On the plus side, at least I get to go to battle with massive windows and views of mountains and puffy clouds, which far trumps my previous work from home days where I’d get to watch Bernard the Mouse scurry out from under the oven or get catcalled by the Panhandle crew on lunchtime walks.
I feel like I’m on a much-need mini-vacation. I’m fairly sure I’m the only one actually living within a 5-mile radius at the moment (aside from my new dog-walking friends, who are a good 4+ generations my senior), and it’s kind of amazing. I am thoroughly enjoying plodding around in a house that I can literally fit my entire last apartment in the living room portion, cooking real food and spending my evenings eating ice cream and watching Parenthood.
It’s a nice break for now, until I get to part re-emerge back to civilization for a few weeks before really settling in for the winter.
… Which is hilarious, because literally, less than 48 hours into Truckee-life, IT SNOWED. Winter is happening.
It was comical, in an awesomely comical sort of way. I grew up with seasons, and while it’s been years since I’ve lived anywhere where there is true definition, I’ve never minded winter with the enormous caveat that there is also snow… so despite the whole ‘It’s October 3rd’ thing, it was fairy-tale-ish trekking around snowy woods at sunrise.
Anyway, the snow was short-lived, and it’s been beautifully fall-like otherwise.
I’ve managed to get out a bit to start my exploring, but the shorter days are thwarting longer evening treks. Operation Acclimate to Altitude Running is slow-going, but I’m at least starting to be able to make it steadily farther without wanting to keel over and die, so I’m optimistic that the pain will be short-lived and I’ll be back to actually running up mountains.
I also managed to pick up a part-time ski instructor job on the mountain (partially to score free season tickets, but also because I do actually miss teaching kids things I love to do), and right now that seems exciting (but talk to me in three months after I’ve spent hours with preteens, tantrums and a lot of pizza pies and french fries (on and off the slopes)).
And finally, Home-Dawg and I are having a rough time of it, but we might be nearing the end of move-trauma-drama, and he might be returning to a place where I can leave the house without returning to full-on destruction. The most impressive? I was gone for about an hour and 20 minutes (see that gorgeous sunset run, a few photos above), and I returned back to find:
- 1 pair of jeans, destroyed.
- 1 pair of leggings, fished out from the bottom of a backpack, destroyed.
- Floor insulation from an uncovered vent EVERYWHERE.
- Empty trash can, pulled out from under the sink.
- And, the best: the upper cabinet open, the ceramic tray of brownies I baked the night before removed from the top shelf and on the counter, and only a thin chocolate coating remaining. I… don’t even have a clue.
And on that note, goodnight.