2 am: me and the truckers on I-23

When I bought a co-op apartment in Brooklyn, I did not realize until it was too late that I was on a commercial thoroughfare, masquerading as a tree-lined residential street: Caton Ave., the truckers' route to Long Island. Now, in Whitmore Lake, I am less-than-home-run-hit distance from I-23. The house across the street has the expressway in their backyard. And the street between me and that house is Main St., which gets its fair share of speeding traffic as well.

Am I subconsciously drawn to arteries of movement? In fact, I do live not too far from train tracks either, but the intermittent train whistle is far more welcome than the constant drone of the automobiles. In Seattle, although I chose a quiet dead-end street for my house, I was right under flight paths into Seatac. Maybe my next house could be next to shipping lanes instead.

For some reason, the sound of the traffic has not bothered me until recently--perhaps because I have only recently stopped falling asleep the moment I lie down, and so have time to ponder flaws in my environment that might be disturbing my otherwise peaceful brain waves. I try to focus on the night noises behind/above/below the traffic. The trees around the house are filled with critters singing their regular songs. I imagine that they are not consumed by the thump-thump of car wheels, so I should focus on that natural hum instead of the transient human bother.

Marching band practice behind my back

True to the geese's instincts, the temperature was 60 degrees F when I left the house this morning. The giant "M" of the U of M stadium stands out against a blue sky out the window of my office (only mine for a couple more weeks). I opened the window to try to mitigate the air-conditioning, and I can hear distant drums, which I assume is the university marching band practicing, because that seems appropriate to the vista. Football season is soon upon us--not something I was conscious of in New York, but I remember from growing up here how football Saturdays change the feel of Ann Arbor.

Because my residence in this office was only temporary to begin with, I was not able to rearrange the furniture, so my desk is positioned facing away from the window. I am sentenced to turn my back on the sky and the trees. J is building us a home office/studio/workshop, however, and there I will have windows all around. I will not miss too much the gold "M" that I can only see by twisting my head.

Time for geese

I heard geese honking after sunset tonight and saw their formation through the trees. They must be heading south already. I feel summer ending before I really wrapped my arms around it--not enough outdoor swimming or picnics. But the garden did get planted, herbs and vegetables were harvested, and the baby did play in her wading pool, so I suppose we have respected the season.

Midnight hawk

The cat sits on the windowsill like a hawk. Is there a fly on the other side of the window pane? She and I alone are awake, thinking of missed opportunities. 

A Northwest sunset

I am sitting on a bench between salal bushes getting sun spots in my eyes from a Northwest sunset. The sun will set in less than 20 minutes over the Straits of Juan de Fuca, behind Protection Island from the wooded bluff that my parents call home. As of today, we (J, K, O, and I) have been here for one week.

I keep trying to work, squeezing fragments of time in between conversations, walks, meals, outings, playtime, and nap time. I am agonizing about a work decision that must be made--the clock is ticking. I feel as if I am making a decision for many people now, not just myself, and the thought of unknown repercussions is paralyzing. The Northwest is also not usually where I come to find clarity of mind, given how many of the years I lived here I spent wrapped in fog.