A writing prompt, from

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That pesky devil, yeah? That stands on our shoulder and whispers sweet nothings in our ear. Nice to believe it is separate from us, but c’mon. We know.

I could talk to it for hours, debating this choice. Or that choice. It’s exhausting. Sometimes entertaining. Never boring, unlike some conversations, hmm? Yet, ultimately a waste of time, stretching it out. Whether the choice is risky, or a simple either-or, choosing is what it’s all about. Do I do the thing I’m ‘supposed’ to do? The safe thing? What my friends think I should do? Or do I do this other thing…

What if I make the wrong choice? I learn. Oh sure, I might regret, but only briefly. Done, is done. If I beat myself up over it, I’d have to smack me for that, too, and we wouldn’t want that, yeah?

I do spend a little time on the ideas I already know have high potential for mischief and consequence. What’s the worst that can happen? Will I survive it? Am I going to get ‘the look’ from my wife? Will that purchase join the dozens that occupy half the garage gathering dust? Yeah. It might.

Research? Of course. Due diligence is fine. It’s the internal debate I try to minimize.

Of course, if it’s a good choice, I take fist-in-the air credit. Knew it.

Sure you did.

Hush you, I know you’re really me.

Life isn’t a book sitting on your TBR shelf waiting for you to never get around to it. It’s happening right now! No matter how many lives we get to experience, this one will be gone too soon. Live it, yeah? Grab it round the middle and snuggle up!

Roger says.

for the prompt!

In 1996, we were living under the flight path of the soon to be constructed third runway of the Seattle International Airport. The Port of Seattle deliberately routed traffic over us to depress home values and snapped up homes in the construction zone for much less than they were worth. We were just outside that area, but the noise was felt constantly. Our newly diagnosed daughter was now a type 1 diabetic, and the school she was to attend in the fall was in the dumping zone. All airlines will tell you they don’t do this. But they do. Dump excess fuel before landing. It was a rainbow sheen on every hard surface at the school. On the cars, on the sidewalks, on the roofs, on the asphalt of the playgrounds. The jet fuel was everywhere. That’s not good for any child. But for our daughter, potentially fatal. It was time to move.

The pressures of the city were too close. We went looking on Kitsap Peninsula, a ferry ride away to the west. Our agent showed us a half dozen homes. None of them a perfect fit at first glance. But one of them got under our skin. Logic screamed at us. It was a ramshackle sort of house that started life as a fishing cabin in the ‘20s and added onto over many years. None of the walls were quite square. The beams were logs that had been skinned and painted. The siding was asbestos-cement. And the roof looked old. But the view – picturesque. Waterfront on a fishing lake. We went back to it 3 times. And something about it just tugged. Emotion saying, sure, a lot of work, but LOOK at it! So, we bought it.

Of course the logic side was completely correct. The first hard rain, water ran down the INSIDE of the living room wall. We discovered there had been a significant fire, undisclosed and painted over. The oil furnace, even well maintained, drifted particles down and threatened health – it had to go. The plumbing, ancient. The wiring, replaced, but some circuits had a dozen outlets on them. Old termite damage was mostly that. Yet come the heat of summer, carpenter ants nearly an inch long came boiling out of one of the light fixtures upstairs. That was an interesting phone call, I was at work. And easily convinced to leave early! Our son fell into a septic tank (also undisclosed) when the lid rusted through. He was fine. Smelly, but fine.

Ah, but the emotions were not wrong, either. The house cradled us through ups and downs, and despite being a near constant DYI project, the view and the serenity are undeniable. We might have moved, but we can’t leave it, even now, 30 years later.

This work is by Brian Andreas. I bought a print of it and gave it to my wife on one of our (36 now) anniversaries because it captured a true thing that resonated in my soul.

If we are not in this to support each other, then why? Is there no truer calling?

If we love unconditionally, is it not returned a hundred fold, or more?

I cannot say, for certain But, I believe it, with all my heart.

Reach out. Show up. Love. I see you. You have worth, in my eyes.

First, a preface - I’m learning here. I have little idea what I’m doing, because I discover it every day. And at 73, I still want to :) So that’s good.

Some books end cruelly. Not because they are poorly written, the opposite. Because they end far too soon, and then kick you to the curb like your worst landlord, “Go find your next place to live.” I’m left with the loss, and the longing. It might be a day, or it might be a week, before I find the courage to inhabit the next. But I do. Fledgling bird, you must fly. It will be worth it.