prema's here!

Such a treat to start my week Monday driving to Prema's house, so close. Just a few miles across town. Love having Prema so near, look up to give thanks. Over the Willamette and up, up, up into the hills where the Cascades roll dark along the northern horizon, lump of Mt. St. Helens bulging into the blue. Then down the hill to two full-sized moving trucks and Prema directing the chaotic flow of fitting collected pieces into this new space.

Amelia and Josie immediately want to know "Where's River? Where's River?" So up the stairs we go to find her wide-eyed and quiet, reconnecting with her toys. I'd like to help in whatever small way I can, and what feels best is staying up here with the girls - keeping out of the way. A half a dozen people are on and off the trucks, arms full, calling for Prema in five rooms on three floors, simultaneously.

"Where does this go? What room? Where should we put this? Have you seen Prema? I need Prema, where does she want this."

River holds her space sticking close to her big sister, tentative about this invasion of two more kids into room that's barely hers. Into belongs she's just rediscovering.

The house is the house, beautiful for what it is. A big house, warm space, nice flow, amazing view. What's lovely though is seeing this blank space transformed.

The gorgeous Tibetan rug -reds and blues and greens - that I admired in blog photos unfurls across the living room floor. Piece by piece comes the antique furniture and the heavy Indian bed frame. Piece by piece the lovely feeling, same one alive in her words, breathes itself into these walls. Permeates.

"This is the table I grew up eating at," Prema tells me, one arm out, motioning to the delicate curves of antique craftsmanship. Deep reddish wood. Cherry?

River lets Amelia in first, then Josie (the other two-and-a-half-year-old) more cautiously. Until three girls playing their separate play become a spinning torrent, giggling as they jump from one section of couch to the rug.

Prema and I sneak briefly away for a tour, admire the new energy-efficient washer and drier in way only those in charge of the laundry can -(and yes, I will be over to do a few loads! Sunday night OK? :). A moment where I wonder "who am I? And when did laundry machines become exciting, pleasing?"

We're laughing. "You have to see the bathroom. This is the best part."

I climb onto a ledge, behind the deep oval tub, crouch up into a corner to see St. Helens out the window. The view. And I can still hear Prema months ago in Carrie's living room, October, Jennifer's workshop. A stranger reading. "It's good to have a view."

Indeed.

Follow the tree-tops east to west rolling along the mountains. Western Hemlocks are my favorite. Maybe because of the way they bend and twist, hook-over at the top. Maybe because I can identify them, even from miles away I know what I'm seeing.

"Prema," a voice call up the stairs. "They're asking for you in the basement. They need you downstairs."

I return to River's room, where Amelia has taken charge of shelving books. Organizing the room.

Mid-afternoon I see the signs - avalanche zone - Amelia is climbing on Prema's dear old friend. Rapidly losing capacity for good decision making. We make an exit before the meltdown. I'm slow, but eventually I learn not just to read the signs, to heed them.

All the way home I still hear: "its good to have a view."

And, it's so good to have you here, my friend. Welcome, Prem. Many blessings for this stretch of the journey.

And a quote from Edward Abbey via Jess this morning:

May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view.

Alevei!