Where I live

I know there’s an annoying element to the grand chauvinism of place that I’ve occasionally displayed in these pages virtual. I understand some few of you may actually have had quite your fill of my descriptions of the beauty of the Northwest in general and northwestern Washington (the real Washington, that is) in particular.

I understand all this and yet, I’m curiously unrepentant. Because the fact is, I do live here and I will call it a sad day when Mary and I finally give up and move somewhere else in order to maintain proximity to our Daughters, One and also Two.

For now, I’m content to be where I can watch orcas feeding from the Bremerton ferry, as I did a couple weeks ago. Or watch the spume from the breakers blowing over the floating bridge, which I’ve already done several times this year from the warmth and dryness of a metro bus.  

On a clear day, of which -  contrary to popular belief among people who’ve never made their home here - there are many, I can see three volcanoes from the same bus ride over the same bridge just by turning my head.

This is where I did winter camping with the Boy Scouts and had my paper route and mowed lawns and failed utterly to pursue my first schoolboy crush. And where my buddy Johnny fell out of the Big Fir while playing buck-buck and where my brother surprised the whole neighborhood when he chased the bully with a length of pipe and where we never caught a fish but never stopped trying and where the cat bit Anne right on the nose and where I accidentally stomped on Marilyn’s pet frog. (Turns out, frogs have more guts than one might think.)

This is also where I’ve spent most of my time as husband and father to three strong women who are the glory of my life. It’s where I’ve wielded chain saws with my brother and spackle knives with my wife and taught Two how to hammer and One how to cut shapes out of plywood for theatrical sets.

I could go on and likely I will after I post this blog and surrender to my private musings.  Mary and I are having a low key holiday with Two this year, the first without One.  We hung ornaments on the tree tonight, each and every one with a story attached.  A good anthropologist could put together a reasonable reconstruction of our lives in this house just by paying close attention to the narrative offered by the ornaments hanging on our tree.

We still have One’s ornaments but that will change one year soon as she establishes her own traditions and our tree will thenceforth tell less of the story. Or at least, the same story but from fewer points of view.

This place is home. It may not be for much longer but for the moment, it remains the place where my life is rooted.

My wish for each and all of you this holiday season is that you can take a few moments and just love being where and who you are. My life is rich and made richer by each of you and by these women. And of course, by this place.

We’ll  have family stuff taking up the next couple of days so who knows when I’ll be back to you. But wherever you are and whatever you call this holiday, I hope it’s a time of happiness and peace for you.