There’s a bizarro thunderstorm pitching a fit outside my windows tonight. It’s weird – we almost never get thunder here. And tonight it seriously sounds like how they tell you when you’re a young impressionable nymph that it’s God bowling.
I’m used to hearing trains 24/7, living just steps from the BNSF railroad here – sometimes kidney quivering explosions and collisions in the dead of night, fueling my dreams with a sound track resulting in images of plane crashes and other flaming terrors.
It’s a very active train depot, the cars and engines shuddering, sighing and clanging along. Sometimes they get going at a rhythmic canter with bells and it sounds like music. Reminds me of the Los Halos song Lioness and how it made me want to move to Seattle.
And here I am.
But tonight the thunder overshadows the dance of rail cars, and the lightning over Queen Anne is tossing shudders of light through my dark room. Makes me want to write a mystery novel.
In any case, after a long and self-sorry conversation with my sister yesterday, she emailed me today with Jet Blue flight information and suggested I take a holiday out East, stay at her lovely cottage in Niantic by the sea, and then from there to Boca Raton as I’d been planning, to visit my folks on the beach.
Knowing what type of paralysis I currently find myself seized by, the delivered the invitation more as a military call to duty, including instructions on packing, getting to the airport, and ground transfers once in Connecticut. She made it sound so easy – I just might do it.
I haven’t been back to Connecticut in about 6 years. It was Thanksgiving at my sister’s house, a magical week still etched in my memory as a perfect succession of days.
I can take my laptop with me and do my coursework from the road, and could continue to write, blog, etc. – the beauty of a content-fueled business model is that it’s ultimately quite portable.
Nothing feels like it wants me here right now. Fall in the Pacific Northwest is an unkind season, especially when I’ve such fond and lustrous memories of growing up in the land of perfect autumn. Cambridge, MA in October is about as close to Heaven on Earth as one can get and it’s been far too long since I’ve indulged in such a fantasy. Walking along bricked streets, ankle deep in maple leaves, the smell of wood smoke in the air, crisp, pockets full of feral apples, pumpkin spice lattes, cranberry walnut everything.
I think I might go. I need a change of scenery right now, a change of pace. Plus spending time with my sister always brings me back to center – she has a way of right-sizing all my selected dramas. Few people in my life are capable of doing that – they tend to encourage me, which makes me feel vindicated but no less crazy.
Looking forward to it.