometown of my family. I do not remember where the house is, but I remember what surrounds it. I remember a big hill that goes around a curve, cutting through rocks that are sprinkled with white dust. I remember the road that runs by the house, where people were always driving by too fast. And I remember the house, blue, with a small garage and big pine trees. It was on Mann Lane.

Surprisingly, using Google to find "Mann Lane" in "River Falls, WI" ends up being a hole in one. Mann Lane is not a long lane, and it's a quick detour if I choose to go that way. From there I could easily hop over to St. Paul, and then make my way to Burnsville to see the Schwanke's, the next friends to visit on my list.

The sun shines down from above, warming the pavement and the miles tick by. I have sort of a jumble of emotions at this point. As I near the tail end of my trip, I find myself longing for it to go on and on. I also feel bouts of anxiety as to what I will do when it ends. Where will I be? What will I do? There is no plan beyond my return to ND. There is no job waiting, no errands I need to run. Just empty space. A small amount of excitement is still present in my heart, if only from the freedom of having absolutely no direction for so long. It's mixed in with the other emotions -- the thrill of the open road and the knowledge of an eventual conclusion to this particular adventure. They make up a weird concoction: Emotion stew. That's what I'm having for lunch.

I have subconsciously made the decision somewhere along the road to take a trip down memory lane, or in this case, Mann Lane. As I near River Falls, I consult Google for further instruction. Sometimes in life I like to think I know everything. Lots of times in life I get subtle and not so subtle reminders that I don't. Life is like that and God sends us reminders when we need to be knocked off our high horses. God knows everything, of that I'm sure. But I think He's in cahoots with Google, too. I mean how else does Google have all the answers? I feel like God was like, hey you, here's a fancy algorithm for knowing EVERYTHING--use it wisely. And then the nice people at Google started doling it out to us in amounts big enough for our small minds to comprehend without exploding.

Considerate of them if you think about it. More solo road trip reflections...


Google shows me the way to Mann Lane and I can see the house from memory. I try to match it as I drive down a dirt road that leads through fields and seems vastly unpopulated. At the end of the dirt road there is a humble structure and after studying it I am sure this is the house. It looks different, smaller and less prone to adventure than I remember from childhood. It's a strange thing to revisit a place you once lived and to see it in a now reclaimed state; no longer yours but still filled with your memories.


After making a few passes by, I explore the surrounding roads and easily find the hill and that cuts through the rock the I remember. The grade is extremely steep and it looks just the way I remember it driving along as a kid. It's very surreal to be here, almost living in a memory as a ghost just passing by things I used to know.

Checkmate.

As the sun begins to dip lower and lower into the western horizon, I head for St. Paul. The twin cities always seem like an endless tangle of highway to me, one that goes on and on for hours. Today the drive is not quite so busy, and I make decent time getting to Burnsville.

The Schwanke's have a townhouse here, which I have not gotten to see yet. This trip has been a fun way to get to see everyone's homes and neighborhoods and get snapshots into their lives that I wouldn't ordinarily get. I arrive at the townhouse and enter through the front door and am greeted by the smell of dinner. Tessie has made homemade chicken noodle soup. She continues to work in the kitchen as Tyler and I sit down at the table with their dog Lola shuffling around by our feet. Lola examines me as the new visitor and then keeps an eye on us in the kitchen. Lola and I met when she was recently adopted by Tessie and we are quite comfortable with each other. Many of my stops have had creature comforts and I like getting to know that aspect of my friends' lives.

It feels good to be at my next "home". Each stop has been so cozy. Now sitting here with Tyler, in a house they have made a home, I realize that I very much want this. I say aloud that this point where they are, it's like the goal we are all working towards. I mean one day you are single and running around with no idea what direction you are going, wondering if you will ever find that someone that God has planned for you or if He even has someone planned for you...And then you are married, you have a house and a mortgage, you have a dog and a routine and a companion and there you sit in your kitchen that you painted red, at a table sharing a meal together each night before you settle onto the couch for a little TV and then retire to your bed. I guess there are some folks who would view this as boring or unhappy; but to me it's perfect. It's consistent and all the pieces are there and they just fit and things flow. Right here, in this red kitchen in Minnesota with my friends Tyler and Tessie, it's perfect.

5/13/2013. - Day 48 - A Day in the Life of Naperville. Pitfalls in Shopping. And Patrick ruins my life.

 5/13/13. - Day 48 -
A Day in the Life of Naperville. Pitfalls in Shopping. And Patrick ruins my life.

Today we all piled into the car early to take off for the York Mall. Well, Patty, Lana and I wanted to go to the mall. Grandpa and Patrick probably were not excited for this trip. We started at Von Maur which has now become my favorite department store. I was previously blind to its existence and now am smitten. Lots of lovelies there that wanted to be taken home with me. Having no job makes that a hard experience.

We went to D.O.C. for lunch where the Bridger’s are basically famous. We enjoyed sampling a great many items and then left the boys alone again to fend for themselves while we shopped just a little bit more. I think Patty took some pity on the boys at this point, and suggested they explore the outdoor store in our absence.

Forever 21 occupied a lot of our time but did not ultimately take any weight off our wallets. We poked around the mall a bit more and then decided to call our chauffeurs for a ride back home. Scratch that—a ride to downtown Naperville for more shopping.

This drive was the best part of the day in my opinion. And at the same time the worst. While waiting at a long stop light, we noticed a young gentleman in the car beside us. We couldn't see much of him so we put in a request for our driver to inch up a bit so we were even with his car beside us. Upon closer examination, a handsome young specimen occupied this car. It might not seem like it, but you can deduce a lot about someone from only being able to view a portion of them (the side of their face and one arm) and a small area of their car. We observed a cross hanging from the mirror which we assumed placed him somewhere in the faith of God. He was rapidly tapping his fingers so he was clearly enjoying some sort of music, which is great. The car was older but the interior was not cluttered, so presumably he's not too messy. And we also decided he was fairly tall given the length of his arm that protruded out of the driver side window and kept the beat of the music as he drummed his fingers on the door.  As we discussed what his and my children would one day look like, Lana became emboldened and rolled down her window. In doing this, she sent Patty and I into squeals and shrieks of terror, as we feared she planned to proposition to him directly right out of her window. We had made a show of talking big about how we might wave him down or have someone beckon him from the car, but Lana called our bluff as soon as she hit the window button.  After the light changed and we began moving, she revealed that she simply wanted to know what type of music he was listening to and was going to inquire. Since she couldn't even hear it, we then declared another observation and concluded that he was a very considerate individual who does not blare his music and subject those around him to the sound unwillingly.

As we drove on and the gentleman's Saturn began to lose ground behind us, I encouraged Patrick to be more strategic about this and slow down so that we could once again be even with my future husband's car. Patrick did not see the worth in this idea and continued on. Patrick, when given a chance, will choose speed over someone's fate apparently. As his foot pressed further into the pedal, I continued to protest. I then threatened that Patrick could be responsible for my eventual spinsterhood if he kept up his behavior. This did not deter him and he completely blew off my date with destiny from a car window in Illinois. My life is potentially ruined and Patrick is carefree.

Fine, I said. You can buy my first can of cat food.

The gentlemen dropped us off downtown and departed, after Patty strictly instructed them to empty the trunk of all of our shopping bags from our previous stop and carry them into the house. Patrick replied, “you guys plan to walk back home, right?” Ha. Yes we do and luckily it’s only a few blocks.

We made a few more stops are various boutiques downtown that were either missed yesterday or warranted revisiting. I was still coveting a dress with navy stripes and a bright coral accent ribbon from a store we cased yesterday. Upon returning I had to try it on. Now the thing about shopping with Lana and Patty Bridger is this: They have amazing taste, they shop at all the stores I would shop at, and this is a dangerous combination. We had already been through several scenarios where I would try things on and ask for their opinion and it was always positive, it looks great, you need that.

Now maybe I do need all those things, or at least I want all those things I tried on. And possibly they do look quite nice because far be it from Lana and Patty to be untruthful—but I also have in the back of my mind the reality that I have no job which equals no dollars. This again is a frustrating concept when you like to shop as much as I do. The Grindens and the Bridgers love food and we have discussed today that you either eat to live, or live to eat. I eat to live and I don’t care much else for food unless it’s cheesecake or PB&J. On the other hand, these folks live to eat. I more or less eat to live, and subsequently live to shop. So again, this predicament with the nice clothes and the great shopping companions coupled with the wallet that is short of funds was so unfortunate.

So I try on the dress I have been lusting after for the last 24 hours and again the dynamic duo exclaims over it’s beauty. I love it too. But I also threaten them that I will try on something ugly next just to make sure they are being honest. Lana comes back with an awesome surprise that the dress is my birthday present! I'm overwhelmed with gratitude at such an unexpected gesture. When we return home Lana asks grandpa if he would like to see the dress he got me for my birthday. Ok, it’s a surprise gift for me and a complete surprise to grandpa. But he approves J.

Later we enjoy chatting and relaxing and just generally enjoying each other’s company. Patty makes sure the tunes are rocking so that it can be confirmed she is well versed in her musical selections. Patty and I share a love of music so this cannot really be a better situation-- being surround by great people and great music. A hour or so passes before grandpa and Patrick are again hungry, so they take orders for hot dogs. When they return the girls take to the basement with our food and tune into The Voice. Before I go to the basement I spy grandpa with a jug of chocolate milk. Upon requesting some I am instructed that I may have a small amount. Grandpa loves chocolate milk so it’s probably impressive that I am allowed any of his half gallon riches. He pours me my allotment and I descend into the basement to join the ladies. Later, as we are holed up downstairs, he reappears carrying the jug and empties the contents into my glass and then silently returns upstairs. For those of you who know John Grinden, you can appreciate this simple gesture for much more than it appears. My Grandpa is sort of a special dude.

We spend the rest of the evening critiquing the sounds and wardrobe choices of the individuals on The Voice. We are not regular watchers so we make up our theories on some of the aspects of the show and just generally enjoy the vocalists. Patty and Lana are exploring old photo albums where they “look so young” and other such things (Patty and Lana still look "so young" in my opinion).

Relaxing at the Bridger's house, I take time to sink into my thoughts and reflect. I am finding out that I am lucky as a grandchild to have so much time with my grandparents, and more, so many great memories and the opportunity to get to know their friends and share in so many experiences with them. I share this with Lana and Patty and then reflect on the other side of the coin. They remark that while they can see why I’m glad we are all able to spend so much time together and have become so close-- the downfall is that I am now also privy to their shenanigans on their various trips. I believe the next time I am allowed to spend time with this group, I may be asked to sign something to the effect of "what happens here, stays here. Or else."

The night winds down with some Skype with Jamie- we've been apart over 48 hours now so withdrawals are setting in. We rehash my Saturday night escapade with unnamed male and comment on how ridiculous the whole thing is. I also talk with Dodger a bit about protecting the house from cockroaches and spiders, and about having some regard for that dang tennis ball instead of losing it all the time. I can’t believe only two days ago I was luxuriously basking on the beach in 85 plus weather and then arrived on the Notre Dame campus to a frost warning and 40 degrees with a need to dig out my winter jacket. NOT COOL. But today was a little warmer (60?) so I’m holding out hope for some sunshine in the cities tomorrow when I'm back on the road. 

5/12/2013. - Day 47 - You have to be really careful around here, a party could break out at any time: Meet the Bridger's.

5/12/2013. - Day 47 -You have to be really careful around here, a party could break out at any time.

Meet the Bridger's.

Sunday morning at Notre Dame comes early, and cool. Ingrid has a fantastic surprise of cheesecake for breakfast. Well...sort of. She had the cheesecake and I had the surprise that we should eat it for breakfast. It took a little convincing but she soon agreed.

After a quick hug, I am back on the road, bound for Chicago, or rather, for Naperville. It's a bright sunny Sunday, and it's also Mother's Day. While I'm not able to spend it with my mother--I am spending it with one of my sort of "mothers"--my grandma, Lana. My grandpa will also be there along with their friends, the Bridger's, whom I have heard great tales about but have never met.

I am passing through an increasing number of tollways. I don't really know how to approach them...Not all of the passages have places you can pay, and some do, but then I don't have change, or I'm already in the wrong lane, etc. It's just a lot of added confusion and anxiety that I really don't desire. One hundred+ confusing toll roads later, I arrive in Naperville, a suburb of Chicago, at the Bridger's home. It's a fantastic historic home, and the welcoming party is out on the steps, all smiles. We all pile into the Bridger's car and head for a venue that's providing a hearty Mother's Day brunch.

After stuffing ourselves with delicious breakfast/brunch items, and after the ladies had received their "mother's" roses, we moved on. (Sidenote: I was offered a "mother's" rose.  Sometimes I'm sort of a mother, to my previous foster kids, to my sisters, and sometimes I have to be the mom to my friends...but right now I'm just a kid who probably needs all of the various "moms' in my life at the moment as I navigate this particular curve in the road...Needless to say, when they came around distributing roses and asked if I was a mother, I politely shook my head and declined the rose. All in good time.)

Downtown Naperville is a gold mine of cute little shops. As the journey goes on and I get more and more poor, these shopping trips still entice me. I'm just more and more empty handed at the end of them.

After shopping we return to Bridger's for a bit of a social hour. I am determined to go to an evening church service and after consulting the internet, determine that there is a 6 o'clock service just down the road. If I hurry I can make it, so I grab my keys and take off.

After driving around endlessly, finding the church, realizing the internet was wrong about the time of the service (isn't everything on the internet true?), and then seeking out my 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th backup churches, I had to give up and return to the Bridger's without any salvation for the day. Grim. But a solid effort.

Social hour(s) continues and some back story surfaces on the Bridger's and how they came to be associated with the Grinden's. Patrick also gives the story of how they came to reside in this particular neighborhood, fondly stating that when they first moved onto this block, you had to be "very careful," as "a party could break out at ANY TIME."

I very much like the Bridger's.

Patty and Lana have decided without my consent that I must stay another night. I had originally only planned on staying Sunday night and leaving Monday, but they have now come to the consensus that I must stick around for one more night. I gladly accept. These are the kind of people one could spend days of adventures with and never stop laughing. I will not turn down this type of opportunity.

Patrick has been joking for some time about the "biker bar" down the block, Orazio Pub. He has linked the motorcycle in the back of my pickup and the idea that "my people" may be just down the street. One way or another this leads to us realizing we have not yet had supper, and then my suggesting we go eat with the bikers.

The food at Orazio is quite good; unfortunately, despite Patrick's description of bikes frequently being parked all around that place, there are no bikes in sight. But our bellies are full.

5/11/2013. - Day 46 - Feel my way through the darkness, guided by a beating heart. I can't tell where the journey will end, but I know where to start... Headed west through the Cumberland Gap...

5/11/2013. - Day 46 - Feel my way through the darkness, guided by a beating heart. I can't tell where the journey will end, but I know where to start...

Headed west through the Cumberland Gap.

The final morning in Charleston dawns hot and humid, of course. Since I was already up til this morning, the second time I wake up it's time to leave. I bid Jamie and Dodger goodbye, something we are growing accustomed to and something that is less and less sad on this trip. I usually say "see ya next time!" because it feels so much more optimistic than "goodbye."

Today's route will cover a ton of ground: South Carolina, North Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky, Ohio, and finally, Indiana. I'm meeting my cousin, Ingrid, at the Notre Dame Campus. She will graduate in just a few days so we will get an evening of cousin time in tonight.

This is about a 13 hour trip. I feel like I decided weeks ago not to drive that much in one day anymore...But I guess I also decided to stay in Charleston an extra day so this is my penance. The scenery is gorgeous today and quite different from what I've driven through the last couple weeks. I pass through the Smoky Mountains and then move onto the Cumberland Gap. The views are breathtaking, with green as far as the eye can see and roads that wind through the land and carve out pathways through the mountains.

As I move towards Ohio and Indiana, there are gorgeous views of the sunsets from many of the bridges that connect city to city and allow for some bonus evening aesthetics. As the sun sets, the drive is getting long. I am also noticing that the temperature gauge seems to be broken, because when I left his morning it was about 83°---and it's now reading 38°.




It's not broken. And this is why I decided to stay on the coast one more precious warm day: Because I knew exactly what was waiting for me in the Midwest.

When I finally navigate the Ford to the Notre Dame Campus, Ingrid comes out to greet me in the parking lot--in her winter jacket. Unbelievable. Yesterday I was lying on a beach listening to the ocean. Today I want to lie on the ground and throw a tantrum. Before we can trek back to Ingrid's dorm, I have to root around the pickup to try to find some sort of a jacket and something warm to wear. I'm pretty sure I was wearing shorts during the drive--not because I'm naive and didn't check the weather; but because I'm optimistic and sort of stubborn.


We arrive at Ingrid's dorm building, and she and the other seniors are dwelling in the belly of the old structure in a dungeon sort of setting. It's creepy and cool at the same time, and also sort of nostalgic and for just a second I miss Selke Hall and UND. Wait, no, I miss meal plans at the Wilkerson. Nevermind.

I'm camping in the floor tonight in my sleeping bag and catching up on life with Ingrid before we both drift off to sleep. Ingrid is kind of awesome and after she graduates from Notre Dame she's going to med school.  And I'm unemployed.