Life In The Pacific Northwest
So, Monday strikes again. Feeling slightly exhausted. Friday’s illness isn’t completely defeated, my diet’s not recovered. Fueling really impacts life’s quality.
Now begins this week
Laden with much potential
Awaiting the seizing
Anyway, so much to do. I now must rise up and make my way towards my goals. Have a great week, everyone!
It would be so awesome to have this kind of strength. Though I have kept building myself up, if this is my goal, I have much work to do.
The amount of fitness growth needed is hard to imagine. But, hey, who knows? I think it’s doable, just whether I have the gumption to pull it off. Still, I find it inspiring.
Over the past few years I’ve heard so very much about “underwater homes”. When one owes more than the home is worth, the choices seen a bit stark. Short-Sales, foreclosures, bankruptcies, and other dire options were what got press, and agents talking. There was one option, though, that didn’t get mentioned: nothing. Keep pushing your mortgage and wait for the market to recover value.
The past several years have seen significant value growth. And Seattle has been central in that growth trend. We’ve gained back most, if not all, of the recession’s value erosion. Now, that’s not universal. There are areas in western Washington which haven’t gained that much. Seattle/Bellevue is the epicenter, which price increases dropping moving outwards.
Now, if you must move (job relocation, etc), you can’t afford your mortgage (adjustable rate resets, interest only terms off and principle comes due, etc), and you owe me than your home’s value, there are options. Don’t panic! But don’t seek one of these options if you simply are worried about home value. If you like where you live and it meets your needs, stay there. Prices will recover, and soon.
I consider myself a western Washingtonian, even though Mr. Ron Rudd might not.
“If you weren’t born in Seattle or the Northwest, you’ll never be one of us.”
Though born in Rhode Island, my parents were born in Washington, as were all my grandparents. My father and his mother were born in Seattle. Next: my parents met at UW. And I was supposed to be born in Seattle, but my timetable was a bit off-kilter. The family was in Rhode Island as my father attended the War College. So, I guess if I must be disqualified from “one of us” status, I’ll accept the consequences of my father’s service with pride.
Deeper: why do I consider this place “home”? Well, the biggest reason was that we always called it home. Flying out to Seattle was always “going home to visit grandma” (sorry grandpa, but it was always “to visit grandma”.
Lastly, this is the place we moved when my dad decided to retire from the Navy. And where I’ve lived the vast majority of my life here. Lastlyiest lastly, there’s the simple fact I love it here.
Please note: I’m hardly offended by Mr. Rudd. Actually, I find him quite witty, and the piece is quite clever. It did give me pause to consider, though. Which is worth a heap of oysters, shucked by hand along the Edmonds beach: my happy place.
Today’s lovely rainy morning makes me glad I spent so much time outside yesterday. Walked quite a bit around Lynnwood. My FitBit motivates me to exercise. Dropping a few pounds really encouraged me to go further. For a suburb, Lynnwood is remarkably walkable. Not like downtown Edmonds, but still. Crossing 99 is a little nerve-wracking, as everyone there is in such a hurry that common sense and compassion fail. Anyways, walking in Lynnwood’s challenge: the bigger time-commitment.
I walked over to Scriber Lake park. As it’s been rainy, I expected to see Yoda pop out crying “slimy mud-hole? My home this is! ” Ok, some of the trail was a little squishy, but it was mainly fine. This time of year, make sure you have non-leaky shoes.
I wandered from there up to Edmonds Community College, then over to Lynndale. On the whole walk, I saw three land-use signs up. One at the ancient Taco Bell, (of late a taco shack) next to Ed’s Surplus. Sadly, didn’t like too closely to see what’s going in. Then one at the old Ballys. Looks like a church is building there. And then the college is getting ready to build a science, engineering and technology building. Lots of growth coming. That didn’t count all the road work projects.
There are things I notice while walking that I otherwise missed. Too much hurry and we miss detail, and it’s these details that build connection to ‘place’. Hence why I love walking and bicycling to explore, to understand. The weight loss helps, too.
I find this sleepy/not-sleepy feeling annoying. Awakened by bursts from this brain of mine. So, laying here listening to the gentlest of rainfall, I feel somewhat peaceful. And fatigued. And then there’s still the buzz of my active brain, rattling out randomness. When I hear the rain, though, slowly dripping from the firs onto my roof, forming tiny rivulets down to the earth, tranquility gets pulled from my core. This speaks to spaces deep within me. Reaching the better parts of my childhood, my youth here, listening to water flow across cedar shakes. Connecting to deep childhood moments of quiet security, of the moments of parental love and safety, deep, internal warmth, this overactive mind calms. And I feel, yet again, richly blessed.
This morning’s fog set the day’s mood: unfocused, hazy and unclear. From the magnificent effort to get out the door only slightly late, to my scatterbrained workday, to my poorly executed, overly messy dinner; the day was a solid loss. Yet I don’t lament a thing. Spent time with good friends, had some laughs, and no one was hurt for all the flailing about.
I’m sure losing this weekend to the germs didn’t help. Sunday worse than Saturday, but much better by early evening. Still, this morning I was pretty sluggish. And I never really perked up throughout the day. The early afternoon found me struggling to stay awake. I’m guessing the residuals of the daylight savings time brutality added to the days roughness.
Now I sit, mental fog creeping over me, intro my bones. Slowly, sleep’s demands drag me into the different depths of myself. And so ends this day.
I delight in the youth surrounding me.
My mind and my heart stretched even greater.
Perhaps, someday, it shall encompass
The whole world.
My morning feed brought me many articles about and stories about the transgender community. Often I’ve wondered how I can support these folks. To be blunt, I don’t understand what their lives are like. No idea. To state otherwise must come across as deeply insulting. Yet I seek to do something, anything to stem the tides of rage, of intolerance.
There are those desiring a miserable world of homogeneity. I can’t imagine a more wretched place. I seek a merry world filled with delighted compassion and glorious love. I doubt I can tilt the entire world this way, but I’m content with crafting an enclave of tolerance.
Ultimately, the core of such a place is simple: open ears and an open heart. Though I seek places within myself for connection, I must not believe those moments equate my path to theirs, my pain to theirs. We are each unique and glorious.
Seattle’s openness to diversity is one of my great delights. I love interacting with the breadth of humanity. And my son gets to grow up with the broader world deep within his awareness. That delights me deeply.
A few nights ago I attended Meadowdale Middle School’s Information Night. As an alum it’s a particularly unique sensation. The evening definitely clarified the transition upon us: the journey into the middle school years. Oddly, I haven’t felt much fear or angst about the boy’s transition, though others on this journey around me do. Talking with those other parents, I think the roots of that anxiety stem from our own journey into those years.
When I transitioned from Beverly to Meadowdale Junior High, I don’t remember much in the way of support or discussion. I remember the cheerleaders coming to my school, and talks about registering. I think we even walked the mile or so down to the school. Of course, that was quite some time ago and my memory probably isn’t to be fully trusted. I was rather unique, though. I lived a relatively small amount of time in this community. Attending Beverly for all of 6th grade, and had lived in this neighborhood for about 3 months prior (I spend 1/2 of my 5th year at College Place, and before that I was in the Philippines, and before that…well, that’s a post for another day). I didn’t know any kids from the other schools, and barely the kids at mine. When I went to Junior High, the general feeling was one of anxiety, though my vagabond childhood and left me with great adaptive skills.
So, last Thursday, I’m walking through the quite different halls of the same institution. Rebuilt just a few years ago (the first class of the new building is still in highschool, I believe), it’s a bright and delightful space. The design reminds me very much of the buildings on the Microsoft campus. And the staff I interacted with were wonderful. For me, though, the best part, BEST part was the community. My son’s world will intersect wonderfully at this school. Friends from so many different programs, places we’ve lived, communities we love all feed into this one place. One very deliberate thing I wanted my son to have, growing up, was a deep sense of place, of community. It delights me, then, that this is exactly what I saw.
He had a great time, and so did I. Any lingering anxieties about all of this have been put to rest. Dare I say it, but I’m actually looking forward to these next few years. The programs and staff come across as ready to coach my boy these next steps. I couldn’t be more pleased.