When I moved to Seattle from Arlington, Texas in September 1989, I was ill prepared for the rapidly decreasing daylight, SAD inducing gray skies, and an entire month of rain in June. Spending most of my free time alone, I gained twenty pounds with a steady diet of top ramen, Minute rice, and wrapped cheese slices. Working 10 hour days and countless weekends hadn’t helped me find friends. Nor, it seemed, had my thick southern accent.

Taking pity on me and/or tired of the whining, my boss suggested I join his ski club to meet new people and become familiar with surrounding areas. I told him I was an abysmal skier and that my muscles had atrophied. He dismissed my excuses, assuring me the ski club offered various activities throughout the seasons, including movie nights, happy hour meet & greets, leisurely bike rides, and summer concerts at the zoo. Convinced and a wee bit excited, I signed up for an inexpensive carpool trip to Mt. Baker for spring skiing. And, while others careened downhill in freezing temperatures, I lounged in an overstuffed chair at the lodge and read by the fireplace. The slight difference from my normal routine was that I socialized at dinner.

On the Saturday night of the trip, a woman and I got to talking about dating. While sipping beer, I answered her rapid fire questions. What’s more important, humor or ambition? “Humor.” How do you feel about divorce? “Depends on the circumstances.” Age preference? “The closer to mine, the better.” Little did I know she already had a person in mind. On Monday night at the club’s annual elections, held at the now-defunct Rainier Brewery, she introduced me to John. I was immediately charmed by his genuine smile and easygoing personality. And, we were both Star Trek fans!

I remember the moment I fell in love with John. Mere months into our casual dating, the ski club hosted a boat cruise for an evening on Lake Washington. We both wanted to go, but complications arose when my company scheduled a last-minute work event. For logistical reasons, John and I talked about meeting at the dock, but the time would be tight, and the boat wouldn’t wait for me. Anticipating my anxiety, mostly due to directional challenges pre-GPS, John drove the exact route I’d need to follow and noted every single turn. Knowing him now, I believe he would’ve stayed behind if I hadn’t arrived in time.

Two years after we met, John and I moved in together. And in 1996, we spent most of our savings on the down payment for a pre-WWII, 1980s-updated, Cape Cod in Ballard. Whatever funds remained, and with a little ingenuity and tons of help from friends, we held our wedding on a lovely summer afternoon in our backyard. We couldn’t afford a honeymoon, and every time we paid the mortgage, we said, “Hooray! We can stay in the house another month!”

Fast forward to late 2020, and we were extremely grateful to still be living in this house, especially after a difficult year. And, we were pretty dang proud of ourselves for doing a great job of keeping the property maintained on a shoestring budget. But, on December 21st, a heavy rainstorm pummeled an already saturated earth, and groundwater flooded our fully-finished basement. Ours wasn’t the only flood in the area, nor was it the worst. Employees at professional water extraction companies were stretched thin, and we waited hours for help. It took 10 days for all the flooring to be removed and for the basement to completely dry.

After rerouting two downspouts, we thought our troubles were behind us, but on January 2nd, the basement tried to flood again. For 16 hours straight without food or sleep, John and I used two shop vacs to remove 900+ gallons (approx. 7500 pounds) of rain water. By morning, we held the water at bay on the north side wall in our TV room. On this go around, a beautiful storage bench, custom-built and installed by John’s brother, was destroyed. It had been protecting our skis and gear, but it also covered what we’re now calling a “babbling brook” in the broken cement. Once a temporary sump pump was in place, the floor dried. Cause of this near-flood? Another ineffectual downspout. But during closer inspection, we found multiple maintenance issues in and around our house—ones we’d been too complacent to notice.

As with anyone who’s been in a long term relationship, John and I have good days and bad. Often, we’re amazed at the luck that brought us together and led us to our ideal home. Other times, we’re on the brink of uncoupling and selling this money pit. Most times, we’re skating from one joy and challenge to the next as we go about our daily lives.

At our wedding, the promises John and I made to each other came naturally, because we’d already clocked five years. But what about our new partner? Our home? “For richer.” “For poorer.” “In sickness.” “In health.” By saying “I do” in our backyard, we essentially committed to the house as well. It’s taken good care of us over the years by keeping us safe and warm. Our time has come to reciprocate by making it healthy and whole again.

According to a Chinese proverb, “It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.” This is our year of healing the past and preparing for the future as much as fate allows. We’re a powerful team, we three. Here’s to the next 25 years together, mes amis!