04/28/98

I went to Seattle for the weekend, and it was the best vacation I've had in years. It's for sure the first time I've felt entirely relaxed while visiting. Always before there seemed to be unresolved issues, uncomfortable memories, a sense of dislocation, or plain old stress from dealing with my family. This time was completely different. I don't know what happened, or how it happened, but it was just plain fun to see old stomping grounds and visit with my old social group again.

I flew up after work on Friday and returned late Sunday night. The flights were sort of annoying but instructive; the airlines have this new rule where you can only take two pieces of luggage and they have to be a certain size. You should have heard some of the things the business travelers said to the gate attendents when told their suitcases didn't fit and would have to be checked. I sat in between two guys with laptops and major cranky attitudes on the way up. The flight attendant poured water into my lap instead of into my cup because she was trying to talk to Mr. Lefthand Side Cranky Guy about the delay in the flight. I think he was madder than I was. It was only water, after all. Good thing the flight was so short.

I had only one thing go wrong on the trip. I rented a full size car because I had a coupon good for an upgrade. Oh, was that a mistake! It was huge. It cornered like a cow. It was a Chevy Lumina, and it wasn't completely user-friendly. It did get good gas mileage, and I did enjoy being able to take a lot of people out to dinner all in the same vehicle, but never again.

I stayed with Janice Murray and Alan Rosenthal and their five cats. One of the cats hopped up on the sofa when I arrived and insisted on being petted. It was exactly as though she were saying, "Hello, my name is Bonita, and I'll be your cat for the weekend." Bonita slept on my bed and hung out in the windowsill while I read Micky Roessner's new book during the times I wasn't out socializing. It was very cozy; I like Janice's neighborhood which is very old Seattle, comfortable and rambling and filled with tiny post-war housing next to generous bungalows from the 20's and 30's, and a few genuine Victorians.

The weather was particularly fine all weekend, being just cool enough in the shade to make one grateful for the sun and the constant breeze. It was springtime, and everything was in bloom. The pink dogwoods were especially winsome, and I spotted dozens of different rhododendrons and azaleas in full blossom. The Olympics were stunning, as always, thickly topped with snow and blue-flanked in the shadows of the clouds welling over their peaks. I walked around the University of Washington campus with Janice and Alan, ably aided by Stu Shiffman and Jerry Kaufman who had joined us for brunch, and indulged myself by pointing out which classes I'd attended in which buildings, and generally being boring by talking about what it was like to go to school there in the mid 70's. No one much minded, though, and we all enjoyed wandering in and out of the University Avenue shops. My favorites were the Gargoyles shop, full of a lot of glaring oversized monsters and teenage girls, and the Wizards of the Coast gaming center, full of a lot of glaring oversized monsters and teenage boys. The gaming center was on the former site of a rock and roll nightclub I used to work for called the Hogsbreath. I didn't recognise the place.

The curious part of the vacation was how completely in the moment I was all through it, not lost in the past or thinking of what I'd being doing after I got home. I caught up on gossip, ate way too much good food, drove around looking at places I used to live, enjoyed the weather, gave earnest advice to all and sundry, and generally loafed about having a relaxed time. I actually felt as though I could move back to Seattle, so thoroughly had all the ghosts been laid to rest in the 16 years since I'd left. The memories were, for a change, all good ones.

I won't move back, of course, because I no longer control my own destiny. However, it's always nice to know you can go home again because in some ways you never really leave. You just stretch the boundaries of what qualifies as home. There's something very comforting about that notion to me.


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