I’ve been commuting by ferry into downtown Seattle for about 10 months now. In fact, I am writing while seated on the good old Melissa Ann herself. The first time I stepped onto the walkway of the catamaran, I was overcome with this sense of walking into the high school cafeteria – where am I going to sit? This analogy is not lost on other people I’ve talked to. They [mostly] all concur. If you take a commuter bus, the train, the ferry or some other sort of mass transit at the same time each day, you will know what I mean. There are the readers, the workers, the cool kids, the loners, the knitters, the iphoners and the sleepers. And for the most part people are comfortable with their role in the commuting kingdom and don’t ever change it.
I often wonder if people don’t crossover for a reason. Personally, the 22 minute commute downtown is prime time to write a blog post. It is also a prime time to catch up with and meet people. I am a moody creature and sometimes I am feeling chatty and other times want to hide (like today – I woke up about 20 minutes prior to catching the ferry and was operating sans coffee). I don’t ever feel like I have to sit in a certain spot everyday but I can understand the comfort in doing so. It can be a hassle thinking about where to spend the next 22 minutes. I’ve totally been screwed sitting in random places – landing next to that guy who wants to complain about life or the [weird] guy that wants to get to know me better.
One time, during the early days, I accidentally sat at the designated cribbage table. It’s not really a cribbage table. It’s a booth that the 4:30 commuters sit at to play cribbage. I know that they don’t care, but for one moment you and they realize that you are sitting at “the cribbage table.” They adjust, you adjust, but it’s still awkward.
Vashon Island is a fish bowl. I didn’t realize this till recently when I made the decision to start making a life here. I get the feeling that everyone knows everyone. And everyone loves sharing stories about everyone else. With little effort, I can pull tidbits of information together and make wildly inappropriate assumptions about people’s lives. I have an active imagination (but mean well).
One thing that I didn’t anticipate about entering into Vashon society is how I would feel about this blog being public. In Seattle, writing about my life seemed pretty benign. I could run around town without anyone knowing about my online presence. It’s not like I am hiding the fact that I am a blogger – it doesn’t really ever come up in casual conversation unless people have questions about it. Besides, I am always in my head so the last thing I want to talk about is myself. I’d rather hear about you.
On Vashon, it’s harder to stay under wraps. Lots of people here know that I write. It’s a strange relationship dynamic and sometimes puts me at a disadvantage. I write about things like how I feel about my hips or how I feel about my daughter. I put my business out there for public consumption which ostensibly gives people a license to make wildly inappropriate assumptions about me. I don’t know how to reconcile this – except to keep writing and plough through it. And laugh.
All in all, I am finding that these early days on the island have been like a John Hughes movie, where I have cast myself as the awkward freshman who just moved into town from the big city. I’ve set the stage by acting like I don’t care about living here because my old school WAS SO MUCH BETTER. And in a couple of years I’ll blow this town and head back to the city again. And I refuse to stop wearing shoes that are impractical.
Yeah. It took me about 9 months to realize that I am ridiculous. I live here. There are stories all around me. They are sometimes even better than the stories I have in Seattle. This is my life now and it’s a good one. My old high school was different, but not better. And I am still gonna keep the shoes. I’ll just add more practical ones into the collection.
The end of this week went topsy turvy on me, so I’ll leave you this song to set the tone for the weekend:
This past Sunday my friend Caedmon and I had a secondhand invite to the annual party at Kurtwood Farms. Thank you, Matt for inviting us. Thank you Kurt for having us.
All I can say that it was lovely and beautiful. The grounds were out of the pages of Architectural Digest, but more tangible and warm. This is what I imagined living on Vashon would be like – where everyday is a Sunday afternoon fete and kids and dogs are chasing each other around while the grown ups eat and laugh and drink wine.
Just for one moment I could see myself happily living out my days on this island. That was until yesterday morning when the raccoons decided to go all fratboy with my garbage in the back 40.
Sadly, I did not bring my camera which was a huge mistake. I could have sat for days taking photos of the calves. So sweet and dear. I just wanted to kiss their lashes.
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