Paczkis, pizzas, stoplights, and sun

So, I knew it. I'm a crappy blogger (well, at least where frequency is concerned). The last time I posted, I wasn't pregnant. Now I'm 24.5 weeks along. I blame facebook, mostly. It lets me blurb random thoughts. Here though, I can go a little deeper, so I'll attempt that now. Without further ado...

I was trying to explain Paczki Day (and paczkis, in general, pronounced "poonch-key") to my Coloradoan coworkers with limited success and it got me thinking about various differences I've noticed between Michigan experiences and my new corner of the world. Here are a few in no particular order:

1. Paczkis bring up the issue that makes me saddest (besides missing you, of course): Food.

Don't get me wrong, there is very good food here. I'm learning a benefit of living in a small town is that you can't survive with a crappy restaurant; people talk, and no one will eat crappy food. We have places that serve the best ribs and wings you've ever had. J.H. Chen's in Glenwood Springs even has delicious sushi, which we started to doubt we'd find. It's good, we don't go hungry.

But I miss variety, spice, ethnic food galore. While there's a decent selection of Mexican & East Asian foods, forget about all things Mediterranean. I found a local deli that does a good gyro, but almost no one out here has ever heard of a shawarma. Sad, sad, sad.

And you would think Italian food is everywhere, lots of goodies to be had? Nope, the best Italian food I've found is made in my kitchen. If you want pizza, just get a DiGiorno, for crying out loud (or drive an hour to Grand Junction and get Old Chicago). My students were lamenting that the local Domino's closed (which does suck when that's your only option). Still, I listened in horror as one student exclaimed, "You know who has really good pizza, though? Cici's!" Poor, deprived children. I got my student who summers in NYC to back me up that there is a big wide world of much better pizza out there. I think the problem is that most pizzerias I've come across don't see much difference between pizza sauce and marinara. Dolly's Pizza is right: The secret IS in the sauce!

This makes me think of a map my linguistics teacher showed the class once. It shows how accents spread across the country. There is a ton of variety on the east coast, but it lessens as you work westward. This has to do with immigration and ethnic groups setting up little enclaves as they landed, but the assimilation that occurred as they gradually moved west. I think the same thing must happen with food.

2. If you are from a non-mountainous region, and I told you I was going "up to Aspen" this weekend, you would likely assume I was heading north for the excursion. Not so. Aspen is south (well, really southeast) of Rifle. But locals determine whether they are going "up" or "down," not in terms of direction but elevation, which actually makes a lot of sense. But when you've spent your whole life thinking in terms of north, south, east, and west, there's an adjustment to be made. None of this tells me which direction to head, but I am learning to instinctively figure out my current elevation.

3. Driving. Okay, I understand (and have even felt the surge of) road rage. I get drivers who are harried, irritable, and all around aggressive. But I grew up with a ton of traffic (and my dad). I don't expect to get anywhere on time during rush hour.

But life is a little slower here (I swear my weekend is longer than before). On the plus side, I-70 posts a 75 mph limit. They can do that because (at least near my home) it will rarely be crowded. The exception might be a snowstorm or an accident (I actually haven't seen one of these since I've been here, though I'm told they do happen).

On the other hand, drivers are courteous, sometimes plodding, to a fault. I've been stopped at a 2-way stop sign, and had oncoming traffic -- with NO STOP SIGN -- stop and wave me through. WTF. This has happened more than once. Bless their hearts, I worry this will cause an accident.

Oh, and you know how in Michigan it's perfectly acceptable and expected to make a left on a yellow light? Don't do that here. I got honked at when I did it. And the yellow lights are timed differently (read: blink of an eye). Yellow means "stop if humanly possible," not "proceed with caution, make your turn, etc." The light WILL turn red on you in a hurry and cameras are everywhere.

4. Sun, glorious sun. Okay, if it sounds like I'm complaining about this place, I really do like it here. The sun is a big part of that. It's a part of why we decided we could move here. Colorado boasts 300+ sunny days every year. I was trying to explain to my students what it's like to winter in a place where you won't see the sun for 2-3 weeks at a time. They couldn't quite wrap their brains around it, because here, it may be raining or snowing, but you can be reasonably assured that shortly after that's over, the sun will be back and won't leave for a while. When we got our first snowfall back in October, some Michiganders teased us, "Oh, still glad you moved there?" But you know what? That snow melted pretty darn fast. Most of it has. Now, the downside of an area where the sun melts the snow in most cases is when you get a cold snap and folks are at loss on how to melt remaining ice, but it's a trade-off, I suppose. I see the sun most days and am a happier person for it.

p.s. If anyone wants to mail me paczkis, you'll be my hero. :)

Leap and the Net Will Appear

Confession: I've been feeling pretty blue.

We moved into a place we couldn't quite afford because places we could afford were total dumps and/or refused our cats. So, we found a broker that worked with us because she "had a good feeling."

Still, my one class at the local college doesn't pay all that much, no matter how excited I am to do it. I knew I'd need to find more, and I called other campuses (all full), and filled out applications at the local temp agency, scoured the local paper and craigslist. Since Patrick's school year's begun, I've been home a lot, shopping at thrift stores (free bread on Tuesdays) and worrying about health insurance.

I've been praying a lot since we got here. I've always talked to God, but lately it's taken on a different intensity. Prayers that everything would be okay, that we wouldn't have to mooch off our parents. Thankful prayers, too. Thankful that we are together and happy, that Patrick enjoys his job, and that the people here have been welcoming.

Yesterday, my prayers were answered. And do you know, it coincided with my vowing not to spend the day on the internet? :) I received 3 job leads!

1) The local temp agency came through. Following a background check, I should be working with the Crime Victims' Compensation Unit with the DA's office in Glenwood Springs. It will be a tough job: lots of paperwork, dealing with victims of violent crimes, but I think I can do it. If anything, it will be a good challenge. Also, the hours are billed as flexible, so I can take Mondays and Thursdays off there to focus on my class. It's really a great fit and the people seem really nice.

2) Once I got home from the job interview, I checked my email and found a request to do an interview for an online class through University of Phoenix. The catch: it's an art class. Apparently, as far as they're concerned, anyone with an advanced degree in humanities can teach any humanities course. I figured, what the hell? Mom's an art teacher, I can do this. The lessons are predetermined, so I'll facilitate and happily accept the paycheck.

3) After I spoke to my mom and Aunt Pat on the phone about my new opportunities, I putzed around, waiting for Patrick to get home. After he did, I checked my email again. The instructional chair at the local college said their current English Comp class was full, and they needed to add another section ~ would I be willing to teach another class Monday nights?

Patrick & I discussed my new opportunites, and agreed it would be best to turn down Phoenix, so as not to bite off more than I could chew. Sure, the extra money would be nice, but we'd be in good shape already between the office job and 2 English Comp classes. Any more than that, and I'd likely burn out and it wouldn't be fair to students.

In one day, life got infinitely rosier. What followed was much dancing around the room to Jason Mraz, tears of joy, and prayers of thankfulness. The Universe heard me, and responded in spades. My heart is joyful, my blues are gone.

Settling In

The view from our back porch

With the help of our parents, we were able to move in. All things considered, it was pretty low-stress. I did manage to get them to break in the action to see Rifle Falls. It's a sweet triple waterfall, and was a great break on a hot day.

Also, thanks to our parents, when you come visit us, you'll have a bed to sleep on. Doesn't that sound great?

It was a rushed and teary goodbye, as installing the washer & dryer took up until (or rather past) the last minute, before Mom, Dad, and Mark had to rush back to Denver to make their flight. We were sad to see them go, knowing it would likely be a few months before we would see them again, but at the same time, it was nice to have our place to ourselves, to start to organize it and just relax.

We had to shop for some furniture, so we went to our nearest bigger town, Glenwood Springs. It's a pretty nice little spot; it means I'm not too far from a Target and other such entities. It was late afternoon, and the thought occurred to us: let's do dinner in Aspen. 'Cause, you know, we'd heard of it on the TV. Roughly an hour drive and worth the trip. Here's the view coming up on Carbondale:

I'd only ever thought of that snowy Aspen you see in the movies, but summer is beautiful.

A rainbow we saw on the drive in.

It's lush and green, loading with fantastic art galleries, and oh the shopping and dining. It's designed for a pretty ritzy crowd, which meant most of the food was gourmet, delicious, and out of our price range.

We walked around a while--Patrick got annoyed that I wouldn't just pick a place--but I was sure that if we got a little off the beaten path, we'd find a place that was more our speed & still pretty great. We did: The Double Dog Pub. It's the bar under the more upscale The Steak Pit, the oldest steakhouse in Aspen. We sat on the patio, but I'd go back to that killer basement bar in the cooler weather. I got a shaved prime rib sandwich that was to die for. All in all, a good detour.



That weekend just happened to be the Garfield County Fair, which took place right down the road from us. Then, joy of joys, they offered a free beer & wine tasting Thursday night! We went to that, then stopped to check out the rodeo from the grandstand.


I'm not sure what it is, but I could never get into rodeos. I always feel bad for the animals. It's cool when they're just riding the horses, but getting some bull all hopped up, just to take it down, seems a bit cruel. It's not like I'm a member of PETA or anything, but I just don't get it.


Alas, it's not all mountain views and roadtrips to Aspen (okay, it's always mountain views), we do have to get some work done, too.

Here's the campus of Colorado Mountain College where I'm based (I'll acutally be teaching a composition course at a high school in Parachute, CO.):



And Patrick's been setting up his classroom at Rifle High School:


Patrick insisted on hanging his portrait of John Wilmot, 2nd Earl of Rochester (probably since I was leery of where in our loving home he'd hang it). If you're unfamiliar with the poet, check out this bawdy piece, "The Imperfect Enjoyment," an early lament of erectile dysfunction. Oh, and he died at age 33... does that make him a Christ figure, too?

In any regards, it was agreed if Patrick's students should ask who this guy is, he'd just say, "I liked the picture of the British guy and his monkey" (or words to that effect).



Anyway, doesn't he look teacherly? :) All those times he said, "I think I'll bring this to my classroom," and I rolled my eyes finally paid off for him. Turns out his classroom is all white walls and no windows. The flags on the ceiling were my idea, borrowed from a teacher when I was in middle school. A neat thing though, students will apparently ask at some point to take one of your ceiling tiles home to paint them for you. Maybe Patrick should request they paint him a giant waffle...




By the by, pics of our place really are on the way... I just have to remember to take them when the place is clean.

Kristin Adams-Bondy

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Moving

Rifle, Colorado

We tried. Really. Our family is here, our friends are here, and, if you’d asked a few years ago, neither of us had ever considered moving away from Michigan.

I finished my undergrad degree in 2005, eager to get my first job teaching high school English. I applied, lost out to candidates with more experience, started subbing and waitressing, got bored, figured I’d start grad school to get some credits out of the way, loved it, finished it, became an adjunct lecturer, worked at the family contracting & plumbing businesses… you get the idea.

Somewhere in there, I met Patrick, who was on a similar path. He finished undergrad, went on several interviews, subbed like crazy, worked at the bank, came oh-so-close to getting the jobs he wanted, only to be back at the bank.

Still, the full time careers eluded us. Tired of part-timing and long commutes, we expanded the search. “You’ll get a job if you move out of state,” everyone said. So, we looked. We agreed that if we moved, it would be for equal or improved quality of life. The more we looked, the more we liked Colorado. Had we ever been there? Of course not.

July 1^st:

I’m driving home when Patrick calls me and says, “Do you want the good news or bad news?”

“Whatever,” I say, “just tell me.” (We’ve been waiting on the decision for a few days.)

“The bad news is we’re not going to be able to see our friends very much. The good news is we’re moving to Colorado! I’m the new 9^th and 10^th grade English teacher at Rifle High School!”

New teacher orientation was scheduled for August 6^th. That gave us a month to pack everything, find a place to live, and say our goodbyes.

Wow. I felt confident that he’d get the job, but the reality of moving across the country began to sink in. After I hung up the phone, I began to cry. (Why did he have to call when I was on the road?) I thought of everything and everyone I would miss. Was this a mistake? I went to my sister’s house on the way home, when she opened the door, I told her we were moving, and we both started crying and hugging.

It went like that for a couple days. I’d think of someone or something, realize that this part of my life would be absent for a while, then get weepy. That faded, but then I felt bad when people got weepy around me, but I had already cried those tears. Some tears are funny like that, I guess – once you’ve cried them, they refuse to return.

Now I tell people, “It’s just for a year. If we decide we don’t like it, we’ll just chalk it up as a long camping trip.”

That’s true, I suppose. Rifle’s kind of “out there.” Three hours west of Denver, and one hour north of Grand Junction, it’s buried in the mountains, and boasts lots of outdoor activities: hunting, fishing, hiking… just the sort of thing we don’t get around to in Michigan.

We discovered pretty quickly that finding a place to rent out of state was tough. The major frustration was that nobody wants to take in unknown tenants with two cats. We knew face time was essential. I rounded up potential places and realtors to visit. The plan was to fly out Monday, July 27 at 6:30 a.m., find a place to live, fly home Thursday, July 30 at midnight, pack up the rental truck on Friday, and drive out with my parents and Patrick’s dad on Saturday, August 1^st.

The three weeks of planning and saying goodbyes went by way too fast. We flew into Denver, sleepy and stressed. In dire need of breakfast, we stopped at a little diner in Georgetown, CO. That turned out to be a pretty good decision, as it put us in the right mindset. We walked into a tiny space, with a few kitchen tables of various sizes, sat down, and enjoyed some eggs & hashbrowns. A woman at the next table was talking to her friend about finishing her latest chapter, while the sun streamed in the windows. Patrick’s cell phone beeped, signaling an incoming text, and neither of us even considered answering it, just sipped our tea and chatted.

We got to Rifle and stayed with a local teacher couple – they were incredibly welcoming. Below is a pic of the softball field they took us to to watch a game. We were able to meet with some brokers/realtors to find a rental. (We’d kick ourselves if we bought a house, only to realize we didn’t want to be here long term.) Because I don’t have full time work, our budget was on the low (but not ridiculously low) end. Of course that meant everything in our budget was a POS. We don’t mind an older spot, but for crying out loud, we saw some junk I won’t get into! Finally, a broker was able to work with us, so we could live happily within our means. (It’s a nice place, and once we don’t have boxes all over the place, I’ll post pics. J)

We got back to Ypsi, and were fortunate to have friends & family help us finish packing and loading the truck. (Thank you, thank you, thank you, by the way.) How we’re going to get on without them, I do not know – hopefully, I’ll blog long enough to tell you. The guys were able to load it, and, thanks to my dad’s stupendous spatial relations, were able to cram way more into that 14’ truck than should’ve been possible. Here’s a photo to illustrate just how tight it was:

Patrick & I slept on our air mattress in the empty apartment. I played the Buffy the Vampire Slayer musical from my laptop, and we sang and danced, and drank the sparkling wine we bought from the Finger Lakes on our honeymoon last year.

In the morning, our parents and my sister, Meghan came out: Meghan and Patrick’s mom, Kitty, to see us off, and my parents and Patrick’s dad to help us on the drive. It was heartbreaking saying goodbye to my sister – we have become best friends, and it is hard to leave that so far away. Thank God for phones and computers.

I’d originally feared the drive out would be a bit stressful, but it was quite nice, all things considered. The cats only whined the first hour and a half, then, they just found their spots and slept.

We stayed at a great new hotel in Lincoln, NE. Pet-friendly and a warm pool. On the phone, when my dad asked for directions, the receptionist said, “It’s near King Kong.”

“What?” my dad replied, “I’m not from around here. That makes no sense to me.”

“Uh, it’s a big gorilla… you can’t miss it.”

She was right – that was a big gorilla.

Arriving in Denver is great, because once you pass that, you know you’re in the home stretch. The problem with driving a U-HAUL into the mountains while pulling a sedan on a trailer, is, well, those inclines. Oh, great. Almost there, and we’re pulled over west of Denver, at a place that sneers at non-customers using the restroom. Okay, I’ll buy your damn candy bar, so I can use your restroom (which happens to be out of soap…).

Turns out, they were just doing it wrong. The mechanic pulled up, wearing his “Puke & Snot” faded t-shirt, and gave them some tips on driving that beast through the mountains.

So, finally, we’re here.