on vermont

Yesterday was a nice day. There were tiny snowflakes in the air; I went grocery shopping and got into a sort-of-not-really-but-kind-of argument with the elderly bagger about whether or not I would be able to carry all my groceries (even the gallon of milk!) in my trusty Land's End tote; I sorted through poems to read for Monday's Cherry Bomb.

And then I received word: good word. I'm going to Vermont! For nearly a month next summer, beginning in early May. And it's all--the most lovely word in the language--funded.

*

The last time I was in Vermont, it was early May. I had just graduated from college. I had zero job prospects and no real idea what I was going to do next, except for two things:

1. I was scheduled to road-trip out West with the AV, as a We Graduated from College present to ourselves;
2. I did not want to move back in with my father.

As these things tend to do, it worked out: my then-boyfriend's family needed a nanny for six or seven weeks. I could live in a guest apartment above the garage and spend the days chasing after two little kids. I had the keys to a new Honda Odyssey and a weekly paycheck that was quite generous, considering that my meals and board were included.

So I came home from college, bought my first car--a 1990 Toyota Camry with a passenger door that wouldn't open and an unnerving habit of not needing keys to turn over (you could start that sucker with a Popsicle stick, a paperclip, or any door key)--named it Chugs, and drove up to Vermont.

That was a nice summer. I woke up at five-thirty each morning, scheduled the kids' naps for the 1 pm episode of Law & Order, and went to the lake a lot. In the evenings I'd run, slowly, up and down gravel roads. On my route was an eccentric farmer who was fond of sprawling, sometimes in underwear and sometimes in nothing, on his tractor. There were cows that would moo at me as I ran by, and I would pant at them to shut up. On weekends I would drive to Brattleboro, once to Burlington, and Chugs and I would plod up the mountain roads.

Then I took this picture:

Then I came home, moved to Rochester, bought a dog, made just enough money to pay my half of the rent and keep me in VitaSoy and Molson, worked for Applebee's, and decided to move to Minnesota. You know the rest.

*

If I drive to Johnson, I can stop in at Plattsburgh and finally try a Michigan. So I'm driving from Michigan, with a bunch of coney research, to New York to have a Michigan, and then I can sit in Vermont and write about hot dogs.

I woke up, and life is awesome.