I’m a bit disturbed that in my once-yearly visits to Port Townsend I continue to be beset by ugly thoughts and feelings – each time I visit. Yesterday and today, in fact, I experienced the strongest negative feelings and thoughts so far. All my baggage, sure and whatever, and maybe I’ll write some of it out sooner or later, but that’s not my point. The oppressiveness of it all threw me for a loop. It was like my brain had all this static noise.
And I didn’t have much time to process. Within about five minutes of driving into town I was at a party and spent almost every waking second after this around other grownups. I didn’t have time to defrag. I did my best to be present for my friends, who along with their children are deeply precious to me.
The friends, the kids? AWESOME. I felt high as a kite to be around them. That might have been the Stumptown coffee, too.
After hot chocolates and hot coffee we walked down to the beach. The children played and played and played, showing no boredom and only a total interest in the beach and one another.
And they agreed to assemble so I could take a group picture. This is because guess what, tomorrow they will all be about six inches taller and with more or less teeth and telling different stories and doing different things so we wanted to get them, just grab them RIGHT NOW.
At some point some of us had to move onto a warm place with hot food. At this separation, Phoenix cried mightily. But in the way of small kiddos she was very happy only moments later on our way to lunch, stopping for a comically incorrect-sized kiddie ride – one she used to ride on as a tot that is, I suspect, not much longer for this world.
The kids sat at their own table and Cynthia, Jodi and I got to catch up. I ate this huge-ass chile relleno. I’d hoped for the Noodle House but that was not in the cards. Maybe next time.
As we ate it got darker, and colder, and darker…
So my daughter and I said goodbye to our friends and to PT and warmed up the car to hit the road.
On the way home, the little girl fell asleep (“Mom, may I take a snooze without interruption?”). We’d sung the entire drive up (Jazmine Sullivan and Justin Bieber, volume at 11) but it was nice to have time to myself on the drive back and I was glad she got some rest. In fact, both drives were very pleasant for me and I usually hate having my ass in a car.
Andrew Bird, and the twisty-dark of Highway 101:
24 hours and there-and-back.
I’m ready to take a hot bath at home and cuddle up to the warm and beloved bodies in my life.
(Small Stone #21*)
Beneath my feet, deathly chill, the shock traveling up through my legs.
Today I don’t mind.
I’m one with the elements.
Cold and fierce.
(Small Stone #22*)
My son puts his arms around my neck and buries his face in my breast.
“You were gone such a long time!”, he sighs.
As someone who lived in PT for 10 years and then moved away, I’m curious for you to expand on your thoughts and feelings about the ‘oppression’ of going back.
Yes, I do have to write it out at some point… I’m just too tired to do it now!