On missing creaky bunkbeds.

Do you ever find yourself missing strange things? Like the sound of the creaky bunkbeds from the summer camp you went to as a child, or the smell of cigars and air freshener in the back of your grandpa's semi truck? Like the way it felt when you got your cartilage pierced, or the way your mother's robe felt against your tired skin when she embraced you in the morning? Like driving in an '88 Buick on the interstate, listening to the Matches and not being sure if you'll make it to your destination or not? Like family vacations where your dad picks up smoking again and your sister tours rest areas and you play the license plate game?

Maybe it's just me.

On maybe having a little bit of guilt.

Is it wrong for me to be home with my family, and still feel so homesick for Seattle?

On pumpkin patches and wild things.

I picked my own pumpkin at a pumpkin patch in Kent, WA. I carried my own nineteen pound pumpkin down the muddy road and placed it on a scale before I took it home. I wholeheartedly believe that is an experience everyone should have once in their lifetime. (Though, perhaps it's only so overwhelming to me coming from a place like Florida.)

Later, I went to the Pacific Science Center Imax theatre and watched Where the Wild Things Are on a 6 story screen. I couldn't have loved it more. So cute and sad and great. I mostly worship the ground Dave Eggers walks on and I can't wait to finally pick up my autographed copy of the novel adapted from the screenplay!

On being pleased to make Fall's acquaintance.

Hello, Fall. It's nice to see you here.

So, I have to admit (although it makes me a little sad to say) I've never really been properly introduced to you. I've never watched the trees turn from big green clusters atop trunks, to scattered red assortments of leaves on bare branches. I've never felt such a sudden and obvious shift in weather, the strong craving to drink coffee and hot cocoa, the urge to put pumpkin in all of my baking, the need for cute flap-over mittens and to come home and cozy up under a few layers of covers. I'm not really sure how I've lived without making your acquaintance, Fall; but i've surely grown very fond of you already.

On small portions and tickets to the theatre.

As much as living alone and away from my family gets to me sometimes- I remember all the stuff I can do now that I'm only me and it brings me some comfort. At home, making a small three-person portion of pasta with roasted red pepper cream sauce was unheard of. Going to the theatre was a tedious endeavor that involved rushing, and rounding together family members and trying to arrange transportation for five(+). It's nice to only have to worry about myself sometimes. I'm a loner, dottie. A rebel.

On wishing for wet handprints.

My mother's hands were always wet when I was a child. Perhaps not always, but that's the way it seems in retrospect. Wether it was from cooking, cleaning, or giving one of her children a bath; the notebook by the phone was always left with little finger smudges. My school reports always corrected with dripping pencil in hand. A thorough inspection of swollen tonsils under our working kitchen light, left my cheeks dripping. Random embraces left perfect handprints settling into my clothes. I know my adolescent eyes must have rolled, if I'd only known what a comforting memory it turned out to be.

On having no complaints, for the most part.

My life right now is nice. It's not the best life anyone's ever lead, but it's nice. I am not sad very often and I am able to feed myself. The heat is going away and the breeze is coming back. I can wear cardigans whenever I want. My room is messy and I love Netflix. Also, the other day I got five free cans of coconut milk. Life is good, you know?