You can go home but it is different
Jan. 6th, 2016 11:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gfrancieThe adventure continues.
The 23rd of December was my sister's birthday! I had left her with birthday presents the night before. (and her boyfriend's Christmas present as well. I gave him the gift of good quality brown liquor and snacks. He was deeply appreciative. Many people enjoy those two things.) I gave her some fancy-pants Korean beauty product thing, (Serum of some kind, beautifully packaged of course) a vintage silk scarf, and my kids gave her a tiny toy squirrel as she had commented on it in a store we were in. Who doesn't need a tiny toy squirrel?
That morning I met up with a friend for coffee and baked goods, and to give her a Christmas cake I had made. I had brought four Christmas cakes of varying sizes with me to the states. I baked them, aged them, and then added marzipan and royal icing to those babies and offered them up left and right to people. (and had one for everyone at Christmas.) She got one. We had a good conversation about families, travel, life in Europe, life in Seattle, why we need paid parental leave, universal/low-cost childcare, and universal preschool now, and people and food. The important things. Really if we had the paid parental leave, child care, preschool thing sorted, it would improve the lives of so many Americans and just think of the productivity. But then how we work is out-dated but whatever... another conversation. It was great to see my friend. I hope I can see her again soon. (another favorite person to travel with.)
Then it was back to finish packing, pick up a few things, drop off a few things, and then get on the ferry to the Olympic Peninsula. AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I had not visited in some time. Last time I was about it was just in Seattle. Going to my home town. So many weird complicated feelings about the place. Some of the best people in the world come from my home town and there are things I love but there are also things that are difficult about the place and the memories are well... they are what they are. Yes. I have been gone so long. Also I wanted to look damn good in case I saw anyone I had grown up with. NO ONE was going to say I looked haggard or had aged badly. Vain vain vain. Anyhow...
It was cold, there were threats of snow, and the ferry lines being long. We drove downtown, paid our fare and were told, "yep the boat will be here in about fifteen minutes." and we drove right on with ease. Just like that. And had chowder on the ferry. It was odd and familiar to drive across Bainbridge and up to the Hood Canal bridge. It was at the bridge I began to feel emotional. To see this place that was so familiar and so far away. To see the trees, the hills, and mountains that were a part of my scenery through my entire childhood. It was hard seeing some places where acres of trees have been chopped down. Bald looking hillsides having been given bad hair-cuts. My Mom had warned me about this. We drove through Beaver Valley. There were a few houses that stood out. One was a tiny house that stood derelict for years but is now lived in. It looked so cozy. Probably built over 100 years ago, wooden, and with a broad front porch and about one story. Maybe with an attic/loft, and one or two bedrooms. But there it was with its two large front windows, little door, reminding me of the story, "The Little House" by Virginia Lee Burton. I am not drawn to photographic essays of derelict/abandoned buildings/houses as they make me think of depression and what the inside of my head feels like at times. "look look all this potential gone and left to rot." Tumblr people sure get a kick out of it, and all it has ever done is make me sad for the spirit of a house. I see old abandoned houses and think of the lives that were once in there and how that house must have been alive once upon a time. That it was cared for and loved. Which brings me to another house. One that I remember people living in. Another farm-house. Near the road. Two stories and kind of sweetly Victorian with little gingerbread details. It wasn't fancy but I always liked seeing the lights on at night when we might drive by. Now it is boarded up, the barn near it is collapsing in on itself and not much can be saved. Just a mossy looking silo near it. Then there was an A-frame house that once stood up on a small hill surrounded by some evergreens. The trees have been cut down. Which I understand because in the winter having trees like that so close to the house is dangerous. But it sure looked exposed. But I bet it is less dark now. There are two silos at either end of the valley that remind me of my Grandpa R. He told me as a kid they were three miles apart. (I guess he had measured it when driving and he would do that kind of thing. Always finding a way to entertain himself on long drives. He is also the guy who would drive into Seattle forty different ways to keep the commute interesting. This is why I know a million different ways to get around Seattle and have rarely found the traffic to be a real bother. Even during this trip I remembered so many ways to get across and up and down the city.) Once you reach that other silo you are in Chimacum and then Port Townsend is next.
I began to think of that new Adele song, "Hello". Where is my flip-phone and amazing nails and hair as I face this old ghost of a place?
Gen you are being dramatic. Seriously where are my amazing nails?
We arrived at my auntie's house which we had for our visit. She had told me she had an appointment but she would leave the door unlocked. Yeah, that is the kind of town I am from. The front door was locked but not the side door to the kitchen. There was a Christmas tree all lit up and looking pretty in the dining room. She had gone with her friend who is a forest ranger up out into Olympic National Forest to get it. K. had told me that he had insisted that they hike two miles out to find this tree so it was a four mile trip -half of it dragging this tree home. But it was a beaut'.
(I made the star for it.)
I had a message from my sister that her boss let her off work early, so she and my brother Tom (who had flown in that morning and was eating food in her fridge) were on their way. (my youngest brother was picking them up from the ferry.)
THEN my Auntie showed up. (she isn't blood related but she might as well be.)
And then EVERYONE showed up. Including my Auntie's cat who hates everyone. (though as it turned out he likes me. Because I am a witch.)
My Auntie had bought a fuck ton of home-made tamales, so I cooked them up for my sister's birthday dinner. In recent years a huge influx of Latino people have moved into the area. My Mom plays for Spanish Mass on Saturdays and has gotten to know a number of people, and this also means more delicious food offerings. And diversity. Lots more diversity.
Tamales, refried beans, rice, all kinds of good things. I had gone to the grocery store (not gonna lie, made sure my make-up and hair were on point, and my hat was just so.) and gotten supplies and I bought my sister a ridiculous chocolate mousse cake for her berfday. She loved it. Everyone needs some cake. Lots of conversation and then people retired to their respective spaces and passed out.
Then it was Christmas Eve. (my favorite day.)
The 23rd of December was my sister's birthday! I had left her with birthday presents the night before. (and her boyfriend's Christmas present as well. I gave him the gift of good quality brown liquor and snacks. He was deeply appreciative. Many people enjoy those two things.) I gave her some fancy-pants Korean beauty product thing, (Serum of some kind, beautifully packaged of course) a vintage silk scarf, and my kids gave her a tiny toy squirrel as she had commented on it in a store we were in. Who doesn't need a tiny toy squirrel?
That morning I met up with a friend for coffee and baked goods, and to give her a Christmas cake I had made. I had brought four Christmas cakes of varying sizes with me to the states. I baked them, aged them, and then added marzipan and royal icing to those babies and offered them up left and right to people. (and had one for everyone at Christmas.) She got one. We had a good conversation about families, travel, life in Europe, life in Seattle, why we need paid parental leave, universal/low-cost childcare, and universal preschool now, and people and food. The important things. Really if we had the paid parental leave, child care, preschool thing sorted, it would improve the lives of so many Americans and just think of the productivity. But then how we work is out-dated but whatever... another conversation. It was great to see my friend. I hope I can see her again soon. (another favorite person to travel with.)
Then it was back to finish packing, pick up a few things, drop off a few things, and then get on the ferry to the Olympic Peninsula. AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I had not visited in some time. Last time I was about it was just in Seattle. Going to my home town. So many weird complicated feelings about the place. Some of the best people in the world come from my home town and there are things I love but there are also things that are difficult about the place and the memories are well... they are what they are. Yes. I have been gone so long. Also I wanted to look damn good in case I saw anyone I had grown up with. NO ONE was going to say I looked haggard or had aged badly. Vain vain vain. Anyhow...
It was cold, there were threats of snow, and the ferry lines being long. We drove downtown, paid our fare and were told, "yep the boat will be here in about fifteen minutes." and we drove right on with ease. Just like that. And had chowder on the ferry. It was odd and familiar to drive across Bainbridge and up to the Hood Canal bridge. It was at the bridge I began to feel emotional. To see this place that was so familiar and so far away. To see the trees, the hills, and mountains that were a part of my scenery through my entire childhood. It was hard seeing some places where acres of trees have been chopped down. Bald looking hillsides having been given bad hair-cuts. My Mom had warned me about this. We drove through Beaver Valley. There were a few houses that stood out. One was a tiny house that stood derelict for years but is now lived in. It looked so cozy. Probably built over 100 years ago, wooden, and with a broad front porch and about one story. Maybe with an attic/loft, and one or two bedrooms. But there it was with its two large front windows, little door, reminding me of the story, "The Little House" by Virginia Lee Burton. I am not drawn to photographic essays of derelict/abandoned buildings/houses as they make me think of depression and what the inside of my head feels like at times. "look look all this potential gone and left to rot." Tumblr people sure get a kick out of it, and all it has ever done is make me sad for the spirit of a house. I see old abandoned houses and think of the lives that were once in there and how that house must have been alive once upon a time. That it was cared for and loved. Which brings me to another house. One that I remember people living in. Another farm-house. Near the road. Two stories and kind of sweetly Victorian with little gingerbread details. It wasn't fancy but I always liked seeing the lights on at night when we might drive by. Now it is boarded up, the barn near it is collapsing in on itself and not much can be saved. Just a mossy looking silo near it. Then there was an A-frame house that once stood up on a small hill surrounded by some evergreens. The trees have been cut down. Which I understand because in the winter having trees like that so close to the house is dangerous. But it sure looked exposed. But I bet it is less dark now. There are two silos at either end of the valley that remind me of my Grandpa R. He told me as a kid they were three miles apart. (I guess he had measured it when driving and he would do that kind of thing. Always finding a way to entertain himself on long drives. He is also the guy who would drive into Seattle forty different ways to keep the commute interesting. This is why I know a million different ways to get around Seattle and have rarely found the traffic to be a real bother. Even during this trip I remembered so many ways to get across and up and down the city.) Once you reach that other silo you are in Chimacum and then Port Townsend is next.
I began to think of that new Adele song, "Hello". Where is my flip-phone and amazing nails and hair as I face this old ghost of a place?
Gen you are being dramatic. Seriously where are my amazing nails?
We arrived at my auntie's house which we had for our visit. She had told me she had an appointment but she would leave the door unlocked. Yeah, that is the kind of town I am from. The front door was locked but not the side door to the kitchen. There was a Christmas tree all lit up and looking pretty in the dining room. She had gone with her friend who is a forest ranger up out into Olympic National Forest to get it. K. had told me that he had insisted that they hike two miles out to find this tree so it was a four mile trip -half of it dragging this tree home. But it was a beaut'.
(I made the star for it.)
I had a message from my sister that her boss let her off work early, so she and my brother Tom (who had flown in that morning and was eating food in her fridge) were on their way. (my youngest brother was picking them up from the ferry.)
THEN my Auntie showed up. (she isn't blood related but she might as well be.)
And then EVERYONE showed up. Including my Auntie's cat who hates everyone. (though as it turned out he likes me. Because I am a witch.)
My Auntie had bought a fuck ton of home-made tamales, so I cooked them up for my sister's birthday dinner. In recent years a huge influx of Latino people have moved into the area. My Mom plays for Spanish Mass on Saturdays and has gotten to know a number of people, and this also means more delicious food offerings. And diversity. Lots more diversity.
Tamales, refried beans, rice, all kinds of good things. I had gone to the grocery store (not gonna lie, made sure my make-up and hair were on point, and my hat was just so.) and gotten supplies and I bought my sister a ridiculous chocolate mousse cake for her berfday. She loved it. Everyone needs some cake. Lots of conversation and then people retired to their respective spaces and passed out.
Then it was Christmas Eve. (my favorite day.)
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no subject
Date: 2016-01-06 05:09 pm (UTC)Hell, in Madison, downtown can have ghosts for me as I play the game of "Remember when this store used to be here?" on State Street.
no subject
Date: 2016-01-12 06:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-01-12 11:16 am (UTC)