Seattle

Coming to seattle is like coming home; you remember it fondly from afar but when you’re there you remember you’re on the left coast and in yuppieville centre. Coming to my g-rents house is even more so. The warm feelings I hold for the connecticut home (though I can only remember the basement) collide with the remembrance of summers spent in elementary school when the hot humid climate which is so uncommon in seattle made me feel at home more than my grand parents could. The neptune theatre, where i spent so many nights as a part of the RHPS cast only now seems empty and european.

My grandma asked us all the make a list of items we could like to have at the time of her death. And as my cousin pointed out none for the items we see hold any memories. The artwork while beautiful doesn’t hold the air of urgency that the painting of poverty holds in my aunt’s house. While the furniture is simple and elegant it doesn’t hold the warm memories that the rocking chair in our guestroom does. Nor do the plates hold any smiling occasion tho their art deco appearance blends seamlessly with my style. Instead I find it is the house itself that holds my memories of t he family and my grandparents. My Father will own it on my g-rents death and I fear they will sell it. This beautiful house off lake washington and just up the road from Matthew’s beach in a city in which I have always long to live. My grandma assures me she will not die any time soon, and has promised to try to be there at my first child’s birth/adoption. But I worry still.

My cousin is getting married to a very quiet boy of 28 named Matt, so immature is he that he doesn’t know what he wants out of life or where his next paycheck may come. He is genuinely a nice man but he is the closest to her own age of 24 that she has tried to date. She is not ready to be married, she is so much more selfish than lost everyone in our family and he even more selfish than she that I don’t believe them a good match. We will see what happens.