Chicken Teriyaki Bowl #7

I like to make things. I knit, bake bread, write, program and, occasionally, create jewelry. Last night was hot, sticky and there wasn’t sh*t on TV. I’m bored with my current reading list, so I sat down and created two ankle bracelets to go with my wicked new pedicure.

If my ennui keeps up I can finally finish the socks I’ve been working on for six months:

“All these helicopters downtown either mean a) unanticipated tragedy, b) president’s in town, or c) they’re finally giving me my parade” - Costolo via Friendfeed/Twitter

I live near the Yakima Training Center (which we call the Firing Center), a huge sagebrush wasteland in central Washington.  While maneuvers are going on we can hear the boom—boom of artillery, which is spooky enough.  Last year while the Japanese army was doing training here the noise actually rattled the coffee cup on my desk.  All day.

But that’s not what I meant to talk about.  The quote above reminds me of the other problem of being next to the Firing Center; the helicopters.  Not the nice, news-type helicopters either.  I’m talking the huge, twin roter Chinook.

They are LOUD and they seem to fly over my house at least a couple times of week, usually when I’m right in the middle of a really neat dream at, say, 3:00 in the morning.  Like last night.  Now I’m never gonna find out the Stargate program fares under my command.  Damn.

When they do fly over the house during the day, they frighten my dogs.  I think they perceive the chopper as a huge bird that is going to turn the tables and chase THEM.  Or it could just be the noise.  Whatever it is, the poor dogs cower down on the grass and watch it very c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y.

My last post left me feeling weepy and nostalgic all day, and the only antidote I see is writing the positives of where I’m now living.

I like being only a few minutes from fishing, hiking and camping.

I like that my mortgage is 1/4 what it was in Seattle and I have 3x the space and a yard with room for a dog.

I like that people here don’t think it strange when you say you are going shooting on a Saturday afternoon.  They also don’t care that you like hunting.

I like the very, very good Mexican food, the smell of hops from the warehouses and most of the wineries.  I like the sunny weather that we have all summer long and the thunderstorms.

I like being able to buy fruit and vegetables right from the producers and being able to grow jalapenos and habaneros.

I like the fact that both my husband and I can work for ourselves, have flexible schedules and live pretty well on very little.

Brett Nordquist blogs about what he misses about downtown Seattle now that he is working in Redmond.  Now I’m terribly homesick.

We lived in the Seattle area for 13 years, but worked downtown Seattle.  The last 3-4 years we lived in Belltown, a neighborhood directly north of the downtown shopping area.  Now I live in a smallish city in Eastern Washington.

I miss all the people in Seattle; being able to go out and meet someone for lunch or coffee every day.  I miss seeing all of the strange and wonderful characters on the street.  I miss being able to talk to people about pretty much anything without them completely blowing you off.  I miss the Indian food, the Ethiopian food, the sushi.

I really miss the hundreds of places to just hang out.

I miss the elderly gentleman who sat at my table one day at Starbucks Pacific Place and told me that I should talk to one stranger every day.  We had a lovely conversation about being spontaneous and I never saw him again after that.

I even miss the Frye Apartments heckler guy in front of Pacific Place.

I miss walking down to Pioneer Square to the New Orleans on Friday nights for blues and gumbo.  I miss the Highway 99 club.  I miss the library, even though I could never find anything in it.

I miss being able to walk almost everywhere and having transit to go to those places too far to walk.

I miss the ferries, the cruise ships docking just a block from our condo, the city dogs, Green Lake and Half Priced Books.

I miss the people most of all.  Online social networking only satisfies a small part; face to face time is vital.  And I miss that.

This morning I was moving pretty slow. Did the usual bathroom stuff and then sat on the edge of the bed while I got dressed. As I pulled on my sweatshirt, my cat Roy jumped on the bed and connected with my flailing left arm. The result resembled a Barry Bonds homer - Roy went flying.

Understandably he was upset with me and immediately ran into the living room to lick himself and contemplate my punishment. Petting and cuddles were out of the question - he wasn’t risking another home run hit. I filled up his food dish, which usually would result in purring, but he just sulked at me.

Now he’s sitting in my chair, just staring at me, obviously just waiting for the ideal moment. Thank god the guns are all locked in the safe. The dial is too high for Roy to reach and shooting a gun is impossible difficult without opposible thumbs.

Roy is subtle, though. Hairball in the shoe, pee on the bed, shredding furniture is more his style. I’ve closed all the closet doors for safety. Meanwhile, I’m at Defcon 4 until my punishment is meted out.