I was going to write something angry. Actually I did. And I just deleted it. Instead.
One thing I love about Northern California (one of many!): the dusty smell of oak trees at night, when it's finally cooled off after a very hot day. It's sort of funny because I'm highly allergic to oak, but I love it just the same. I was putting the mini-fridge (ok, beer fridge) out to defrost tonight and got a big whiff of it and I felt like I was a little kid again at my grandparents' house in Redding, where it's insanely awfully hot all day but at night it's finally bearable. And that's what oak makes me remember - that immense relief from the heat, that laziness of a summer night, the comforts and frustrations of family. The stones in the backyard, the strangeness of the sunroom, the cool leather chairs in the living room, all these very tangible, inexplicable feelings I won't ever feel again - that's what oak is to me, and that's why I love it. It's so enduring and fleeting at once.
It makes me feel good about moving. (Something I am in the middle of writing about right now and will hopefully post on tomorrow.)
And it makes me feel good about life.