It’s 10am, and I’m at my kitchen table drinking coffee in my pajamas.  Julie is still asleep - I can’t blame her, she drove 1,200 miles to get here.  We had dinner with joeljoeljoel (SHOUT OUT) at the Cherry Cricket last night - have I mentioned that Denver is a destination?  Since I moved here 3 weeks ago, I’ve met up with at least 5 out-of-town friends who have just randomly been in my new city.

That is an invitation, by the way.

Because Julie is here, I’m taking today off of work to go explore the city a bit.  The plan is to walk to the downtown public library (because I drive past it every day, and it is gorgeous), maybe stroll through the Denver Art Museum, hoof it to REI, and the whole time, keep our eyes out for a place to have dinner tonight.

Tomorrow, we’ll head to Colorado Springs to be with my mom and our friend Lisa, and on Sunday morning, we’ll go on a long run.

I am so thankful for easy, low-maintenance friends.  Julie doesn’t care that I don’t have a couch or a TV, or that we went to bed before 11 last night.  We can’t be exciting all the time - and the ones who know this about us and honestly don’t care?  They are keepers.

Yesterday, my favorite Handy Graham gave me a ring - not a diamond ring (I should be so lucky), just a phone call.

We shot the breeze for a few minutes, and then he asked, “How’s it going there?  Are you doing okay?”  It was earnest and sincere.  My eyes stung for a few seconds, I blinked a few times to compose myself, and then told him.

For the rest of you, I bucked up and made a video.

Denverado from Annie Parsons on Vimeo.

It was -12 (that would be MINUS TWELVE DEGREES) when I woke up this morning.

So much has happened in the last day!

First of all, the helium balloon.

WHAT.

Is this the weirdest story ever?  First of all, that this Jiffy Pop contraption actually existed – and in someone’s backyard, no less.  Secondly, that the entire country was thrown into a frenzy when it was reported that there was a 6-year old boy inside, adrift.  And his name was FALCON.

When I found out that he was okay, that he had been hiding the entire time, I was in the airport getting boarding a flight to Boston.  My mom called me and told me that they found him hiding in the garage attic.  And when I hung up the phone, I got all teary – because this is amazing?  This is the best news ever?  And I am PMSing?  So leave me alone.

But then!  I arrive in Boston to the news that it’s gotten even weirder!  The family had been on “Wife Swap” – the show that makes Jon & Kate look like Ward & June Cleaver.  And when asked why he didn’t come out of hiding when he heard his name being called, little Falcon said, “You guys said we did this for the show.”

Oh, snap!  Right there on “Larry King Live”!

I’ll choose to just be happy that he’s okay, because this could turn into a circus.

Anyhoo.

I’m in Boston!  And this is the weather.

It’s putting a damper on my plans, since today was meant for some solo exploring outside on foot while my friends are busy.  But you know what?  I’m going to do it anyway.  Here’s where I’m going to go walk in the freezing rain right now:

Doesn’t that look like fun?  Walking out into the middle of the ocean??  Around PLEASURE BAY?

And now that I have spent 20 minutes creating a map with arrows that, at this point, is useless to anyone but me, I just want to point you toward one last thing.

My littlest sister, Sarah, is in her last year of nursing school.  The things that nurses know, and know how to do, blows my mind - the medical realm is so far outside my small scope of knowledge.  Last night, she wrote a post about an experience that had me riveted.  I can’t believe how much she has experienced, the lives she is making a difference in, and the incredible path she has chosen.  I am bursting with pride.

“A day away can transform uncertainty and renew the spirit.”
-Maya Angelou

I go on walks – long walks – pretty much every day, sometimes multiple times a day, sometimes alone late at night. (I know. Just… I know. I shouldn’t do it. I know.) Recently on these walks, I have seen:

Twin Old Ladies

Y’all. I’m not EVEN kidding. There they were, up ahead of me, in… can it be?… matching plaid shirts? Matching shorts? Identical shoes and ankle socks? Synchronized strides with their EXACT SAME little calves? When I caught up with them, I asked them if they were twins. They turned their faces to me, and IT WAS THE SAME WOMAN, DUPLICATED. Indistinguishable. They told me – in very sweet Southern accents, no less – that they live together, and work together, and have done everything side-by-side their entire lives. It was cute.

Also, weird.

But really, cute. Endearing. Unexpected.

However, maybe not as unexpected as…

A coyote

I know. You want to tell me, “Annie, it was just a dog.”

But I’m sorry. What kind of house-pup looks like this?

This was no little desert coyote, either. It was a very large, muscular, FOREST coyote, emerging at dusk from the dark bushes and freezing at the sight of Julie and me. We just kept walking, and it ran in the other direction. But honestly. Cockroaches? Possums? COYOTES? My urban oasis is being overrun with life-threatening disturbances.

Keep an eye on your ferrets, Nashville.

Well, here we go: take 2.

After yesterday’s failed attempt, today I succeeded in my mondo Tour de Nashville on foot. I kept my eyes open for anything that might catch my attention; here are some of the many.

Immediately, I was reminded that spring is almost here.

Did you know that there is a full-scale, exact replica of the Parthenon in Nashville? I KNOW. Can you say ran-dom? It’s kind of cool, though. I wish I had a toga or some olives or something.

I found a little pond to walk around. It’s not exactly Green Lake (which I miss like the bullseye on a dartboard - i.e. “often”), but it has a slightly similar feel.

Every time I see a little duck pair, I think of them as Opal and Willard. Don’t they look like an Opal and Willard - an old married couple that’s just living their every-day life? As comfortable with each other as they are with themselves?

Another sign of life.

I walked past a Methodist church with it’s doors wide open and it’s sanctuary empty. It had been a long time since I had seen stained glass and grandeur in a sanctuary, and I liked to think that the silence was pregnant with the prayers of those who had worshiped there this morning.

I-40 East / I-65 South. Glamorous.

Empty railroad tracks close to downtown.

I cannot tell you how happy I was to see these flowers blooming in Nashville; it reminded me of Seattle. Can you tell I’m missing Seattle these days?

Here are some of the honky tonks on Broadway downtown. To witness them in their full glory, you kind of have to see them on a weekend night: neon lights flashing, and twangy bands in the windows, and cheap beer flowing like milk and honey. They are magnificently tacky.

Speaking of tacky…

This is the AT&T Building downtown. It’s the most prominent building on the Nashville skyline, as it bears a striking resemblance to Batman.

What century am I in?

I wanted to get another Americano at Crema, but it was closed.

This cracked me up.

Downtown Nashville is full of murals, and while a lot of them are cheesy and gaudy, this one struck me as harsh and solemn.

I logged 8.11 miles (check out MapMyRun.com - it’s a great resource), and then came home to eat a ham sandwich. You can bet that I’ll do this again - but maybe next time, I’ll go somewhere dangerous or dilapidated. I’m thinking Nolensville Pike. It will be The Walk: Rated R.

You can take the girl out of Seattle, but…

It started as such a good idea. On New Years’ Day, Greta had done a mega-Seattle walk, 10+ miles with her digital camera, taking pictures of noteworthy things. So, I decided that today, I would follow suit and take several hours to explore Nashville on foot, using my new camera to document the things that caught my attention.

Above is the only picture that I took.

The first hour of the walk, I talked on the phone and ignored my surroundings. I wound up at Crema, a new-ish coffee shop with the best Americano I have had in Nashville to date. At this point, the sky was getting darker and heavier, and my Seattle instincts told me that rain was on the way.

As I weighed my options - brave the rain or stay at Crema forever - I perused the art on the walls at the coffee shop. They are currently featuring works by Aaron Grayum - delightful, whimsical paintings based on his childhood. Particularly, this one stood out:

It was a sign, right? I should brave the storm, right?

I did.

There comes a point in every girl’s life when it is simply impossible to be any more wet. And at that point, you boldly stand on street corners, embracing the fact that the passing cars will send tidal waves your way. You do not avoid, but rather, walk straight through puddles, allowing water to slosh into your sneakers. You smile at your fellow man caught in the same storm, bound together by your drenched circumstances.

And when you get home, you peel the 10 lbs. worth of wet cotton off of your body and take the most luxuriously hot shower known to man. And you know that that? What you just did? When you let your mascara run and didn’t care that your hair got ruined and accepted the fact that I am powerless over this situation so I might as well enjoy it? Is liberation.

In the midst of the insanity that is my existence, I took a walk this afternoon. And as the sun shone down and I thought my many complicated and stressful thoughts, one thing kept popping into my head. Gratitude.

Over and over, there are things to be grateful for.

Despite uncertainty, despite my lack of health insurance, despite phone bills $100 more than they should have been, my life is pretty amazing. Things have a way of working themselves out. And joy has a way of finding its way back into my heart.

The trees are brittle and bare. There is a sharp edge to the wind, and the green grass is nowhere to be seen. It’s cold. It’s silent. But on some days, like today, there is sunshine. I am grateful for this season - this season of absence and anticipation. It means that the budding time is next.

This afternoon, I walked from Beacon Hill to the Back Bay, and then over to Cambridge to explore Harvard, and finally, back to Beacon Hill. It was about an 8-mile walk, and it felt good to stretch my legs after, you know, quitting exercise this fall. Boston is beautiful, and if I wasn’t so set on Nashville, I would seriously consider moving here.


Sadly, I did not spot any “Harvard Hotties” in Cambridge. In fact, I realized that a significant part of the Harvard population is made up of college freshman - and I just can’t “go young.” I walked around the campus for awhile, but eventually was intimidated by the electricity of brain waves in the air, so I bought myself a coffee and left.

Christina took me to Pizzeria Regina in the North End for dinner, which is billed as being the “World’s! Best! Pizza!” We were not disappointed. They even gave us our Sangiovese in big tumblers.

We ended our night by watching “The Departed,” with a Boston mob history lesson from Dan, Christina’s husband. It was the best kind of day: walking for miles and miles, only to eat well in the evening, and watch some serious Scorsese carnage.

Boston, my booty - and my belly - thank you.