The first four years of my life I spent on a ranch in Yakima.
My father owned an orchard—I remember mostly apricots, with a row of big cherry trees lining the dirt road leading to my maternal grandparents’ house on one edge of the property.
On the ...
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After over 350 consecutive “Home Again” columns, I still feel privileged—and amazed—that my words show up on page four of The Edmonds Beacon every week, and that local residents read those words. It feels good to hit “Send” and know that I’ve completed another column, and it is on its way to my editor.
“Home Again” is based on memories, hopes, regrets, gratitude, interests and my observations of the town and residents of Edmonds. After being away for many years, I came home again, knowing myself better than I used to, knowing other people better, too.
I know that kindness wins the day, generosity is noble, and letting somebody go ahead of you in line at the market will make you feel good.
I know that acting petty, resentful or mean-spirited is like taking poison and hoping the other guy dies.
As long as little kids fly kites on the beach, my high school classmates meet monthly for lunch, the Dogs of Edmonds greet me on my walks, the holidays overwhelm hearts with joy and sorrow, and grandparents envision their own grandchildren when they read about mine, I won’t run out of topics, serious or light-hearted.
I can always write about things I like, which include train whistles, flannel sheets, sourdough bread, the color blue, zebras, rainy nights, baskets, Asian pears, down pillows, beach walks, sugar, red geraniums, cats, public libraries, Foss tugs, cheesecake, old cottages, my Writing Sisters…the list goes on.
As a columnist, clearly, I can write about almost anything I want. I like to write about something people already know or feel but perhaps haven’t thought about lately. I like to show people the ordinary, leading them to recognize that the ordinary deserves status equal to the spectacular.
I want to remind readers that they’d better grab whatever opportunity comes along today, because today is what there is, and I want them to believe that they have more inner strength than ever they could imagine.
For me, the point of being a columnist is to get people to feel something—to question, relate, imagine or remember. Writing “Home Again” every week for The Beacon offers me that opportunity.
