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16 January 2009 / April

Gun Hill

I miss walking up Gun Hill every week.  Is that crazy?  It is, it probably is, it must be, or else people wouldn’t pity me when I have to do it or themselves prefer to walk downtown and take a bus up.  When I tell people my mom walks a couple hours to and from work, they think she’s crazy– admirably crazy– and I invariably agree, because of course it’s crazy.  But I’m lying.  I know why she does it.

I’ll probably start making that weekly walk again once Cornell’s second semester begins.  But even for these past few weeks without it, I’ve been missing it.  I abhor sitting in a vehicle driving up that hill and thinking I could be walking instead.  I could be listening to podcasts.  I could be starting out cold (very cold, as the case may be) and ending up warmer than I’ve been all day.

I could be feeling my muscles and lungs, both sore but much less so than they were in September when I couldn’t imagine carrying all my books and laptop and body parts up that slope again, and I could be pausing at the top of Libe Slope, and turning to see hills and clouds and infinite sky, to remind myself that this town isn’t Paris, isn’t Prague, but it’s beautiful too.

Today I walked.  Ideally, the temperatures would be just a slight bit higher, and by a slight bit I mean about 60 degrees.  At least it was sunny and not windy.  And at least the walk ended not with an unpleasant Linear Algebra section, but with a reception and tour at the Johnson Museum of Art for Library Foundation donors, at which I was volunteering.

I wouldn’t even call it volunteering, actually.  I helped greet people and socialized, and though I couldn’t attend the reception itself, I got to listen to the curator’s talk and see all the amazing aboriginal dot paintings.  Not only are many quite beautiful, the level of patience and dedication required for the technique is simply astonishing.  This is what people should be admired for.  Not some 15-minute stroll up Gun Hill.  Art.

Because I couldn’t possibly write an entire post without mentioning the weather: it is so damn cold outside that it’s impossible to breathe, impossible to think, impossible to exist.  This I know because I somehow ended up waiting outside a short while, unfortunately a long time after my energizing walk and after the sun went down, and I subsequently died.  And by died I mean didn’t die, of course, just suffered.



Leave a Comment
  1. Sarah / Jan 26 2009 7:55 am

    Good thing you clarified “dying”, I was worried for a minute there. But if you just suffered? Psh, not worried at all.


  2. April / Jan 26 2009 8:46 am

    Yeah, I figured that clarification might be necessary… I could be blogging from the afterlife, after all.


  1. So. « Circadian Rhythms

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