Eleven days of trouncing footsteps up above our lower dwellings. Though the feet belong to different people, I’d swear there must be some lead boots in the mix. I’m ready for home.
220 miles away. I did not miss the rain and the grey gloom of the Oregon winter into spring. Rather, I missed the essence of my Pacific Northwest home. This confirms my “road taken” so many years ago. The diverging roads for me were either desert and isolation from family (but sunshine and warmth) aka Tucson, Arizona or change of seasons and family (but seemingly endless days of rain) aka Portland, Oregon. Not only did I hit the jackpot with my soul mate of 31 years and two pretty cool kids, but I found my bliss in what is my true home. There can be no other.
Back to the elephant feet clomping above: puhleaze! Handicapped husband means bottom floors. Most of our upstairs neighbors have been very loud during this sojourn. Bum knee trumps migrainal madness I suppose. All is not fair sometimes. It is what it is, and that’s the way it goes.
Tomorrow at this time I will be reunited with towering fir trees and the sound of rain on tbe rooftop instead of clodhopping feet. I’ll write about Tucson soon. It was a trip that brought mixed emotions. Overall it was fun, but I wanted more out of it and feel short changed somehow. To borrow a few lined from the Rolling Stones: “You can’t always get what you want. No you can’t always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you just might find – you get what you need.”