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www.kevacho.com
©2002-2024
Kevin Michael Vance
Writer - Portland, Oregon
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June 26, 2007
What a trip!
Last week I went back home. Back to Missoula, Montana; the town, and or, city, not of my birth, but of my "formative" years (see, humble, yet hopefully entertaining Bio). Saw some dear, dear friends, who have in progress, what appears to be, the damn-darndest-cutest-droolin'-fun lovin' clan this side of the Rocky Mountains. (I love you Hank and Amy, and Thai… and damn it - I love those damn kids, too.) Hung with my Big Bro' which was good and as it should be. (Greg, you are, literally, the best.) Spent a lot of time- there's way too much talk that he and I are a gay couple, anyway- with my wonderful friend, Andy; who has been there, through thick and thin, always. (And by the way, I'm not gay, and neither is Andy! Albeit, my retro-tank top-neatly trimmed side burns-style is FABULOUS!) In Montana, figuratively and literally, I breathed, I exhaled and allowed the splendor and wonder that is that large, sometimes imposing state, to suffuse my body and splinter my bones. It was wonderful, and there is a part of me, regardless of where I find myself in this great, big world that will forever remain within those mountains. Hell, I even rocked! (Thanks, Hank.) With all I've been through in the past few years it's amazing to me that all I have to do is clamber across rough, black talus, smelling the pine and sage, hearing the wind bend the aspens and the Clark Fork roar its dominance, and I am whole. I consider myself privileged to have grown up in such a wondrous place.
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