Apr
20
I’m back from 3 days in Port Angeles at my mom and aunt’s place, a particularly special visit because they are between renters and therefore the lovely downstairs apartment was available to me. They have a very unusual house, a split level with bedrooms and a bathroom on the main floor, a gorgeously spacious living room area and kitchen upstairs, and a full setup downstairs complete with additional small kitchen. Not only that, but a subterranean level with its own rooms, one side accessible via spiral staircase that goes down from an upstairs closet like a secret entrance to a bunker.
Their house is perched on a hill overlooking the Strait of Juan de Fuca, with broad views of the harbor and Vancouver Island in the not-so-distance. Behind them, the Olympic mountains rear up in their white-topped glory, their small town nestled between mountains and sea. It is a staggeringly beautiful place, especially in good weather which I was lucky to have during my stay.
One of my favorite things to do there is to park at the entrance to the Ediz Hook, a narrow sand spit that extends from the peninsula out into the water, and walk to the end and back. It’s about a 3 mile trip with plenty to observe along the way, including a feral cat colony that lives among the boulders on the northwest side. I was thrilled to see otters for the first time, three that came up on shore and obligingly squirmed around doing Incredibly Cute Otter Things while I took a million videos.
I also like walking the neighborhoods near their house, where I routinely encounter deer who are so used to humans they don’t do much but raise their heads and gaze calmly as you go by. Sometimes I walk their dogs, one at a time. They have three: Logan the gentleman Great Pyrenees, Dottie the semi-bonkers Maltese, Jinx the sweet American Eskimo mix. All mild-to-medium chaotic in their own way and deeply lovable.
Being in their home always gives me a liminal space kind of feeling of being caught between worlds. I am the child Linda Lee, I am the adult, I am cared for and I can provide care. I feel too far away from my own home, yet deeply AT home. I’m reminded of my grandparents’ house in Michigan, down to some of the same furniture and ticking clocks, while looking out at some of the most classic PacNW sights there are.
Amidst it all, an undercurrent of worry that never quite leaves. Probably those of you with aging parents know this feeling: that things are precarious. My mom has had some tough health issues, the house is not set up well for a lack of mobility. As I said to my aunt, you two are one rolled ankle away from total catastrophe, and she agrees, but what can you do.
And I suppose all of us are all one event away from our lives being upended. I myself would not be in a great position if I were to sustain a mobility-limiting injury. There is never any end to the anxiety of imagining how things could be worse.
But for now, all three of us soldier on in our own ways. All of us flowing in and out of caretaker mode, tending to our own hearts as well as each other’s. Fragile as petals, strong as roots.
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