the places that are home

Adrian and I flew to Illinois over Labor Day weekend. He got to meet the family and see where I grew up. I think everyone liked him (though my family would never volunteer that sort of information). My mom seemed not to want to offend him, forcing me to relay messages to him about how EXACTLY the salsa should be made, though she was in the same room as me. We both gave her a hard time about that.

As always it was great to be home. I was able to spend a little bit of time in all my favorite places: on my swing in the back yard, my grandparents deck over looking the beautiful rolling hills of Jo Daviess county, and of course, Tower Rock. I'm pretty sure this photo of tower rock is extremely distorted, because it never seemed that high to me. I love this picture because it makes it look much harder to climb than it is. Though it may look like I'm stretching hard to climb up, we're actually on our way down, and I'm just reaching for a camera. I swear I'm well planted and in no danger of falling off, though I'm sure my mom would feel otherwise. In a few weeks when the leaves change colors, the view from Tower Rock is unbeatable.

Sometimes I miss home, and lots of times I miss my family, but Seattle is feeling more and more like my new (possibly permanent?) home. Though it has its flaws (lack of my family, cost of buying a home) it has become a very special place to me. I feel comfortable here and if I ever complain of boredom, it's entirely my fault, because there is plenty to do and see. How could I complain about living in a place where all I have to do is walk out on my balcony to see mountains, Lake Union, and downtown?