Seattle, we’ve come to the end of the line, you and I. In a mere 24 hours I’m leaving your cool, breezy hills for an equally cool, breezy (but flatter) city across the continent and across an ocean. There will be so much distance between us. At least for two years, that is. Don’t go thinking I would leave you forever!
I don’t want you to go making any big changes while I’m gone, okay? I’d like my house to still be standing and its cherry trees to always bloom soft pink blossoms in spring. I’d like my dear neighbors to stay my dear neighbors—protect them and keep them safe from disease and old age and the lure of selling in this lucrative market.
I’d like my favorite coffee shop not to be bought out by Starbucks, thank you very much. I would like the crappy grocery store down the street to stay crappy, because I still want to know exactly what’s not on every aisle and the name of every ornery checker and bag boy. And while you’re at it, pretty please protect the blind woman who walks miles in rain, sleet or snow every day along 35th avenue. She’s more reliable than the postman. You can go ahead and do away with the post office, though, if you need to make any major changes, or at least rename it “Dante’s Tenth Circle of Hell: Inefficiency.” The stamps could feature junk mail burning in eternal hellfire and…
I’m going off on a tangent.
I’d like you to take a huge soft grey cloud—the kind that you’re famous for, Seattle—and wrap it around my friends and family. Keep them safe and happy but don’t let them forget me. Maybe every once in a while the cloud could whisper, “Jenny misses you…” or maybe not, because being enveloped in a talking cloud would just scare the shit out of them and make them pee their pants just a little. Or a lot. [Mental note: Jenny, steer clear of personification.]
How about this: give them sun in summer and rain in fall (but not too much). Let their visits to doctors only be for checkups. Light up Mt. Rainier when they’re having a bad day. Make their lattes perfect each time, and let the smell of Top Pot swirl through the air on clear early mornings. Remind them to phone me regularly. But above all, tell them that I love them. All. The. Time. And that I’m going to miss them more than cherry trees and Puget Sound and coffee and the perfect chocolate-glazed old fashioned.
Until we meet again,