west by northwest (by midwest)

stranded

Sorry for the long space of time between postings.  It has been a busy week in my classroom, with many students catching up on assignments and needing assistance. From now until the end of the term, I will likely only post two-three times per week. This is always the hardest part of teaching - how it occupies most every “free” moment of my days.  But helping students to develop their writing is well worth all the effort, even if it means a little less blogging time for me.

Stranded

In Portland, my husband and I lived on the edge of the downtown Pearl District, just blocks from the college where he worked (and where I taught for a short time as well). He could walk there in under five minutes, which meant we could easily meet for picnic lunches or even a hot meal at home.

Here in Salt Lake City, living near his place of work would mean moving fifteen miles from the city center, far out in the suburbs that dot the landscape on either side of the interstate. Over the holiday weekend, my husband and I drove out to one of those suburbs to run some errands, and we found ourselves considering whether it would be feasible to live so far from downtown - and yet, so close to his work. Depending on the apartment building or house we rented, we could still walk to the grocery store (although not the same health food store we love now), drug store, and various restaurants.  In the long run, we would probably save money on car fuel (which we tend to use conservatively as it is) and rent. More importantly, we could meet for lunch again, since he could easily walk home for a quick sandwich.

But I could not shake the feeling I would be stranded out there, far away from everything I love: the library, health food stores, downtown towers, Asian grocers.  I would rarely be able to leave except on weekends, when my husband is home from work and could drive me out of there - like a ferry taking me off the island, back to civilization.

Even as I considered this, I realized I feel stranded downtown, too.  Sure, I enjoy pedestrian access to most things I need, but I always feel like I am locked into our neighborhood - trapped by the relentless parking lots and busy streets. The TRAX is prohibitively expensive for unnecessary trips, and I have never quite felt comfortable with the station platforms.  In truth, the downtown here is not compelling enough to make me want to stay; in many ways, it feels itself like a suburb, with its wide streets, bland fast food restaurants, and big-box stores.

And then there are the earthquakes to consider.

Ever since the news stations have started obsessing about earthquakes - for which Salt Lake City is apparently long overdue - my anxiety has cranked up almost daily.  Reporters warn that highways could crumble, and commuters might not be able to make it home.  Families, they say, must draft emergency meeting plans.  But what if one family member cannot drive?  What if the interstate crumbles, and my husband is left with no way home?  How would I find him?  At least if we lived out near his workplace, the earthquake could never separate us.

Only Salt Lake City could make me even consider the suburbs.