Sunday, June 12, 2011

Far Away Adventures: Missouri

"I say that half your life is spent trying to get out of a small town and the other half trying to get back to one." --Kelly Cutrone

Missouri may not seem that far away from DC geographically compared to, let’s say, New Zealand, but mentality speaking, it is very far away.  Finding that my soul a little burnt out, I need a drastic change of pace, if only for a couple days.  So I flew home to Missouri. I sometimes have a hard time with the word home. I have lived in so many places and am a wanderer by creation. But home, in a broad sense, will always be that safe place that  you can run away to and there will be a grilled cheese waiting for  you when you arrive. 


 I watched sunsets and cows from my parents' the back deck, ate BBQ so good I didn’t mind that sauce dribbled down my face,  and my mom tried (unsuccessfully) to teach me how to play Angry Birds.  I ventured over to Kansas to eat lunch with a friend and got to see her grown up office. I marveled the other day that we have been friends for almost 10 years. 10 years!

I traveled down to the heart of the Missouri, to visit a dear friend who is almost more family than friend. She recently moved  to a town that you have squint and stand on your head to find on a map.  When I say that we were out in the country, we were out in the coun-try. I loved it. 

Since I usually only visit in the winter, I forgot how beautiful Missouri is when there isn’t 3 feet of snow and ice on everything.  We didn’t have any concrete plans so we just  drove through charming towns with charming names like Fair Play, Lead Mine,  Pumpkin Center, and Humansville.  We joked that Humansville was actually settled by extraterrestrial aliens, who in efforts to blend in named their town Humansville, because wink, wink, only humans lived there.  I was warned that if I thought I heard gunshots, that they were probably gunshots. But hunting in the sticks, or shooting tin cans in the backyard gunshots and not inner city urban jungle gunshots.  


The locals called me hon’ and sweetheart, and I didn’t mind a bit. We ate at cozy Amish bakeries and  swam in a pool that was surrounded by wheat fields.  I didn’t think about work once. We talked about life, the good, the bad, and the scary, but necessary and maybe (meaning most definitely) we had a dance party in the kitchen.

Home Sweet Home









The morning I left, my dad made me pancakes!

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