Island Life

I live on an island. While separated by a mere 35 minute ferry ride to downtown Seattle, we have our unique challenges. One of them is dealing with our current popularity. From the day that I sold my property in 2014 to this very moment as I write, property values, density, building, clamor, police indents, rage, lines at the market and intolerance have all but doubled. We are no longer the sleepy bedroom island suburb of the Emerald City.

We have our challenges to be sure. The city counsel's recent 6 month new construction moratorium a graphic example of our failure to properly manage growth. At times I want to pull up stakes and find greener pastures. BUT, as I rent a charming 1904 cabin on the water, I mostly endure the not-so-charming dearth of insulation, collapsed fireplace and ever changing floor slopes. It is truly a crib Thereau would appreciate. I adore it and its honest offering of solitude and humility. Most days I feel truly honored to spend time here.

Except of course when the power goes out. As it did about an hour ago. The morning work was already done. Our Saturday spin session was worth the effort despite the pre knowledge that there would be no hot water for the post session shower. Junior begged out of our run, this a result of his self diagnosis of a pending cold or flu, and RG was presented with a custom prepared meal of swordfish steak, button mushrooms and asparagus spears, which he seemed to enjoy.

I am driving home while sirens blare around me. Fire? accident? shooting? I wonder as I navigate the four miles to the cabin. I have already planned out the afternoon's work making a special note of the time allotted before we go over for a birthday dinner with neighbors.

I get home, fish a bone for the stray dog, empty my gym bag and pour a cup of coffee from the pot to my favorite mug. I put it in the micro as I have done a thousand times and dial it just past the two minute indicator. I slam the door and move to my office to get started on the afternoon shift.

No lights. No computers, no radio, no heat and no nothing.

I grab my guitar and sit down to play one of the oldies I used in class. Three cords. D-G-A. I Fought the Law and the Law Won. Bobby Fuller Four. Covered by almost everybody but  Pitbull.

I silently agree with myself that it is OK, just (another) minor inconvenience. Not the end of the world. I can still use battery power for this post, get some paperwork done, make a birthday card and use the broom tool for some much needed sweeping.

I finish the internal debate adding that a walk on the beach would be nice, play one last solo, and stand to get started. I am pleased with my decision and eager to execute, making a mental note to check Craig's List for a used camp stove.

The lights flicker, and power is restored.

Ah, island life.