In my life I feel the strong need to take the ordinary and make magic out of it, or at least adventure. Much of this comes from moving across the country in a pick-up truck and a minivan, with all our belongings in a horse trailer. My first night in the glory of the west was not a magical one in any way; We had been promised open plains, rolling hills, blue skies, and sunsets. We drove the last four hours to Bozeman in the rain, with an air of depression all around us. I didn't care for the mountains, and I hated Bozeman with all the passion in my ten-year-old body. When we arrived, we had no food, so Walter and dad went to the grocery store, and mom and I went to find a hotel. Our first and only stop was the Imperial Inn, downtown. I honestly cannot remember liking a place less. It smelled like decay, and it also looked like decay. After waiting on the Duct-taped pleather chairs for around a half an hour, dad called us and asked us to meet him at Albertsons grocery store, because we were going to stay in a place a friend at the church had given us. We went, bought a serated knife, a foot long sub, and a box of Honey Bunches Of Oats with Peaches cereal. We also bought four of those long rugs with the rubber on the bottom, which I'll tell you about later. We got to the "place" we had been given and I had no doubt why it had been free. It was number 59 in Wagon Wheel trailer park, it smelled like stale alcohol and urine, there were wild mushrooms (the non-edible variety) growing in the corner of the bathroom, and the whole trailer was placed at a tilt, so the anything you dropped on the left side would zoom to the other side and smack into the wall. after spending ten minutes in the trailer, my mom sat, leaning on the open door frame, and cried. When we were all inside we ate the food we had bought, cut with the knife we had bought, while sitting on the gritty floor together. Eventually we realized we would have to sleep here, and this is where the rugs come in. I spent my first night in Bozeman sleeping on that rug, which is now serving its intended purpose in the laundry room. Somehow we turned this place into a home, which has taught me that any place and any situation can be spectacular. Since I wrote about Wagon Wheel, I have to write about Henrietta. She was our next door neighbor, and at least once a week she would pound her elderly fist on our door and request the use of our cell phone. She was around 68, but she walked everywhere if she wasn't taking the Gallavan, and I believed she was certifiably off her rocker. Everyday she would turn on her favorite song, Somewhere Over The Rainbow, and listen to it multiple times on the highest volume setting available. I loved her and hated her at the same time. I feel the need to mention her because there's never been anyone quite as out there as she was. And probably still is, because to my knowledge she won't put her feet up until they fall off. After we had settled into this new life, I got the sunsets I was promised. I had a kite that was as big as me, and on breezy evenings my dad would take Walter and I to an Abandoned field near the trailer park and we would fly the kite against the backdrop of the sky and the mountains. And as the sun set we would lie down on the dead grass and watch as the sun sank sleepily into the the Tobacco Root mountains. Those times were magic.
