Monday, January 7, 2008

One satisfied soul

It's Monday night, and I have four more days left in Washington. It always helps when the last week of vacation everyone around you starts back into their routine (Elise is back at school, so is Mom). That way I get an itch to pack up my bags and head back to my other life.

Right now I'm sitting in a quiet house not far from my mom's new neighborhood, a familiar house of people I love. Two little girls (who are becoming less and less little - the older one reminded me as I was tucking her in that soon they won't even need a babysitter!), they sleep in their beds and their Christmas tree lights still twinkle in the corner of my vision and reflect against the windowpane.

It's the friends in this town, and the smell of the marina, that make me want to stay just a little longer. I haven't had much time to revisit favorite spots, like I would have hoped, except for the night I got away in my sister's car and wound up at the Chrysalis and boardwalk from Fairhaven to Boulevard Park. I love that little area. I strolled into the Chrysalis and sat down on a couch in the lounge like any guest would. Legs crossed and journal on my lap, I idly scribbled or stared into the glowing fireplace. After a while I walked back through the big doors and headed down toward the boardwalk. The rain lightly hit my hood, and I listened to the sound of my boot heels clicking against the wood planks. Then I stopped at the bottom of the long descent to the water and squinted into the misty darkness of Bellingham Bay. I just stood there for a while, until I couldn't stand the cold anymore. Once back in the car the rain picked up outside, and by turning off my music I discovered a much more enchanting rhythm upon the metal roof.

Just as beautiful as being alone outside in Bellingham, was being inside, smooshed between two crazily endearing (or endearingly crazy) children for a weekend. This particular 30-hour babysitting job left me with more memories to carry through another semester in Texas. We tickled, we painted, we skipped along the sidewalk downtown. There were peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, dolls, dinosaurs, and pieces of couscous everywhere. At our highest point the three of us danced and jumped around to Daniel Bedingfield, and at our lowest we snoozed alongside each other in a big bed.

These snippets of time might not make much sense, or be particularly interesting to you, but I'm afraid that if I don't take the time to record them now they might slip away. Or I'll forget their magical the peace found on a still bay at night or sincere, innocent I-love-you's from childish lips.

Since the lighting of our traditional rum cake on New Year's Eve, there have not been many occasions to cook, so memories that I would normally post in the prelude t0 a recipe are here being replaced by stories that stand on their own. Food is a wonderful thing, but it won't get you out on a boardwalk in the rain, nor will it do as a substitute for love.

*the piano at my aunt and uncle's house, taken on a sweet little trip to visit them in Olympia.

*more memories to hold on to : The Temple Bar with Kierstin.

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