Coming home

Having just moved back to the community where I was raised following six and a half years in Los Angeles (and stints in Portland, Spokane, and Chicago before that), I am remembering some of the things I love about living here. As I type this, my two big kids are tromping around outside, running up and down the steps of our back deck, gathering any number of outdoor “treasures” ranging from fir branches to sticks to rocks. It is wet and cold and while I can’t say that L.A.’s mid-eighty degree weather of late has not felt enviable at times, I do love the way all of the green around me sparkles.

On Saturday we got up and had a family day. We drove to the Edmonds ferry and parked the cars and walked on for the short ride to Kingston. We got off and ate fish and chips at a little restaurant then made our way back to board the ferry home. The kids love going outside on the ferry decks while we are moving, and the wind and cold don’t seem to phase them at all. Elijah was hilarious to watch trying to keep his balance in the strong wind, and to his credit he never once fell.

There’s a casual friendliness here that I am starting to remember, and the “avoid eye contact” ways of L.A. are replaced by this very natural and normal engagement with the people around you that includes lots of smiles and little conversations and a sense of familiarity with one another. When at the grocery store, expect to spend a little longer in line because of conversation.

Oh, and I am really getting used to the nightly fires my husband builds for us. The smell and sound and romance of it reminds me of many a childhood night, curled up with a book or the dog, warming my feet on the stones. And a little glass of port finishes off the evening quite nicely.