Adventures in Medical School

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Her spirits were very differently affected, when, to her utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room.
by fiona

St. Paul, Minnesota has welcomed me back with open arms. I am here, visiting my family, my hometown, and the few residual friends from high school that are nice enough to keep in touch with me. One of those nice friends is getting married on Saturday, and I will play maid to her bride in my sleek black gown and fancy lady shoes.

Must remember to practice walking in fancy lady shoes.

I am reminded how nice a place these Twin Cities are - land of lakes, land of dams and First Ave and soft warm nights. Home to the mighty Mississippi. Home to Grain Belt beer. Home to gangly green prarie trees and buzzing cicadas and constant bird noises. And home to Mall of America, the greatest feat of engineering and sheer human will that this world has ever known.

And home to thunderstorms. One swept across the city today, as I was sitting in a coffee shop window. I looked up from the exciting journal article I was reading about soft tissue osteocartilaginous tumors (does the elusive extraskeletal osteochondroma truly exist, or is it merely an extensively calcified chondroma? I beseach thee) to find that the sky was darkening and the trees were stirring in that particular form of restlessness that does not exist on the west coast. Once inside, I watched as the wave of dark sky rapidly approached, and then - suddenly - the storm hit. The wind arrived first, blasting open the coffee shop door and making the trees writhe, announcing the invevitable arrival of the drenching sheets of rain. Within minutes, the street outside was a river, the sidewalk a lake, and the doorway a waterfall. The window became liquid. Then came the hail. Cars with their lights on (at 2:30 in the afternoon) took refuge under large trees. And then it gradually just faded away.

I love thunderstorms. I miss them so.

Other things that have happened to me here in minnesota include a fancy wine dinner with my dad, a show at 7th St Entry, a night of vodka sours with my brother at a dinkytown bar, and my nephew's jazz camp recital in which dozens of adolescent musicians valiantly attempted improvised solos during multiple painfully long Herbie Hancock numbers.

Also I am re-reading Pride and Prejudice, and once again I am completely absorbed. "In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you." God bless you, Mr. Darcy.

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