Yesterday I ventured further into the Emerald City than I have ever been.
The Emerald City is what we urban peasants call south Johnson County. It is made up of probably the most affluent suburban parts of metropolitan Kansas City. Acre upon acre of stately homes, luxurious apartment buildings. Winding six lane boulevards, exquisitely landscaped. Hectares of glittering shopping plazas. It’s beautiful. The picture above is of the Prairiefire museum right next to the Prairiefire shopping center where I went to pick up a pair of sandals I had ordered online for store delivery.
I’ve been as far as 119th Street, but I’ve never been as far south as 135th Street before. I ordered the sandals from R.E.I. (I can’t economize on footwear that I’m going to do a lot of walking in; my joints are not forgiving anymore). There was only one store in the metropolitan area — out in the Emerald City. I could have had the sandals shipped, I guess. I didn’t want to wait and I was curious.
Part of me was enjoying the eye candy and another part was condemning myself for that enjoyment and wondering if such a lifestyle were either necessary or sustainable. The thought that won out, though, was one of wonder at how different the world must seem if surroundings like that are your every day reality, your normal. How hard it is for any of us to really understand other people’s reality.
From the Emerald City to the Emerald Isle. I used to have mixed feelings about St. Patrick’s Day in the past, at least as it is usually celebrated. I’m working on being less censorious. I think people are in need of a party right now.
I happened onto a memorial for my great-great grandmother online on find-a-grave, just the day before yesterday She was born in Ireland in 1826 and she died in 1923 — almost a hundred years old. Maith thú, great-great grandmother McCarthy, happy St. Patrick’s Day.