California

March 12, 2009

I write to you from my parents’ kitchen in sunny California.  I came down for my goddaughter’s baptism this Saturday.  I’ll be sure to post a picture or two.

Returning to your parents’ house as an adult is an interesting experience, especially when they still live in the same house where you grew up.  In some ways, you slip right back into the patterns of childhood.  Last night, I watched TV while laying on the couch with my head in my mother’s lap.  She ran her fingers through my hair and it felt wonderful.  In other ways,  there is a slight strain.  My parents – my mother, at least – worries more about my day to day activities when I am under their roof.  So, decisions I make up in Washington without a thought to anyone else’s feelings become more complicated. 

 Today, I ran on the American River trail and I’m pretty sure if my mother knew about it before I did it, she would worry for my safety.  When I drove across the country by myself, I didn’t tell my parents I was doing it until I reached Arizona.  I know bad things can happen, but I’ve never been one to let that stop me.   One should take the proper precautions and then hope for the best.

The trail was great, by the way, markedly different from where I like to run in Tacoma.  Where Point Defiance (Tacoma) is cool and lush with ferns and evergreen trees, the river trail is dry and bright with ancient oak trees and river rocks.  The trail includes a pedestrian bridge over the American river and I saw at least four different types of water fowl while crossing.  I also stopped to skip a few stones.

No matter how far you travel and how many different type of beauty you see, the particular beauty of your first home always has a certain hold on you.  Returning to the river, the oak trees and the dry, sunny smells makes my soul breathe a sigh of relief.

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One Response to “California”

  1. Sean Says:

    I remember driving over the river when I worked in Rancho. I always made sure that I was able to see it going both ways. There was something about the river that made me feel happy. I am anxious for the day when I can cycle the trails again.

    One summer I waded across the river. It must have been in July or August. It was at a point about a half a mile from the foot bridge. I just started walking across. When I was about half way, the water reached my armpits. It wasn’t until years later that it ever occured to me that wasn’t the safest thing to do. Add that one to the ‘don’t tell mom until it’s over’ list.


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