Putting Life Into Motion
Moving seems like an impossible mountain to climb right now. In some small way, I imagine it feeling like what the pioneer families must have felt, when, at the end of the long journey through the great planes, they at last came upon the Rocky Mountains. I can completely understand how there were some who just parked their wagons in Bozeman and said "To hell with that – I’m done." But being done is not really an option for us.
I know deep down, like all those other pioneers crossing this country knew deep down, that if you want to reap the benefits of the Puyallup river valley’s rich soil and winter rains, you are gonna have to put that first foot down on a snow covered mountain pass.
Last weekend on the way to the ocean, we traded in the 402 for a Buick Station wagon. Just made more sense in the long run. Ike’s chair fits perfectly in the back and Sweetie and the boys all like the added legroom. It’s a car built for the highway and since we picked it up in Aberdeen on the way to the ocean, we got to test out its touring capabilities right away, in the rolling stretches of road that wind their way between Hoquiam and Moclips. It passed the test in the best way I know how: no one got carsick.
We spent Sunday and Monday night at the Polynesian. A motel selected more for the fact that it had an elevator and a pool, than for it’s tasteful interior hotel room decoration esthetic. Sweetie got it in her head that it would be nice to actually be able to see the ocean from our room for once, and I have to admit, it was nice to look out our third floor window and see the waves. But the motel smelled of old ladies and cigarettes and the kitchenette walls of our one bedroom suite were covered in smoke colored mirrors. It felt small and claustrophobic, and though we tried, it never allowed us to settled in and make us feel comfortable. That hasn’t happened for a long time at the beach. For the most part, the power of the ocean had always been able to clear our heads and center us. But this trip, we never really felt like we belonged – lost in an almost empty motel, amidst the stale continental breakfasts and the last of the Dixie Land Jazz Band Weekend stragglers.
I got a call on Monday from Jeff Conway, a man who had heard the Prairie Dogs online and was interested in booking us across Montana, Idaho, Eastern Washington and Wyoming. I stood talking on my cell phone looking out the window at a large buck that had found the highest ridge in the sand dunes and was at that moment looking around. He had been there for most of the morning, not moving much but his head and ears – starting at me with his back to the ocean.
I told him I didn’t think that the Prairie Dogs will be traveling out that way, but I would send him a CD, and thanked him for his troubles anyway. He seemed like a nice man, and I would be a liar if I were to tell you that a great part of me didn’t want to head straight into a Midwest winter to see where that road would lead.
Instead I watched the buck for a while longer and then took the older boy swimming. He’s getting pretty good, and for the first time was able to swim the width of the pool without stopping or putting his toes on the bottom. After a bit, Sweetie brought Ike down as well and we all splashed about in the warm water for the rest of the afternoon.
Tuesday we packed it all up and headed back into town. We have a lot of things that we need to start putting in place if we’re going to successfully make that new house buying journey, but none more important than remembering to keep the steps small. There’s a big to-do list in front of us, and unless we can create a strong enough frame of tiny little steps to hold us up, we’re gonna get crushed.
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