Exposed

It’s very hard to be sneaky on my way to work. I’m trying to cut back on my daily Starbucks habit, and my husband knows this. And when we say goodbye in the morning and drive off in our separate directions, you would think I could stop at Starbucks and he would never know.

But we live in the desert. Where you can see for miles in every direction. So I nonchalantly pull up to the intersection before Starbucks and glance over my shoulder to the next street over, across a deserted lot of cacti and tumbleweeds. And there in the line of traffic I can see my husband’s Jeep. And I know he can see my orange car that glares in the sunlight.

My light turns green before his, so I know he sees me turn into the Starbucks parking lot. And I know he’ll give me grief about it later. But I can’t pass up my morning iced venti light ice chai!

The wide open desert spaces can give picturesque vistas and wide open gorgeous sunsets, but it also is exposing and revealing and harsh. The rural Midwestern landscape of my childhood was more comforting, surrounded by trees and hills that protected.

Now, I look across the Vegas valley and can recognize certain roads and landmarks across the city, even though they are 30 miles away. It’s strange that if you put my home county in the Vegas valley – just picked it up and plunked it down right here - I could stand in my hometown and see straight across, way past Bedford where we used to drive every week to my dance lessons. I thought that was such a long drive, such a long way between our two towns. And now I look across the valley and can see in one glance even farther. Can look at a city of nearly two million people that I can stare at and cover up with my thumb.

Vegas can even look like a quaint little town when viewed from afar. Nestled between mountains. Near a huge glistening lake. Surrounded by wildlife with coyotes, roadrunners, and jackrabbits. Too bad it won't help me get to Starbucks.