tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72207754431122966732024-03-13T13:31:04.401-04:00A Small Town Girl's Guide to LifeA small town girl's guide to life and living in Small Town, Missouri.SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-44150195462150145702010-06-26T15:35:00.001-04:002010-06-26T15:36:42.264-04:00New Address<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">Small Town Girl's Guide has moved permanently to www.smalltowngirlsguide.com. </span></span></span></b></div>SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-69862032595313128262009-04-10T12:25:00.001-04:002009-04-10T12:52:11.800-04:00I've Moved!My blog has moved, so please adjust your blogrolls or bookmarks, and seek me out at:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.smalltowngirlsguide.wordpress.com/">www.smalltowngirlsguide.wordpress.com</a><br />(smalltowngirlsguide dot wordpress dot com)<br /><br />Cheers!<br />smalltowngirlSmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-5067909096307430562009-04-06T15:06:00.003-04:002009-04-06T15:09:20.198-04:00CalendarThank you, Google Calendar.<br /><br />First, you auto-reverted yourself to Taipei time, even after I designed you to be set to USA Central Time.<br /><br />Second, after saving all of my events, which I've spent countless hours researching and updating, in Taipei time, you kindly offered to change my calendar to Central Time.<br /><br />I accepted your gracious offer.<br /><br />And what did you do? You adjusted all of my calendar entries to the Central Time equivalent of Taipei Time, which has resulted in 4 am art crawls in Ste. Genevieve and midnight hikes in St. Louis.<br /><br />Every last entry in my Google Calendar is now listed at the wrong time. I'm not happy with you, Google Calendar. I'm not happy with you at all.SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-20389798252783254982009-04-05T18:22:00.012-04:002009-04-05T20:22:14.466-04:00Brauhaus Kaffee<img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/SdlJTlL0UOI/AAAAAAAAfVQ/9RHh5UwJs5w/s320/DSCF2594.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321365035462971618" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">All photos by smalltowngirl</span></div><div><br /></div>I love this coffee shop. <div><br /><div>Still new (open for less than a month, I believe), Brauhaus Kaffee is the newest addition to quaint, downtown Farmington's collection of stores and restaurants. </div><div><br /></div><div>The owners, who are residents of Fredericktown, Missouri, have spent the last two years renovating the space.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I'm not sure how old downtown's buildings are, but my guess is that they're from the early 1900s. The sidewalk outside is red brick, and two tables with two chairs each, sit just outside the cafe's front doors. </div><div><br /></div><div>The cafe's two floor-to-ceiling picture windows let sunshine stream in, and offer a view of the side of the court house, around which downtown Farmington was built.</div><div><br /></div><div>Gleaming, subtly distressed hardwood floors are offset by black granite-topped tables and contemporary black leather sofa and armchairs. </div><div><br /></div><div>Prints of German artwork hang on the red, exposed brick, and a piano sits in the back. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Beside the piano sits an empty guitar stand - empty because someone in the cafe has inevitably picked up the instrument to pluck out acoustic melodies each time I've been in the cafe.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I like to think that by way of my Sunday afternoon latte ritual, I'm helping keep Pat, the owner's spirits high. Today we chatted about their scones being hand made from scratch each morning, and about the anticipation over the arrival of their new stove, which will accomodate homeades soups in addition to their already homemade baked goods.</div><div><br /></div><div>Today, craving something sweet, I ordered a mocha. The taste was just as great as the presentation:</div><div><br /></div><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/SdlIl_pEGlI/AAAAAAAAfVI/6nYDEqxBjHM/s320/P1010005.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321364252290980434" /><div><br /></div><div>The clientelle is as diverse as one could hope for in a community as relatively homogeneous as Farmington, Missouri is. </div><div><br /></div><div>Today, for instance, there were three q-tips (white haired folks), a woman who looked to be my age with a mod, black haircut and a large tatoo on her foot, and another late-20s/early-30s writer-type with a laptop. I couldn't help the excitement, overhearing him voice his enthusiasm about a local, independent magazine.</div><div><br /></div><div>I hope that Brauhaus Kaffee surives. I take that back, I hope that it <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">thrives</span>, and I have faith that it will. Warm fuzzies will take over my belly when downtowns come fully to life again, and I think Farmington's well on it's way, thanks to places like this one.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/SdlHccCIgmI/AAAAAAAAfUo/JmtLY566v3o/s320/P1010007.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321362988601999970" /></div>SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-85450479142821979462009-04-05T01:21:00.004-04:002009-04-05T01:47:58.156-04:00News<div>Having not read the news over the last two weeks, I caught up a bit tonight.</div><div><br /></div><div>First, my prayers are going out to the families the three Pittsburgh police officers killed this week. I lived in Pittsburgh for two years, and I loved it there. I was so sad to hear <a href="http://www.post-gazette.com/">this story</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>Coming a bit closer to home, MO gets a big <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">0</span> points in the MO vs. NY battle for its <a href="http://dailyjournalonline.com/articles/2009/03/25/news/doc49ca3bcb8c67b278877939.txt">incest</a> and this <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/7359513.stm">irresponsible gun owner</a>. MO gets no points here. </div><div><br /></div><div>It doesn't bode well for my line of work that <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/26/us/26charity.html?src=linkedin">non-profits nationwide</a> are struggling to pay the bills.</div><div><br /></div><div>A big <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">1 point</span> for New York that <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/04/nyregion/04metjournal.html">Coney Island isn't closed, afterall</a>. I was among the masses who were mislead in 2008 and 2009 by talk of the park closing. Turns out, only part of the park closed in the fall...Ladies and gentleman, line up for your Nathan's hotdogs and your Wonder Wheel rides. </div><div><br /></div><div>And finally, a column, the writing style of which was thoroughly engaging. Check out this NY Times story on Virginia Heffernan's column, "<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/05/magazine/05wwln-medium-t.html?em">I Hate My iPhone"</a>. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">NY = 1</span> for being home of the newspaper I love.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Today's Total score: MO=0; NY=2</span></div><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-50867450236467622982009-03-31T23:36:00.013-04:002009-04-01T00:50:56.240-04:00A Semi-Sweet White Table Wine and a Very Sweet White DogI uncorked the Whittenburg Semi-Sweet White as I went off on one tangent or another about the challenges of my new job. <div><br />I let the wine breath for a few minutes, poured myself a glass, and took a sip. A warm, mellow flavor hit the center of my tongue, and the tartness of an apple draft cider tickled the tip of it.</div><div><br /></div><div>The wine being more full-bodied than I'd expected, I relaxed, contentedly, sinking a little deeper into the slat-backed wooden chair. </div><div><br /></div><div>The first glass was a well-deserved pleasure after a frustrating day at work, and the second glass was pure indulgence. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed a white wine as a standalone, without a food pairing. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><a href="http://peacefulbend.com/">Peaceful Bend winery</a> is on the Meremac River in Steelville, Missouri.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/SdLkI3F0pQI/AAAAAAAAfTg/73o0e3-hdQU/s320/Whittenburg+WHite.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319564950756435202" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">all photos by smalltowngirl</span></span><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Two glasses in, I realized the dog was still outside from 20 minutes before. When I let her in, her muddy paws left footprints across the white quarry-tiled kitchen floor. The dog already in need of a bath, and me having already had two glasses of wine, the dog with little hope.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Into the kitchen sink she went, and any dignity the poor dog had disappeared...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/SdLt5GgBJXI/AAAAAAAAfTo/ezh49rg7cZs/s320/DSCF2606.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 230px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319575675131209074" /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's the little things in life that make it good. A glass of local white wine and a clean white dog are all it took tonight to lift my heart up to a better place.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/milligfunk/">More pictures</a> of the (dry) white dog.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/SdLw9mjcnsI/AAAAAAAAfTw/Ewjp2r4rp6M/s320/DSCF2631.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319579050989887170" /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-33863485789296034162009-03-30T23:19:00.006-04:002009-03-30T23:47:04.865-04:00Wineries, Coffee Shops, Art Galleries...a Castle?!What's become of my bumbling little country bumpkin of a home state, Missouri? <div><br /></div><div>I hardly recognize my downtown square, which is now lined with a cafe, a New York style pizza place, a fairly nice bar and restaurant, and a music store.</div><div><br /></div><div>And don't get me started on the national <a href="http://vintagevinyl.com/">bicycle race</a> coming thr</div><div>ough town. We <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">never</span> had that kind of thing when I was a kid.</div><div><br /></div><div>What? Is one of the nation's last living <a href="http://vintagevinyl.com/">independent music stores</a> really in St. Louis? Darned right, it is. And I'm proud to say I've been buying music there since I was 16.</div><div><br /></div><div>You know what else Missouri has? It has <a href="http://www.missouriwinecountry.com/">wineries</a>. Like, no joke, a LOT of wineries. Wineries with good wine, beautiful views, live music on the weekends, art galleries, and B&Bs. </div><div><br /></div><div>Finally, and then I'm getting back to <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">updating my events listing for April (look beneath this blog)</span>...We have <a href="http://www.citizenschiropractic.com/">yoga</a>. I took my first small town yoga class tonight, and it was good. </div><div><br /></div><div>If none of the above perks you up to the Show-Me State, check this out...Joplin, Missouri has a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><a href="http://rlmcastle.com/" style="text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">castle</span></a><a href="http://rlmcastle.com/" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: none;">:</span></a></span></div><div><br /></div><img src="http://4statehome.com/fsbo_photos/21199/Castle%20fall.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 407px; height: 301px;" border="0" alt="" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Photo from 4statehome.com</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Despite my grouchy, short-fused, angsty poop of a mood over the last few days over missing New York, I've gotta hand it to Missouri - it's changed a lot in the 10+ years since I last lived here.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-55503492960684315602009-03-29T17:02:00.013-04:002009-03-29T19:40:49.904-04:00Lemons or Lemonade: A Blog in two Parts<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Part One:</span></div><div><br /></div>I'm grouchy today. <div><br /></div><div>Missouri is so nice, and people here are so nice. It's all so...NICE. </div><div><br /></div><div>Where's the grit? Where's the texture? Where's the edge? </div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, that's right. It's <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Missouri. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="">It's not gritty or textured or edgy. It's <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">nice</span>.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/Sc_opAKDQZI/AAAAAAAAfNU/0S0RMEyp5M4/s320/DSCF2570a.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318725476062282130" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Photo by smalltowngirl</span></div><div><br /></div><div>Thank God for blogging, FB, and Twitter...And thanks to my NY friends who are following my blogs, photos, and tweets, caring about this journey I'm taking now, back in Missouri after so many years away.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://lifeinthearts.blogspot.com/2009/02/meaning-of-distance-and-geography.html">I had hoped that social media</a> would help me feel close to some of what (and <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">who</span>) I love about New York, and though some days I'm not sure it's working, other days it's the thread that keeps me connected, and by extension, keeps me sane.</div><div><br /></div><div>So thank you, if you're following, emailing, and commenting. And if you're following but not commenting, it would be so good to hear from you. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">NY=1; MO=0</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div>***</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Part Two:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; ">For all the missing New York I'm doing now, I missed small town MO very much over the last 10+ years, too. Sometimes I longed for the quiet, humble, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">nice</span> Midwest</span><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div>While I can't walk down the street to grab the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Times</span> from a bodega or newstand in my small town, I can read it online from the coffee shop, where the barista visits with me for ten minutes at a time, and I can buy a large latte for less than a small coffee in NYC.</div><div><br /></div><div>And while French Press coffee and omelets with hungover 20- and 30-somes isn't quite the same as drip coffee in the pot at home, it's really kind of nice to wake up sober, to family and a <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/milligfunk/3387510554/">little white dog</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I'm trying here - I really am - to seek out the best Missouri has to offer. </div><div><br /></div><div>I want to love life here, or anywhere that I am, for that matter. I want to be one of those people who can find beauty and happiness <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">anywhere.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div>I've started a community calendar here. I hope that this can become a space for locals to seek out hip, healthy, and interesting events in the area. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm independent, so I can publish any event (unlike other, corporate events calendars I've found in MO). If you have events you'd like published, <a href="http://twitter.com/MilliGFunk">tweet me</a>, Facebook me, email, or leave a comment.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the meantime, I'll leave you with a few good local things I've discovered this afternoon:</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://tourofmissouri.com/">The Tour of Missouri 2009</a></div><div><a href="http://www.gostlouis.org/">Go! St. Louis</a></div><div><a href="http://www.trailnet.org/walking.php">Trailnet: Promoting Active Living</a></div><div><a href="http://www.soulardartmarket.com/">The Soulard Art Market</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-78137552658837479952009-03-27T20:00:00.011-04:002009-03-29T19:41:39.574-04:00The Gift in My MailboxAs I sat huddled over my Mac, creating a last-minute ad that was already three hours past deadline, writer's block muddled my brain and my half-baked InDesign skills inspired prayers that I never find myself without a capable graphic designer on staff.<br /><br />Hastily, I created a pdf of the ad and printed it off for editing. I rushed into the dining hall, thrusting the ad upon three witless interns, trying to sound managerial as I begged them, in desperation, to proofread the piece for me.<br /><br />As I rushed to submit the ad before the weekend, somewhere across the office, someone was putting time and thought into making my day a little happier.<br /><br />I submitted the ad for publication, and while I was submitting, someone else was someone else was sticking an awkwardly wrapped gift, complete with big, red bow, in my office mailbox.<br /><br />I present you (pun <span style="font-style: italic;">fully</span> intended, because I'm witty like that) with Evidence A, "The Gift":<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/Sc1rMCKt8cI/AAAAAAAAfL0/MaeEMPjtO_A/s1600-h/IMG_1493.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/Sc1rMCKt8cI/AAAAAAAAfL0/MaeEMPjtO_A/s320/IMG_1493.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318024589478851010" border="0" /></a><br />Standing at my desk, taking in the boyish wrap-job and Christmas colors, a smile spread across my previously grimacing face. Someone cared enough to wrap up some little something for <span style="font-style: italic;">me</span>.<br /><br />I snapped this photo, and I proceeded to unwrap the package.<br /><br />I slid the white box out from the shiny, striped paper, and I grinned goofily as I opened it up.<br /><br />Inside, this is what I found. Observe Evidence B, "the Empty Box":<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/Sc2ZPSRNl_I/AAAAAAAAfL8/cJ9SnKP53wY/s1600-h/IMG_1494.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/Sc2ZPSRNl_I/AAAAAAAAfL8/cJ9SnKP53wY/s320/IMG_1494.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318075222875543538" border="0" /></a><br />Nothing.<br /><br />I have been the target of an intra-office practical joke. I'm sorta flattered.SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-7502676960621284622009-03-26T00:12:00.009-04:002009-04-01T00:36:47.879-04:00Cupcakes (a.k.a. Bet You Wish You Were at My House)<img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/ScsBhSkgldI/AAAAAAAAfLM/I5__uLP_Iys/s320/DSCF2602.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317345456473282002" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Photos and Cupcakes by Smalltowngirl</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Happy Thursday night!<div><br /></div><div>I'll bet you wish you were at my house right about now...</div><div><br /></div><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/ScsC8bcsAEI/AAAAAAAAfLU/nWLTo50qOCc/s320/DSCF2603.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317347022224490562" /><div><br /></div><div>These cupcakes are chocolate and peanut butter with homemade milk chocolate icing, topped with Reese's Peanut Butter Chips.</div><div><br /></div><div>(They're really as good as they look.)</div><div><br /></div><div>***</div><div><br /></div><div>I spent my morning in downtown Farmington, Missouri. What a delight to walk down brick sidewalks from a music store to a restaurant; an overflowing florist's store to a warm and cozy bookstore. </div><div><br /></div><div>The Downtown Farmington Parntership/Alliance (I forget it's formal name) has done a really nice job bringing life back to downtown.</div><div><br /></div><div>Much to my excitement, Farmington has a new and quite legitimate cafe! Brauhaus, our new coffee shop and lunch spot, has a story to tell, and I hope to tell it soon. </div><div><br /></div><div>The owner enthusiastically told me today about its name, the photos on the wall, and the two years she and her family spent renovating the historic building the cafe calls home. I'm planning to visit her again soon, this time with notebook and camera in tow so that I can blog about it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Until then, where quaint downtowns and kitchens big enough to prepare 3 dozen cupcakes are concerned, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">MO = 1; NY = 0</span></div><div><br /></div></div>SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-44706527991334455252009-03-24T19:13:00.003-04:002009-03-24T19:35:36.304-04:00FollowersI've been pleasantly surprised at the number of people who have been popping in to read this small town girl's perspectives on the move from NYC back to small town Missouri.<br /><br />It's nice to get emails, Facebook messages, or Tweets about things I've written and photo I've posted. Thank you!<br /><br />Among the surprise readers I've discovered recently is a friend of a friend who I met not long before leaving NYC.<br /><br />I hadn't realized that this friend was a talented amateur photographer until he sent me his blog today. He doesn't update too often (he's in medical school, as if that's an excuse ;) ), but his photos make a journey on over to <a href="http://www.naterr.com/blog.php">http://www.naterr.com/blog.php</a> worth a moment of your time.<br /><br />I've just been inspired to reach a little higher where my own pictures are concerned.<br /><br />As an aside, I'd like to further <a href="http://smalltowngirlsguidetolife.blogspot.com/2009_03_22_archive.html">my previous plug</a> for "Dark Was the Night". It's a strong album. I've been listening to it almost nonstop now for the last two days.SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-29503164967473755082009-03-23T17:04:00.005-04:002009-04-01T00:37:05.024-04:00दिस्कोवेरिएस!I'm not sure why my Title is showing up in a foreign language. (Hindi, apparently.)<br /><br />The funky title can't rain on my parade though. I just had an exciting hour-and-a-half phone meeting with our web designer, who is bright and knowledgeable, and living in the St. Louis neighborhood I didn't know existed (but that I'm head-over-heels in love with).<br /><br />There is a bit of Brooklyn in St. Louis. Check it out:<br /><a href="http://onsl.org/">Old North St. Louis</a><br /><br />This neighborhood is essentially a renovation district, and while it's still in its building phase, I can't express to you how excited I am to see a real community in St. Louis proper.<br /><br />From what our web designer told me, most of the buildings here had become very, very run down. The homeowners' restorations are labors of love. Check out <a href="http://web.mac.com/heidisever/3Walls/The_Project.html">this blog</a> about the restoration of a home that was missing an entire wall.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.crownvillagestl.com/neighborhood">Another website</a>, seemingly dedicated to property sales in the area, has some great photos of the commercial district (under renovation) in the neighborhood.<br /><br />And on my "Must-See, Must-Eat, STL" list? <a href="http://www.crowncandykitchen.net/">Crown Candy Kitchen</a>, an ice cream shop and restaurant founded in St. Louis in 1913.<br /><br />My car accident brought on a lot of "I miss New York" sentiments for me, and honestly, I spent my weekend pretty down in the dumps. Having my eyes opened to this St. Louis neighborhood has, thankfully, lifted my spirits.<br /><br />Yay, St. Louis!<br /><br />MO and NY = TIED.<br /><span title="Click to correct" class="transl_class" id="3"></span>SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-83191462315559001892009-03-22T15:07:00.004-04:002009-03-22T15:31:40.832-04:00Dark Was the NightDisclosure: My best friend works for one of the artists on this album, so my opinion is probably influenced by her talking this album up, pre-release.<div><br /></div><div>Last night, I downloaded "Dark Was the Night", the newly released album produced by Aaron and Bryce Dessner from one of my favorite bands, The National, as an AIDS and HIV awareness project.</div><div><br /></div><div>Besides Feist and The National, the album features an impressive list of artists, including Beirut, Kronos Quartet, Bon Iver, Arcade Fire, Cat Power, The Decemberists, and more. It's a two-CD set, and it is working much-needed magic in my soul.</div><div><br /></div><div>Living in the rural midwest is a lot easier in 2009 than it would have been in the past. Ten years ago, I would have needed to drive to St. Louis on the release date of an album like this, hoping that a store like <a href="http://vintagevinyl.com/">Vintage Vinyl</a> might have it in stock. Last night, I downloaded it from my bedroom.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ten years ago, I'd probably have been one of the only people I knew digging an album like this one. Now, I can probably find a thousand people online talking about it. </div><div><br /></div><div>So as I sit in my big, red, paisly arm chair, feet propped up and sun streaming in my window, I listen to this album, and I don't feel far from NYC at all.</div><div><br /></div>SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-27918972103487931572009-03-22T00:58:00.009-04:002009-03-22T17:05:28.542-04:00Thankful for One More DayThe morning sun was at my back as I drove North on Highway 8. I was hovering just below the speed limit as I approached the Potosi city limits.<div><br /><div>There is no turning lane on the highway in that spot, so when I saw a car passing the pick-up, I realized that the truck was in my lane. I slammed on my brakes, gripping the steering wheel with my left hand and throwing my right hand to my horn. </div><div><br /></div><div>The grey and black Ford F-150 looked like a wall of steel standing before me as I braced for impact. </div><div><br /></div><div>The left front end of his truck struck my front driver's side. His truck scraped down the side of my car, and I watched the shoulder of the road move all too quickly beneath my tires.</div><div><br /></div><div>I felt my car leave the road, then the shoulder of the road, and finally come to a stop nose-down in a six-foot ditch.</div><div><br /></div><div>I put the car in park. By the time I got out and turned to look at the scene of the accident, the truck's driver was already halfway between his truck and my car, asking me if I was alright, and</div><div>apologizing.</div><div><br /></div><div>Adrenaline pumping, my hands began to shake. Soon my arms and shoulders began to shiver and shake, too. </div><div><br /></div><div>By the time the police reports were written, the car was on a tow truck and I had arrived at the auto shop, I was sick to my stomach and exhausted.</div><div><br /></div><div>My dad helped me with the phone calls and paperwork for insurance and a rental car, and then I worked a 7 hour day, leaving the office well after 9 p.m. </div><div><br /></div><div>I slept for 12 hours last night though, and spent today with a sadness in my stomach that I can't explain.</div><div><br /></div><div>The sadness was there yesterday as well. I wished someone would hug me so that I could let the tears flow. Instead, I worked. Today I cleaned and unpacked more boxes, and only now, after midnight, in my bed alone, are a few tears falling.</div><div><br /></div><div>I wasn't afraid. As I braced for impact, I felt at peace with whatever was about to happen. </div><div><br /></div><div>What a strange thing - to be aware of that sense of peace even as a Ford truck is pummeling the car you're driving. I think I resigned myself in that moment that I was prepared for whatever hand God was dealing me. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was a blessed woman to have landed in the cozy 6-foot ditch that I landed in (rather than in any number of 50+ foot drop-offs along that highway), and while I was at peace with whatever was going to happen, I am so, so thankful that I was given another day to wake up and live today. </div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/ScXMXV4S48I/AAAAAAAAfC4/ElT3ZWg4_ck/s320/DSCF2483.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315879636563059650" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Smalltowngirl</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Taken 3/14/09 in Potosi, MO</span></div><div><br /></div></div>SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-40028413569560211582009-03-21T15:18:00.001-04:002009-03-21T15:19:39.494-04:00My wreck, in my momma's wordsFor my Momma's take on my accident, check our her blog:<div><a href="http://cherisheachpreciousday.blogspot.com/2009/03/proud-momma.html">http://cherisheachpreciousday.blogspot.com/2009/03/proud-momma.html</a><br /></div>SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-54377700467846014102009-03-20T12:56:00.008-04:002009-03-20T13:25:12.425-04:00Driving to Work in Week 3 = WRECK.One of the questions I've gotten over and over about my move from NYC to MO is, "How are you enjoying driving everywhere?"<div><br /></div><div>Another is, "How do you like your 42 mile commute?"</div><div><br /></div><div>On a whole, I don't mind the commute or the driving. One thing that subway life taught me, however, was just how dangerous highways are. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I'd visit family in MO, I'd see people...</div><div><br />Eating and driving...</div><div>Talking on a cell phone and driving...</div><div>Talking on a cell phone, eating and driving...</div><div>Talking on the phone, smoking a cigarette and driving...</div><div>...sometimes while driving a stick shift...</div><div>Reading a driving...</div><div>Digging around in their floorboard and driving...</div><div><br /></div><div>These multi-tasking drivers scare me. </div><div><br /></div><div>Why do they scare me? Because cars are big, heavy machines that go very, very fast. </div><div><br /></div><div>Today, I was driving my own big, strong, heavy machine (i.e. a Ford Taurus) to work when a younger driver in a much bigger, heavier, stronger machine (i.e. an early-1990s Ford F-150) made a lefthand turn on a state highway. </div><div><br /></div><div>Making a lefthand turn isn't inherently problematic. Making a lefthand turn into the lane in which I am driving, however, is <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">very</span> problematic.</div><div><br /></div><div>I realized what was about to happen before it happened, honking and swerving to try to avoid being hit. To no avail.</div><div><br /></div><div>His truck hit my car on the driver's side, and then pushed it into a fairly deep ditch, where the front end of my (relatively smaller), but still strong and heavy machine's front end saw further abuse by Missouri clay and rocks. </div><div><br /></div><div>Thank God no one was hurt, but Lordy people, please don't forget that driving is a responsibility, and that automobiles are dangerous. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/ScPNjsKMFJI/AAAAAAAAfCw/qtMqBcbzjv8/s320/P1010033a.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315317998260327570" /><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">MO=0; NY=1</span></div>SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-45272151828358795922009-03-19T23:48:00.010-04:002009-03-20T00:40:57.229-04:00Sayersbrook Bison Ranch<div>On Monday, I was invited to take a personal tour of the Sayersbrook Bison Ranch in Potosi, Missouri. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've recently become aquainted with the ranch owners, and my day on the ranch this week was a moderately absurd, while simultaneously lovely and educational experience.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/ScMSZebEGvI/AAAAAAAAfBw/ZJLtR7uAwI0/s320/DSCF2520.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315112214099925746" /></div><div><br /></div><div>To get to work, I travel down a US highway, then a state highway, and then a county highway, before turning onto the road our lodge is on.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Sayersbrook is just a few miles from my office, so I hopped in the car Monday morning from work, and I headed to the ranch. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was cruising along county highway AA when a dumb ol' country squirrel darted beneath my tire, creating a "thuhm-bump" sound that nearly made me cry. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not a fan of death, and while running over a small mammal is probably some sort of Welcome to Missouri rite of passage, it still shook me up.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>After the squirrel mishap, I found the bison crossing sign particularly sweet. (I'm not sure my trusty tank of a Ford Taurus would have held up well to a 2600 bull.)</div><div><br /></div><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/ScMUbwmY9eI/AAAAAAAAfB4/CqBH_NcOqCs/s320/DSCF2522.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315114452362261986" /><div><br /></div><div>Making note not to run over any of these huge creatures while on the ranch, I pulled through the gate. Immediately to my left sat the ranch's airstrip, and a bit further down the road was the family's home. </div><div><br /></div><div>A sprawling single-story, log home with picture windows and beautiful landscaping, the house delivered to me a new meaning of "ranch-style home". </div><div><br /></div><div>Later in the day I'd be joining the Sayers for bison lasagne in the kitchen of the house, and meeting with Mrs. Sayers about Washington Country Tourism Board planning. For now though, it was time for a ranch tour in one of Mr. Sayers' fleet of Hummers.</div><div><br /></div><div>Along we chugged along, on road and off, around the property. I got to see what was once an apple storage space with quarter-inch-thick cork walls for insulation. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mr. Sayers' grandfather had stored apples from the orchard there. Now the room is arranged for presentations, and bison head (taxonimized) are hung from the walls and propped up on the floor.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/ScMXzCBax-I/AAAAAAAAfCI/9YHhhVDghD0/s320/DSCF2525.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315118150710904802" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>The property is 3,000 acres, and its perimeter is six square miles. This repeater radio tower stands on Missouri's third-highest place (the highest is Taum Sauk and second is Little Pilot Knob). We stopped here so that Mr. Sayers could feed this portion of the herd.</div><div><br /></div><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/ScMW9ouLl-I/AAAAAAAAfCA/gbzFGta3UnQ/s320/DSCF2528.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315117233386264546" /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Bison, as it turns out, are pretty darned smart, but they're also herd animals. If one gets riled up or angry, it's like that the others will follow suit. 10 angry bison is scary, but 100 angry bison is terrifying. The Sayers' 100 or so bison, then, are kept in smaller herds in seperate fields from one another.</div><div><br /></div><div>Though the animals don't get sick often, when they do, the herd helps the sick animal. A group of bison will circle the sick bison, propping it up between them. They'll then walk with it to water, where the sick animal is usually able to hydrate itself back to good health. </div><div><br /></div><div>Fascinating!</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, may I tell you about their mating rituals? (Little readers, cover your ears.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Female bison require that a bull court with it for a day and a half before mating. None of this sex on the first day nonsense for these ladies. These heiffers have class.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/ScMaSCb-jFI/AAAAAAAAfCQ/OLs-uOzLu6I/s320/DSCF2532.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315120882421501010" /></div><div><br /></div><div>At three years old, females start bearing lil' ones, which Mr. Sayers assured me (as he drove his red, white and blue Hummer with what looked like an M-16 mounted on a tripod in the backseat) are "the cutests little things".</div><div><br /></div><div>(I have been invited to return to the ranch in a month or so to meet some of the newly-born bison calves. I hope I'm able to see them!)</div><div><br /></div><div>On my tour of Sayersbrook, I learned about rifle ranges, sporting clays, Jeep off-road competitions, and even about Missouri history. Of course, I also learned a lot about Bison. Bison are not buffalo; their meat is 97% fat free; and you can visit one of only a few dozen large bison ranches in the USA right here in MO. </div><div><br /></div><div>New York was starting to catch up on my cow count, but where Bison are concerned, Missouri definitely takes the lead.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">MO=1; NY=0</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">All photos by smalltowngirl</span></span></div>SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-34007825423604600802009-03-16T23:20:00.007-04:002009-03-16T23:44:24.118-04:00Gracias Amigos!I was honored with an invitation to "stinky drinks" tonight with two old friends. One friend is a tree trimmer and the other is an assistant to a large animal vet.<br /><br />Both friends can get pretty stinky in a day's work, so their version of happy hour is aptly named "stinky drinks."<div><br /><div><div>Though neither of my friends were particularly stinky tonight, we did meet up for drinks, and I was convinced when the following check came out at the end of the night that it was missing some digits. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our check:</div><div><br /></div><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/Sb8aw6FWzyI/AAAAAAAAe2w/rDwxx4IlOqw/s320/DSCF2541a.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313995512848240418" /><div><br /></div><div><br />Gracias Amigos, indeed! In almost two years in New York City, I can't remember <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">ever</span> being able to buy a single drink for $5.94, much less three drinks and chips and salsa for $5.94. Missouri wins this battle in a big, big way.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">MO = 1; NY = 0<br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-47338808538989799322009-03-15T13:20:00.003-04:002009-03-15T13:27:30.176-04:00Camping<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/Sb05N8Y6yxI/AAAAAAAAe2M/nX92HtXUPM0/s1600-h/DSCF2512.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/Sb05N8Y6yxI/AAAAAAAAe2M/nX92HtXUPM0/s320/DSCF2512.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313466047078779666" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Photo by Smalltowngirl</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Photo also OF Smalltowngirl</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Note to self - use the bathroom before putting on four pair of socks, two pair of gloves, and zipping yourself into your sleeping bag. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Between my bladder and the coyotes, I didn't sleep much last night. (Note the one-eyed, glaze-over stare out from inside the sleeping bag cacoon.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Home and showered, it's time for this small town girl to take a nap.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-67346808783028474662009-03-14T10:48:00.008-04:002009-03-14T13:58:13.146-04:00Trailer Parks and NewspapersOn my new daily commute, I pass Bannister City, the mobile home community where my aunt and cousins lived for most of my childhood. Each time we stopped in to visit them there, I would come home to our four bedroom ranch-style house on a beautiful seven-acre hill feeling pretty lucky.<div><br /></div><div>My dad's first house was a trailer. He bought it in college, and lived in it from then through his first bit of marriage with my mom. They upgraded later to a starter house, and finally to the house on the hill, which will be where they retire. </div><div><br /></div><div>It seems to me like that sort of gradual upgrading was pretty typically in the 1970s and 80s. Now though, young people, myself included, are hesitant to buy into the world of manufactured and starter homes. I'm not here to write a polical tangent; we all know about sub-prime homes and the people who have taken on mortages that are beyond their means.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I'm talking about here is nostalgia for a time when everything didn't have to be bigger and flashier and better. A time when it was fashionable to be a little bit frugal; to have some money in the bank, and to have a home you could afford.</div><div><br /></div><div>I gave <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">T</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">he St. Louis Post-Dispatch</span> an earnest try this morning. I was turned off by many of the comments left by readers on <a href="http://www.stltoday.com/stltoday/lifestyle/stories.nsf/homedecor/story/0A1933E4172E504E8625756F00052BF7?OpenDocumenttp://">this story</a> of a perfectly preserved 1950s home and the family who preserved it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Many readers left unsupported comments calling the family "mentally ill" or "wierd", and I found myself angry at the judgements against this family who the readers had never met. Instead of commenting on the house's pink bathroom or 1952 Frigidaire, readers were focused on tearing down people they didn't even know. </div><div><br /></div><div>Rock on, readers of <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">The Post-Dispatch</span>, rock on with your hateful selves.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not sure if this says more about the way St. Louisans think, or more about the St. Louisans who comment on <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">The Post Dispatch</span>'s stories. Either way, after twenty minutes of reading <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">The Post-Dispatch</span>, this story's comments were the breaking point for me, and I found myself running by to my old standby, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">The New York Times.</span> </div><div><br /></div><div>As I read the front page, my shoulders relaxed, and I settled in to my indulgent weekly <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Times</span> time. The first story that caught my attention was on, of all things, New York City's only trailer park.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/15/realestate/keymagazine/15keyHSspread-trailer-t.html?_r=1&ref=keymagazine">Check it out.</a></div><div><br /></div><div>In Missouri, a trailer park isn't exactly luxury living, but for New York City, to be able to buy several rooms, a washer and dryer, a sunroof, parking, and "a garden knome or two" for $500/month is pretty attractive. There's something to be said for living well, but keeping things within your means.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-70851593884954273482009-03-12T23:46:00.006-04:002009-03-13T00:21:20.638-04:00Eyes burning, but snug at home with my hot tea and fuzzy pjs, I feel good about moving back to Missouri.<div><br /></div><div>I've spent two days this week working in various parts of St. Louis; driving in city traffic, eating in city restaurants, and talking to city people. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've spent the other days in small town Missouri; taking my Class E driving test at the highway patrol office, getting my new license at the DMV (I can drive company cars now, woot!), jogging on trails in the woods, and appreciating the mornings' sunrises.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'll leave you tonight with the promise of a horseback trail ride and campout blog on Sunday, and with this photo, taken out of the sunroof of my car in downtown St. Louis on Monday. I love being a tourist in my own city:</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/SbneByw6rII/AAAAAAAAe2E/GaI3ZsfuMb0/s320/P1010028.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312521357848390786" /><div><br /></div><div>Good night, all!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-90407939663103316912009-03-08T12:48:00.005-04:002009-03-09T00:05:12.207-04:00A Bald Eagle, a Beautiful Sunrise, and a ShotgunOn Friday evening, I sat with several coworkers in the dining hall, waiting for the board retreat events to begin. On the menu were fried fish, hush puppies, a salad bar, and desert.<div><br /></div><div>The dining hall looks out onto a 360-acre spring fed lake, and as we ate, a gigantic bird flew past the windows 40 feet or so above the water. My colleague, Andy, pointed it out to us, saying that what had just flown by was "our" bald eagle.</div><div><br /></div><div>Bald Eagles:</div><div>MO=1; NY=0</div><div><br /></div><div>***</div><div><br /></div><div>Because board retreat activities were going fairly late Friday night, I stayed at the Lodge. I woke up the next morning to this view outside my room:</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uazfUdWw35I/SbSTfyTJVHI/AAAAAAAAe18/gIhiNvehRxY/s320/P1010023.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311032034863961202" /></div><div><br /></div><div>Beautiful sunrises over lakes:</div><div>Mo=1; NY=0</div><div><br /></div><div>***</div><div><br /></div><div>On Saturday afternoon, the board was invited to participate in a trap and skeet range orientation. Since I've been trying to do as many of the activities at work as I can, I decided to tag along.</div><div><br /></div><div>I grew up around guns, but I had never taken gun safety, and had never shot a shotgun. During the hourlong gun safety course we took, I learned about the parts of the gun, the rules of responsible gun handling, and the meanings of some common firearm jargon.</div><div><br /></div><div>Watching the instructor (who also happens to be one of my bosses) handle the three shotguns (none loaded) that were part of the safety course, I had butterflies in my stomach. </div><div><br /></div><div>I haven't been around guns in a long time, and my liberal-leaning New-Yorker-self was starting to question whether I really wanted to handle one.</div><div><br /></div><div>I stayed back, watching the board members and their families try their hands with shooting trap. Finally, though, all of the other people had taken their turn, and a few people turned to me, expectantly. I looked around, realizing that I was the only person left to shoot, and stood up to try shooting the 20-gauge shotgun. </div><div><br /></div><div>The kick on the 20-gauge wasn't as bad as I'd expected it to be, but the gun itself was a lot heavier than I was prepared for. My left arm, on which most of the weight of the gun was resting, was almost shaking after five shots, and it's still a little sore today.</div><div><br /></div><div>I guess I was proud of myself for trying something that scared me. I would have been perfectly comfortable never having that shtogun in my hands, but I didn't let myself stay scared. </div><div><br /></div><div>I missed every one of the five clays I was shooting at, but I learned new things and overcame what I hadn't even recognized before then was a fear of mine in handling firearms.</div><div><br /></div><div>Firearms aren't a subject for light-hearted conversation, so I'm not giving this experience points in my tongue-and-cheek MO vs. NY battle.</div><div><br /></div><div>***</div><div><br /></div><div>I will, however, chalk one up for the trails outside the office. After finishing up at the trap and skeet range, I took a jog on the trails, and left work to head home for the rest of the weekend.</div><div><br /></div><div>Trails outside the office:</div><div>MO = 1; NY = 0</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-768691863390435962009-03-06T22:48:00.004-05:002009-03-06T23:05:42.737-05:00Week One Recap (spoiler: I held a chincilla tonight!)It's 9:49 p.m., and I'm sitting in my office in Potosi, Missouri after a full day of work, including eight hours in the office and several more with our board of directors. If ever before this year I had been told I would work in Potosi, Missouri, I would have bet everything I owned that you were lying. (And I'm not a better).<br /><br />If you had told me I'd <span style="font-style: italic;">love</span> my new position working in Potosi, Missouri, I would probably have laughed in your face. (And I'm generally very polite).<br /><br />Yet here I am, tired after my first week of work here, but tired in the "sugarplums dancing in their heads" kind of way, where I feel an excitement about what's to come and such a deep peace about where I am in this moment that rest will come easily when I finish this post and crawl into my bed.<br /><br />This week I have been woken up by the family dog, I've had coffee at the kitchen table with my dad before work, and I've watched my mom get so creative and excited about cooking really great, healthy meals for us.<br /><br />Wednesday on my way home from work, I saw a deer cross the road in front of me and run down a hill and into a field. The weather has warmed up here, so I've continued to test out my new trail running shoes on jogs in the woods behind the office. Tonight, I held a chincilla in my hands (his little nose was adorable, and his "pricklies" were softer than they looked!).<br /><br />My coworkers are gracious, thoughtful, and incredibly welcoming. Do not misunderstand me here, they are also hard-working, experienced, many of them very well-traveled professionals. They have brought me into my first week here at the Y with nothing but compassion and kindness, which heals my soul in ways that I didn't know it was even aching.<br /><br />Do I miss New York City? Of course I do, in little ways, and sporatically. Do I love where I am though, professionally and personally; mentally, spiritually, and physically? Yes, wholly.<br /><br />All things happen for a reason, and I believe that my new job and new home are no exceptions.SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-39941033984471478272009-03-02T21:06:00.009-05:002009-03-02T21:40:16.052-05:00Milk and CookiesMy friend Factor has kindly shared the following photo with me of another New York City cow. This one lives in Manhattan, not Brooklyn. <div><br /></div><div>Clearly, I was incorrect in my assumption that MO would have one up on New York were cattle are concerned.<br /><br />New York City has some darn fine cow (butts). I have cow pictures from two boroughs now - does anyone know any cows in Staten Island, Queens, or The Bronx?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1190/1444119737_b6da13b466.jpg?v=0"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 375px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1190/1444119737_b6da13b466.jpg?v=0" border="0" alt="" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Photo Credit: </span><a href="http://http//www.flickr.com/photos/shellysblogger/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">ShellyS</span></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">There aren't any cows at my new job, but there are lots of other great things. My first day was pretty great. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I found out that coffee brews from early morning until after lunch, and I can drink as much as I want.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Plus, there are cookies. Like, every day. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Mmmm...cookies...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Did I mention that my lunch, if I choose to eat in the dining room, is free? </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Life is good, my friends.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But seriously, people, it's great. I've never felt more warmly welcomed in a new job, my office was freshly painted, and I had a brand new Mac desktop waiting for me. My coworkers are friendly and helpful, and the place is just stunning.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My new supervisors have taken great efforts to make my transition smooth; planning meetings for me with each department over the coming ten days to familiarize me with our programs and the way each department works with the marketing department.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I saw a portion of the 5,000 acres of land today, including tours of several of the 10+ buildings. Besides the horse ranch, enormous lake, tennis courts, gym, cabins, and 5-story log lodge, there are miles of trails for walking/running/hiking, and it seems like I'll have coworkers to take advantage of these things with after hours.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It seems like I'll have a lot to learn, and also a lot to offer, which, when combined with the organization's efforts to raise employees through its ranks (rather than lose good employees like so many organizations do), lead me to believe that I've found a place I'll be able to stay and grow for a good amount of time.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And did I mention the cookies?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And milk? (seriously).</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Mmmm...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div>SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220775443112296673.post-49425416578278210292009-03-01T18:33:00.006-05:002009-03-01T18:49:25.883-05:00Little Chinatown in the Antiques MallI've never been a handbag kind of girl - I much prefer jewelry, shoes, and music, if music counts as an accessory.<div><br /></div><div>I have to admit though that I worried, if only momentarily, that immediately following my departure from NYC I'd develop a compulsive need to buy knock-off handbags.<div><br /></div><div>Much to my delight, the local (and by local, I mean <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">really</span> local, i.e. one-ninth of a mile away) antique mall has an entire row of knock-off Coach and Dulce & Gabanna's. </div><div><br /></div><div>Watch out Chinatown, small town Missouri has it's own little Canal Street, hidden away in an unasuming rural antique mall.</div></div>SmallTownGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12957780834287607637noreply@blogger.com0