I was in Kansas City twice this month. Both for very quick, but nourishing, trips. I feel blessed to have several friends who still live there and welcome us with the most open arms. Kansas City is the most incredible city I’ve ever known. And maybe it’s because I’ve lived there and maybe it’s because it’s probably the city with which I am most familiar but I think that it really is just because Kansas City is phenomenal. Kansas City loves itself and holds itself as dearly as I do.
It’s Monday after a weekend away.
I wiggle out of my spot as the little spoon, sit on the edge of the bed, and feel my muscles vividly because of all the fun we had together the past two or three days. Walking and walking and driving and driving. My neck, in particular, seems to be pulling in a certain direction that I blame on the 3+ hours behind the wheel. So I stretch the other direction hoping to even it out.
I haven’t lived in this house long enough to have the muscle memory required to make it down the hall without waking everyone and so I flinch every time I hear the floor creak. My eyes catch a glimpse of movement in the other room. The cat is in my her office, sitting in the window, watching the rain droplets join each other and trail down the glass—her head bobbing up and down, following them one by one.