Chaos and Cosmos

I had a moment this evening to ponder a past life.

We live out in what is colloquially referred to as "the country". We're on the down side of a mountain and between us and what I like to call "civilization" is a narrow but dense wilderness, consisting of a large river, lots of trees, a few stretches of farm land, and a couple of vineyards. There's not much out here in the way of shopping; if I want anything less than 20 minutes away my choices boil down to a couple of grocery stores and the local Wal-Mart. Oh, and there's a Dollar General, but I quit going there after a very very drunk man, still reeking of yesterday's urine, attempted to pick up my terrified 2-year-old. I'm sure he didn't mean any harm - he really seemed like he just wanted to continue the one-sided conversation he'd been having with JT - but when it comes to my kids I'm just a teensy but overprotective and paranoid. There are a couple of coffee shops and one very awesome kids' consignment store, but beyond that the pickings are pretty slim.

In a previous life, more often than not, I crashed with T (who was then my boyfriend) at his very cosmopolitan apartment in downtown D.C. Their were more local haunts than you could shake a stick at; we could walk out the front door of his complex and go across the street to this great little Italian restaurant that had a fantastic house chianti and these incredible little crusty bread rolls. We could catch a cab up to Cleveland Park and spend an evening drinking heavy beer and hard cider while we gnoshed on Irish soda bread and chips with malt vinegar at Ireland's Four Provinces. We could take a quick drive to Arlington Cinema Drafhouse and watch a movie with a pitcher and some nachos, or catch the metro to the museum district and spend an afternoon wandering the various Smithsonian buildings. Before I ever watched an episode of "Sex and the City" or even knew what it was, I felt like the Carrie Bradshaw of D.C. (minus the outrageous shoe collection.)

In my heart, I have to admit I'm a city girl. I prefer the hustle and bustle, the car horns on the street below and the ability to get a decent cup of coffee at any time of day or night. I miss wandering anonymously through a crowd and taking a mall for granted. I miss the million strangers all around and bagel sandwiches from Pumpernickel's Bagelry.

But, as fate would have it, for the time being I am a city girl out here in the country. I don't regret our move out here; it's done wonders for JT and he and TM have a real yard to play in. There's enough room to put up a playground or maybe even get them a dog one day (if I can feel up to attempting that adventure again.)

And, even though it gets awfully quiet out here in the sticks, I have to admit that there is something at once wistful and comforting about hearing the lonely sound of the whistle as the trains barrel through town in the middle of the night. I can hear them thundering over the tracks with the soft rumble of a fading storm, unmuffled in the cold night air. Reminding me that I am a long way from the city. Reminding me that I am home.