I love beets. I really, truly love them. If I see them on a menu, I will choose beets over almost anything else.
My least favorite color is blue. I don’t hate it, I would just never pick it for anything. If I were the captain of a kickball team, I would choose red first, and then green like my new curtains, and then maybe teal. Yellow would be one of my last choices. But not as last as blue. Blue would be the last one standing.
My left ring toe – the one next to the pinky toe – is broken. Or something. I have a tendency to overreact to physical ailments, so it’s hard to tell – but something is definitely wrong with it. All of a sudden, it’s gigantic – Elmer Fudd might as well have dropped an anvil on his foot. The weird thing is that it doesn’t really hurt – but it’s swollen and purple. I still ran for 40 minutes last night, though. That probably didn’t help.
When I run, I listen to what I have been told is the “worst running music ever” – mid-90’s country. I can’t help it. The songs are so good. In the 90’s, Nashville still operated by the principle of “the best song wins” – before it became so politicized and exclusive. So last night, I was all, “Trisha Yearwood? Patty Loveless? Blackhawk? YES PLEASE.”
These days, at least there’s Lori McKenna.
For as stilted and exhausting as it can be to move to a new city, I am reminded of something that I felt a lot of when I first moved to Nashville: potential. The first days in a new place have a lonely sweetness to them – quiet possibility. Each person that I meet might wind up being my friend. Each road I drive down might lead to a surprise.
So. Denver, ho.
I just wanted to tell you all of these things today.