Happy Winter, my children.
I've been beyond MIA. I dropped off the map and onto the floor and rolled under the couch to gather dust. I know. Forgive me. This academic quarter had a rough, sandy patch, but just when I thought my ass was going to get kicked, I kicked it right back. I'm deep in finals by the time you will be reading this, but I figured I would take a moment to slip into reverie and remember the magic and loveliness that was my thanksgiving break trip to Boise, Idaho.
One of my dearest friends, Dylan, invited me to his home town for the break to spend a week with him and his mother. Both of whom are the loveliest, most kind and hospitable humans I have ever had the pleasure to know. Despite having to leave Seattle, my beloved, I was beyond excited to travel inland. I had never, until this point, been off the west coast of the United States, so this was a pretty big deal for me. Also, that weird cryptic title? That's a tiny sliver of a song appropriately named Idaho by Gregory Alan Isakov. You can listen to it on spotify at this link here, or on youtube at this link here.
Of course the first rainy day in two weeks of hellishly cold tundra happens on the day I need to stand outside and wait for an Uber. Such is life, I suppose. Everything has grown bare after being shocked with frost, and the new skeletal limbs of once-vibrant trees sunk into the morning fog. It made me a little sad to leave my city in my favorite weather, to tell the truth. In order to avoid the protests in Westlake about the Darren Wilson lack-of-indictment (#restinpower, Mike Brown), we Ubered to Pioneer Square Station and took the rail to the airport. If you're trying to get to SeaTac from Capitol Hill, this route is your friend.
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The fog really laid down on us when we got to SeaTac, and we luckily had enough time to sit in the atrium and caffeinate before boarding. There was even a lovely indie folk band playing live in front of the window in the absolutely massive atrium you can see there. I am somewhat of a nervous flier, so I always get all my pre-flight jittery energy out while I'm at the airport. I love to go exploring and walk around all the hallways and caverns. I've made a habit of going on a non-Starbucks coffee shop scavenger hunt every time I'm in SeaTac specifically, to catalogue in a massive cognitive map all the places I can get a decent hazelnut latte. I also manage to crank out some really good quality art waiting for airplanes. I will always advise to get to the airport and be through security two hours before your flight boards if you can for that reason.
But Lex, why would you do that? You could've slept in! You could've been getting ready!
Shut your damn mouth, italics. To hell with sleeping in, I say. Early birds get to the airport early, chug a venti, and draw charcoal portraits for hours in front of a loading bay window. It offers a peace and quiet that I need to center myself before flight. Dylan was exasperated at my insistence on earliness, but hey, if you're not early, you're late.
We boarded probably the tiniest plane I have seen in all my years, and after a very brief 45 minute flight, we touched down in what I have determined to be the landscape of dreams. If you've ever indulged in the Elder Scrolls series, I hope that you will be as deeply moved as I was when I realized I'd set foot into the vast plains of Whiterun hold. Everything was a gradient, moving upward from my feet in rich tones of gold and copper browns towards the heavy greying fog resting hardly a few feet above my head. I could feel Dylan, who grew up in Boise, scrutinizing my excitement in silence. It may just be dirt and rocks to natives, but for me it was an unseen, unexplored, silent, and feral wilderness that I had desperate urges to explore. It was a rich and unfettered literary dreamscape; what sorts of voices echoed in tapped-out goldmines? Whose bones lie picked by carrion-feeders in the flatness beyond my eyes? Needless to say, I fell in love instantly.
During the day when we all were awake at once, the three of us found a comfort and ease in music and disney films. It was, to say the least, exactly what I needed and more. I have never laughed harder or been more calm than over hot chocolate and Cloud Atlas. The company, as well, couldn't have been more perfect. Thanksgiving dinner itself was delightfully done, and the accompanying carb-sick to follow was worth every minute. I baked and fed a troop of lovely boys. I ate well and often. I was warm and loved and free.
I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to leave the midnight milkshakes and field trips to the river and the biting cold of early morning. I didn't want to leave the foothills and the icy sidewalks and the always-working oven and resulting desserts. I didn't want to leave movie marathons and sheepskin slippers and the long drives to anywhere. It felt so perfect to have peace and hilarity and comfort. I'm making it my mission to recreate the sensory memories of Boise in my emerald city heaven, despite the stress, despite the holiday rush, despite the political turmoil that shakes our streets.
I got back on that tiny plane and I said goodbye to a great vacation, but I am keeping it with me always.
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