Ode to Home

Anyplace without big water is a no go (ocean or Great Lakes are the limit). Landlocking me for any length of time will turn me clown shoe crazy and that is the politest way I can phrase that. Fortunately, I live here. It's apparently the right place. Because even with the rain and the high latitude never-ending darkness in winter, we've tried to leave. That ocean dragged us back. And the mountains and the trees and the people.

 This is spectacular country. It eases something way down deep inside me. For a kid who grew up in the military defining 'home' simply as the place her family was, it's heartening and a little disconcerting when one errant corner of a continent whispers 'you're home'.

And the gray, rainy weather? Just look. It's imagination fodder. The woods here are thick with brambles and stickery crap all fed by liquid sunshine. That means that *anything* could be out there. Sasquatch. Aliens. Elves. And what better weather to support a writing habit than rain? You curl up with your hot beverage of choice, your laptop and the rain pattering on the roof and windows. If you're very, very lucky, a warm furry critter comes to curl up beside you.

If, for any reason, I couldn't live in Seattle any longer, I have found the one other place within the United States that assured me it could be home, too.

Hawaii. Ocean. Mountains. 80 degrees. Shave ice. Yeah. I could so do that.