I love Seattle. I love the whole area. And I love Portland, Oregon as well. I love the weather in the wintertime in Seattle. I cannot say I am truly fond of the summertime weather though.

Last time we visited, two or three years ago (I’m really bad with dates/times, as my wife will tell you while standing over my unconscious body with a frying pan in her hand), it was the beginning of July. I took only shorts and t-shirts, thinking I would be fine. It was July. Boise was sitting at about 100F for two weeks already.

I nearly froze to death. It was miserable, and I was cold the whole time. Not this year. This year we packed double, because you have to have shorts and t-shirts for the nice days, and pants and long sleeves and hoodies for the majority of the days. I have no doubt no matter how I dress, the locals will nudge each other in the ribs and whisper whatever their derogatory term is for tourists whenever they see me. I will gladly accept this, because it is true.

This year I think we’ll spend a few days in Bellevue, then head to the capitol. Since Carly is a history/geography/government teacher, she wants to go to Olympia. From there we might drive down I-5 until we get to Portland. I REALLY want to go to Powell’s Books again. I could camp out in there for three days and be the happiest human on earth (until they caught me and had me arrested, though they might feel bad that a human has no life to the point they’d hide in a bookstore until after closing just to read books…seriously, if you haven’t been to Powell’s Books, you must go.)

To make a short story long, goodbye Boise, hello Seattle and rain. I bet I end up writing a really depressing story about suicide. I don’t mean that in a jokey or glib fashion either. As much as I love Seattle, it makes me write very depressing stories. I’m not sure how artistic people can live there full time.

But I’d sure love to find out one day 😉