Now, We Are Here

Jane's sister, Linnea, and her husband, Peter, happened to be heading off for a "weekend" getaway on the same day as us.  They reached their destination while we were only a few hours into our drive and sent us a picture with the caption, "We are here" Meaning both, "we have arrived" and "we are in this location."  I took a snapshot of a nondescript piece of highway 80 east in all its cloudy antiglory and texted her back with the same caption, but only half the meaning.  "How sad."  Came the reply text a few moments later.  "Yes," Jane and I agreed.  It is sad--for now.  Linnea laid down the pictoral gauntlet, but I knew who'd get the last shot in.  And so we did.  Here it is.

It is impossible to say if one of us loves the idea of this more than the other, but we come to it from different frames of reference, of course.  For me, this is an adventure, an odyssey; for Jane, there is some of that, to be sure, but it is also a homecoming.  Love her sense of herself as an educator though she may, she is nowhere more in her element than aboard a vessel underway.

Jane in her natural habitat
among the sails
looking  out  "to sea'

I don't belong anywhere in particular which gives me the freedom to go anywhere I want.  Ironically, Jane is not so free; she belongs on the water, belongs to the sea and it has ever been calling her back home. Who would have imagined that we could have bumped into a lifestyle that could dovetail our dreams so perfectly.  How serendipitous (though I think Jane would attribute it to the workings of a sometimes benevolent universe).  Either way, oh, fortunate we that my wanderlust and her homing instinct should find such amicable company.

Jane and Ean on Windsong