Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Going Parking

During both of the four-month stints that I spent in England I acquired a number of habits - drinking tea, using the phrase, "Cheers", spelling color with a "u" and recognize with an "s," letting my voice rise when asking a quetion, and taking long walks in the park (usually on the left side of the footpath). Ever since England I can't seem to get enough green space (slightly ironic seeing as the US is so much larger and younger than the UK and as such ought to have more available green space). In the past few weeks I've been on a quest to discover the parks of Kansas City.

After spending most of the day in front of a computer, I find my eyes and spirit are hungry to see something natural. During my lunch breaks I drive to the Overland Park Arboretum and fill up on peculiar flowers, tri-toned leaves, a strange assortment of "outdoor art pieces," winding paths and man-made water features. It's a visual snack that ties me over until after work, when I "go parking".

My first stop was Roanoke Park, which is just off the interstate that takes me to and from my job everyday. I was hoping the open green space would be good for walking, thinking and exploring. Turns out that most of the park has been dedicated to frisbee golf. I was not deterred. Despite the fact that I had no disks to speak of and was still sporting a trench coat and heels, I trapsed across the course, hoping I wouldn't be hit by the post-college crowd. Aside from disk golf and a baseball field, the only other feature of the park was a playground, complete with slides, swings, a merry-go-round and large plastic climbing features. I sat down in a swing and decided to read for a while. As I did a little girl with short blonde hair came up beside me. She looked me over, sat down in the swing next to me, left my world and returned to her own. A handful of children ran up to the play area and began climbing the large plastic features. I watched them for a while and tried to remember what it was like to play with such single-mindedness.

The next day I pulled off at Rosedale Park, which is more of a hill than a park itself, but green and covered with trees, so still acceptable. I followed the road round and up the hill of Rosedale, passed the Rosedale Elementary School, and found myself at the Rosedale Memorial Arch. That's where I met Jim. He was wearing an old pair of jeans, a faded blue button-up and a baseball cap. His face and hands were tanned and wrinkled, evidence of years and experiences past. I had been taking notice of the 34-foot arch, dedicated to the Rosedale residents who served in the first world war, when I turned around and Jim caught my eye. He wasn't looking at the arch, but was faced toward the city. "Real nice, isn't it?" he offered. Then, with a wave of his hand, "Come over here." I approached the picnic bench on which he was perched and joined him in standing and considering the trees and taking in the skyline. "Not many people come here," he remarked, "but it's a real nice spot. Far enough away from the noise, but you still see the city itself. I know it's not much compared to them big cities, but it's a city in the Midwest and that's something special." Jim went on to explain that he'd been coming to Rosedale for years. "I got a relative's name's up there on the memorial. I like to come out and pay my respects. And it's such a peaceful place." He was right about that. Removed from the city, uphill a fair distance from the busier streets, Rosedale is something even I might call special. "I get off work and I just like to come here." Jim told me a bit about moving around the states, traveling to places where he could get blue-collar work. He had returned to Kansas City to settle for a while, and today was just another day. "It's even prettier in the fall when them's leaves get to changing," he said as we looked out at from the table. "I'm sure it is," I replied, wondering if I'd see Jim again later in the season. "It was a pleasure to meet you, " I said. "My name's Amanda." I shook his hand, hopped off the picnic table and headed back toward my car.

The following week I continued to seek out parks - Loose being one of my favorites with its elaborate rose garden and duck-peppered pond. On my first visit there I came across three different photographers and their respective subjects. The first was pretty evidently doing an engagement shoot. The couple posed for a shot on the bridge over the pond, they unnaturally sat down in a patch of tall grass, and as they gaze into each other's eyes I wanted to roll mine. I'm sure there were the classic hand-holding shots, and several attempts to capture the perfect kiss. If I weren't so jaded I probably would have found it sweet. The second photographer was shooting a girl who looked to be about 16 and was dreadfully underdressed for the fall weather. I'm surprised she could sit in her skin-tight black micro mini skirt. But sit she did, on the high-backed oak chair with plush teal cushion that was pulled from the back of dark SUV. And if that the chair in the park and the girl in the cap sleeves didn't seem out-of-place or just a little ridiculous, add to it a small brown purse dog, strategically placed on the teenager's lap. I'm ashamed to admit I followed them for 8 minutes, before rewrapping my scarf and returning to my car.

On the weekends I like to run along the rivers (both Kansas and Missouri), or as close to them as I can get. While I was training for my half marathon I found the smaller of the two riverside parks presented on Google. I was following the path that I thought would take me to the larger park when I ended up at the Isle of Capris, a casino located along the Missouri River. I'd never been to a casino before and was a bit hesitant to enter in my racerback and shorts, but I was rather loss and after 6 miles of running I really needed to use the bathroom. I walked in, crossed the plush carpets and was overwhelmed by the flashing lights and perpetual movement. I took in my surroundings, located the bathrooms and then found a security guard and asked for directions. That part of the quest didn't prove very successful. I exited the building and after another mile or so of misguided jogging, returned to the route I'd taken to get there.

I've also taken to running along the country roads after work. It's the best way to make the most of the limited daylight. At first I was reluctant to drive 30 miles to and from work each day (putting over 300 miles on my car each week), but after running alongside horses and ponds, large sprawling houses and miles of open space, I'm quite happy to have some time out in the country. It's not the fields of Iowa, but it's close enough to feel like home.

I'm not sure what I'll do when winter comes and the weather keeps me from long hours outside. Perhaps I'll invest in warmer running gear. Or I may just find a coffee shop with a good view and large windows.

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