From one home to another
When I got off work at 11:30 on Saturday night, I walked home sipping a double soy vanilla latte I’d just made. I usually don’t add much, if any, sweetness to my coffee anymore and I never have so much caffeine that late—it’ll keep me up all night. Of course, that was just what I was going for: to stay up all night. I quickly made my way down 23rd, hung a left at Everett, and headed straight for the apartment—avoiding the din of fireworks in the streets and good times near the pubs on 21st. I didn’t need any distractions this night.
Cortnie rolled out of bed as I opened the door and flicked on the kitchen light. She had packed the last few things for the car and placed them neatly next to the door. As she woke the baby and made a fresh French press, I took the rest of the stuff down to the car. We hit the road, somewhat sad to be leaving Portland behind for a month but also excited about our return to the Lakeside YWAM base. As Eoghan slept, we lit off up the Gorge on the 84. Passing blindly past the invisible waterfalls and Mount Hood and the many other daytime attractions.
We wanted to make it to the base in time for the fireworks out on the lake and the chance for a good night’s rest before we started work on Monday morning. We stopped twice during our drive and caught some shuteye for a little while until Eoghan would wake up, then we’d get back on the highway after sipping some more coffee and hot chocolate from the friendly ladies giving them (and homemade brownies) away at the rest stops. We made it to the base a little after dinnertime. Without any problems we found old friends (made new friends), found our dorm, found our room.
They gave us the same room, exactly, as last year. Which was great! As we walked in we recognized the child’s bed on the left and the bunk bed on the right, and our queen bed in the second room, and the same white desk we’d spent so much time at one year ago. As we unpacked our things into the same drawers and cabinets (quicker this time than last) with Cortnie’s stuff on the left, and mine on the right, we felt an amazing sense of “home.” As I sit at the desk now while writing this I think of how tall Eoghan was last year as he stood by the window next to me and it makes me very happy and very sad. He’s grown up so much since then. What has he learned, what have I taught him, what experiences has he had? I ask myself the same questions.
Eoghan in July 2009, in our same room at TESOL
Eoghan and I sat out by the soccer field and watched as the locals set the sky on fire with their festive gallantry for airborne explosives. All around us, ribbons of light swooshed and sizzled into the air as the sun darkened slowly in the west. We hopped in a friend’s car and drove to the dock where folks were gathering for the big show on a barge a few hundred yards from the shoreline. Students from the base were already there, playing musical anthems with guitar and voice and djembe. I put Eoghan on my shoulders and joined in mid-stanza. It was good to be home, at YWAM.
