Hold me!

Since we moved to FoCo, I think we had this unspoken bond that we would not drop the F-bomb (Flagstaff, of course, for those of you with dirty minds). We refused to miss it, we would not talk about it, we would continue to list all of the reasons why our new city was infinitely better than the one we had left.

And for the most part it’s really true – we sat on this big grassy hill overlooking a lake filled with Canadian geese which is just a couple of miles from our apartment and couldn’t believe how excited we had gotten about a 20x100 yard expanse of flat grass behind our apartments in Flag. We have great shopping, great restaurants, great parks, close mountains, and the actual realistic prospect of someday buying a house.

But it was silly to think that we wouldn’t miss our little Arizona mountain city – the city where we met, the city where we first lived together, the city where we had our first fajita/margarita night, the city where we made such good friends who we could sit around talking with in coffee shops or at the Wine Loft or playing Frisbee.

This is not my big, “We’re moving back to Flagstaff” post, in case that’s what you were wondering. We’re happy here, I like my job, I like the college, being an hour from RMNP is pretty sweet, and our -4 year old loves the parks and good schools. But there are still the Thursday nights where I dream about going to Barnes & Noble with Bryan and Colleen, wish we could go play pool with Becca and Kevin, or meet for drinks at the Wine Loft with people from Steve’s work.

So I guess what I’m saying is sometimes I’m a little homesick. And I wish everyone I knew was independently wealthy so we could just spend all of our time visiting each other.