Chapter 2

The cross-country journey from Bangor International to Chicago O'Hare and onto SeaTac International took about seven and change. I gained three hours during the flight and when I landed the local time was just after two in the afternoon.

The weather was typical Seattle November; overcast, gloomy, with a light drizzle. No blizzard in these parts. Although the Northwest had far milder winters than the Northeast. Old Man Winter in the Northwest had Alzheimer's. He got lost a lot. Mostly in Canada.

I hailed a taxi and he drove the twenty miles north to the town of Magnolia. A bit of Magnolia lore here - In 1956 Captain George Davidson of the US Coast Survey named the southern bluff overlooking the Puget Sound for the magnolia trees growing along it. Had he been a better botanist, he would have clearly recognized the red-barked trees as madrona. The madrona is a shiny, dark green leafed, evergreen species that thrives on west facing bluffs. The trees, which can reach heights of 90 feet, usually have a twisted, windblown shape.

Anyhow, the community liked the name Magnolia better than Madrona and decided to keep Magnolia to identify the affluent, well-ordered, waterfront properties.

My parents' house-I still had a problem calling it my house-was built on the westernmost bluff overlooking the Puget Sound. It was too steep to build anywhere near the house and there wasn't anything within a quarter mile both directions. The main concern of course being landslides. The wet soil building up over time, the vegetation slowly losing its tenacity in the soft earth. It was a miracle the house hadn't slipped into the Sound years ago. As many of its brethren had.

The house was built in 1972. It was a monolith then. A work of art. But then, so once was the Coliseum. My parents had slowly begun overhauling the house. Gutting it from the inside. There had been plans for a remodel, a new kitchen, new hardwood floors, modern day plumbing. But my parents never got around to it. Then it was too late.

The cabbie pulled up alongside the expansive wrought iron fence surrounding the large estate. He wished me a Happy Thanksgiving and I tipped him an extra twenty. When I'd said I'd packed a bag, I failed to mention I'd only packed a small carry on of the essentials; contact solution, shampoo, conditioner, mouthwash, and a couple other things that had been "red flagged" at airport security.

On a side note, I was just the least bit curious who the science wizard was who decided 3.5 oz. was the magic number. Because 3.5 oz. of acid, anthrax, or whatever these zealots make in their caves wasn't going to harm anyone.

Anyhow, basically, I had the clothes on my back, my favorite pair of jeans, a black t-shirt over a long sleeve thermal, a rarely used cell phone, and my wallet.