Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Houses are things that can be sold, destroyed, remodeled, and bought, but lately Adrianna and I have grown attatched to one in particular.

Our Redmond house on Education Hill, a steeply curved mountain-like thing which requires a long, arduous, and sweaty journey to make it to at least 87th, is not exactly a beautiful or luxurious house; it is a somewhat strange light green color and has no car garage, just a garage with two ugly and uneccessary windows in the front. In any case, if you wanted, you could smash into them and drive over our treasure-trove of beheaded Barbies and styrafoam castles.

The backyard has been visited by a number of raccoons, dogs, cats, bees, and most lately, birds which are flying in through the vent in the wall, who always find it pleasant to leave a few droppings and flee. After it rains it's wet, mushy, and muddy, and the ground feels somewhat like a concoction of soggy cornflakes, but at least it's better than a bunch of green grass which keeps the rain on its sprouts for a while and makes your shoes all wet and your jeans soaked and yourself annoyed. Like the house we visited.

We have a secret (and for now, anonymous, until I gain permission from my fellow club members) orginization in the backyard which requires strength and determination to get past the evil thorns, a good voice so you can harangue anybody who dares step into your room, and a whole lot of bamboo. Acquired from the neighbor's yard, who HAS GIVEN US PERMISSION!

I would find it impossible to leave this orginization because we have established ourselves quite comfortably there with a lucky chosen few to reside in it with us at play time who we have also gotten used to playing with; I cannot bear the thought of a bunch of obnoxious reincarnations of R & G running around and stomping on all the precious memories we've left behind in that club.

We've just switched rooms and I would find it a horrible bother to move again, with us still settling in with our new rooms, hanging up a whole bunch of cool posters, bookmarks, and also in my case, gum wrappers, and it would be awful if we would have to move our things out of our new rooms into newer rooms which smell of mold, mildew, and too much newness.

We had to leave friends, horses, and house behind in Renton (as well as a bunch of good potlucks), and even though the house my mom is considering quite seriously is only a few blocks away, it feels as if it's an eternity's worth of miles, yards, and that archaic and confusing word "leagues" which I think is some kind of long measurement.

I don't want to leave anything behind here, which we're bound to do, so I'll resist against this move the best I can.

Good luck in all your ventures, unless they happen to include kidnapping, robbing, and murdering innocent people, brawling in bars, etc. etc.



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