When I came to Oregon last year, I “met someone.” Why do we say that, anyway? We “meet someone” all the time. Yet we also understand those mundane words to mean that something ordinarily so ordinary is, in fact, extraordinary. And so it is for me. A beautifully bald guy—quite a bit younger than me--is sprawled out on my couch, dozing. We’ve only known each other a few months, and though I haven’t told him so, he’s captivated me. I can tell he likes me a lot and we spend time together several days a week, making each other laugh and looking into each other's eyes. To make matters even more magical, he has my youngest uncle’s name—a man who I remember as dashing, funny and tender. But of course, no love is perfect. My guy isn’t much of a  conversationalist, and to be honest, is quite needy. Oh, I’ll spill the whole truth: he still lives at home and hits the bottle pretty hard. 

Okay, I’ve had my fun. The sleeping dude is Garen, my youngest grandchild. But I don’t write this blog simply to express my amour for my first son’s third and last child. I write it because my relationship with Garen demonstrates that life not only inevitably changes…it changes us.

Almost ten years ago, when my first grandson’s ETA was announced, I had trouble calling up my grandma genes. In fact, I wrote a book about my “grandpregnancy” to get myself ready. What self-respecting mother shows up at a first grandbirth wafting the scent of Eau d’Reservationne? You’ll be happy to know I made it to the finish line in grand style, and two years later, I was happily crowned “Delly” by my grandborn, Jaden. With a little help from Southwest, I found my out-of-town grandma rhythm--flying in and out of Portland to immerse myself in his sweetness three or four times a year. And when sister Abigail made her St. Patrick’s Day debut, the party just got bigger!

Of course, friends asked when I’d be moving to Portland—especially after my second son had migrated there too. “Oh, I’m just not one of those live-close grandmas. I love my visits—and I love my life in California,” I'd tell them. But when Garen arrived just six days before his daddy’s birth date—having survived a tumultuous time in the womb and the loss of a kidney—something shifted. By now, I’d made Hawai’i my home, and the thought of an ocean between this peaceful, translucent creature and me just didn’t hold water. Not even one salty drop.

Pulling my storage from California and retrieving it from Maui, I am now living in the greater Portland area with a greater sense of wholeness. I work at home as always—writing, doing astrology readings, jet-setting around the SoMe world, traveling when I can, and keeping my relationships vital in person and ala Skype. But the rest of the time, I’m living the Delly life—ferrying my off-offsprings in the “DellyMobile;” cheering at skating lessons and baseball games; watching movies that fall blessedly below my radar; and of course, keeping company with my little bald man. I’m in their messy, precious lives and they're in mine.

I don’t know how long I’ll be in this gorgeous corner of the Northwest, but I do know that however unexpectedly, I am fully here--far sillier and more spontaneous than at any other time in my life. I'm here because I want to be and because Life changes…us.

Together on the Evolving Journey,