|The Boat Haven in Port Townsend harbor|
Teddy Roosevelt was the first President that took in account the military advantage this area offered and along the southeast side of the bay he blew up a piece of land to create an island. Now known as Indian Island, it is the first stop amongst the largest Navy battleships based in Bangor, Keyport and Bremerton to offload their live artillery before proceeding down the canal to their home bases. It's that little bridge I told you about that sits high above the water that we have to cross in order to drive over to Marrowstone Island. You would never know that this island exits if you weren't told about it. It is a hub for military training and its history colored with stories and movies and American icons that all have ties to this little area. During 911, this town looked like an invasion from Red Dawn. Tanks, Hummers, military buses, ships, Marines, Army, Air Force, Navy. All of our tightly knit Podunk towns and parks, Port Hadlock, Port Ludlow, Fort Worden, Fort Flagler, Fort Townsend, Norland, Chimacum, were inundated with camouflage. It was nuts!!
|Casey, Mckenzie, Jordan, Me, Payton, Jake and Roman on my lap.|
|Aprils place~On Common Grounds|
|Suzie, Jesse and April on Cinco de Mayo|
|I smell bacon! PTPD~I'm 3rd from left|
|Hunting Poachers on Hood Canal|
The last night in town, I sat at Siren's. This is my place. Its address is engrained in stone on the sidewalk below the long stretch of stairs that lead up to it. 823. My badge number. We were destiny from the beginning. Port Townsend is a vortex. There are handfuls of vortexes scattered across the world. Vortexes are known for healing. The Indians were drawn to them; they were sacred. They're not sacred to most people anymore, but this is a funny little town. Very liberal, very hippie, it's a throwback from Berkley and advertised in the American GI magazines in Germany as the best place to move in America if you want to smoke weed and not get in trouble for it.
|My Dad, my hero on our little 2 acre farm in Puyallup with Greta and Lady.|
|Port Townsend from the north|
|Corner of Taylor and Washington. The Phoenix's doorway in |
the center and Sea Galley is connect on the right.
Rick's jewelry shop is next to it and then Holly's flowers. The stairs up to Sirens are steep and long. Instead of walking up to the second story, you feel like you've climbed to the top of the Empire State Building. As you round the hallway to the back of the building, the first thing that strikes you is that you go from a brightly lit area into a dusky, sensual and inviting room. In front of you is the tall single door to the deck that rises above the ocean and brings you closer to the stars. The windows are long, tall and heavily molded with the intricate woodwork of master craftsmen. To the left is a heavily shellacked wood bar that looks like it came from the middle of the largest redwood in history. It's beyond beautiful. Off to the left they added on a few booths, a corner fireplace, a couch, some pool tables and a stage where all the really cool local bands play. The tables are still the same and the one that has always been mine and is always empty is next to the one window along the water. You have to step up to it because it sits higher than any of the others and is nestled into it's own little alcove which only seats two. It's intimate. I love this table. It has glass on top of the tabletop where visitors from around town and around the world slip their business cards under to let people know that they have been there. I read them all. It fascinates me where people come from, what their stories are, to think about what they were thinking when they sat in the exact same spot that I'm sitting in. I've always sat here alone and as romantic as it is, I've never shared it with anyone.
I had a crush once before I married Mike. He was from Port Townsend. Born and raised. He touched my world in ways he touches everyone's world. He is a gentle man, and extremely talented with music. He had a band, Willow's Bones. They were hot!! Years ago, at Siren's, they played to a sold out, packed bar and to the record scouts from Pearl Jam. Chris and I used to drink cheap blackberry wine form Whidbey Island on the beach and one of the greatest gifts I ever received from a man was a little leather bracelet that he made me. It had dark purple glass beads intertwined with little metal beads engrained with daisies on them. He told me that I reminded him of daisies. He moved on to find the love of his life and to New Mexico to play his music. I miss him too. I miss Simon.
|My table at Sirens|
And when I miss Simon I think of why. I think of all the little special things that instantly connect you to someone. It's something that isn't tangible and yet it surges through your body with such undeniable force that the initial butterflies imprint on your blood that will forever flow in your veins and back to your heart. Those people that you keep a piece of their soul eternally even when your lives take different paths. They mold your life in ways that won't let you settle for anything less than that powerful torrent of indescribable emotion. It transcends your being into empowerment, into growth, into sorrow, into joy, into nirvana. As I sit at this table looking out onto a winter wonderland night, I see him there, sitting across from me, sharing that moment. It would never happen, but at least for one suspended moment, I had it. I shared my table for the first time in thirteen years.
After writing for hours, I stepped out on the deck to breathe the sea in one last time before heading back to Colorado, etching the salty smell in my mind and absorbing the dampness on my skin. My hair curls here. It looks like Shirley Temple. I won't miss that.