And we are back in Seattle. 

The flight home had a little drama. One of the passengers wouldn't comply with the safety regulations. She had a long argument with the flight attendants about her luggage and not wanting to check an extra bag even though there was no space. The attendants eventually called the police who escorted her off the jet. 

We just enjoyed a wonderful side trip to Picton, Ontario. I didn't know much about it, but our old friend PB runs a B&B there, and it's a popular weekend spot for Torontonians.

My husband, our friends G and J, and I met up with PB for dinner. As a local expert, he gave us fantastic recommendations for our weekend.

PB mentioned the locals sometimes refer to the Torontonians as Torontidiots. The growing tourism industry has raised prices as well as providing jobs. This mixed blessing doesn’t always land well with the locals.

Friday, we went e-biking. The weather was perfect. A long bike trail connects many nearby small towns. We spent hours cruising the trail, stopping to snack at local bakeries and ice cream shops. Exhausted but content, we enjoyed a great dinner after resting up.

Friday evening— back at our rental house we saw many fireflies around the property. My husband has never seen them before and was enchanted by the little glowing bugs. 

Saturday was more of a road trip. We had a delicious French-style lunch at a small restaurant PB recommended, boasting incredible views. We drove around, visited a lavender farm, and explored Picton's shops. That evening, we all had dinner at the superb Royal Picton restaurant . PB, always seeking to help his B&B guests, quizzed us on our experience, eager for our recommendations.

Beyond the activities, we had many good conversations over the weekend. G, J, my husband and I are all navigating aging parents, a topic we discussed at length. PB offered a great perspective on the "retirement" question. He observed that we high-achievers are often on a "hamster wheel" of work and rewards. While goals and purpose are crucial, he noted they don't need to be corporate-driven. Having been in our situation, he approached retirement like a new job, intentionally finding meaningful ways to fill his time. He still spends his time productively, but he spends it how he chooses— running the B&B in the summer. Travel the rest of the year. 

It's been a pleasant week here in the valley, filled with visits to old friends and a bit of adventure.

On Tuesday, we went white-water rafting with a local guided tour. It was a great time, and I definitely needed the exercise—I slept really well that night!

Wednesday was Canada Day, which meant more visits with relatives and catching the local fireworks display.

During one visit, an uncle directly asked me when I was retiring. His philosophy is that if you're frugal, it doesn't take much money to live well, and that your body will slow down much faster than you anticipate. So, he believes in enjoying life while you can. My father quickly chimed in, "But you have to have something to do."

Have something to do. Don't become that angry old guy who does nothing but watch TV all day and complain that no one listens to him.

  

What's Growing in My Father's Garden?

In my father's garden, you'll find potatoes, red beets, and even stray sunflower seeds from a nearby birdfeeder. Honestly, my dad has eaten a remarkably consistent diet of boiled potatoes, pickled beets, some meat, and other boiled vegetables almost every day of his life.

At 81, he still lives on his farm. While he's slowing down, he continues to manage things well. Nature is beginning to reclaim parts of the fields, and he no longer fights it back. He recently retired from his job as a school bus driver and is even making arrangements for someone else to clear the snow this winter—a task he's done for himself and his neighbors for years. These small but significant changes have led his sons to speculate about the future.

The fate of the farm has been a slow-moving discussion among my brothers, my father, and me for many years. Dad would love for one of us to take over the farm, and it truly is a wonderful place. Realistically, though, we'd need to take a significant pay cut to move back to the valley. As peaceful as the farm is, I have built a life for myself in Seattle. My friends and opportunities are there. 

Personally, I'd be happy if my father sold the farm and moved to a nice retirement home. But he's just not there yet.

My middle brother and I are eating like spoiled toddlers while we are at my father’s. We are both greedily eating dad’s cookies, ice cream and chocolates and then stocking him back up again.

I’m glad neither my brother nor I have a thirst for alcohol.

Ice cream sandwiches though…

The weather is pleasant. There has been plenty of rain of late. The valley is very green. 

Sunday, a guest preacher spoke at church. Afterwards my husband and I introduced ourselves. The preacher became slightly confused or uncomfortable when he discovered we were gay. I’m fine with that. If I can make adults uncomfortable by just being normal, then so be it. 

In the afternoon we attended a large family gathering with many of my relatives. It was great to see everyone. My husband ask if I was more happy in the Ottawa Valley. I had to think about it. Later I responded, not that I was happier here, but that I was more at peace. I get the feeling that our world could blow up, perhaps literally, that the disaster would pass the Valley and we could rebuild here. 

Travel day for us. We are heading up to the Ottawa Valley to spend the week with my family.

Weekend Notes

Saturday – Long walk along the beach at Alki. Dinner with WS and LIH at Evan and Allen’s. Saturday evening the U.S. bombed Iraq neclear sites. I went to bed, refusing to mentally engage in a new war just before bedtime. My husband stayed up to take in the live news stream. 

Sunday – Walk around the Chinese Garden. Run along Alki. Hung out with Evan and Allen in the afternoon. Huff and baby H2 dropped by. Baby H2 is doing well. I think Huff enjoyed hanging out with Adults. 

Reflecting over the weekend... sometimes I become very aware of how different my husband’s tastes are from mine.

On Saturday, as we finished our walk, he turned to me—eyes lit up—and said, “Should we start a walking group? Or a bicycling group?”

I felt a grimace rise and had to calm my face so he wouldn’t see it.

For me, part of the joy of a long walk is not coordinating with others. I don’t want to join or plan a walking group. I want quiet, movement, and no scheduling texts.

Of course, the desire probably passed from him moments later. He was likely just thinking out loud. Meanwhile, I’ve been ruminating on it for two days.

On Sunday, while friends were visiting, my husband pointed to a blank section of wall and said it felt like it needed some art. He and our guests launched into a conversation about what kind of art it should be.

Again, I had to suppress a grimace. There’s enough stuff in my life. I have no desire for a little more art.

And yet—a little more art really would put a smile on his face.

Art is never a straightforward purchase for him. He’d want to know the artist. There would be a story. The piece would come with meaning. All of that would cheer him.

Am I becoming austere? Do I need a little more vision for my life? Do I need to speak up more about what I want?

In my relationships, I tend to keep the peace. My husband has good judgment and great taste. So I’m usually happy to go along with what he wants. But maybe there’s a middle ground—something between going along and speaking up—that’s worth exploring.

My career on the other hand... more thoughts on that in a future post... 

One of my employees wrote a blog post for work that ended up being popular. I'm proud of him. 

I don't often write about work yet it occupies most of my time and energy. 

I'm a Director at a tech company. Right now my job isn't that challenging, but I do it well. I'm given much space to do what I want. My org's top-line metrics (return on investment, employee engagement, customer satisfaction) are very healthy especially relative to the rest of the company. As such, the executive's attentions are elsewhere. 

And the absence of challenge, boredom, is the thing that I worry about. I'm very well compensated, so I'm inclined to stay put. The next big step, the next big challenge, is to become a VP.  And I don't want that job, at least not at this company.

As I get older, the hair above my ears is thinning out. The hair on my ears, nose, and pretty much the rest of my body is thickening. This is a thing for men of a certain age.

I was at my barber on Thursday and asked him to trim my ears. He offered to wax my ears and nose. Impulsively, I agreed.

For the first time in years my ears and nose are smooth. My husband approves. Now I'm contemplating-- do I not trim enough? Should I use the trimmer on my ears and nose more often? Should I just let the barber take care of it? A little of both?

Later, I brought it up with Clem. He told me about Turkish Singeing. Apparently, he and Bates will ask for it when they’re at a barber in that part of the world.

And yes—it stung when my barber ripped the wax off.

I stopped by Huff's place and visited baby H2. Things are going well. H2 slept the entire time I was there. 

And, C2 is moving back to Seattle. He has bought a townhouse on Capitol Hill.

Last night Huff delivered baby H2 into this world. Mother and baby are recovering well. 

My husband was in the delivery room. It was a very emotional experience for him. 

Huff's baby is on the way. My husband has headed off to be with her. Huff asked him to be the one who cuts the cord.

Tommy writes...

Wonderful Photograph..... you must have a "green thumb"

Thank you and perhaps.  I enjoy the technical challenge of raising plants (The farmer in me?) I have little interest in creating a beautiful garden. This can frustrate my husband, though he does a good job on his own.

This year sunflowers caught my eye so I decided to give them a go. 

Sunday morning, we took my mother-in-law to a local park for a picnic. It’s a bit of a production—she needs oxygen and a scooter—but we pulled it off. We ate lunch, watched the ferries, and said hello to the park’s troll.

Sunday evening, we went to a neighborhood BBQ hosted by someone in AA. Over the past year, my husband has connected with other locals in the program and built a solid group of friends here.

About a month ago, I planted sunflowers. They're starting to bloom.

We've now lived in this house for a full year and have settled into its rhythms.

Our old house was tucked into the woods and had industrial-strength HVAC. Set the thermostat, and every room hit that number. Easy.

This house is different. It faces south and west, and the air conditioning is... adequate. As a result, we have to pay more attention—adjusting windows and blinds throughout the day as the sun moves.

I’m back in Seattle today. My husband is still in Chicago until Tuesday. Seattle is just starting its shift from regular gloom to summer glow, so I was greeted with one of those rare and glorious sunny days.

And now, a note for posterity: The Crow.

I haven’t been writing about the crow, but I’ve been living with it.

A little over a month ago, I got the urge to tame a crow. Yes, I know. Odd impulse. I think I’d read something about how intelligent crows are—that they can learn to recognize people, and even bring you shiny things if you feed them.

One afternoon, I spotted a crow sitting near our balcony. I put out half a dozen dog kibbles. After I stepped away, it flew over and gobbled them up. Encouraged, over the next few days, I repeated this routine. Each time I saw a crow (I like to think it was the same one), I’d set out a few kibbles and walk away. 

After about a week, it started to recognize me. If I was walking around the neighborhood, it would follow me home, clearly anticipating its treat.

So far, so good.

Then it started sitting, waiting for me, on the power line above where my husband parks his vehicle.

My husband was unimpressed with the amount of crow shit on his windshield. Then another crow joined in. More noise. More shit. 

I’ve stopped feeding the crow. I now chase it away when I see it near the house. The dream of bonding with urban wildlife has been replaced by a more practical ambition: keeping my husband's SUV clean.

My husband and I are in Chicago for the weekend. He’s here for work. I’m here to wander.

For as long as I’ve known him, my husband has been sober. He’s in the program. So I was surprised when he said that years ago, when he lived in Chicago, he was in the depths of addiction.

This trip, he said, was a way to build new memories in a city that once held some very hard ones.

There was something quiet and powerful about that—about being allowed to rewrite your past by simply being present in the now. Just walking beside someone you love, and watching a place soften.

He’s been reading my blog lately. He likes where it’s going. He said he’s glad I’m talking through some of this, instead of just keeping it all in my head. Then he made a suggestion—something we might try going forward.

He proposed that we divide our future travel plans into thirds:

• One third with friends
• One third with family
• One third involving some kind of volunteer work

I like that. It doesn’t feel preachy or overly ambitious. A little structure to balance our experiences.

After reading my previous, my husband sent me an old man meme. It read:

“Life humbles you. As you grow old, you stop chasing the big things. Alone time, enough sleep, a good diet, long walks, and quality time with loved ones. Simplicity becomes the ultimate goal.”

Then Tommy wrote me.

“The question that you pose is something on most minds of men from my age to yours. Life should be lived... but few really live it to the fullest. I’m not suggesting it’s all about being gay or being in the clique. It’s an adventure of one’s self—to be fulfilled in ways that make a person happy. I was once asked, ‘Tommy, do you have any regrets?’ I can honestly say I don’t. I created my life. I have lived. And as I slowly go into my 70s, I have no regrets.”

Living life to the fullest—that’s the phrase that keeps coming back. I’m pulled in different directions.

On one side, there’s my family. My father is proud of the fact that he lives well on $30,000 a year. He’s traveled. He eats well. He’s surrounded by friends and extended family. He lives a deeply fulfilling life, and he’s not the only one. Most of my relatives spend their free time hunting or fishing. They take part-time jobs now and then—for extra cash or to help a neighbor. I have a cousin whose dream is to open a home for the elderly. She’s already the de facto caregiver for several elders in the family. She is by no means unfulfilled. I admire her enormously.

And then there’s the other direction: my life.

Opportunities came along, and it felt wrong to turn them down. That’s how I ended up in tech, in the Pacific Northwest. Decades ago, I was offered a job in Seattle. I knew I’d regret not taking it. So I said yes. I left home and friends for something very different.

Sunday night, just before lights out, my husband asked what I was thinking about.

“Hedonism,” I replied.

This wasn’t a joke. It’s been on my mind lately—not just the pursuit of pleasure, but how we are unintentionally building a life around it. The conversation that followed tugged on something in him that we’ll need to explore more. But for me, this line of thought has been simmering for a while.

Saturday night, we hosted a dinner party. It was lovely: good food, good wine, relaxed conversation. A few of our guests are newly retired. They talked about skiing trips and springtime in Greece and Portugal. It was the kind of evening that affirms everything about the life we’ve built.

The next day, we went to a large gay bear pool party. Our hosts have many friends—big, hairy, muscle bears who all show up in full force. We talked about parties, travel, OnlyFans, adventures, and occasionally, drugs. Everyone seemed well-fed, well-groomed, and fully booked.

My husband and I are affluent. Many of our friends are too. As we plan our retirement, our calendars are already filling with travel, new experiences, and what we broadly call “fun.” We even have a shared planning document—travel tabs, household upgrades, health strategy. There’s even a line item labeled: “Something meaningful or spiritual.”

That one’s never fleshed out.

We both love travel. We love food. We love our life. But I know that is not enough.

When I say I’ve been thinking about hedonism, I don’t mean it as a moral panic or an accusation. It’s a word I’m using to name the quiet gravitational pull of our life—a life that’s full of comfort, beauty, and experience. I see around me a more overt sprint toward indulgence—more parties, more stimulation, more next things. Our version is slower, but it’s still tilted toward pleasure, and I’m starting to wonder what gets left out.

There’s a space in the plan we keep skipping. Not because we don’t care, but because we don’t know how to fill it.

I can already hear my friend C2 saying, “No one feels sorry for you. If being of service is important, then what’s stopping you? If it’s not, then stop whining.”

It’s good advice. It’s also exactly the point. What is stopping me?

Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s inertia. Or maybe pleasure is simply easier to schedule than purpose. Booking flights is straightforward. Volunteering or spiritual inquiry takes something fuzzier—an internal commitment, a willingness to show up for something that doesn’t reward you with points or likes or validation.

I don’t have a grand conclusion. But I know I don’t want to be a cheerful person who left that part blank.

So this is where I’ll start: by naming the blank space. By asking the question out loud. And by staying with it, even if the answer takes a while.

Tuesday evening we had my birthday dinner with Yo and the Angel. It was great to catch up with them. We are each involved with the lives of our aging parents and I appreciated hearing how they are handing it.

Yo runs a small business that imports much of its inventory from China. Now with tariffs, his Chinese supplier first ships the supplies to an intermediate country before sending them on to Seattle. So he avoids the tariffs though he must pay a little more in shipping. This whole stunt made us laugh and reminded me of how bad the current administration is at executing on their promises. If the small guys can figure this out, then what are the majors doing?

We have a new roommate. At the old house, we would rent out the ADU to traveling nurses. One of our past renters reached out to us and asked if we had a place to stay for a couple of months. He has a contract in Seattle and needed a place to stay. We said yes, just to try it out.

Our neighbors have repainted their garden dinosaurs. This captures the kitschy vibe of our neighborhood.