I'm a bit of a homebody. As much as I like to travel, explore, sightsee, learn, experience other cultures - I like to be at home just as much. Some days there's nothing better than holing up in front of the TV with Chris and the girls and watching every single one of our Wings DVDs. And after a long day at work, coming home is just what the doctor ordered. In fact, the feeling I get just by walking in the front door of our place after a long day is euphoric. The weight of the stresses of the past few hours instantly lift from my shoulders and I literally sigh with relief.
Home. I'm home.
Since we decided to join forces and make a home of our own, Chris and I have lived in several places. Over the years, we've called several different states "home" - Iowa, Minnesota, Washington... We've felt at home in all of them.
But what makes a home, well, a home?
When I was a little girl, I used to fear the possibility of my parents selling our house. I couldn't imagine being homeless. Because, in my young mind, that's exactly what we would have been. Homeless. Never mind the fact that another house would have immediately been purchased, an apartment rented, or a townhouse leased. That didn't matter. At the time, I truly believed that the only home I could ever have was the one I grew up in. And if we were to ever move, I'd have to leave my cozy bedroom with the yellow walls and the shag green carpet. Would never again see our comfortable - albeit chilly - basement complete with our pop up VCR and red wall paper. There were so many things I'd certainly miss: hearing our toilet mysteriously flush by itself in the middle of the night, the scarred garage door that had taken a beating from my earlier days of pitching softball, the creaky swingset down in the garden that always seemed a bit off kilter... And what about our pool in the backyard? What would I do without that?
To go a step further, I used to spend nights worrying about the day when I finally grew up and had to leave home to start a family of my own. How could the house I shared with my husband ever feel like home? How long would it take me to learn every nook and cranny of the rooms, the yard, the property? And, most importantly, would I ever feel as comfortable in my new house as I did in my old house?
(Did I ever mention that I did wayyyyy too much thinking as a kid? Geesh. Anyway...)
Back then, I believed with all my heart that home was a place. A specific place filled with specific furniture, specific carpet, specific fixtures, specific landscaping, specific sounds, specific smells, specific people... And without the presence of any of those things, home would cease being "home." Instead it would become some strange, uncomfortable, cold, barely inhabitable architectural structure that would leave me feeling empty and out of sorts.
Obviously, the thought of living anywhere but my childhood home used to haunt me a great deal. Pathetic? Yes. But hey, I was a kid. And an overly-emotional one at that.
Fortunately, I grew up. I realized that "home" is more a feeling than an actual place. More a state of mind than a geographically placed stack of bricks and mortar. More about the heart than about the walls.
I will never forget the feeling I got as Chris and I embarked on our most recent move. Our Jeep was packed to the hilt, and as we pulled out of the driveway of our old townhouse back in Minnesota we could hardly contain our excitement. We were heading West, and even though we were technically homeless (we had never been to Washington and blindly sent in a deposit for our new place) I remember feeling a strange sense of calm. Everything that mattered most to me was already in the Jeep: Chris and the dogs. We had the bare essentials and, if worst came to worst, could manage to survive on just that for probably as long as we needed to. In a sense, I was home long before we got to Washington.
It was a crazy-giddy sort of revelation.
I no longer think of home as a place. Like I said before, it's a state of mind. A feeling. And as Chris and I moved around, carving a path through the Midwest and out towards the Pacific Northwest, I've found that the old saying is true. Home is where the heart is.
And there's no place like it.
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"There's no place like home. There's no place like home." -- Dorothy Gale
One of the things we like best about living out here is that we are constantly discovering new things. New places to visit, new mountains to hike, new islands to explore, and new beaches to comb. It's like being on a never-ending vacation.
Well, sort of.
We discovered this little gem last weekend. And, since it's only a sweet twenty minute ride from our place, you can bet we'll be hitting this fab locale QUITE a bit.
It's during days like this, when we're standing in the midst of all this rugged beauty and serene landscape, that Chris and I just look at each other. Our eyes lock, and we communicate in that telepathic way that we so often do.
No, I can't believe we live here either. ____________________________ "But each [northwest] city remains, to most of its citizens, a great place to live in. Residents of Seattle, Portland, and Vancouver envy their friends who go on trips, but we feel sorry for those who must move away." --Murray Morgan (The Northwest Corner)
Last weekend, Chris and I suffered from a major case of the blues... Music, that is.
If you know anything about us, you know that we love the blues. Take our wedding, where we were fortunate enough to dance to the amazing sounds of James Kinds and the All-Night Riders. And Stevie Ray Vaughn, the guitar hero of blues-rock, will always hold a special place in our hearts.
While strolling through the Market, clutching our paper bags filled with fruit and goodies, we stumbled across Reggie Miles - and are soooo happy that we did. An amazing artist, he has the sort of wistful voice that will make the tiny hairs on your arms stand up. But in a good way.
In a nutshell, he gave me the goosebumps.
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"Blues is a natural fact, is something that a fellow lives. If you don't live it you don't have it. Young people have forgotten to cry the blues. Now they talk and get lawyers and things." -- Big Bill Broonzy
A bonus of living in the Seattle area is having unlimited access to Pike Place Market. It's the epicenter of yumminess. (Yes, I'm pretty sure that's a word.) It has everything - jars and jars of pickles, honey and jam; boxes upon boxes of fruit and veggies; barrels and barrels full of sugary sweet treats that would make Willy Wonka himself green with envy; layer atop layer of trays filled to the brink with mouth-watering baked goods; and a never ending supply of fresh (and sometimes flying) seafood. Combine that with an eclectic array of fine dining restaurants and enticing sidewalk cafes and there you have it - the EPICENTER OF YUMMINESS.
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“You've got bad eating habits if you use a grocery cart in 7-Eleven okay?” -- Dennis Miller
How many times have you judged a book by its cover? Discounted something - or, worse yet, someone - based on appearance? How often have you looked down on a person because of his or her hairstyle, choice of wardrobe, or financial status? And how many times has money, body size, or age influenced your opinions?
Please note - I'm not pointing any fingers. I'm just as guilty as most people.
But one has to wonder... Every time we ignore someone based on outward appearances, what gift are we missing out on? What precious gem lies buried under that exterior layer that we aren't allowing ourselves to see? What type of talent is brewing beneath the surface, just waiting to erupt?
If we continue to judge based on looks, we may never know.
If I've learned anything over the years, it's that all beings - big, small, fat, thin, dark, light, educated, uneducated, lawyers, doctors, janitors, painters, unibrow or no unibrow - are unique. Each and every soul has something to contribute to our world. Everyone and everything is worthy of respect. Of appreciation. And of admiration.
Every being deserves to be - unconditionally and irrevocably - loved.
When I first saw Susan Boyle, I judged. A bit. Probably not as much as some people - I didn't pull my lips back in a sneer, didn't click my tongue or shake my head, didn't belt out a sarcastic, "Yeah right!" But I did, just for a split second, think, Seriously??
Well, Susan Boyle - you taught me a lesson. You taught everyone watching you on Britain's Got Talent a lesson. And, I hope, you taught the entire world a lesson.
It's no secret that dogs are perhaps the happiest beings on the planet.
In fact, anyone that has ever owned a dog has, at one time or another, wished they could be more like their canine companion.
Come on. Admit it.
It doesn't take much to please a dog. A bone. A throw pillow. Some kibble. Maybe a squeak toy. A lush patch of grass...
The great thing about dogs is that, unlike us humans, they don't get bent out of shape when something doesn't go their way. Sure, they're just like us. They have desires, needs. They want things. They dream. An extra scoop of dog food, please. A spot on the bed, not on the floor beside it, would be just great, thank you very much. And, by the way, I'd really like to try a bit of that steak you're eating...
Desires. One thing I've noticed about our girls is that they actively pursue their desires. Take our lab mix, Dehlia, for example. Every day, without fail, she'll circle the table while Chris and I eat dinner. Round and round. A whimper here. A whine there. All in a pathetic attempt to get a handout.
It drives us nuts.
In all honestly, it's probably our fault that she does this. Because, once in a blue moon, she'll actually score a treat. Chris will have a rare moment of weakness and toss her the leftover crust from his pizza. Or I (in my usual state of gracefulness) will drop an entire hot dog on the floor - bun and all. Those days, in Dehlia's mind, are very good days.
But then there are the days - most days, actually - when dinner time will roll by completely uneventful. Chris will clean his entire plate, and I'll accomplish an amazing feat by not dropping anything edible on the carpet. On those oh so dark days, Dehlia will leave the dinner table completely empty-handed. Or empty-bellied. However you want to look at it.
But does it throw her? Does it put her in a bad mood? Does she pout and whine and moan and throw a doggie-temper tantrum? Does she toss her paws in the air and bark, Why God? Why? No. She'll simply, gracefully, and with as many good-manners as she can muster, return to her spot on the couch, where she'll continue doing whatever it was she was doing before dinner time. (Napping, watching TV, chewing on her bone, etc., etc.)
Now, when I don't get something I want, I'm not that agreeable. I get irritated. Moody. A bit depressed. And yep - even bitchy. (Oh, my poor husband.) And sometimes I'll even toss my hands in the air and ask, "Why God?! Why?"
Lately, in an attempt to become a happier and more content person, I've turned to our dogs. Studied them. Learned from them. Learned a lot from them.
Dogs appreciate their surroundings. They appreciate the good they already have. Sure, if something better comes along, then great. Grand. Wonderful. Bring it on, they seem to say. But if nothing at all exciting happens on a particular day - if all they do is eat their standard meal of kibble and lay on the floor instead of the bed, if they don't get to go on that walk they were looking forward to - they're still happy. They're still content. And, most importantly, they're still in love with life.
How often can any of us say that? How often have disappointments brought us down? Made us bitter, angry, resentful? How many times have we let money, relationships, careers, and body-images keep us from enjoying life?
I'll admit it. For me, I've let it happen far too much.
Dogs are resilient. Hard to keep down. In fact, more often than not, you can't keep a dog down. Even the homeless dogs I've worked with in the past were far more happy than most people I know today. Sad, but true.
No, it's not bad to have desires. It's not bad to have wants and needs. And it's certainly not bad to have dreams. But when we let the outcome become more important than the present, when we let the results dictate our point of happiness, that's when we're in trouble.
Life is meant to be good. It's meant to be enjoyed. And it's meant to be lived. Fully, completely, no holds-barred.
All that's important in life, I've learned from my dogs. And I'm continuing to learn from them. More and more. Everyday.
In the end, they've been my greatest teachers.
** As a side note, this is possibly the funniest thing I've seen in a long time. In fact, I laughed so hard when I first saw it that I think I pulled a muscle in my neck. Enjoy!
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"I like driving around with my two dogs, especially on the freeways. I make them wear little hats so I can use the car-pool lanes." -- Monica Piper
In honor of the super-beautiful weather we've been having here lately, here are some colorful shots of the gorgeous flowers down at Pike Place Market. Enjoy! :)
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"I'd rather have roses on my table than diamonds on my neck." -- Emma Goldman
How great is my husband?? I mean, how many guys would let their wives parade them around the city while snapping picture after picture of them??
Lucky for me, Chris is one of those guys. I can't even begin to say how much I appreciate his support. Honestly, without him I don't know where I'd be.
Here are the first few shots edited with my brand spanking new software - Adobe Photoshop CS4.
Thanks, Chris, for letting me practice on you. Love you. :)
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"We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love."
