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i grew up on an island // 2002-07-23

on bainbridge island:

• people not only leave cars unlocked when they go to the grocery store, they also leave the keys in the ignition.
• there are roadside stands selling flowers that are completely unmanned. you just leave money in a box and take the flowers. don't worry, we trust you not to run off with both the flowers and the money.
• homes are never locked, nor are alarm systems used.
• when you go for a walk, everyone you pass says hello or good morning. everyone.
• going to the grocery store takes a few hours because you must stop and talk to everyone, give legal advice, explain why you didn't cast someone's daughter in the community play, or simply comment on the weather.
• the local movie theater owner gives an introduction of each movie shown before the film. people also throw out their own trash when the movie is over.

i know it sounds like i'm making all this up, but i'm not. bainbridge island, though just a 35 minute ferry ride from seattle, is a liberal white person's utopian dream. this is where i grew up. it didn't seem nearly as cool at the time, though.

i visited my parents for the weekend. i went to the grocery store with my mom and bought a flat of island-grown raspberries, which we ate in the car on the drive home (windows down, of course). i bought a new road bike from the local bike shop--the manager is going to give me a free lesson when my bike is ready. i walked down the road to the local theater with my parents where we saw a movie and snuck in our own junior mints. i stayed up late watching cable and fell asleep on the couch. i slept in my old twin bed upstairs and kept rolling off the edge, not used to sleeping in such a small space. i woke up early and went for a run with my mom, who ran faster and longer than i could (is it not shameful that one's own 54-year old mother can outrun their 27-year old self?). i went to bay, hay and feed with my mom where she bought dog biscuits, a hose, and some flowers for her garden. i took a nap on the sofa with a copy of the new yorker on my chest. i sat on the porch and watched my parents replant the flower boxes. i took the ferry back to seattle and felt much, much better.

before // after