Sunday, January 06, 2008

saying goodbye to 1166 :: the year of bread

Today my husband and I made the journey south for what might be the last time for a long while (for a social visit, that is--we are certainly available as strong arms that special weekend, Ang--though we promise not to do the above to your chairs, no matter how fun it might look).

Our friends, the Urtels, have found new jobs, bought a new house, all in the past month or so, a whirlwind of change, from college town to big city. They have long been ready to move on, to change the pace of their daily life, and I am happy for them, the excitement they have for this kind of adjustment, this kind of potential.

It's made me think long and hard about my life here in this small town. I lived in the Twin Cities for quite some time and adored it, but when I think about whether or not I'd like to return, the answer that came so readily before startles on my lips.

Would I?

Now I have a quite, peaceful life. We have our house, one that is slowly changing, being altered and bettered, fitting who we are as a couple, and we are settling in to the routine of our life here. The cities are just an hour away, close enough for me to arrive every once in a while, ready for a poetry workshop, a bookbinding class, an opportunity to find unique holiday gifts.

Here, I bake bread, I have letterpress framed, I sleep between cotton sheets. Here, we watch the snow drift slowly down, we think about apple picking in the fall, we consider what we might want to plant this year for the garden. We keep our dogs moving along stream beds, we hike up bluffs, we write letters to the people we love the most.

(I declare this the year of bread, a bit like Stefani's year of pie.)

I think the question of, "Would you return to the cities if you could?" is akin to the other big Would-you question facing me (graduate school, teaching). The more I think about it, living this life I've got right now, the one with the job I am contented with, living in the house we are turning into a home (is already a home)--this seems to be the best answer.

But for now, I will be happy with living each day as it comes. I will start by taking in the quiet beauty around me. Below, we have Lake Pepin, frozen over, birds dotting the surface, a stone's thrown from ice fishermen. The bluffs are foggy in the distance, barely visible. I will hold my breath as we drive through these looming hills, think about who I am, just now, knowing that who I will be is good too.


Blue Yonder said...

Gorgeous post, Molly! Contentment is a beautiful thing, so glad that it has found you :-)

Nina said...

I am in love with your photography. Please let me know some way or another what kind of camera equipment you are using. Glad you are feeling good. :-)