January 28, 1923 – July 28, 2010

Miss you, Daddy.

In May, Kendy, Matt, and Eliot moved back to Santa Barbara after delighting us here on Saginaw for the past few years.

They lived in what we still call “Joanne’s house,” and now we have welcomed Mary as a new neighbor.  (She has a kayak!)

The moving van arrived next door at Ann’s early this morning.  She, Allegra, Nick, and Molly are moving to Boston.  They’ve been my next door neighbors since before the children can remember.  Molly and Roxie have greeted each other through the fence every morning and evening for as long as I can remember.

Reiley and Mary have a new boat in their driveway.  They will be taking it up to their weekend place on Puget Sound tomorrow.

Ellen, who’d lived here longer than anyone, died last summer and her house is being renovated.

And  have absolutely no idea what this is parked in front of my house.

Otherwise at 1880, all is its usual quiet self.  I did buy a new little wheelie-cart at ACE this morning.  They sent me a coupon.

The roses just keep on keeping on.

For a little excitement, I just look the other way for a day or two and the wisteria goes crazy.

It’s generally a very quiet street, but some days, everything goes a little crazy.

Seventeen years ago this summer, I moved to Salem.  I said I was coming for a job, which was true. I said I had always had an interest in teaching at an Indian school, which was true.  What I didn’t say, even to myself, was that I was running away from home.  A good girl wouldn’t do that.   During the next few years, my path took some interesting twists and turns, but, looking back, I am amazed at all the support and encouragement I got for being bold at last.  I remember once I was questioning Elizabeth concerning some adventure she was about to undertake, wondering about the kinds of eventualities and dangers that mothers are always plagued with considering.  Elizabeth replied, “Well, I hope I never don’t do something because I don’t have the courage.”  (My girls have never suffered from the developmental delays that I did.)

A surprising truth that I came to gradually is that I love living here.  Of course, that is easy to say on an amazing summer day, but I pretty much love this climate year round. Lots of rain making lots of green and lots of beautiful lakes and rivers.  A bit of snow some years.  And nice people.  Really nice people.

What I remember most about that first day I drove into Salem were the beautiful baskets of flowers hanging from the lamp posts downtown.  Nice people. Nice climate. Nice flowers.  Nice place to run away to and then just stay.

The other day after paddling from Green’s Bridge to the rest stop on I-5, Dave and I stopped off at our favorite farmer’s field produce stand.  The peach orchard is out by the main road and you can smell the peaches if you put your windows down.  I was looking to buy some beets and found some interesting golden ones.  Brought them home.  Rubbed them with olive oil and salt.  ( Nowadays, I believe you are supposed to say “extra virgin olive oil and sea salt.”  The phrase “extra virgin” always makes me smile.)  Put them in a really hot oven for a little while.  Peeled them and sliced them up, along with a Walla Walla onion, not extra virgin.  Put in some white balsamic, more olive oil, more salt.  Let them sit around for a while. Ate the whole bowlful in one sitting.  That last part, I do not recommend so much.  Otherwise   .  .  .  

And over at the Fred Meyer’s, all the summer gear has been reduced to one small rack and half price.

And where all the water toys were just yesterday, it looks like this:

How depressing is that?

But back home at 1880, where we don’t have to stock up on school supplies any more, even with “coupon savings,” the lace caps are competing with the wisteria beans way out back under my shady reading arbor.

I do usually buy myself a new box of crayons every September, though.  I love the smell and the sharp points.  But not on July 9. I’m way out back under the shady reading arbor reading.

How sweet is that?