I can’t deny getting homesick now and then. The Delta feels like a place in which I could live for the rest of my days, but there’s something in the cadence of a Midwestern voice that appeals to me.
This afternoon, I spent a few hours in the home of Skip and Judy Vandeventer. Though twenty years here, and more than that in California, they come from Michigan. The crinkle of their eyes has a familiar cast. Judy’s spunk and her blue hair; Skip’s wide smile; the burn across their open, candid faces — these remind me of days when I walked the streets of Kansas City with my toddler in a buggy and the dog pulling at his leash.
I’d taken many pictures from in front of their house before I met them. Mt. Diablo sits on the horizon directly across the river. She wears each crimson sunset in their evening view. I interloped on their turn-out to shoot from my car window, hoping for leniency or a friendly indulgence if the owners of the house happened to see me.
Then they came to the Delta Life Art show at the marina, and I no longer need to trespass.
Today I walked around their wide living room, ogled their amazing decor, and staked a claim in the Penguin-themed guest room. I marveled at Judy’s sewing center which sprang whole cloth from a void in the air beside their house, construction abandoned by a builder on the lam from his bank. How lucky they were to snag this place for a song in a short sale! Now their roots sink far into the silt of Andrus Island, and by happy chance, I get to call them “friend”.
It’s the twenty-first day of the sixty-ninth month of My Year Without Complaining. Life Continues.