Context

It's a cold rainy day in Santa Cruz today. 46 degrees. The community is rejoicing that the blessed winter showers have finally come to this dry land after months and months and (too many) months of summer-like weather. Rain in the context of drought is a celebration. When I look on my Facebook feed I see the context in which I usually spend my winters. Missoula, Montana. It's -14 degrees there. Negative fourteen.

Context is everything.

46 degrees is downright BALMY in the context of winter in Montana and I am not trying to forget that.

We drove over 1500 miles, slowly shedding one context: snow, ice, real mountains, giant deer, small town, clear beautiful rivers, and bit by bit slipping into another context: sun, snails, ants, redwoods, oaks, eucalyptus, ocean. The same in terms of degrees of dearness and beauty, different in almost every other possible way.

I am an observer, a theorist, a gatherer, so I like to note the distinctions, not making a case for one thing over another but just noticing. Here's a couple:

Here Echo wears an old t-shirt of my Dad's for pjs. I too wore my grandpa's white t-shirt to bed when I was her age. In fact that may just be the reason, to this day, I prefer a clean white shirt over any other clothing option. Xi too has a grandpa shirt to wear and she actually slips into bed under the very same quilt I slept under as a kid. Okay, so maybe this example should go something like: Here I am awash in nostalgia.

In Missoula our girls play with figurines more than any other play item. Here they play with legos, building vehicles, especially vehicles that have prisons built into them, or well-protected moving homes for famous rock stars.

In Missoula the girls draw people. Here they've been painting still lifes. This is our farmer's market bouquet painted by Xi. Titled: Midnight Vase.

The next still life involves a harmonica, stuffed animal dog, and a hat.

Echo's rendition of a pomegranate, apple, and clementine, titled: Produce Place.

Here Henry is walked in the redwoods instead of riverside. We also found one flea on his head - something that never occurs in Montana because fleas don't like -14 temps either. Although one thing that doesn't change regardless of context: Henry's oddness. Last night while my dad, Nathan and I chatted in the kitchen we heard Henry whimper in the living room. When checked on he was found to be simply lying in his bed, not wanting or needing a single thing. We have never understood him fully.

If you tell Xi we're going hiking in Missoula she cries. But here, she zooms to put her shoes on. It may have something to do with the fact that the hikes here are basically like stepping into an actual fairy's actual home, but who knows because I'm not asking, I'm just cashing in!

Nooks and crannies for lot's of fairy magic.

It's been fun, the compare and contrast game. I like both places so much. I like my family and seeing them under different conditions, be it snow or sun. I like finding out who I am, how much of me is solid and not context dependent, and how much is pliable, vulnerable to the local trade-winds. My goal, my personal goal, is to have sturdy feet no matter what part of the country I stand in. My aim is to be so much myself, so powerfully authentic that context doesn't mean a thing. Sure I'll eat more citrus in February in California, and sure I'll eat huckleberries in summer in Montana, but the root of me will be anchored far below the topsoil.