Reasons I Miss Columbus

The library. While the librarians at Tippecanoe County Public Library are uber-friendly and helpful, and the library itself is a dream, the library infrastructure leaves something to be desired. There's no real self-checkout, which isn't that big a deal, but it seems a little odd in 2010. Then, you only get books for two weeks at a time. And they don't email you when the books are about to be due. And you can only renew books 3 times. I'm already library challenged, even when I have everything in place to make it stupid easy to not owe the library my first born. (In Columbus, I once actually owed the library $70ish in late fees, even though they were emailing me regularly to let me know I was a book delinquent. Then they let me "read off" my fines. I love CPL.) Here, it's only a matter of time before the library police come to collect LO.

CD101. The greatest radio station ever is still in Columbus. I suspect that things are changing with my favorite station, between their recent move to a different broadcast frequency and the tragic early death of Andyman, the heart and soul of the station. But I still kind of wish I could be listening to these changes as they occur, even if it means the end of what I loved about the place.

Northstar Cafe. There is no better place to get a "healthy" (or at least organic) meal. And the fresh-squeezed orange juice is to die for. I would trade some minor part of my anatomy for a glass of their orange juice right now.

Our house. :( I really love the new house. Really a lot! We've got two bathrooms, which is awesome. We've got more space. We've got a kitchen larger than a post-it note. We have a fenced in back yard, which means I no longer have to take 10 minutes away from whatever I'm doing anytime the dog needs to be relieved. We have an old fashioned telephone niche. We have ivy growing on the brick outside and an arbor of grapes. But our house in Columbus was *our* house. We spent the last 5+ years making it ours. It felt like home. And, at least in my memory, everything was put away. Surveying the chaos left behind by the movers and unpackers, I find myself dreaming of our old house. (Particularly the enormous slipper foot bathtub. The tubs in the new place are made for tiny, non-pregnant gnomes. Taking a bath is an exercise in dry-belly frustration).

By the way, if you're in the market for a house, I can recommend a great one for sale in Columbus. Don't make us beg!

Knowing how to get around. I remember getting lost a lot when I first moved to Columbus. It was the era before GPS. While Google Maps had been invented, I didn't have a printer at the time and would either write the directions on a post-it note which would promptly get lost, or I would just try to "remember" the directions (and I'm sure you can guess how well that worked). So I got lost and found myself relatively often early on. It helped me to get the lay of the land. Nine years later, I felt like a native. I'm starting over in Lafayette, with both a GPS and a printer, and I'm just too impatient to recognize that it will only take a little while to feel like a native again. Instant gratification is the only kind worth having!

Studio 35. Just down the street from our house in Columbus was a great old one screen theater that served beer, had terrible pizza delivered from down the street, and played big new releases, indie films, and old favorites. The sound system was terrible, the seats were comfy, and the owners were quirky. They also would make you a root beer float to enjoy with your terrible pizza. Movies in multi-plexes just aren't the same.

People! Despite my best intentions, it turns out that I'm a bit of a shy homebody. (Who would have guessed? A somewhat geeky bookworm whose hobbies include quilting, cooking, and any kind of sport best done alone [like running, for example] would turn out to be introverted? Oh EGB, you jest!) But I had friends in Columbus. I could call and meet a girlfriend for coffee or to go shopping. I could stop in the classroom of a fellow teacher after school and shoot the shit for a ridiculously long time. I could run into my neighbors while walking the dog and talk about kids, politics, the neighborhood, etc. I'm perfectly happy by myself for long stretches of time. I do, after all, spend a great deal of my time in the company of individuals who do not exist. But every once in a while I emerge from my book, blink blearily at the strong light of reality, and wish I had someone to talk to. Preferably someone who has just read the same book, so we can talk about it.