Nebraska--it's not that bad

I have long-suspected that I may have read too many romanticized books, and have watched far too many romantic comedy movies. (The worst are those made-for-t.v. movies that you don't want to watch, but somehow Lifetime or Hallmark sucks you in and you find that you've sat trough an entire movie despite your better intentions.)

I say this because I recently drove through Eastern Colorado and across Nebraska; despite my teen-action book-on-CD (I've been working my way through the Percy Jackson series, remember?), I found my my mind wandering instead to the rugged and restless hearts of ranches, to wind-swept prairie lands, skirts being picked up in the wind and fluttering around knees and ankles as you think about your devotion and love to the land . . . as well as to that brooding farmer down the road. Of all places, Nebraska had me completely enthralled with romantic notions that I have wanted to pretend I don't have. I couldn't stop thinking about all those wonderful works of fiction by Nebraska author Willa Cather. I went through a big Willa Cather phase in 8th and 9th grades. O Pioneers!, My Antonia, and especially The Song of the Lark came flooding back into my mind as I raced across Nebraska. I have a special love for The Song of the Lark. Although it has been a long time since I read that book, the protagonist, Thea, sticks with me. Perhaps it was that she was always seeking something but wasn't sure what, that she was different from her siblings simply because she sang (because even if your siblings are also musical, when you come from a stock of instrumentalists and you're the lone vocalist, you feel a bit like a fish out of water just because you're "the different one"), or simply because she was strong enough to do what she wanted, and although she loved sincerely, she didn't let her romantic disappointments ruin her. Whatever it is, that book has stuck with me, and it haunted me as I drove across Nebraska. I could almost picture myself in the hazy breeze with a more modern picture of romanticism, perhaps. Instead of long, pioneer skirts fluttering in the wind, I picture hair wisps flying about in the summer sun, blinking and squinting up at the treeless sky . . .

After hours of driving and daydreaming, I finally arrived in Omaha. This was not my first, nor my last, visit to Omaha. One of my best friends (Amy) lives there with her husband, so I usually visit at least once or twice a year. As with Denver, I was merely passing through, but this visit was one I looked forward to simply because I got to spend a day with Amy. After a delicious dinner at Lazlo's, a brewery and grill, Amy's husband met up with some of his friends to complete a beer tour at Old Chicago, and Amy and I had some girl time. (Yay!)

For years, Amy has tried to get me to consider moving to Omaha. (I, in turn, have consistently tried to get her to move back to the Twin Cities. It's that ploy we all use--we want all the people we love most to live near us. Nothing wrong with that!) Her rational explanations about the lower cost of living, deals, and the arts scene and history of Omaha always end with, "It's not that bad." Every time I visit Omaha, I do have a considerable amount of fun. Of course, I credit this with the company, though, not the city. I generally feel that the people you are with are more integral to enjoyment than the place being visited. I frequently love doing nothing with great company. In fact, that may rank among my favorite things. (I do have a penchant for "the little things," like great phone calls with friends, walks on a cool summer night, the crunch of leaves in the fall, the hush that falls on a busy city when it snows . . . )

I'm not looking to move--I do love living in the twin cities--but I must say I agree. Nebraska--it's not that bad. There is a certain appeal to all that open space, maybe a touch of romanticism tucked into those long grasses and tall cornstalks.

But . . . my heart still belongs to Minnesota.