Coffeeshop superlatives

With less than two weeks remaining until we move away from our home of the last 2.5 years, join me on this brief departure from the grief of goodbyes. This is likely interesting to very few readers out there, but I've become a real fan of coffee shops since moving to the Springs, what with all the different options. Since we millennials are killing off chain stores and supporting a genuine movement toward local food, artisan craftsmanship, and small business, the coffee shop industry seems to be booming. What a time to be alive.

Anyway, I've formed a mental list of favorites over the years. Here's an annotated version; you know, for posterity.

• Best neighborhood coffee shop: Rosco's Coffee. Rosco is a real live donkey whose face is emblazoned on the outside of this house-converted-to-coffee-shop. Occasionally Rosco comes to visit and stands outside on the corner of Bijou and Walnut where passersby can pet him. The coffee itself shop is exactly as whimsical as you'd expect. If the downtown coffee shops are the equivalent of a trendy hipster with a man bun, downtown-adjacent Rosco's is his eccentric but lovable cousin who's always carrying around a weird piece of modern art.
• Best non-coffee drinks: Morning Glory Espresso. My personal favorite is the London Fog, but the Goddess is also amazing. (Also, this place is a close second for best neighborhood coffee shop; I only picked Rosco's for that category because it's in my neighborhood. When I was teaching sectionals at Watson Junior High last spring, I would have a few hours' break between morning and afternoon classes, and it wasn't worth driving home, so I would sit in MoGlo and work on homework. The people there were so friendly and chatty it was problematic for my work, but it was so charming it didn't bother me.)
• Best study spot: Starbucks on Garden of the Gods. I'm not a big Starbucks person, but this place was sometimes worth my while. Large enough to be anonymous and always have an open table near an outlet; busy enough that the chatter forms a pleasant white noise without any one conversation breaking through to be distracting.
• Best tea selection: Bella's/The Coffee Exchange. I'm a fan of the Red Rocks blend (rooibos with almond and coconut).
• Most likely to be full for no reason whatsoever: The Starbucks on the corner of Tejon and Bijou. It's always packed in there, despite the facts that it's Starbucks and there's literally another Starbucks one block down the same street.
• Best quiet atmosphere: Agia Sophia, top floor. There are always people up there, but other than the very faint strains of classical music playing, it's the kind of place where even "hushed tones" feels like a little much. (Another thing I like about this place is that the tea is served in pots, and if you ask for cream, you get your own tiny pitcher of it. This means you get a lot of tea, ultimate control over the tea/cream ratio, and you don't have to keep walking back and forth from the cream-and-sugar station.)
• Best price: The Perk Downtown. $2 for any size tea. Any place that doesn't try to charge more for extra hot water is a winner in my book.
• Best place to take yourself out on a date: Rico's at Poor Richard's Downtown. I've been known to hit up this cozy spot occasionally when D has evening meetings at church. It's hip and trendy, but lots of people go there and hang out alone, so you don't feel like a loser. Plus you get to browse the attached bookstore afterward.

And there you have it: a highly esoteric foray into the coffee shops in my life. As my grandma always says, you get what you paid for it.

Soulmate music

I don't really refer to the Wailin' Jennys as my favorite band. It sounds too shallow for the way I feel about them. If our souls can find life partners in music, that's how I feel.

On Saturday night I walked into Stargazers Theatre for their concert, the first stop on this year's tour, and, by some undeserved blessing from God or fate (via a friend who came over and invited us to sit with her -- thanks Chloe!) ended up in the front row. I sat down hardly comprehending it: front row seats? Heather and Nicky and Ruth ten feet in front of me? Daniel said before the concert started, "We're almost close enough for them to spit on us." "It would be an honor," I said.

Waiting there in my exhilaratingly close seat, I was trying to remember when I first became a Wailin' Jennys fan. I distinctly remember the first time I heard their music. It was spontaneous and could have easily been insignificant, just a song played to me amidst a group of friends by a high school classmate. But, as you already know, it wasn't. That song was Beautiful Dawn, which is still to this day and for every day in between has been my favorite song. I remember that moment; I just don't remember exactly when it was. I know it was somewhere in the neighborhood of sophomore year of high school, so I'm estimating it's been ten years. I can't claim the full fifteen years the group is celebrating in 2017, but it's still a long time. Two-fifths of my life, to put it another way, and the fraction only grows larger.

The whole concert experience was deeply meaningful to me in a way that's difficult to put into words. I heard the Wailin' Jennys live once before, about eight years ago. This time gave me space to reflect on the time that has passed since, and the magnitude of this music's role in my life. All the hard times I've faced that these songs have carried me through. How deeply I've resonated with different lyrics at different times, somehow always finding what I need. As I listened, I felt steeped in the rich history of my own story, full of love and gratitude for the music and its influence on the person I've been and have become.

And I remembered the days and weeks and months during my senior year of high school, after weathering one of the hardest experiences of my life, when I listened and listened to Ten Mile Stilts, This is Where, Take It Down, and Starlight. I can say without question that these songs played a role in my healing, and not a small one. They gave voice to my pain in a way that little else did.

Got a heart that opens clear in this cool September dark

It rests on treetop leaves

And bursts its little sparks

And sometimes it sings its songs

And it lets its secrets out

Except for one that sears inside

That it cannot live without

But if I tell you will you take it

Will you shine it up to me

Can you be strong to let me go on

And set this freedom free

----

I have toured the endless starlight

Take me home

I have shattered under midnight

Take me home

There are no vultures in this clearing

Except the ones who brought me here

And I'll no longer feed them

Take me home

Even now, I feel the impact of their new music as a bright light in a dark and sometimes dismal global landscape. The announcement of their new album (the first in six years) came in early September, linked to their cover of Tom Petty's "Wildflowers," and that's another moment that will be permanently etched in my mind.

It's odd, thinking about the things that shape our lives. But the simple truth is, I think I would be a different person if the Wailin' Jennys hadn't come into my life. And I'm glad I'm not that person.

Wanderlust: Black Canyon of the Gunnison

There are four national parks in Colorado: Rocky Mountain, Mesa Verde, Great Sand Dunes, and Black Canyon of the Gunnison. Incidentally, this makes Colorado the fourth-highest-ranked state in number of national parks, behind California (9), Alaska (8), and Utah (5).

You recall our visit to Mesa Verde and the Great Sand Dunes back in June with the Service Adventure gang.

D and I hit Rocky Mountain National Park in August, a weekend blissfully spent camping and hiking. So I was really hoping to make it to Black Canyon and check the fourth off our list sometime this fall, while we're still in Colorado.

We drove about 250 miles west into the Rockies as the sun set Friday night, camped overnight in the park, and spent all of Saturday exploring hiking trails and overlooks. Not too disappointed with the views, to be honest.

I have to mention that it was a bit cold for camping. I had packed plenty of layers, and my sleeping bag is supposed to be good down to 30 degrees, but I made the rookie mistake of neglecting a sleeping pad or anything to serve as extra insulation between me and the cold ground.

On the bright side, though, it was only one night, and the passenger seat in our car turns out to recline quite a bit.

Anyway, the park is divided into the North Rim and South Rim of the canyon, and it takes about 2 hours driving to get from one to the other. Most of the campsites are on the South Rim, so that was the side we explored, and we made it through nearly all the hikes and overlooks in a day. If we'd had another day, we could've done the North Rim too, but we didn't feel like we missed out on too much.

Black Canyon was carved out by the Gunnison River and has been known by the Ute native people for ages.

The Canyon was taken over with typical colonial arrogance by General Palmer (railroad tycoon and founder of Colorado Springs) in the late 1800s. It was designated a national monument in 1933, but the area has only been a national park since 1999.

Although we saw other people throughout the day, it's clear that this park is much less visited and less well-known than the other three, even after accounting for the timing of our visit (not during peak-season).

Though it was a little on the chilly side, mid-October looked so lovely on this landscape.

We caught it just before the Gambel scrub oaks passed their peak.

And even found a late-season aspen grove.

Consider this yet another reason to visit Colorado. I daresay you won't regret it.

Happy October, friends.

Bounce-Topia

Remember how for my birthday, Emily got us tickets to hear Queen Michelle? Well, this weekend was Emily's birthday, and coincidentally, Big Bounce America was in town for this weekend only.

In case you're unfamiliar, Big Bounce America is the biggest bouncy house in the world. (And no, they are not sponsoring this post, although if they wanted to do such a thing I wouldn't be mad about it.) Their website describes the experience as "10,000 square feet of full-on inflatable fun," marketed at "families, teenagers, and any adults who still remember how to find fun in bouncing and flapping around something big and inflatable."

Friends, I am here to tell you: it is not that hard. Fun is literally everywhere at a place like that.

I do have to mention that the entire three-day visit to COS was filled with hour-long sessions available only to kids and families, except for one precious hour Sunday evening reserved for adults 16+. We nabbed our tickets for that hour pronto, and Daniel decided to come too.

I did not take any pictures because who wants a phone in their pocket while springing, sliding, leaping, and bouncing with abandon. (The photo below is from the Big Bounce America website.) Please refer to this article for another photo of the magical place. 

https://thebigbounceamerica.com/experience/

Trust me when I say, it was a real-life utopia in there. There was no sadness, no disappointment, no heartache. There was only the pure, unadulterated bliss, camaraderie, and euphoria that comes from fully grown women and men engaging in a childhood dream.

Everybody basically became friends on sight: We interacted with strangers many times in the most jovial of manners, whether it was laughing mutually at our incredibly idiotic falls, or cheering each other on as we endeavored to do things like wrestle a giant inflatable dog or clamber awkwardly atop a huge inflatable cube. I watched a grown man take a running start to tackle an inflatable palm tree, which was flimsy, so he and the tree faceplanted immediately.

It was raining just a little when the hour started, but stopped within 15 minutes or so. That actually ended up being great, because the water made the whole thing feel like a slip-n-slide.

The whole place was bounceable, of course, but it was filled with lots of other activities too. There was a huge inflatable slide ending in a ball pit. There were inflatable basketball hoops and beach balls to dunk with. There were 3-foot-tall balls to roll around on. There was a Wipeout-esque room wherein people lined up to try to jump/climb on top of a huge inflatable cube and, if successful, then tried to climb from there on top of a second, larger cube behind it. This was where most people failed epically and fell off in a glorious display of clumsiness to general amusement. The best part about this is that none of it was judgmental. Everyone laughed hysterically at one another and at themselves, because literally nobody looked cool doing this, but no one cared.

Daniel and I raced each other on a short obstacle course-type thing. Picture two parallel courses comprised of a mini rock climbing wall and then a short slide down the other side, then the same thing again. Two little camel humps, basically. Daniel went whizzing stomach-style over both humps lightning fast, like a majestic porpoise. I struggled up the first wall and was going down the first hump as he was already crawling out the exit tunnel, victorious. I cannot possibly convey to you how funny this was. My most porpoise-like moment happened on our second try, when I attempted Daniel's strategy on the first hump, but didn't have enough momentum to get all the way over it, so I slid back down on my face in reverse.

There's really no point to this story except to try to document some of the joy. The three of us agreed that an hour spent in bouncy-house paradise was exactly what we all needed. I'm not advocating for escapism, but it was nice, for one hour, to be immersed in something completely counter to the horrific events we're experiencing.

Thanks for indulging my story, and consider this your reminder to connect with your inner child. They're in there somewhere, I promise.

The Brenneman Clan: Threads in the Tapestries of Families

The second family reunion of the summer (the first is here, in case you missed it) was a gathering of the Brenneman clan. This one took place just north of Colorado Springs, which was convenient and also allowed me to show the family around to some of my favorite places.

The Brennemans are my maternal grandmother's family: the seven children of Fred and Millie Page Brenneman and all their descendants.

On the first full day of the reunion, I led a group hike to Red Rock Canyon.

I didn't get a full count, but probably 30-40 people came along, which was more than half the group.

I was afraid it would rain on us, but it ended up being beautiful.

I love all the wildflowers this time of year.

That afternoon, another big group of us went to the Olympic Training Center. There were 25 of us, so we got our own private tour. Our tour guide was funny. (You can tell because even Isaac cracked a bit of a smile.)

When not out exploring the Springs, we were hanging out at our retreat center, The Hideaway. The big backyard was especially nice.

My frisbee-obsessed second cousin taught this game called Redemption, sort of a version of Monkey in the Middle.

And there was a Gaga court, so...

There was some board game-playing (but certainly not anything of Nussbaum proportions).

This game of chess was particularly cute.

There was some puzzling.

There was some artfully assembled food. (Side note: the vegetarian option was always incredible. Meat lovers, your loss.)

There was talent show hilarity.

And there was some planning for the next reunion.

Alongside the abundant quality time with loved ones, I did some introspecting, of course.

Only two of my four grandparents' families had regular reunions when I was growing up, so this is the extended family I know the best, but I don't think that's the only reason why I feel a strong kinship to the Brennemans. It's the family culture, too.

There's a joke about Brenneman arguments. These occur when two or more people are arguing, and they are actually in agreement about whatever the subject matter is, but they still manage to argue about it. Clarity of speech, exactness, and articulation matter to us.

Some other things run in the Brenneman family: Hazel eyes. Graduate degrees. Teaching. Traveling.

In my estimation, among the sixty-odd family members, we have dozens of graduate degrees, roughly 20 teachers and professors, and over 75 different countries visited. Even in the short window of a few days spent together, it's so easy to see that the core values of the Brennemans are education, travel, honesty, and forthrightness. All these values were wholly espoused by our shared ancestors -- Fred and Millie Brenneman, missionary doctors and teachers. And I see them all deeply ingrained in myself.

Little did Fred and Millie know that when they moved to India in the 1930s, where my grandmother was born, they were picking up cultural gems that their family would still be carrying eighty years later. Even now, when subsets of the Brennemans gather at a restaurant, it is often for Indian food. As a child, when I finished all the food on my plate, my grandmother would tell me I'd earned a shabash: Hindi for "well done."

I dearly value these times spent with family, because it lends such insight into the intricacies of my ancestral architecture. In observing the minutia of people's interactions with one another, I can see how the patterns coalesce into trends spanning generations. There are values passed down from one generation to the next, and there are habits and personality traits that are mirrored from one to another. And then there are the reactionary patterns, when one set of siblings have modeled their lives so as to break with a trait of the parents.

It reminds me of superhero comics and movies, because we love to hear their origin stories. But we all have origin stories of our own, too. For some, it may not be biological family so much as friends, adopted family, culture, or place. But we all have them: those spaces and stories which make up our very selves. They are the bedrock of our identity, and the sources may vary, but the essence is the same.

By studying my grandparents and their generation, I learn about myself. By soaking up stories of Fred and Millie's life together, I am steeped in the distinctive flavor of my family. By looking upward, I learn inward.

Michelle Obama and Some Related Thoughts

This is the tale of the magical time I got to see and hear Michelle LaVaughn Robinson Obama speaking and laughing and breathing and living life in the same room as myself.

The day was Tuesday, July 25. The place was Denver, Colorado. The event was a fancy-schmancy gala celebrating the 30th anniversary of the Women's Foundation of Colorado (WFCO). Although, it was held at the Pepsi Center (home stadium for the Denver Nuggets), so it wasn't that fancy.

My dear friend Emily works for Junior Achievement, and her boss is a member of WFCO and therefore had access to event tickets. Emily was invited to go and, thoughtful and generous like-minded person that she is, got me a ticket too as a birthday gift.

The thing started at 5:30 p.m., but we were in Denver by 2:45 due to sheer excitement, so we frittered away the rest of the afternoon eating sushi burritos (did you know that was a thing? So good) and walking around downtown, letting the walk signs at crosswalks dictate the path we took. Eventually we met up with the other Junior Achievement ladies and joined the parade of well-dressed women taking the Pepsi Center by storm. A few men too, but honestly who cares about them. At a time like that, I am all about the sisterhood.

The event started off with a plethora of speakers and presentations that were clearly intended to highlight the work of WFCO and inspire donations, but primarily served to intensify everyone's anxious excitement that was building up in anticipation of seeing our beloved lady.

During those introductory presentations, though, I did learn that this was Michelle's first public appearance since leaving the White House.

This was the first time that our lady Michelle has given any kind of public address in six months and she chose to spend it in Colorado. With us.

#RockyMountainLuck

Finally the big moment came, charmingly introduced by a group teenage girls participating in WFCO programs who each gave a few sentences of introduction in a different language: Arabic, Amharic, Mandarin, American Sign Language, Spanish, and more.

The opening of Demi Lovato's What's Wrong With Being Confident played over the speakers. Michelle walked out. All 8,500 of us jumped up to our feet. I started crying immediately. We cheered and waved and clapped and radiated energy for a long time. Eventually we sat down but the energy stayed.

Rather than a prepared speech, this was set up as a Q&A with Lauren Young Casteel, president and CEO of the Women's Foundation of Colorado and also a black woman. Though I love Michelle's prepared speeches something fierce, this was better. Everything she said was unrehearsed, and that made it feel so much more real, even conversational, despite the size of the room and the crowd.

No pictures or recording were allowed during Michelle's portion of the night, but you can see a few photos in this article:
http://www.denverpost.com/2017/07/25/michelle-obama-speech-womens-foundation-of-colorado-30th-anniversary-denver/

I didn't have many well-formed hopes or expectations going in, but whatever I did have was exceeded. I was profoundly touched by Michelle's wisdom, encouragement, and strength, which were evident not just in her words but beneath them too.

She openly discussed racism. (That's a big deal, as it's something the two Obamas really didn't do while in the White House. They've received some criticism for not doing so, but in my opinion, that silence is both a symptom and a cause of the current problem.) She named women's resilience and women's strength. She made us laugh. She made us all feel like friends. She soothed our weary souls, already battered from the past six/eight/twelve months.

Perhaps the most thought-provoking line of hers was, "We have to stop giving our power away." I'm still turning that over and over as I go through my days, and I have to say, I've found far too many examples already of women giving away our power. Think about it: Mommy Wars. Victim blaming. Silence. Workplace cultures.

At one point, Lauren quoted a friend of hers who recently said, "Nobody tells you that when you're breaking through the glass ceiling, the shards that fall on you are excruciating." A breath went through the room as we all absorbed this. I'm still turning that one over too.

I could go on, but mostly I want more spaces and more conversations like this. My rambling doesn't truly capture the way that night felt; we have to replicate it ourselves. A blog post isn't a good medium for two-way exchange, but I genuinely hope to have more conversation about this. Talk to me in person, or talk to your friends and sisters and communities. Keep creating those moments when we can be really honest about navigating life as women. Because as I'm coming to understand more and more, we aren't just hurt by our own experiences of trauma -- we are deeply wounded by the traumas of others. Part of being a woman is living with little tiny cuts day after day from the shards that fell on our sisters, that are still falling today.

Take care of yourself today, sisters, and know that wherever you are, Michelle Obama is fighting for you. And I am, too.

The nut-tree clan: Musings and gratitudes

Sandwiched between our Nebraska adventures was a week spent in southern Michigan. We joined the pilgrimage that occurs every three years wherein the source of Daniel's first middle name, the Nussbaums ("nut trees"), gather for five days of shenanigans. The Nussbaums are Daniel's mom, her six siblings, and all their progeny. Some of the family couldn't make it to this reunion, and even so, there were around 55 of us in attendance.

I haven't cleared this post with any of the Nussbaums, so I hope no one objects to this searing exposé on their relentless laughter, outrageous optimism, and scandalously good natures.

Perhaps the most immediately noticeable trait of the Nussbaum clan is their propensity for games and competitions of all kinds. If you know Daniel at all, you already know this about him.

Case in point: the Wall of Brackets. Each one represented a tournament around a particular game (Rook, bocce ball, ping pong, Euchre, etc.) that took place during the course of the reunion.

Outdoor/active games that were played included ladder golf, bocce ball, Kuub, volleyball, and round-table ping pong.

No picture can capture the fierce intensity that is Nussbaum round-table ping pong. They are all excellent players and absolute sticklers for the rules, though they somehow maintain their good natures throughout, win or lose. (As long as no one tries to get away with breaking or bending a previously-agreed-upon rule.)

Indoor board/card games played included: Rook, Settlers, Euchre, Bounce-Off, Great Scott, Exploding Kittens, Dimension, Steampunk Rally, Flash Point, Stan Crancisco, Lanterns, Magic Labyrinth, Uno, Dutch Blitz, Rummikub, Rummy Royale, Cambio, Ticket to Ride, and undoubtedly a whole host of others I didn't witness.

Here is a sampling of the games people brought along to the reunion.

I swear to goodness this picture was taken at 11:30 p.m., four disparate games going on, and when I left the room after midnight, nearly everyone was still going strong.

We also spent a significant period of time engaged in an obstacle course competition.

Kid- and adult-friendly.

Another chunk of an afternoon was spent on some seriously impressive tie-dye.

This group was never far from a hearty laugh, but it wasn't all jokes, either. I was grateful for the energy and intentionality that was put into engaging with one another and catching up on the significant elements of each other's lives. I was immensely blessed by lengthy conversations with cousins-in-law about racial and social justice, the nature of motherhood, and the keys to a good relationship.

We met at Amigo Centre, so there was plenty of quality time spent boating and exploring, too.

Attending a gathering like this every three years provides a helpful lens for observing the broad strokes of one's life. Three years ago, I vividly remember discussing with the Nussbaums the possibility that Daniel and I would move somewhere new and have an adventure. A year after that, we moved to Colorado and began our term with Service Adventure. This time at the reunion, I discussed with many Nussbaums the thoughts and questions I'm mulling over now, again drawing near to some large life changes. A potential move now that we've finished our time as Service Adventure leaders. Graduating with my master's in less than a year and looking for a new job.

None of us ever knows for sure where life will take us. Meeting with the same group of far-flung relatives at predictable intervals is a profound way to take a step back, to pay attention to the way the pieces we've chosen are crafting a whole journey.

But it isn't just about how this practice of reuniting benefits me. It's a beautiful testament to human connection that a group of people spread out over thousands of miles can come together, not having seen or even talked with many of the others in years, and leave five days later feeling a profound renewing of those familial bonds.

In the end, I don't have anything more brilliant to say than I'm grateful for people. But then again, that's a powerful truth to cling to. In a broken, hurting world, we (myself included) would do well to be reminded of this gratitude, again and again. As many times as it takes for us to be able to look at a stranger and see a family member.

May you find the family you need, blood-related or otherwise.

Wanderlust: Omaha and Lincoln, Nebraska

Last week, Daniel and I found ourselves eastward bound, road tripping to a family reunion in southern Michigan. We knew we wanted the eighteen hours of driving to be interspersed with some roadside adventures, ideally in places we hadn't been before. Usually we've driven east through Kansas, so we decided to take the Nebraska route this time, stopping in Omaha for a day on the way there and Lincoln for a day on the way back.

Most of Nebraska looks about like this, it seems.

But the thing is, my obsession with Rainbow Rowell's writing has caused me to develop a slightly irrational fondness for Nebraska, as if being in Nebraska might allow me to meet some of my favorite fictional characters who live there. So I was super excited to go.

Anyway, we made it to Omaha in time to spend a half day seeing various sights. First up, this pedestrian bridge where you can walk to Iowa.

I do have to mention that it was HOT. And more importantly, it was HUMID. After two years of living in Colorado, I am laughably ill-equipped to deal with humid air of any sort.

Missouri River.

We took a walk through the city to get to the historic Old Market district. On the way there, we passed through this cute little park.

I didn't take any pictures of the Old Market area, but it was fun. Cobblestone roads and street performers and antique shops and whatnot.

The next morning, we had brunch at a place I'd set my sights on as soon as I knew we were passing through Omaha. It's called Kitchen Table, and I found it through this article highlighting the best farm-to-table restaurant in every state.

We had a three-course brunch and it was utterly delicious. My first course was radishes with fresh salted butter which you might think weird/bland/boring but YOU WOULD BE MISTAKEN.

Here they are, half-eaten, because I was too excited to remember to take a picture right away.

Friends, I have to tell you about this granola. Join me in imagining this: Crunchy granola. Not too sweet. Nuts. Plain yoghurt, nice and tart. And also. BEETS. Golden beets, roasted to perfect softness. And FRESH BASIL. I could not have fathomed that such a nonsensical combination of foods could be so incredibly delicious but there you have it.

Frittata and baked eggs in creamy basil sauce.

Before heading out of town we stopped for a quick foray through another historic landmark: First National's Spirit of Nebraska's Wilderness and Pioneer Courage Park. You might call it a study in overly ambitious place names, but it's also the largest collection of bronze artwork in the United States, for whatever that's worth. The park depicts the westward journey of pioneers through Nebraska and beyond. 

Then we hit the road east to Michigan. Fast-forward a week to the way back from the reunion (more on the actual reunion soon). This time we stopped at a Lincoln bed-and-breakfast for a night. The house was built in 1914 and had lots of historic character.

Daniel had to work the following day, so I had a day to explore the city by myself. First, though, we had a delicious breakfast charmingly delivered to us in our room.

 After that, my first stop was Sunken Gardens.

This beautiful garden covering one city block was a Depression-era work project creating jobs for roughly 200 "family men."

 

Now it remains a public garden, a little oasis amidst city traffic.

After that, I headed to the Haymarket District, Lincoln's historic downtown.

 

It's made up of lots of old buildings, restored enough to accommodate newer shops and restaurants, but retaining their historic charm.

In one such building, I found possibly my favorite bookstore of ever, Indigo Bridge Cafe & Books. (Note the Welcome Your Neighbors sign prominently featured! It was one of many I saw in Lincoln.)

After a couple of hours exploring the Haymarket area, I moved on to the next stage of my solo adventure. Recalling my aforementioned affection for Rainbow Rowell's books, you can imagine my eagerness at being in the neighborhood of the University of Nebraska - Lincoln: the setting of Fangirl. By happy coincidence, I parked right in front of Love Library, which features prominently in the book.

 

So I walked around campus for a while too.

After that, I indulged one of my nerdier foodie habits, a relic from my years of working at Friendly City Food Co-op: Visiting other food co-ops. I didn't take any pictures, but if you ever get to visit Open Harvest Co-op Grocery, you totally should. (They had bulk soaps! And organic quinoa for $2.39 a pound!)

Anyway, that was my day in Lincoln, which aside from the oppressive heat and humidity, I absolutely loved. If ever I am forced to live in the Midwest (fingers crossed not), I will definitely choose Lincoln.

Stay tuned for more on our summer adventures!