Rooted, I used to think.

Profile - Archive- RSS
Notes - Email - Diaryland

Purgatory - Sunday, Feb. 10, 2019
Day Fifteen - Saturday, Feb. 09, 2019
Day Fourteen - Saturday, Feb. 09, 2019
Day Thirteen - Thursday, Feb. 07, 2019
Atonement - Thursday, Feb. 07, 2019

Friday, Apr. 21, 2006 @ 12:22 pm
Moving In

Bleeding hearts are blooming. Herbaceous pale green and pink, they grow up under the eaves of the cottage, beneath the hedge in the yard. As the sessions of blue sky outnumber the periods of downpour, I learn more about how Daniel and I will grow together in the tangled underbrush of the west coast rainforest.

We spent last weekend at Fort Ebey State Park on Whidbey Island. It hailed into the campfire. A huge branch fell on the tent in an early morning windstorm. We explored the green grassy bluffs in wind and in rain, in sun, at sunset together. On the narrow strip of beach exposed at high tide we played Throw Rock Hit Rock, found an eight-plated chiton shell and a child’s abandoned sand shovel. I indulged in yellow flowering broom and spiney dune cacti, macro wonderland.

We explored the forts on the Island and over near Port Townsend. Walked the old town’s streets, leaned into the wind on the front of the Washington State Ferry.

The way he looked at me one morning, with such heart and caring, told me that he loves me, without need for words. Soon. Still he reaches for my hand when we’re shopping down an aisle in Save-On.

One night we talked late, late into the night. We talked. He is moving into the cottage with me. He’s really been here from the start, furniture and all, but now this is for real. I asked him, in jest, Do you want to be with me for a really, really, really, really, really long time? and he said One less really! and I laughed and he hugged me and I felt like I just got married, in the best way possible.

Last night I sat with my family at Bridges, gazing over False Creek, eyes unfocussed, melting the city into a Turner or Monet’s impression the Thames. My sister’s 28th birthday. Where is Daniel going to live then? my mother asks. I avoid their eyes and look into my salmon filet, In with me.

Surprisingly they don’t criticize the specific union of lives. Instead they ask, mouths agape, how we intend to live in such a small space together without bickering constantly. We have been already, but I can’t really say this because maybe it’s not quite true and probably we will become claustrophobic… but… then again… I wouldn’t be doing this if I had any doubts of our combined drives to Make This Work.

I smile every day when I come home from work and see his truck in the driveway.

Roots | Shoots