From Storms to Cats to Bad Poetry

April showers are rather torrential for May flowers to be coming along any time soon.

I've realized with living in the city that I have trouble distinguishing between the low roars of planes hovering over my neighborhood and that of the constant roll of thunder. The sound is similar between these two things and when I realize that I'm usually sticking my ear out for an aircraft, I grow disappointed in the fact that there won't be any thunderstorm spectacle for me to witness. Like every overly romantic woman who fills out an online dating profile, I love a good thunderstorm. I used to be petrified of them when I was a kid since the seven-year-old version of me equated thunder, rain, and any breeze strong enough to rustle a tree to a deadly tornado. I used to watch the horizon from the westward-facing picture window in our kitchen, waiting for some sort of ominous funnel cloud to touch down on the prairie and make its way to our yard to destroy everything I knew within the two acres we resided. It never happened. Though tornadoes are totally possible in North Dakota, I've never actually seen one in person. The closest I've come is witnessing a funnel cloud form in a blue-gray sky above my cousin's wedding reception in central Minnesota a few years ago.

Tonight I dismissed the thunder for a busy day at the airport, but then the rain started and I was happy. Thunderstorms remind me of home and they make me feel like I'm out on the prairie again, even though I'm within the confines of the city. It's dark now, so no matter where I am, I wouldn't be able to see the storm glowering down on us. Still there's always a part of me that wants to jump above the buildings and trees that surround me to get a glimpse of just how brilliant that lightening is; how dark those clouds are; how likely there is for a funnel to touch down. When I moved here, I never realized that the lack of a horizon would be so disorienting during a summer storm. North Dakota lets you see the weather before it hits you. It puts a storm into context and gives you a rough timeline of how long it's going to be before the lightening is overhead and the rain is taking over outside.

Whenever it rains like this I still give a quick rundown of everything I own that could possibly be outside, even though it's only a car that I have out in the elements year-round. I still give a thought to my long-dead cat, Kate, who I always would mentally check when I heard the thunder and rain take over outside. There were the times when my check would result in the realization that he was still outside, and a quick dart to the door would reveal his tiny and wet body sitting on the stoop, waiting to be let in. The joys of having an indoor/outdoor cat. I'd take care of him though and dry him off with a towel and cuddle him on the couch; happy that he was safe and sound.

Tonight the thunder is rolling and the rain is falling and I purposely opened my window to let the sound of falling water into my apartment. I thought of Kate, even though he's been dead for 15 years, and took comfort in the fact that there isn't a miserable animal outside who is my responsibility. While I think I would love to have a cat again, I can't. My apartment won't allow it. And I don't know if I'm willing to put out the money and time needed for even something as low-key as a cat at this point. Plus cats, I've learned, are temperamental. Kate was an exception to the hot/cold and unpredictable nature of most felines. Three things to know about him:

1. I named him Kate despite his maleness because I was three when I met him and was under the impression that all cats were female.
2. The name Kate was inspired by my favorite letter, K. I liked the sound. It is a female letter to me (more explanation on that here). And as I mentioned before, all cats to three-year-old Samantha were girls.
3. Kate had three legs. He was my three legged cat with half a tail. I was always told he was run over by a lawnmower. I have a firm belief that this disability lead to his ability to be as chill and laid back as possible.

I have to admit, Blog. The recent memory of my childhood pet led me to delve into my storage compartment downstairs in search of a picture of him. Alas, I couldn't find one. I did find, however, something that I had feared I left on Ryan's bookshelf in the haste I had moved out of his house: my pathetic yet inspiring journal of poems from high school. Every overly romantic girl who writes about her love of poetry on her online dating profile has one. I thought mine had been swallowed by Maple Grove, but it hasn't. It is here, safe with me. It has the complete Makeup Bag Trilogy along with a bunch of other songs I wrote when I was a teenager; intact yet forgotten by the years of dormancy my songwriting mind has been in. It's good to know I still have it. Thanks to the thunder, to the rain, and to the distant memories of my three-legged cat, I've happened upon a wealth of bad poetry, handwriting, and a couple brilliant songs.

There's a mosquito bite on my leg
It hurts a lot
But not as much as when I lost you
My makeup bag
My face is now so white
My eyes look as if they have no sight
But it's all for the better
It doesn't really matter
People can see the real me

Trust me, Blog. It sounds better with a guitar behind it.

North Dakota Weekend... Again

Blog, the internet is disappointing me in the lack of distraction it's providing today. So I guess I'll write in you.

This past weekend I went to North Dakota. I am originally from there, as I've mentioned a million times before. North Dakota is an amazing place, but only for three days. After that, it's time to leave and come back to a place where things make sense to me. North Dakota makes sense to me too I guess. It's a place I can go to reset myself and get in touch with the one area in this world that is the most familiar to me. But after living in not North Dakota, I find it refreshing to return to the city and the hustle and bustle that is completely absent from the plains. Even when it was the only place I had ever known, I never felt like I belonged in North Dakota. And going back, it certainly is home to me, but I still tend to feel out of place. I don't have a preference over Sioux or Bison. I don't know what grows in the fields outside of my house. I don't understand how the farmers co-op works. I don't own anything with fertilizer advertising on it... The list goes on.

But I like it enough to appreciate it and recognize it as a place that has contributed to who I am today. Blah blah blah. I've written about this a million times before. North Dakota. I guess I'll just proceed with some pictures...

Making our trek to the bar on Saturday night.

Kerin's first harvested cornfield experience.

My first flying experience.

I forgot how fun it is to play in the tall grass. There's something so comforting about completely disappearing from sight in a vast expanse of fertile land.



A view from the grass. Hello dear friend Ariel!



My friends in a field.

Dear Ariel Wolf on her way back to town.

That's all I've got Blog. Tonight I embark on a lovely weekend that I plan on spending with friends and taking some time to paint myself blue. It should be wonderful.

Ariel's Ode

Blog, today is my friend Ariel's birthday. Oh if only I had all the picture memories of our friendship saved on this computer so I could include them here on you, Blog. But alas, all I have is words and some random photos of us on the beach from when I visited her last year on the west coast...

I am a giant next to Ariel. But not as giant as Haystack Rock.

What a strange and lovely little person she is...

Very strange and lovely. You put us in the same room as a hurricane lamp and shit gets real yo.

 

Ariel is the only friend I have left over from high school. She's an interesting friend because she's managed to become very close and long term friends with my friends from college, even though we did not go to college together. Her likable personality allows me to meld together high school, college, and beyond when it comes to my friends. It's almost as if she's the weird, flighty glue that holds us all together.

Yeah, that's me, Ariel and her boyfriend Chris on a mountain. But really Blog. She's friends with Bemidji and Minneapolis folk too. I just don't have the pictures on this computer to prove it.

Today Ariel turns 28. I remember 10 years ago when she turned 18 I picked her up from her farm full of chickens, goats, sheep and a donkey named Thistle who loved the smell of exhaust and we drove out to the field runoff that is called Golden Lake to spend the day on the beach. Our little North Dakota lives were so simple and we were so easily entertained back then. We just drank soda, ate donuts, and stole Little Mermaid t-shirts that we'd find on the "shore". It's funny to think about all the stuff that's happened to us both since then. We got email, bachelors degrees, boyfriends, and cars. Then we got rid of our boyfriends and our cars, and got new boyfriends and cars. Then I moved to the city, she moved to the coast and eventually became a vagabond to the point where Kerin's dad asked if she was ok the one time he met her randomly in the Minneapolis skyway as she lugged a pillowcase full of her belongings. She's gone to Hawaii, I've gone to Europe. She talks about sealife, I talk about masters degrees. She does yoga, I do theater. And here we are, half a continent apart, still the same old friends that can go to the beach together. Only these days it seems we frequent the Pacific Ocean more than Golden Lake. Sometimes change is a good thing.

Here's to you friend. Salt in your eye, guess what... chicken, good night God, good night Jenny, I love you both. To two person games of Clue, Mrs. I harmonies, and Dr. Who scarves. To the oil gloves and the oil room and all the lessons you've taught me about the crazy sea life that exists on the Goonies rock. You are the one friend I have who I've considered the best for the longest. I hope in 10 years our kids are getting together, playing soccer, and eating at that barbeque we've been planning since we were smoking swisher sweets on the roof watching shooting stars and talking about how crop circles seem to frequent the month of July, particularly the 18th of July. Happy birthday friend.

You're the only person I know who actually wears sunglasses over glasses.