This space and mindframe is reminiscent of some early spring nights I spent out in Suck Creek, overlooking the river and pouding heavily on my keys. Tonight, waves from the citronella candle wrap around me, and noise from my rowdy neighbors three houses down blends with the summer chirping from across the way. Air conditioning units whirr, and my house, though occupied, is quiet.
Sundays used to create such a dead space, or leave a hole in my weekend. I would actively seek something to do, or for some sort of distraction, to take my mind off the impending week. Today, though I looked, my Sunday evening fell in my lap. Bike basket more full than it's ever been, after leaving the grocery store and farmer's market, I did very little beyond cook a simple meal and straighten my home. Still discovering my solo living space, it's simple pleasures and solitude, I realize, that while the season and temperature remind me of a different time and place, I am only here, right now, watching the signs of life on Tremont dwindle on a Sunday night—and very far away from the river and it's happenings some 4 years ago.
A year ago, to the date, Amy, Tommy and I kicked back in the grass at the Les Schwab Amphitheatre in Bend as we enjoyed a Wilco show. I spent the week harnessing my renewed infatuation with summertime in the Northwest and travel. Then later that week one year ago, I found kindling and newspaper scraps that would fully ignite my drive to move across the country. One whole year.
It feels as if so little time has pased, yet the hurdles I've crossed were so impressionable and had such a personal impact. Wheras I felt at once hungover from the rainy winter escapade in Portland, my desires have steadied, my sails have been lifted.
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After the arrival of my Dad's platform creation this evening, my bedroom looks more like a complete space and less like a closet. Yes, the clothes still lay in piles, strewn about like they always have been (and will be), without a home. But the bed is made, an appropriate-enough picture ready to be hung over it, and a tired, happy Laura Jane ready to get into it.
