This weekend brought me back to my roots, Vashon Island, WA. My journey involved a one hour delay on the tarmac in Orange County, following all the rules with my seat belt buckled, listening to crying babies, and some crazy lady who called her father to ask him how to fix the airplane based on her description of what she saw out the window. “Yah, the pilot says a fuse went out on the fuel pump sensor…uh, huh…well obviously they don’t know what they are doing…ok…yep…I know, some guy is up on a ladder at the wing…ok…do you want me to go up and tell the pilot?…I can just go up there and tell them what to do.” Is this lady serious? I can just see the air marshal doing the bionic man run down the aisle, tackling her to the ground, her high heel bouncing into some first class business suit, her bleach bottle hair flying out of its French roll, as she screams, “I am just going to tell the pilot how to fix the plane!”. Right…thank goodness she stayed in her seat.

After an almost all night girl gab session with three of my WSU girlfriends I head out from Seattle to Vashon, the ferry ride was so refreshing. Driving down the only main road on the island, I came to the Vashon Farmer’s Market. The sun was shining so bright that morning—a rare occurrence in the Seattle area. The sheer beauty of the display of flowers, veggies, and fruits made my mouth water. I snapped a few jig saw quality shots and went on my way to my childhood summer home on Magnolia Beach. My heart was warm despite my mission.

I came here to spread the ashes of my grandfather in the Puget Sound out in front of his house. If you have ever done this, you know what a site it is. The ashes do not dissipate quickly and there is this lovely galaxy like cloud that seems suspended in the water and as the sun light hits it—it sparkles off colors of the many minerals we have in our bodies (oh, and I am sure the gold fillings have something to do with the miniature celestial show). I love this form of burial as it gives the body and spirit freedom rather than entombment.

An emotional weekend indeed—meeting up with three of my college dorm-mates after not seeing them for 20 years, putting my grandfather in his final resting place, and flying on 9-11-11 back to my husband and children. I let tears fall as we touched down last night. The flight attended announced “Thank you for flying with us and supporting us on this most infamous day (she gets noticeably choked up). We were all affected by these events 10 years ago. Thank you again.” We have moved on in our lives and as a country, but we will NEVER forget.