I got so much attention for the last post that I've been resting on my laurels for a month, which sounds better than "I am a slacker and my life is boring." People in real life, people who are not constant blog stalkers like me, would come up to me and enumerate the reasons why I am so a Teton Valley resident. "Julia, you own three bikes." "Julia, you drive a sticker-covered Subaru." "You make granola for a living." "You date that guy," (indicating Tyler in all his mustachioed, Carhartted glory). Yeah, yeah, y'all. I know.
It would appear that I sneezed and winter ended, so seasonal affective disorder has set in. Tyler, with no outdoor outlet, comes home from work frustrated and unloads his unhappiness on the counter like a grocery bag of old fish. I listen and sympathize and we talk about some of the unsustainable elements of our existence here: his grindingly heavy workload, the housing crisis, the labor shortage that will probably hamstring my company's attempt at increased production, global warming. Sobering.
But it's St. Patrick's Day and my bike shop throws a party every year, so we suit up in any over-the-top green attire we can find and ride over to the venue. All the cyclists have crept out from wherever they've been hiding all winter and we greet each other with great cheer. There is a new ski company in town, and before the young owners had even moved here we adopted and/or ingratiated ourselves with them, so when they arrive we all cluster together at a noisy table. People stop and say hi. The Kate makes a surprising appearance and we talk about anything but work. The party is a good representation of my tiny Victor compass rose: beer shop, bike shop, ski shop, Tram Bar World. I bask in happiness.
It fixes my perspective for the time being. Our issues are manageable and the payoff is significant. Being a part of this community and living in a mountain playground are worth the minor compromises we make.