Things I (Don't?) Like About Living Here

The sun doesn't go down until 9 PM in the summer.

Bridges

I love driving over bridges. The Mackinac Bridge is one of my favorites. It connects mainland Michigan to the upper peninsula. The winds blow hard and the water rushes strong. I like looking over. They offer a free service in which someone will drive your vehicle over the bridge if you're too frightened, and I love hearing the stories about the sorts of people who use this service: truck drivers, regular joes and janes.

I ride my bike to work. In between my apartment and my job is a short bridge. When I walk over, I like to look at the brown, murky water, watch the debris floating down the kayakers past the young fishermen. I can't ride my bike over this small bridge. On the bike, my body is just high enough to fall over the rail if I bump it. If I look over, I may steer towards the edge. I love heights. I love the exhilaration of being high off of the ground. I love the danger. I am afraid of heights. I once heard:

"The fear of heights is actually a fear of your desire to jump."

Bambi

It had been hours of giving presentations to 11 year olds, hoping they wouldn't get too bored, that they would absorb the information, even if these sorts of things seemed silly or stupid to them. The school was shiny, new, decked out with fancy lighting fixtures and desks not yet marred by discarded chewing gum or stray pen marks, but it was far from our city-skewed definition of civilization and there was no cell phone coverage.

"These kids are like home to me," I thought to myself as I tried not to laugh too hard at their insubordinate jokes. They were smart. Many of them really were paying attention.

After lunch and becoming a bit worried by the motto which (unwittingly?) was a play on the title of the infamous Birth of a Nation, I returned to our classroom to notice a family of deer grazing outside of the window. A buck (a 4 pointer, my colleagues guesstimated, barely old enough to copulate), a doe, and a fawn...later joined by another doe. They looked around often but ate easily, glancing at us without fear as we stared.

From the mouths of babes

Things I Don't Like About Living Here: #1

goMetro.

Things I Like About Living Here #3

My UPS guy looks like Liev Schreiber.

Things I Like About Living Here: #2

People are polite.

To Do, To Do

I feel as if I spent less time today on major unpacking, but I did complete a handful of important tasks, so I'm attempting to feel accomplished despite the lack of strong, visible progress in my main area. To help in my goal of feeling accomplished, here are some pictures of my progress. I wish I had thought to take some photos from the beginning, but alas, the "before" photos are actually after a massive amount of unpacking and organizing was already done (believe it or not. Also, none of the "after" photos are actually complete.

Bathroom

Before	After

Entertainment "Center"

Before	After

Desk

Before	After

Next Time:

• Kitchen
• Vanity/Sink
• Patio

Before we go, some random photos of my new hair do, since I very well may not make new friends in time for someone to take pictures of me:



More updates to come as progress is made.

Things I Like About Living Here: #1

I can see into the distance.

Faces

My father and I were lumbering through the narrow, town streets in the moving truck. The hand truck was all that was left in the truck bed, occasionally booming against the hollow walls. We were on the hunt for a mattress; at 50 my father is too old to spend too many nights sleeping on the floor.

We were nearing the mattress outlet, circling (or squaring to be more accurate) around it as we hunted for suitable parking. My eyes were focused on this search, barely taking in the two old, black women sitting on a porch. One was fair skinned, the other darker than myself. The latter seemed to have no teeth.

"Wave to the women!" my father said frantically as we passed the porch, my eyes already scanning the upcoming street.

"Wait, what??" I replied as I obeyed, smiling at them through my confusion. ("Act first, ask later," is generally a safe rule of thumb when dealing with parental orders, even once you reach adulthood.)

"They were waiting for us to wave," my father informed me. "You didn't notice?"

Of course I didn't. I come from a land where people are part of the scenery, minor breezes passing you on your way to somewhere important.