Sunday Mornings

Sunday mornings are a unique experience for me. Most of them these days are spent getting the kids ready to go and then driving them to their dad's house. This is not the unique part. It is on the drive back from Bozeman to Livingston when I feel like I am in another world. I can listen to whichever song I choose on the ipod and I can do it in total silence! I can hear myself think if I want to or I can sing at the top of my lungs. This is the complete opposite of the drive to Bozeman just minutes earlier when I have three little beings all contributing their opinions to the playlist and often fighting with each other and my almost teenager right next to me talking incessantly the whole way about world domination and how his plan to take away personal freedom somehow makes him a kinder, more reasonable dictator than say, Hitler, or Mussolini. And I feel that I have to play the part of eternal optimist against his perpetual pessimist. Someday I will have to transcribe one of our conversations word for word because they really are almost unbelievable.
So, when I head back towards my home, kidless, it feels surreal. It is so different for me to be all alone and sometimes hard for me to get used to. Then I enter Livingston. That is always surreal, no matter what. But especially if you have the space to really observe everything you see as you drive into town. This wonderful little town is such a contradiction and I find myself feeling joy as I watch the train cut through the hills and look at the mountains covered in snow and then drive past our old-fashioned burger joint and look to see which cute little houses are for sale now. But with the joy there is always the same question that pops into my head of "where am I and how did I get here?". Maybe I would feel that way after being anywhere for more than five years. But some of it has to do with the inability to describe the essence of Livingston. I have struggled with that since I got here. It is a wonderful and bizarre and confusing and sometimes maddening place to live and if I ever figure it out I will let you all know.
Boston was another such place for me, full of great sights and history and beautiful buildings and some really rude people who drive like they are out to kill themselves or as many other people as they can. There are of course some really nice people in Boston who drive like that too. I have some wonderful memories of Boston (Waltham, Cambridge and Leominster to be more precise) but for some reason overall I have more of a negative reaction to it than anything, which I still hold onto when it comes to football. I have a very strong dislike for the Patriots (maybe mostly because Patriots fans are outright obnoxious and it was hard for me to live amongst them) and so, I will be rooting for the Giants today! I seem to have very intense relationships with the places where I live and, just like any relationship, some of them are more cut and dry than others. I won't even begin to get into my relationship with France!

As for my photos - here are a few of my mom and her doggies from Christmas Eve at her house.