It's A Habit I Can't Quit

Wow. Seems a lot of you want to join me in my relocation to Incline Village, Nevada. But you know, I kind of feel like I was being a bit greedy and extravagant. The property is amazing, the private beach is breathtaking, the grounds are glorious. But maybe I'd be almost as happy in this.

But guess what? Neither of those homes, worth millions and millions of dollars, would ever warm my heart like this next one. Sure, it isn't lake front. Sure, it isn't in Incline. Sure it's small and falling apart and a whole slew of other things beginning with the fact that it's pea green and ending with the fact that, well, it's pea green, but it's mine.

And by mine I mean not mine at all. I don't own it. My parents don't even own it. But it owns me.

That's my brother and me on our first trip to Tahoe. The man is my father. He's behind the mustache somewhere. I don't know how many times I've been to Tahoe since. I could count but it would require all of my fingers and most, if not all, of my toes and I just don't have time for that. Why would I want a 35,000,000 dollar lake front house when I could have a pea soup converted garage where I lost my very first tooth.
Yes, that's me. Yes, I know I look like a little boy. Yes, the hair looked much cuter when it was curled. Yes, the tooth fairy found me even in that remote little cabin. Yes, I was quite worried that she wouldn't.

We went back. I draped myself over my brother, a pose I would continue to do well into my teenage years. I'm really not sure why. It was weird. Once he started looking the same age as me and people started mistaking us for a couple on several occasions, I stopped this nonsense. I didn't need to add fuel to the repulsive and inappropriate fire.

We went back and went back and went back and Tahoe became an addiction. She's like a drug I can't quit. I can go a year without visiting. I can go two. But try to get me into a third year and I start convulsing on the couch, begging for a hit.Oh, look at that, I was at least only somewhat draped over Jon in that photo. Although, I'm sure you're hardly looking at where my arms are. Indeed, my face had been swallowed by a mask and snorkel. It's okay. I survived. So did my brother. We bear only a few scars from the fated day when our masks ate us.

If we don't get to use the cabin this summer, I'm going to put a tent up in the yard and refuse to take it down. That's how badly I want to go back. It's been a year and a half. I'm practically dying from withdrawal.

So while my heart might not be quite as warm if I owned one of those million dollars homes, and even if I still had to drive by my pea cabin every now and then, I'd certainly enjoy entertaining if I had one. I'd get my fix every, single, day when I looked out the window. I'd smell pine and swim in icy waters and raft the Truckee. And I think, on some small scale, the world would be a better place.

So are you still with me? My bank account is waiting...