I came home from Africa on April 18. I landed in Duluth and was welcomed by a large group of friends and family that cheered for me when I got to the baggage claim. A small Japanese man who was talking on the phone and walking in front of me looked around in surprise and confusion when the roar came from the large group holding “welcome” signs. I imagine he was looking around to see what kind of local celebrity had gotten off the plane with him. I stood dumbfounded as tearful, familiar people hugged me. I had a million thoughts that shorted my brain and all I could do was stand there.
I came back to Bertha on April 20 with my parents and my best friend, who had driven from the Cities to welcome me. I rode with my friend while my parents drove separately. He talked the whole way home and I continued to be speechless.
On April 27, a foot of snow fell on central Minnesota. People all around me cursed at the late snowfall while I leaned on the back of the couch looking out the window and giggling. It had been two years, three months and a day since I had seen snow falling.
I spent the better part of a month taking the last of my malaria medication, hauling firewood for my father and trying to convince myself that I wasn’t dreaming. I applied at two hardware stores that didn’t call me back. Apparently a Bachelor’s Degree in Music and two years of development work in Zambia just weren’t good enough for Hardware Hank. Screw you too, Hank.
On May 14, I drove to Staples. Mom has a car, Dad has a car and my car had been sold when I left. I was left with the truck that normally sits in the shed waiting to plow snow. While driving the truck, I could see the gas gauge needle creeping toward the little E as I passed signs for gas at $3.79 a gallon. I pulled into the Southside Mini Mart just before the railroad tracks in Staples and proceeded to put $35.00 worth of fuel in the extended-cab beast. When I walked in to pay for the petrol, the lady behind the counter said that they were looking for help. They needed someone for one night a week and every other weekend. I said that all of those days were free for me. She asked me if I had convenience store experience. I told her that I had more than paid my dues behind a register. I started training the following Monday.
I came back to Bertha on April 20 with my parents and my best friend, who had driven from the Cities to welcome me. I rode with my friend while my parents drove separately. He talked the whole way home and I continued to be speechless.
On April 27, a foot of snow fell on central Minnesota. People all around me cursed at the late snowfall while I leaned on the back of the couch looking out the window and giggling. It had been two years, three months and a day since I had seen snow falling.
I spent the better part of a month taking the last of my malaria medication, hauling firewood for my father and trying to convince myself that I wasn’t dreaming. I applied at two hardware stores that didn’t call me back. Apparently a Bachelor’s Degree in Music and two years of development work in Zambia just weren’t good enough for Hardware Hank. Screw you too, Hank.
On May 14, I drove to Staples. Mom has a car, Dad has a car and my car had been sold when I left. I was left with the truck that normally sits in the shed waiting to plow snow. While driving the truck, I could see the gas gauge needle creeping toward the little E as I passed signs for gas at $3.79 a gallon. I pulled into the Southside Mini Mart just before the railroad tracks in Staples and proceeded to put $35.00 worth of fuel in the extended-cab beast. When I walked in to pay for the petrol, the lady behind the counter said that they were looking for help. They needed someone for one night a week and every other weekend. I said that all of those days were free for me. She asked me if I had convenience store experience. I told her that I had more than paid my dues behind a register. I started training the following Monday.
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