Sarah Ause Kichas | saussie.com »

Posting has been sparse, and will probably remain sparse for the next few weeks as I have been, and will continue to be, traveling. I’ve been on assignment in Florida for the past week, and just got back last night. But well, I’m home not even three days before I leave again, this time on a personal vacation. I’m heading up to Park City this weekend, then flying out to the Black Hills, followed by a weekend in Chicago before I finally get back home at the end of the month. I’m already so sick of flying, I really don’t know how I’m going to handle the next few weeks, but I’m sure I’ll survive.

Like my last trip there in January, I really enjoyed Florida. Sure, it’s full of all sorts of lame touristy stuff, but it’s also home to some extremely primitive and beautiful habitat. And the birds. Don’t even get me started on all the beautiful birds. If it weren’t for that horrible humidity and all those hurricanes, I probably wouldn’t even mind living there. I loved it that much. I may not have felt up a manatee this time, but a chimpanzee did start masturbating in front of me, I went kayaking with alligators in the Indian River, and I stayed in the lap of luxury… with over 300 cats. All in all, a good trip. I was sad to leave yesterday, but my skin was happy to get back to the dry west (and not to mention, away from all those mosquitoes that bit my butt… and neck… and feet)… and I was happy to get back to my dog.

Fear not, I will post more photos… just not right now. I’ve got too much on my plate.

Took my first trip to the strange state of Nevada on Monday. Strange is the only word I can find to describe my thoughts on it. It was only a two-day trip (for work), got back last night, but I will be heading back there tomorrow morning to catch a flight to Florida. It blows my mind that I now live closer to Vegas than I do to Salt Lake. It’s strange… like everything else in Nevada.

When I first left Minnesota, it was hard for me to go. I loved my home state, and I saw myself living there forever. Once I moved west though, everything changed. I knew I could never go back. What I once considered temporary became permanent. The west was best. It seemed Minnesota had nothing on it. But perhaps that wasn’t entirely the case. Minnesota does have its perks. It’s home to Minnesota Public Radio, second only to National Public Radio in size and awesomeness. We bred such greats as Bob Dylan, Garrison Keillor, Mary Tyler Moore, Prince, and Paul Wellstone. No stranger to big business, Target, Best Buy, and 3M call us home (though aside from the Post-It and Scotch tape, 3M can rot in hell in my book). Minnesota has an incredible music scene, a mouth-watering collection of ethnic restaurants (everything from Lebanese to Somali), and over 10,000 lakes. If shopping is your thing, we have the largest mall in America (though this is no bragging point if you ask me). And let’s not forget that we’re the setting of such Oscar-worthy films as Grumpy Old Men, Mallrats, and The Mighty Ducks. But at the top of its list of greats should perhaps be Minnesota’s incredible sunsets.

I’d forgotten what a sunset is supposed to look like until I returned to my homeland last week. I had only been driving in the state less than an hour, having just crossed the South Dakota border, when I realized what an incredible sight I was seeing. It was a sunset, like any other, but why was it so different than those in Utah? Why was the Minnesota sunset so vibrant, so outstanding, so noticeably different? I counted seven colors without a cloud in the sky. It started at red on the horizon, making its way to the blue of night in a space so small, even little mountains would block it. So that’s why the sunsets are so wonderful I realized… because Minnesota is so incredibly flat. I would normally consider this a hinderance in the state’s greatness, but perhaps it’s not. It’s what gives us these awe-inspiring sunsets. Beautiful as mountains may be, they force the sun to set much earlier than it actually does. Especially in Park City, nestled in the mountainside, the sun is gone long before it reaches the horizon. The town is shrouded in a blue shadow hours before the sun actually sets. The view might be better in Salt Lake, but the best colors, the ones right on the horizon, are still blocked by mountains… and filtered by smog. In rural Minnesota though, the colors are as pure as nature intended them. No work of the camera, of Photoshop, of smog… just all-natural, unadulterated Minnesota sunset.

I’m writing this from the Wall Community Center. Wall as in Wall Drug, as seen on London buses, a sign in Kenya, as seen in the New York Times. I am stranded here, sitting on a blanket on the floor with about 200 other people… travelers snowed in (so snowed in they shut down the interstate). There’s really not that much snow though… just wind blowing a lot of already existing snow. With wind gusts over 55 mph, white-out conditions, and roads as smooth as a baby’s bottom, I-90 is a death trap.

So we sit here, at first crowded around the edges, but now filling up the middle. We sit and we wait until the next update of road conditions, even though we know they won’t get better ’til the middle of the night and we might as well get comfy. I have settled in between a Christmas tree and two cats. Not as pleasant as it sounds though however, because as lovely as the undecorated fake Christmas tree is, the neighboring cats have obviously soiled their carrier. I get a whiff of cat piss every once a while much like one of those fancy air fresheners automatically sprays an “ocean breeze” every 15 minutes. Except not.

Blankets have been donated by local hotels, businesses, little old ladies. Food provided the same way. Highway patrol is on hand taking everyone’s accident reports. There’s a movie being projected on a wall. Outlets are flocked to, laptops plugged in.

While everyone chats amongst themselves, I sit here typing about them. A lady from Texarkana is wondering why we need to sign a piece of paper to stay here. A pizza delivery lady was searching for a Virginia, who I’m not sure was ever found. Lady with the pissy cats is talking to her granddaughter on the phone in a baby voice (almost as annoying as the scent of her felines). Some teenagers near me are playing Halo on a laptop (though one of them apparently has an XBox with him, but sadly no television). For the most part though, people are just telling their horror stories from the road. “There were times I couldn’t even see the front of my car,” one man said. Another detailed how a speedy driver zipped past him, then landed in the ditch. The guy on the other side of the Christmas tree just said he only lives about 35 miles from here, but he saw over 50 cars in the ditch and he’s not going to try to get home tonight.

There are all kinds of people here. There are ranchers, businessmen, college students, lonesome photographers, and everyone in between. I think we even have an Amish family here. I’ve made one friend here, named Maxine. Maxine is neither a rancher, businessman, or college student. She is a Pomeranian/Jack Russell no bigger than my Baby. Every once and a while, Maxine comes over and snuggles up on my blanket with me. I rub her belly, she licks my jacket. But then, out of sight, her owner calls her name and she disappears again, but returns to me before too long.

The cat piss is getting really annoying now though. It is times like now that I’m really glad I moved to the desert… even though that didn’t save me from tonight.