The Everywhereist

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Do you ever look back at events, with the hindsight of years gone by, and wonder how exactly you were able to get through them?

In high school, a friend of mine commented on this phenomenon. She and I had gone to Homecoming (with our respective dates) a mere two weeks or so after another friend of ours had died.

“How did we do that?” she asked me much later. “How did we go to a dance after all that?”

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“You chose … wisely.”

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Do you ever have moments of absolutely pure conviction? Where you don’t need anyone else’s opinion on something, because you are 100% certain that you are about to make the right decision?

I rarely have moments like that. I require someone else’s feedback on everything. Which shoes I should wear. What books I should read. I’ve literally asked dinner dates if they thought I should “pee now or wait until after we’ve ordered.”

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Have you ever fallen in love with a place that you’ve visited, but you can’t really figure out why? There’s just something inexplicable about it that makes you happy to be there?

And the more you try to describe your rationale for loving it, the crazier you sound? To the point where you might be clutching someone’s hand, trying to convince them of the magic of this place? And because you’re so damn passionate about it, you fail to realize that the person you’re talking to is somewhat scared for their life? And that you’re now frothing at the mouth and screaming about homemade fudge and free parking on weekends and you look positively mental? This doesn’t just happen to me, right? RIGHT?

Well, that’s kind of how I feel about Jacksonville, Oregon.

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Every time that Rand and I stay in an old hotel, we have a similar exchange:

Me: This place is nice. Too bad it’s haunted.

Rand: Baby, this place isn’t haunted.

Me: You’d like for me to think that, wouldn’t you?

Rand: Yes. Yes, I would. I would very much like for you to believe that this place isn’t haunted, because it isn’t.

Me: Whose side are you on, anyway?

Rand: Um … logic’s?

Me: SO NOT MY SIDE, THEN.

Or something like that. The point is, I’m rather steadily convinced that every time we stay at an old, remodeled hotel, we’re going to be haunted right out of there, and Rand’s convinced we aren’t.

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Yesterday, I noted that I was freaked out because the Touvelle House was right next to the Jacksonville Cemetery, and the risk of encountering zombies was therefore very high.

I hope you all realize that I was joking. I am well aware of how ridiculous a statement like that sounds. We all know that if a zombie apocalypse does occur, it will be because of some strange, mad-made virus that will spread quickly and indiscriminately – like lice through a kindergarten class. It will have no impact on the dead (who will be envied for having been spared the plight), but it will turn the living into mindless, cannibalistic monsters.

Obviously.

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Have you ever found yourself doing something and had the stunning realization that you are, in fact, a grown-up?

Like the first time you get behind the wheel of a car by yourself. Or when you put down the safety deposit on your very own apartment. Or when the D.A. tells you that you’re going to be tried as an adult.

The swift punch of adulthood is both terrifying and wonderful, isn’t it? Every now and then it still hits me.

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It’s taken me a while to get around to writing this post. First, I needed to wait until my rage subsided.

That took longer than I thought it would.

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It’s grey in Seattle. And chilly. I’m sitting here in my office, contemplating grabbing a sweater.

For the record, I’m already wearing jeans and a t-shirt. But it’s in the high sixties in here, and I have goosebumps. It’s out of sheer stubbornness that I don’t grab a cardigan, because it is July, and that sort of thing is just not acceptable for this time of year.

Indeed, it hasn’t been the most summery of summers.

Supposedly Memorial Day weekend was nice, but Rand and I weren’t here for that. Instead, we popped down to Oregon, and spent that weekend in Portland and Astoria, where it was – you guessed it – chilly and grey.

But I don’t need the sun to have fun. These pictures are proof of that.

They are also proof that my husband in the cutest thing in the world. As though there was any doubt.

1. Driving to Astoria (road near Longview, WA).
   

   Fact: there is sunshine right up until you get too close to Astoria.

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