Not taken by me, I might add. Those are the Sierras, prominently featuring Mt. Tom.
Main Street runs horizontally across the middle of the photo there where all the buildings seem to be clustered. You’ll know your eyes have located Main Street if you follow it to the right and you see a big bend in the road. That bend in the road leads you up to Mammoth Mtn. ski resort. My inlaws’ house is north of Main Street — well, it’s actually west in terms of geography, but north in terms of this photo. (Let’s just say their house — in this photo — is above the line of Main Street.) If you see that large vertical line in the photo slightly to the left of center and move your eyes up and to the right, you’ll see a green field. That’s the football field at the high school where MB cavorted in his football uniform and did “manly things” — I have to take his word on that since I wasn’t there — that made all the girls swoon and I’m not just taking his word on that. They still swoon. Right in front of me. Please, ladies. Calm down.
Just north (in terms of the photo) and to the right from that field is another green field. That’s the ball field at the elementary school located at the end of my in-laws’ street. The street dead ends into the school, actually. It’s about a 3-minute walk to the school. I spend a lot of time there whenever we visit the deep dark middle of nowhere and the house is bursting at the seams because everyone in town is crammed in eating and talking and drinking and talking, which is basically all the time. It’s a social phenomenon, I tell you. Women and men alike come down from their mountain aeries or out of their cozy caves or their Unabomber cabins to worship and ovulate at MB’s feet. It gets a little old, although not for MB. I just roll my eyes at it all. Besides, I’m simply too busy having private anxiety attacks from the chattering crowds and the bossy shutterbugs and the pressing possibility that my FIL might soon be running around in his unmentionables asking me how I am, Trace-ums to have any time left over to worship and ovulate at MB’s feet.
So I must escape regularly. I have to to stay semi-sane. Socially, some people are bottomless oceans of chatter and others are those temporary puddles you see at street corners when it rains. I am a puddle and when the puddle runs dry, I need to fill it up by myself or with someone trusted whose presence is soothing to me.
Once I’ve escaped, I can walk the field or wander around the little cemetery that’s next to the field and just chill out. I can swing on the swings and breathe in Mt. Tom and feel myself open, soften. Mt. Tom is my friend. I love him. This is obviously taken in the late spring or summer because Mt. Tom is usually covered in snow. (He’s the mountain featured in the bottom 2 photos in this post . My MIL took those.)
Breathing in Mt. Tom is literally my salvation in the deep dark middle of nowhere. And I do love this little town. I really do.
Sometimes when I’m there, I think about all of you, pippa, and how much fun we’d have if you were there too.
But, to be completely honest, I would totally make you check to see if my FIL is fully dressed before we ever went back into the fray.
There’d probably be apple pie and margaritas, though, so it’s not all bad.
(I realize anyone can Google Mt. Tom and learn the name of our little town here. That’s fine with me. We just don’t mention the name of the town on this blog.)
