Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Playing Hooky, Part 1

I have come to realize that leaving Seattle is one of the hardest things I have ever done.  I was sad when I left.  I even shed a tear as I watched the city grow smaller in the rearview mirror (though it was still closer than it appeared), but I didn't know just how hard it was until I went back.

I spent the last 4 days in Seattle.  I will save what I did there for another post, but the point is: I miss it like crazy.  In the time I lived there, I assembled a robust group of friends from so many overlapping circles and communities that I could map them out into a virtual venn diagram.  Now they are 300 miles away.  I will say it: Seattle, I took you for granted.

Now I find myself in a funk a lot.  The winter never got to me in the SEA, but here I have to fight off the darkness tooth and nail.  I have to remind myself that I am in charge of my own happiness.  On a regular basis, this means afternoon yoga in my living room.

Sometimes, this means playing hooky on a sunny day.


On one gorgeous Friday I spent the morning working from home.  Peter was in town, so in the afternoon we took off to hike up Spencer's Butte.  At the top we found a sunny nook to sit and drink tea in.  It was unseasonably warm and the grass was dry.  I remind myself that I couldn't do this in Seattle.

The Sisters

Last Tuesday I submitted a batch of proposals to fund my Masters research, Wednesday I headed for the mountains.  Lauren, Peter and I drove up to the Patterson Mountain Trailhead off Highway 58 for a little day hike.  As we neared the trailhead, we encountered something we hadn't thought of: snow.  While I was completely underdressed for the conditions, I did have a sled in the trunk.  I dragged it up the road so I could sled back to the car rather than walk in ankle deep snow.  The trail ran through enough overgrowth that the forest floor only had a dusting in most places, but the veneer of snow transformed the scene into something much more attractive than your run-of-the-mill northwest forest.

I careened back down to the car, shrieking every time I plowed into the trees.  This is not a bad way to spend a Wednesday.  

Then sometimes, you just have to run away for a long weekend . . . 

To be continued . . .

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