Beautiful essay, Rita—and congratulations on your anniversary (no matter how you count them)! In the summer of 1995, when we were still living in Edmonton, my husband and I drove down to Oregon, camping along the way, making it as far south as Seaside, or perhaps Cannon Beach, or perhaps a bit further, before turning inland toward Portland and then north again for home. It's all a blur now, partly because I spent much of the trip trying not to cry. On the morning we were scheduled to begin our trip, my week of being late—in which I hoped I was pregnant—ended. My husband, always level-headed, said we should take our trip anyway, that I hadn't yet even confirmed anything and that even if I had, it was too early and there was nothing to be done. My heart often goes out to that younger version of me—I still have a print hanging in our kitchen that I saw in a café in Seaside and found for sale, and bought, at Powell's in Portland, and it always reminds me of that trip. And now my heart is going out to young you, married to your second husband, hoping to create a child, and facing such difficulty. This is such a painful thing to endure. Sending you a hug, Rita.
Oh, Marian! And my heart goes out to young you. I have a similar story. I actually had a positive pregnancy test, but then, right at the beginning of a trip, I had cramping and it didn’t feel right. I was barely pregnant, but had been trying to so long. I got confirmation on the first day that I was no longer pregnant. We also continued the trip, and I remember a lot of crying and trying not to cry. That print must bring up complicated feelings for you. Please let me know if you’re ever coming to the coast again. I will come meet you there!
Oh, Rita—that must have been so hard! I could at least *try* to tell myself I wasn't actually pregnant (even though I still, even now, believe I was, based on how different that period was). I think if things had turned out differently in the long run—if I hadn't gone on to have three children—I might have at some point decided to take the print down. But even though it reminds me of how sad I was at the time, the main feelings it brings up are love and gratitude for my husband. It reminds me how kind my husband was (and still is) and how much I admire his ability to be so level-headed. (And also, I just really still love the print!)
We're now across the country in Ontario, so as much as I'd love to return to Oregon, that's unfortunately unlikely to happen. (If we ever did go, though, I would for sure let you know!) This summer we're going to head to the east coast. Our youngest, now 19, has a summer job in Halifax, Nova Scotia, so we're going to visit him in July.
Thank you for giving me more of the story. And for "I just really still love the print!" That made me smile. Safe travels to you this summer. Isn't it nice that we're past the age of trips impacted by pregnancies and our hopes for them? (That was a hard time. Yes.)
Wow. Just wow. There is so much I love here, but especially this opener: "I spent a recent weekend snugged into a house that’s snugged into a hill that’s snugged into a town that’s snugged into a small curve of the Oregon coast. I was there with my husband, Cane, to celebrate our wedding anniversary." This whole story and how you tell it around this house and other houses, their making, their decay, the unravelling of relationships, the unravelling of houses, the question of how you measure how long a relationship has been. It's all just glorious. I found this piece because you commented on my piece that Jeannine shared today on WITD and she mentioned you do constraints really well. And, imagine this, she was right! ;) Thank you for this piece. It's beautiful and aching and true and just lovely. xo
Thank you so much Jocelyn--for coming over and for the kind words about the post. I've been working on it for awhile, never quite satisfied with it, but our discussion today about yours on WITD helped really helped me get it to the place it is now. It was what you said to me about focusing on the feeling and the details, rather than thinking so much. I went back through each section and added some sensory details and made others more specific. It all felt very synergistic this morning!
Rita! This is so lovely, like a capsule-sized life story that could 100% be a whole book that I would read. Ups, downs and in-betweens, with nuggets of hard-earned wisdom tucked in there.
ALSO I was looking at the photographs and thinking “hey, I think I know that place.” 😂 Pre-Covid we took a last minute long weekend road trip from where we live in southeast B.C. all the way down the Oregon coast, which sticks in all of our minds as this magical misty (ok, full on monsoon weather) seaside sojourn. The beach through the tunnel in the cliff??! A portal to another world. Now I want to go back. I’m always a little bit afraid to revisit places that made big impressions on my imagination, because what if it’s not as I remember? But it sounds like the magic is still there to be found.
Thank you! My daughter once told me my life would make an interesting book. Maybe someday 🙂
I have to say that Oceanside (the name of the town) doesn't feel quite as magical as it did the first time I found it, but I really do love it. It hasn't gotten big like so many other once-small coastal towns. I think the people who live there have fought hard to keep it small. For example, there's no cell phone reception in the town! It does feel like a portal to another world. Or another time. I know I'll be back...just not sure where we'll stay next time.
"Life has been rather lifey of late..." You 'n' me both, sister.
This piece makes me realize the last time I was on the Oregon coast was almost thirty years ago, when I was expecting my first son. The coastline, the woman, the child have all changed so much!
Beautiful photos. Wistful, as is this post. In a good way, of course. "Like our bodies, houses keep the score." No truer words, but like our bodies sometimes it's good to reevaluate the score, see if we feel it's the same now as earlier.
I love the question your comment raises: What is the good or bad kind of wistful? Maybe wistful is always good, because you can't have it without having loved something--and I tend to think love is never wrong. (A friend I miss all the time told me that once.) I'm going to have to ponder longer the idea of reevaluating the score (of bodies and houses).
Sweet and poignant, Rita. Relationships are complex and our experiences in them and memories of them get all tangled up with places, smells, foods, and feelings. I love that you have loved yourself and others in the arms of a snuggly spot built into the hillside. I can't imagine any place more suitable for a blooming heart.
I'm so sorry life has been giving you a hard time lately. Sending you gentle hugs. Thank you for putting your words down, whenever it feels right to do so.
I loved reading your anniversary story right after I wrote mine! Relationships ARE complex, that's for sure. Life has been OK. Challenging, but OK. Really good in some ways. Deep feelings of all kinds. I think I'll stay married to Life, at least for another year. ;-)
What our kids might call "all the feels!" I marveled when I discovered that you also wrote of anniversary experiences this week, Rita. That happens a lot on Substack. Collective consciousness, or something!
Life can be a mercurial partner sometimes, but I've noticed that's more likely on days when I, myself, am feeling unsettled. :)
Loved this. And it made me think about how we like to force the idea of things being continuous - or not counting. From kids doing "streaks" on snapchat to "how long have you been together". It fits in with our idea of wanting permanence maybe? Thinking that - that is the goal? I agree that it all counts.
So fabulous! And a good reminder that it's been too long since I visited the Oregon coast. "Just count them all"!
Thank you! And yes, visit the coast! Swing by through Portland and visit me! 😊
Beautiful essay, Rita—and congratulations on your anniversary (no matter how you count them)! In the summer of 1995, when we were still living in Edmonton, my husband and I drove down to Oregon, camping along the way, making it as far south as Seaside, or perhaps Cannon Beach, or perhaps a bit further, before turning inland toward Portland and then north again for home. It's all a blur now, partly because I spent much of the trip trying not to cry. On the morning we were scheduled to begin our trip, my week of being late—in which I hoped I was pregnant—ended. My husband, always level-headed, said we should take our trip anyway, that I hadn't yet even confirmed anything and that even if I had, it was too early and there was nothing to be done. My heart often goes out to that younger version of me—I still have a print hanging in our kitchen that I saw in a café in Seaside and found for sale, and bought, at Powell's in Portland, and it always reminds me of that trip. And now my heart is going out to young you, married to your second husband, hoping to create a child, and facing such difficulty. This is such a painful thing to endure. Sending you a hug, Rita.
Oh, Marian! And my heart goes out to young you. I have a similar story. I actually had a positive pregnancy test, but then, right at the beginning of a trip, I had cramping and it didn’t feel right. I was barely pregnant, but had been trying to so long. I got confirmation on the first day that I was no longer pregnant. We also continued the trip, and I remember a lot of crying and trying not to cry. That print must bring up complicated feelings for you. Please let me know if you’re ever coming to the coast again. I will come meet you there!
Oh, Rita—that must have been so hard! I could at least *try* to tell myself I wasn't actually pregnant (even though I still, even now, believe I was, based on how different that period was). I think if things had turned out differently in the long run—if I hadn't gone on to have three children—I might have at some point decided to take the print down. But even though it reminds me of how sad I was at the time, the main feelings it brings up are love and gratitude for my husband. It reminds me how kind my husband was (and still is) and how much I admire his ability to be so level-headed. (And also, I just really still love the print!)
We're now across the country in Ontario, so as much as I'd love to return to Oregon, that's unfortunately unlikely to happen. (If we ever did go, though, I would for sure let you know!) This summer we're going to head to the east coast. Our youngest, now 19, has a summer job in Halifax, Nova Scotia, so we're going to visit him in July.
Thank you for giving me more of the story. And for "I just really still love the print!" That made me smile. Safe travels to you this summer. Isn't it nice that we're past the age of trips impacted by pregnancies and our hopes for them? (That was a hard time. Yes.)
I felt like I was right along with you. I'd love a weekend like this. I need a weekend like this.
Life has been very griefy.
I think a weekend away might be just the thing your griefy life needs. 💜
Wow. Just wow. There is so much I love here, but especially this opener: "I spent a recent weekend snugged into a house that’s snugged into a hill that’s snugged into a town that’s snugged into a small curve of the Oregon coast. I was there with my husband, Cane, to celebrate our wedding anniversary." This whole story and how you tell it around this house and other houses, their making, their decay, the unravelling of relationships, the unravelling of houses, the question of how you measure how long a relationship has been. It's all just glorious. I found this piece because you commented on my piece that Jeannine shared today on WITD and she mentioned you do constraints really well. And, imagine this, she was right! ;) Thank you for this piece. It's beautiful and aching and true and just lovely. xo
Thank you so much Jocelyn--for coming over and for the kind words about the post. I've been working on it for awhile, never quite satisfied with it, but our discussion today about yours on WITD helped really helped me get it to the place it is now. It was what you said to me about focusing on the feeling and the details, rather than thinking so much. I went back through each section and added some sensory details and made others more specific. It all felt very synergistic this morning!
Oh that makes me so so happy! It really is a lovely piece, evocative, yearning, but also calm and it knows itself.
Rita! This is so lovely, like a capsule-sized life story that could 100% be a whole book that I would read. Ups, downs and in-betweens, with nuggets of hard-earned wisdom tucked in there.
ALSO I was looking at the photographs and thinking “hey, I think I know that place.” 😂 Pre-Covid we took a last minute long weekend road trip from where we live in southeast B.C. all the way down the Oregon coast, which sticks in all of our minds as this magical misty (ok, full on monsoon weather) seaside sojourn. The beach through the tunnel in the cliff??! A portal to another world. Now I want to go back. I’m always a little bit afraid to revisit places that made big impressions on my imagination, because what if it’s not as I remember? But it sounds like the magic is still there to be found.
Thank you! My daughter once told me my life would make an interesting book. Maybe someday 🙂
I have to say that Oceanside (the name of the town) doesn't feel quite as magical as it did the first time I found it, but I really do love it. It hasn't gotten big like so many other once-small coastal towns. I think the people who live there have fought hard to keep it small. For example, there's no cell phone reception in the town! It does feel like a portal to another world. Or another time. I know I'll be back...just not sure where we'll stay next time.
So nice to hear from you!
"Life has been rather lifey of late..." You 'n' me both, sister.
This piece makes me realize the last time I was on the Oregon coast was almost thirty years ago, when I was expecting my first son. The coastline, the woman, the child have all changed so much!
Time for you to get back out here!
Beautiful photos. Wistful, as is this post. In a good way, of course. "Like our bodies, houses keep the score." No truer words, but like our bodies sometimes it's good to reevaluate the score, see if we feel it's the same now as earlier.
I love the question your comment raises: What is the good or bad kind of wistful? Maybe wistful is always good, because you can't have it without having loved something--and I tend to think love is never wrong. (A friend I miss all the time told me that once.) I'm going to have to ponder longer the idea of reevaluating the score (of bodies and houses).
Sweet and poignant, Rita. Relationships are complex and our experiences in them and memories of them get all tangled up with places, smells, foods, and feelings. I love that you have loved yourself and others in the arms of a snuggly spot built into the hillside. I can't imagine any place more suitable for a blooming heart.
I'm so sorry life has been giving you a hard time lately. Sending you gentle hugs. Thank you for putting your words down, whenever it feels right to do so.
I loved reading your anniversary story right after I wrote mine! Relationships ARE complex, that's for sure. Life has been OK. Challenging, but OK. Really good in some ways. Deep feelings of all kinds. I think I'll stay married to Life, at least for another year. ;-)
What our kids might call "all the feels!" I marveled when I discovered that you also wrote of anniversary experiences this week, Rita. That happens a lot on Substack. Collective consciousness, or something!
Life can be a mercurial partner sometimes, but I've noticed that's more likely on days when I, myself, am feeling unsettled. :)
So very true!
Loved this. And it made me think about how we like to force the idea of things being continuous - or not counting. From kids doing "streaks" on snapchat to "how long have you been together". It fits in with our idea of wanting permanence maybe? Thinking that - that is the goal? I agree that it all counts.