By Claire Booth
I’ve been thinking about Missouri lately. I know, I know, it’s where my books are set, so go figure. But lately I’ve been thinking about Missouri, as in the university. The place where I spent some of the best years of my life.
I always tend to think of the University of Missouri-Columbia as autumn rolls around and the school year begins. And the football talk starts up. Now, when I was there, I can just about count the number of football games we won on one hand. And I’m talking for all the years I was there, not just one season.
|Me during losing (and therefore very long) football seasons.|
Nowadays, no matter how the Tigers do, it’s better than that. Although I did cringe yesterday. We lost. I won’t say by how much. But the season is still young. There’s always hope. There’s always crisp fall air, and spiked cider in plastic cups, and wrinkled flannel shirts paired with someone’s borrowed jeans because you forgot to do your laundry. There are always those things, even if it takes a little imagination to get there now that I’m so far away – in both distance and age.
And there are always friends. I’m very lucky that there’s no nostalgia with that at all. I’m still in touch with many of the people I went to school with. Just this past week, I got to catch up on with an old j-school friend I hadn’t talked with in years. And this coming week, a woman whom I met my first day in the dorms - and who’s been one of my very best friends ever since - will come to visit. I can’t wait. I’ve got the spiked cider all ready.