It’s STILL good to be Home Again
What is it about the first perfect summer day—especially if it occurs in early May? It’s magical. I sit on my little deck as I write, watching the horizon blur into end-of-day shades of pink and peach, the varying line of the Olympics forming a flat charcoal silhouette against the sky. I feel the day cooling into night. All is calm.
I have loved this day. For the most part, I’ve stayed home, washing windows and putting summer slipcovers on the furniture, packing away winter clothes, puttering on the deck, envisioning the flowers I’ll plant.
For the first time in a week, I didn’t go to visit my brother Warren, who is in West Seattle in rehab after hip replacement surgery. It’s been a week since his surgery at Overlake Hospital, and he is doing better than anyone predicted.
Thanks to an amazing surgeon, great care and personal determination, he’ll be home before long.
I’ve spent hours a day visiting him and driving back and forth. I’m delighted to do that, of course, but I suddenly realized after a week that I was longing for time at home. Today was the day.
Every day while my brother is away, I go to visit his little cat Chipper, who misses Warren desperately. Clearly, I’m a poor substitute, but once or twice a day I go to his place, sit in his big leather recliner and Chipper sits in my lap.
First, though, she supervises my inept attempts to dish out the correct portions of her two kinds of food, provide fresh water and tend the litter box.
Chipper has a huge voice for a small animal; she keeps up a yowling commentary as I go out the door at the end of my visit.
I’ve often said how much my brother is like our mother, who simply didn’t feel the need for meds, didn’t notice pain or acknowledge illness. I admit to being more like our father, who readily listed his aches and pains, assuming others were eager to hear about them.
Warren doesn’t complain. I complain. Today, though? No complaints from me. I feel great. Tomorrow I’ll be back on the freeway to go visit my big brother.
In the meantime, I cherish this soft evening at home on my deck. One gull arcs across my line of vision and I consider—as often I do—the amazing power and freedom birds possess in their element above the heads of the rest of us.
In this mellow frame of mind, I consider the gifts of nature, the beauty that surrounds me, even when I do not raise my eyes to see it.
It’s time to go in for the night. Tomorrow will be sunny again, warm enough to pretend that it’s summer.
Soon enough, the weather will change, but it won’t matter. Sun or rain, I’m glad every day that I came home again to Edmonds.