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What it was

There is perhaps a lot to be said for the statement “Less is more.”  Take for example a shot of espresso, or  a small handful of marbles dropped in an a quiet cathedral.  Like Twain said, The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.  The difference is huge, to put it bluntly.

Over the past year John and I have transitioned from my small downstairs apartment in West Seattle to the tiny village of Pedro Bay, to our newly purchased house in Snohomish.  A year ago we were loading up his daughter’s wares from her mother’s house and taking it and her with us to Alaska.  The need to be there full-time was pressing and so we let our landlady know that we would be out by the middle of October.  When we were next in Seattle we boxed up our lives, sparing the few items we needed in the village, and put all of it into some kind of storage–with my parents or friends or the Goodwill.

Holidays looked a lot like those movies you see about family reunions and everybody living all over one another in one big house for a condensed period of time.  But it was nice.   Nice to be around family and nice to be close to groceries, other cities, and friends.  Slowly we were realizing the toll that living so far afield was taking on our emotional welfares.  We missed people. Really missed them.  But there were commitments to be held to in Pedro Bay and many a loose end to be tied, so returned after each holiday longing ever more for balance.

Months of life and alterations exist between our loose ends and our new home, but like I said: less is more.  Small changes equal grand results.  Enormous changes often result in earthquakes that rock people out of their homes and away from their families, and are difficult to patch up later.   Small changes let us believe we are living the same life, quietly going about our ways and duties, performing monumental feats of ordinariness while all the while the daisies grow taller, the hardwood floors take on a soft patina, and the curtains rustle just when they need to against the slanted, incoming sun.

What it is

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