By Georgie Bright Kunkel

Yes, it is that time of year—when you wake up sweating under the down comforter and after storing it in a closet have the urge to launder the mattress cover and consider spring cleaning. You have already decorated your front porch with little potted primroses you couldn’t resist as you entered the super market. Even the walls look like they need cleaning. You know it is that time when you collide with the first new spider of the season scurrying underfoot. Now I know that you are supposed to trap that spider and carry it outdoors to allow it another day in the spring sun but don’t look now. I am not about to get that near to a spider even if I am an environmentalist. I know. Dr. Schweitzer never believed in killing. However, he did admit to killing the germs in his operating room before cutting into a patient. It is all relative, right?

You have heard me spout about awareness to preservation of our wildlife on the planet. But let’s not be so way out about it. When animal activists sprayed paint on someone wealthy enough to wear a luxurious fur coat I always watched long enough to let my eyes drop to their shoes. If they were leather I really let them know about it.

And when even men were holding up fetus signs against abortion I suggested to them that until they were able to become pregnant they didn’t have a clue about the issue.

Getting back to the subject of spring--aging people are not only spring cleaning but are downsizing as well. The baby boomers, so called, who are now responsible for worrying over their aging parents are even writing articles suggesting that their parents had better sort their own stuff before, heaven forbid, their aging children should have to go through it all after they are gone. lt seems to me that sorting one’s parents’ treasures is a small price to pay for receiving an inheritance. But as my son once said, “Mom, you had better sort your own stuff now or it will end up in the Goodwill someday.” If that is really going to be the case, then the one who collected it all—ME—had better make those important decisions about the best place for all of it.

Just the other day I found a wonderful old picture taken in Port Angeles. I seem to mention that place a lot lately because I continually brag about my grandfather being a founder of that splendid little city. This picture was mounted on golden brown cardboard of old and the pictured couple stood unflinching because, as you know, cameras in those days required that you stand at least ten seconds without moving a muscle before the shutter stopped clicking. Oh, and the couple were not both standing. The woman was sitting straight as an arrow in a gorgeous wicker chair in her Sunday best dress with the double collar as the man stood looking like the lord of the manor. There were no names printed on the back of the old photo.

In my recent trip to Port Angeles to see my 101 year old cousin I had brought the picture to see if she could identify that stately couple. On the way I opened the envelope and took another look at it and suddenly recognized my own aunt Vera whom I had met several times on rugged family trips up the peninsula to reconnect with my grandmother. There was no mistaking that look of assurance on her face.

Yes, she was the apple of my grandfather’s eye (as they said in my day) and had the look of being just that.

Spring again, and now only one living relative in that place that had once beckoned my mother away from my little home town in the spring every few years. Spring, and the relatives that once invited my own growing family to the little town of Napavine are gone. Spring, and the trip to downtown Seattle is becoming a challenge with preparation for tunnel construction. Those who have just come out of the snow in areas where Boeing isn’t promising employment with each new contract are making their trek to our growing city. Regardless of all the changes, this is the city of opportunity and ambience. I plan to stay around.

Georgie Bright Kunkel is a freelance writer who can be reached at gnkunkel@comcast.net or 206-935-8663.