The Both/And of Living High

Capricious. I'm talking about myself, of course. Our townhome sits high on a rise, facing north across the city. Our windows look out into the fullness of surrounding trees -- above more than a few of them. The skyline unfolds across the way, and when the trees are not in full leaf we can look across the way and see the nearby lake. It's beautiful, the view.

But several times each winter, when the freezing rain and compacted snow makes of it a ski run, I curse the altitude and the sloping road that climbs it. After sliding my way back down the hill and claiming a parking space in the church lot a block away, I mutter profanity beneath my breath every slogging footstep up the hill. It inevitably happens just after I have been to the grocery store and I have a car full of sacks to lug up with me. On those nights I loathe our hillside perch. Who thought living here would be a good idea?

But this week the landscape below us is flooding -- that scenic lake and the rivers that feed it have become voracious beasts consuming more and more of the real estate around them. Roads are closed. Downtown has been evacuated. Homes are damaged. Sandbags barricade countless openings. Routes and routines are sorely disrupted. Farms are destroyed.

Meanwhile, we live high above it all; far above the standing water and the currents and the damage. Winter's sliding long forgiven and forgotten, what a wonderful place to live! Who had the brilliance of forethought to live here?

As I say, capricious. Enjoy and appreciate it now. It will offer something to remember next winter.