So Saturday delivers an exceptional –and exceptionally rare — treat of sunshine and brilliant cloudless blue sky.
I cannot express or emphasize enough the uplifting of mood that the freedom from the constant cold damp gray brings.
So I grab the camera for a stroll through Tacoma’s historic North End district of fine homes ranging from bungalows to mansions. The walk delights my senses and feeds my sensibilities so so starved for light and color. I let feet and mind wander and photograph whatever catches my eye. Come along.
Not only is the sun out but there’s a rare blustery breeze from the north. I like wind chimes as much as the next person. This dancing dozen, nearly, are audible a block away.
I count nine. I feel sorry for the neighbors. Any connection between the chiming and for-rent sign?
The architecture in this part of town is so varied and interesting. (I can easily see myself as an architect in another lifetime.) Love the style and Easter-egg pastel green of this house.
And looooooove the burgundy door!
Do not care for the matching drapes.
Fences make good neighbors. I’ve never fully understood, neither shared in, the appeal of white picket fences.
For a while I ponder that and fences in general and of course then notice every fence I pass. Then I have a good chuckle when I come upon this:
What are the chances?! The gentleman and I get to chatting. Natch we talk about fences. He cut and stained every one of those posts, numbering well into the hundreds, and he’s still not done. His dog — forget the name, something regal like Duke — and I engage in tossing of the tennis ball.
Momentary life with a dog, blue skies and sun feel normal, healthy and healing for me. We part company. Onward.
That’s some pink house!
And yellow — none too mellow:
This white house stands in stark contrast to surrounding houses in mostly muted earth tones and is accented further by the brilliant blue sky. I see a face. Can you see the big bold eyes? Any moment those eyelashes should flutter:
Love the shape of roof over the porch!
No tour, neither life, in Tacoma is complete without a visit to the former home of Ted Bundy, the famous serial killer. He lived here from his toddler years into adulthood. The university where he preyed upon women is just up the road.
His stepfather and mother continued residing here long after his execution. All those years and his mother never consented to an interview. I’ve met people who know the Bundys. They say his stepfather was a quiet man who kept to himself and was seen mowing the lawn and stuff.
Rumor is she’s in a nursing home now and the stepfather died recently. The home sold in 2009.
Imagine living in a home of a notorious serial killer. You’d have to expect the occasional passerby with camera as part of the deal.
That concludes the tour.