Journal of a house enjoyed: Gig Harbor getaway 6/29-7/1
By 10am Saturday morning we’ve decided this is our ideal vacation. No dinners out, no exchanged pleasantries with other guests or hotel staff, no need to dress up or shave or for that matter shower. The weather is perfect. Weather.com was wrong on this one—no rain, hardly any clouds other than beautiful puffy white billows lit up all along the edges from the sun. The sky is brilliant blue, and the morning is cool but the sun is warm on my face and arms and on my calves where I’ve rolled up my jeans to my knees. We slept in until 8 (!) and awoke to the cooing of our little son, happily playing with his hands around the corner in his portable crib. The bed is firm but soft on top—perfect—and the house is cool. A cool morning is perfect for sleeping in, the warm bed luring me to stay, the crisp fresh air filling my lungs and waking me up. Jeff sneaks away and brings Dutch to join us in bed. He cuddles with Daddy, reaching up and grabbing Jeff’s cheeks and chin and goatee. His face is full of light, smiling his trademark grin, his upper lip sticking out in wonder and delight.
After breakfast, we three go for a walk. The tide is fully out and the wet pebbles sparkle with the sunlight. The rocks and mud are slushy, but we take Dutch out to examine rocks and shells and algae. I hold lavender up for him to smell and tickle his nose. He rubs it with both little fists and hides his face in Daddy’s chest. Dutch’s morning naptime comes and it is now time for our favorite pastime—reading. Jeff waters the tomatoes, and I gather a bouquet of daisies, various roses, lavender—colorful and fragrant. Our bouquet makes the house ours, lived in, ready for life. It graces the porch table and Jeff and I sink into lawn chairs with our Bibles and a glass of water, leaning back to bask in the sun, savoring the silence, the view, the shared moment. Only a few birds chirping and an occasional dog punctuate the delicious silence. The stillness permeates our minds and souls and relaxation comes. It’s only 10:45.
I discover the iced tea bags and make a full pitcher of icy refreshing tea. Lunch is big spinach salads and soup for Jeff that Nan made. M&Ms top it off and Dutch is happy with mashed bananas and Gerber green beans. The sun is beckoning us outside again. We have an hour before Dutch’s afternoon nap at 2, so we unfold the stroller and head out to circle the island. The sun shines warmly through the welcomed dappled shade, and the stroller rattles along the bumpy road. Glimpses of crystal blue water peak through the trees as we walk – Jeff and I stop periodically to look at For Sale flyers, shaking our heads at the prices. I decide that this is the absolute perfect place to live. The 1.5 mile loop has numerous arms and I envision morning runs around the island before settling down with my tea and Bible on the porch overlooking the Sound. I decide that I’m ready to sell all that we own to buy a lot for ½ million and live in a tent. Jeff thinks I’m ridiculous. Our walk makes us thirsty for more iced tea, and having put Dutch down for his nap, we resume our favorite spot—on the deck with our books.
Dinner is all the bell peppers I brought, sautéed with garlic and spread between two tortillas topped with salsa and a fresh tomato. Mmm. We eat outside and Dutch feeds himself banana, which ends up on his clothes, on the floor, in his nose and in his hair. We decide that it’s bath night. M&Ms once again follow dinner and we’re thrilled to find just enough Cookie Dough ice cream to top off our tummies. Cookie Dough ice cream happens to be my favorite—was this all planned? It’s too perfect. After Dutch is clean and fresh and in his bed bug jammies, we head out again for a Raft Island walk, this time weaving through inland streets and hiking up hills—I find more beautiful homes and upon discovering the island private tennis courts and basketball hoops, announce again that this is paradise, the perfect place to live. After reading more (surprised?) and nursing Dutch, he is snuggled into bed and we sneak downstairs. Jeff pops You’ve Got Mail into the DVD player and we settle in for an evening watching other book-lovers fall in love as we have done. Our first four years have been sweet. The house is quiet, the hum of the refrigerator peacefully filling the kitchen, the single recessed light on above my computer. I can see houselights reflecting off the surface of the Sound, flickering slightly from the ripple of the water. The rest is all black outside. The clock on the microwave reads 10:36. Time for bed and the end of a perfect day.
Sunday was, as usual, less restful (isn’t that ironic that the day of rest is often the least restful), but still sweet. Still awaking on our own accord, without the aid of an alarm (glorious!), we quickly gathered up our things, fed Dutch, gobbled down some cereal, stripped the bed, packed the crib, and headed out to church to meet Anne and the family and Grandma Ruthe. In our haste we didn’t have time to write a note, saying thank you so much for the wonderful Raft Island vacation, so this journal will have to suffice. The rest of the day was full – worshipping with family was sweet. Dutch chewed on Nan’s Kleenex travel pack through the church service, attacking the plastic wrapping as if it were a ferocious animal to be wrestled into submission. We shared communion and received the message on the Lord’s Prayer. After church we met briefly at Dave & Anne’s, to gather Nan’s things and snap a few pictures of the kids together with Nan.
Now sitting here at home I hear a few cars. The sprinklers are watering a thirsty lawn that is happy we are home. Jeff’s fingers moved quickly over his keyboard. It’s calm and twilight, but there is much to do. I’m thankful for the reminder of the beauty of rest. I’m thankful for a house enjoyed. As I look around my house, which is in a shambles of boxes and piles (we move in 2 days!), I’m thankful to be able to sit here, with my water glass and my feet up on the ottoman, savoring a summer evening. To my left our large picture window displays the roses blooming brightly in pinks and yellows. There is no Sound—no sparkling water or boats bobbing in the water—but this is home. For two more days this is home. After that a new place will be home, but it will still be home. Dutch is asleep and Jeff is here. Raft Island may be my little paradise, but home is wherever my boys are. I like home best.