A Big Small Town Walk
I began writing this post last Tuesday. It’s now Monday. Woops. It took me until our next day off (today) to finish a post about our last day off (last Monday).
We were carless at the time. The Volvo wagon was in the shop getting a couple of minor repairs. I say "shop", but it was actually just one guy shuttling between the tiny countertop inside and the various sickly cars situated on the 80 square feet of pavement outside. There was really no telling when he would get to ours, let alone finish it. This business pace would not fare well in New York.
We spent the day at home--Dennis downstairs in the shop, sanding our new kitchen cabinets and drawer fronts, and learning lines by listening to them on his iPod; me doing what I do best--procrastinating, fretting about my procrastinating, and then finding something to do to take my mind off my procrastinating (i.e. procrastinating). I did manage to get in a little bit of work on my music for The Tempest. I also did about an hour of yoga in the Browns' spacious living room.
At about 6:15, we set out on foot to go to dinner in the downtown area of Iowa City, which, at a leisurely pace, is about a 45-minute walk. There's a nature trail through some woods and a rather large open field for the first half of the journey. This exits you into an extremely charming neighborhood that lies NE of downtown and the University of Iowa campus.
It’s an older part of town—one of the original neighborhoods—and therefore doesn’t feel like suburbia at all. There are no main roads around, so it’s very quiet, and of course it has its fair share of enormous trees. We meandered down the street, taking in the gorgeous old houses—big and small, and in various states of repair, but each captivating in its own way—and realizing just how cold the newer “developments” feel in comparison. Maybe this isn’t their fault. After all, character, much like the trees, needs time to grow. [A digression: My transplanted ten-year-old self thought the two biggest differences between Oceanside and Plano were the color of the streets (black in NY, white in TX) and the growth ceiling of trees (infinite in NY, no taller than myself in TX).]
Whether or not you can remember ever seeing a neighborhood like this in person, it is one you’ve had in your mind’s eye if you’ve ever read a novel about a small town, neighborliness, and that particular romantic lifestyle that centers around watching the shadows grow long into twilight from one’s front porch. I didn’t bring my camera along that night, or I would post a picture, which would not even begin to do it justice.
But back to the list of our voyage… Sorry, that’s Shakespeare creeping in. I’ll translate: But back to the purpose of our journey…
We landed our tired limbs at Atlas, a restaurant located on a downtown corner that boasts a rather large outdoor eating area. There aren’t too many vegetarian options on the menu, but the few they do have are very good, and they have nice cocktails and a strong wine list, and this being the only night of the week we could have a drink before 10:30pm, it seemed a good place to sate ourselves in the waning sunlight. One cocktail each, a very nice meal, and a bottle of Chardonnay later, we headed home a different way than we had come—more or less how we would drive it.
Iowa City was struck by a fierce tornado about one month before we arrived in May, and though we’d seen the hardest hit area of town from the car window many times, the impact was much more stark at this slower pace. We ambled past houses with roofs and/or walls that were completely missing and stumps of old trees that had been destroyed, and we were even more incredulous than we’d already been that there weren’t more injuries, or any deaths in the city proper. (One woman was killed outside of town when (I think) her trailer rolled over.)
The next day, the city-wide tornado siren sounded towards the beginning of our afternoon rehearsal out at the Festival Stage, and we took shelter in the dressing rooms for a while. Then, when we thought the coast was clear, we resumed rehearsal, only to be cut short by another signal and concurrent downpour. At this point, Mark Hunter, who is directing The Tempest, called rehearsal. I had been dropped off at rehearsal by Dennis, who was back at home, and a couple of fellow cast members didn’t have cars either, so our director drove three of us over to the indoor theatre space downtown so we could take shelter in the basement. It was kind of fun, once we were down there and safe. Once the storm had passed, we all walked to have dinner together and then to the park for evening rehearsal. It was good bonding time.
Speaking of weather, it was cold here yesterday and the day before! Cold! Can you believe it?! It’s June!!!! We were all huddled in sweatshirts and fleeces during rehearsal. It feels just plain wrong to be shivering during a rehearsal for a Summer Shakespeare Festival.
Today, sunshine returned, and the high was probably in the mid-70s. It’s supposed to be back up to 90 by the end of the week. We’ve had our car back for a few days, so no long walk to dinner tonight.
What a shame.
We were carless at the time. The Volvo wagon was in the shop getting a couple of minor repairs. I say "shop", but it was actually just one guy shuttling between the tiny countertop inside and the various sickly cars situated on the 80 square feet of pavement outside. There was really no telling when he would get to ours, let alone finish it. This business pace would not fare well in New York.
We spent the day at home--Dennis downstairs in the shop, sanding our new kitchen cabinets and drawer fronts, and learning lines by listening to them on his iPod; me doing what I do best--procrastinating, fretting about my procrastinating, and then finding something to do to take my mind off my procrastinating (i.e. procrastinating). I did manage to get in a little bit of work on my music for The Tempest. I also did about an hour of yoga in the Browns' spacious living room.
At about 6:15, we set out on foot to go to dinner in the downtown area of Iowa City, which, at a leisurely pace, is about a 45-minute walk. There's a nature trail through some woods and a rather large open field for the first half of the journey. This exits you into an extremely charming neighborhood that lies NE of downtown and the University of Iowa campus.
It’s an older part of town—one of the original neighborhoods—and therefore doesn’t feel like suburbia at all. There are no main roads around, so it’s very quiet, and of course it has its fair share of enormous trees. We meandered down the street, taking in the gorgeous old houses—big and small, and in various states of repair, but each captivating in its own way—and realizing just how cold the newer “developments” feel in comparison. Maybe this isn’t their fault. After all, character, much like the trees, needs time to grow. [A digression: My transplanted ten-year-old self thought the two biggest differences between Oceanside and Plano were the color of the streets (black in NY, white in TX) and the growth ceiling of trees (infinite in NY, no taller than myself in TX).]
Whether or not you can remember ever seeing a neighborhood like this in person, it is one you’ve had in your mind’s eye if you’ve ever read a novel about a small town, neighborliness, and that particular romantic lifestyle that centers around watching the shadows grow long into twilight from one’s front porch. I didn’t bring my camera along that night, or I would post a picture, which would not even begin to do it justice.
But back to the list of our voyage… Sorry, that’s Shakespeare creeping in. I’ll translate: But back to the purpose of our journey…
We landed our tired limbs at Atlas, a restaurant located on a downtown corner that boasts a rather large outdoor eating area. There aren’t too many vegetarian options on the menu, but the few they do have are very good, and they have nice cocktails and a strong wine list, and this being the only night of the week we could have a drink before 10:30pm, it seemed a good place to sate ourselves in the waning sunlight. One cocktail each, a very nice meal, and a bottle of Chardonnay later, we headed home a different way than we had come—more or less how we would drive it.
Iowa City was struck by a fierce tornado about one month before we arrived in May, and though we’d seen the hardest hit area of town from the car window many times, the impact was much more stark at this slower pace. We ambled past houses with roofs and/or walls that were completely missing and stumps of old trees that had been destroyed, and we were even more incredulous than we’d already been that there weren’t more injuries, or any deaths in the city proper. (One woman was killed outside of town when (I think) her trailer rolled over.)
The next day, the city-wide tornado siren sounded towards the beginning of our afternoon rehearsal out at the Festival Stage, and we took shelter in the dressing rooms for a while. Then, when we thought the coast was clear, we resumed rehearsal, only to be cut short by another signal and concurrent downpour. At this point, Mark Hunter, who is directing The Tempest, called rehearsal. I had been dropped off at rehearsal by Dennis, who was back at home, and a couple of fellow cast members didn’t have cars either, so our director drove three of us over to the indoor theatre space downtown so we could take shelter in the basement. It was kind of fun, once we were down there and safe. Once the storm had passed, we all walked to have dinner together and then to the park for evening rehearsal. It was good bonding time.
Speaking of weather, it was cold here yesterday and the day before! Cold! Can you believe it?! It’s June!!!! We were all huddled in sweatshirts and fleeces during rehearsal. It feels just plain wrong to be shivering during a rehearsal for a Summer Shakespeare Festival.
Today, sunshine returned, and the high was probably in the mid-70s. It’s supposed to be back up to 90 by the end of the week. We’ve had our car back for a few days, so no long walk to dinner tonight.
What a shame.
posted by LW | 5:56 PM
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