This week I ironed my kitchen
curtains. This may not seem like a big deal, but I hung the curtains last year
when I moved to Montana. I
noticed they needed to be pressed, but my laziness won out. I figured the
wrinkles would hang out, but they didn’t.
For the past year, I’d walk in the
kitchen, see the wrinkles, and think, “I really should iron those curtains. . .
. Nah, the wrinkles will hang out.”
The fact that I did finally iron my
curtains a year after purchasing and hanging them is a testament to my belief
that gravity would serve better than a hot iron or to my sheer dislike of
ironing. I think the latter is probably true.
But now my non-wrinkly kitchen
curtains serve as a reminder that I have been here in Dillon for a year, and it
makes me wonder, How have I changed this past year?
I’m a few pounds lighter (thanks to
having had whooping cough in January) but in better shape because of the
fabulous spin and pilates instructors at the YMCA.
My hair is a little longer and
darker as it is no longer baked and fried daily by the blistering Texas
sun.
I’m single. This time last year I
was dating the now infamous Dodging Badger Blake, and today, the dating
landscape looms before me looking, as someone once described my butt, like the
great plains….flat and wide.
I know more people. Last year I
didn’t know anyone here. This year, I can’t cruise the aisles of Safeway
without running into new friends who are astonished by the amount of Smarties I
buy on a weekly basis.
I am willing to drive great
distances for good food. Last year a trip to Bozeman
just for shopping and dinner was unthinkable (two hours for Target and Applebee’s?
Bah!). Now, two hours in the car flies by as I chant, “Dave’s Sushi, Dave’s
Sushi.”
I have a different outdoor
wardrobe. Last year, I owned nothing by Patagonia. This
year, well, let’s just say the outlet store could, in fact, be subsidized single-handedly
by me.
I am more careful with the written
word. This time last year I published my first column in the Tribune, and if I knew then what an
uproar my use of a word for feces that rhymes with “curd” would cause, would I still
have published this column?
I’ve thought about this a lot. I’ve
thought about how difficult it was for me to move to a new place where I didn’t
know anyone for the first high stakes job of my academic career.
At first, I didn’t make my life any
easier by publishing this column. The double-stitched knots in my stomach that
appeared each week as I perused the “Letters to the Editor” section looking for
cries of outrage from the Dillon citizenry gently untied themselves as more and
more people approached me (on the street, in the doctor’s office, at the
grocery store) and told me how much they enjoyed the column.
I’m not a person who prefers the
easy way out, so I believe even if I had known last year what I know now about
the initial reaction to this column, I would have done it.
I think publishing this column was
worth the risk of intestinal distress because writing it made me get out and
experience Dillon.
So what have I learned about living
in Dillon this past year?
I’ve learned that a commute within
the city limits will almost always take me by Bad Ass Coffee Company, whose
presence I’m sure still irritates certain Dillonites but never fails to make me
chuckle as I think about all the bad publicity that most certainly drove
customers TO not FROM the store.
I’ve learned that City Council
meetings are never dull, especially when they involve graffiti, recall
petitions, and bib overalls.
I’ve learned that the few Fridays a
year Great Harvest Bread Company opens its doughy doors for charity sales are fabulous
beginnings to carb-a-licious weekends.
I’ve learned that pick-up trucks in
Dillon come with several options: A/C, cruise, or a dog in the back.
And most importantly, I’ve learned
that in order to be a part of a town like Dillon, I must be an active member of
the community.
Joining the YMCA, the Arts Council,
the Dillon Book Club, and the Kicking Country Cloggers gave my social calendar
a much-needed boost and also afforded me the opportunity to socialize with
people not directly associated with my job.
A year later I feel as if I am no
longer a newcomer to Dillon but a member of its community. Sure, I’m still an
outsider, like the fruity second cousin you have to invite to the wedding, but
I’m beginning to learn the family secrets.