Is there an itch associated with it?

Last week, I celebrated my seven year anniversary of moving out to the Pacific Northwest. Seven years! Time certainly flies when you're having fun--and even when you're miserable, but that was in the middle part so I don't remember too much of that, except I do remember being miserably cold.

My brand new little Jetta, Frans, pulled into Seattle carrying my friend JoJo, me, and as much of my stuff we could cram in there. After spending the first few days in Seattle, we headed down to Tacoma, which was home for my first two years out here. We settled into my basement apartment with what few possessions I had in Frans (some summer clothes, an air mattress, and my golf clubs...). The rest of "me" was on a moving truck making its way out from Denver.

I moved to start my new job at a great little university. One of the summer time activities the university sponsored for faculty and staff was a night at a minor league baseball game. Excited to go and meet new people, JoJo and I headed to the park. Ah, summer's pastime in the Northwest.

When I prepared to move to Washington, everyone--and I mean everyone--told me that it rained here. Shut up! Really? Thank you, Captain Obvious! However, nobody told me that it would feel like winter in summer. Information that would have been much more useful to me than, "it rains out there." Despite temperatures in the high 60s, we froze our butts off at that game. With chattering teeth and gigantic goosebumps, we stayed for one inning and drove back to my new home with the heat on full blast and seat warmers cranked up to 11. The next day, we hit the mall to look for sweaters, fleece, down-filled parkas, but to no avail. The employees at The GAP offered me blank stares when I implored, "But you don't understand, I really need a wool sweater." Sixty degrees in Seattle feels a good 20 degrees colder than in Denver, and all of my winter clothes--scratch that, not even winter clothes, all my clothes with SLEEVES of any kind--were neatly packed in a box on a truck somewhere in Utah or Idaho.

Note to self: Keep your sleeved winter clothes accessible year round when living in the Northwest.

To celebrate my seven years out here, Seattle commemorated it with a week of gray cloudy days in the 60s, not too unlike my first week here. Thank you, Seattle.

In spite of winter in July, I love it here. I'm sincerely surprised that seven years could pass so quickly. Driving into town all those years ago, I was facing a blank canvas--who knew the adventures that were in store for me. And if I could go back and pay a visit to a younger Little Ms. Notetaker, I know she wouldn't believe me when I'd tell her where she'd be and how she would get there. I'd tell her that she's going to experience more than she can even imagine, that she'll learn, love, lose, laugh, but most importantly live.

Live indeed.

And she may not believe what she hears, but I sure believe that she'd be proud of who she is going to become, and be excited to fill in that canvas--an entertaining, if not random, paint-by-number. And as I sit here today, I wonder what the future me looks like seven years from now. I probably wouldn't believe it. But I'm proud of her already; there are certain things I like to think are on the canvas and I cannot wait to fill them in with the colors of me.