MOUNTAIN VIEW AND BEAVERTON

 

The little where-are-you-from thingie on the sidebar streams (like molasses most days, for folks dropping in are few) names of cities and countries all around the world---bright flags shining of faraway places I’ll never see, and brighting me every day with their fleeting regard.

 

And over time, names pass by the counter again and again, and I see their towns as old friends, dropping in to say hello, and moving on.  Two in the past few months have been faithful, constant visitors, with a daily glimpse or two as they appear, and it’s just a lovely thing that they and all of you come and look and read and whisper away---that’s a nice compliment, and I SO appreciate it.

 

So---Mountain View and Beaverton---whoever and wherever you are, I don’t know what you’re reading, but I see you in “June 2009” and “Fairy Doors” and “Pink Salad,” settled somewhere here in my house EVERY DAY with the good back-door familiarity of old friends, and it makes me smile, every time.   And every single one of you dear folks who drop in---please know how sincere and warm the welcome is for all of you.

 

Why don't we all just sit down for a glass of tea on this lovely green porch.

 

 

 

We’ll take a stroll in the backyard shade:

Stop on the patio for a sunny early-morning breakfast:

Join in the bright, noisy blur of a bunch of the family gathered for a casual supper together, with everybody grabbing a dish from the stove or fridge as the last notes of our dancin’ in the kitchen song fade away:

 

 

 We can have a cold something-to-drink whilst Chris throws everything he can find on the grill, and we'll eat our supper on trays as the day winds down and the locusts sing:

 

 

 

 

We’ll talk of simple things, of our lives and families and the people before us who made us who we are; we’ll share what we’re reading and snippets from past words which have impressed, and how each person and thought has become a part of us.   Each topic will remind us of another, and we’ll just talk the evening away.

 

The coffee-and-teacups will be filled and re-filled, and we’ll taste the sweet summeriness of Caro’s blueberry cobbler, as the slow tick of the hours rolls into night. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I wish I could know and talk with each and every one of you, and you cannot know how thankful I am for you---friends yet unmet, and gentle passers-by who drift in and out on occasion, and the several truly dear friends who have shared and written and e-mailed and commented and who have become as dear as family and friends in hug-range.   This feels like a comfortable neighbourhood, where we can all see the children playing safely up and down the blocks, or a wider-spaced country community, kept close by time and proximity, common interests and shared experience. 

 

I’d love to get to know you all, and my appreciation for your presence is full and real and sure.

 

Thank you.   Every day.