Seattle

Seattle has been an interesting journey. Today was much like every other day I have spent there. It was cold and rained as I walked the 7 tenths of a mile to the office. I huddled under the protection of my umbrella and could feel the weight of my pants as my pant legs darkened with moisture. Pandora is the vehicle I choose to get me there. It provides me with my own theme music as I move along in the cocoon of my jacket. An occasional smell passes by that seems familiar in some way and leaves me grasping for a feeling that seems just out of reach as I stare at my shoes and watch the small rivers of rain water pass under my feet.

Ladros coffee shop is at the end of my walk just before the PSE office. The best espresso I have found in Seattle. I always look forward to this stop. This morning I bought a bag of coffee so I can make my own espresso with my little stove top Bialetti espresso “machine”. Coffee is life. The last bastion of addiction and I have no intention of giving it up. I sat in the PSE office and dreamed of making myself a latte this weekend as the fragrance of the freshly ground coffee gently reminded me of its presence.

But the fun just never ends. Looks like the shitter in our trailer is still leaking even after fixing the toilet seal. Shirley Septic delivered a Porto-o-Potty so we have a place to go. Squatting over a hole in the ground is highly over rated and the romance of the camping life style is fast wearing off. Then last night we had a torrential downpour. Much of the scorched hillside washed away. It’s a good thing the fire wasn’t “bad enough” to warrant any assistance from the Jefferson Conservation Board. I guess as long as the Denver Water Board is taken care of, we can suck-it. By the way, they funded the “controlled” burn that started this whole debacle. So, this is what I am coming home to. I have no energy to be angry any more. And I don’t have the energy to deal with this crap either. I feel like I would like to just disappear somewhere and never come back. I don’t see the end of this and I need to. It’s like a dark hallway that is full of low hanging obstacles that I keep hitting my head on. Then, just when I think I have made it out, I crack my shin on the ACME anvil.

So, I sit on the plane now returning home while the man next to me spews vile clouds of gas into the tight confines of the cabin. In disgust I reach for the air vent and notice everyone around me making faces and doing the same. But it doesn’t really help. It’s like trying to clean up a spill with a cloth that has zero absorbent qualities – it just pushes the stink around. Two hours of this. Really? But descending into Denver is simply amazing. We live in a beautiful place. The magically suspended clouds are bright white, unlike the clouds emanating from asshole next me. Will I be welcomed home? What awaits? I am, as the phrase I have adopted says, “cautiously optimistic.”