In a chance conversation with my Dad yesterday, I learned he yearned to sell his home and move to Oregon, have a place on five acres with a river running across it somewhere, so he can have a sizeable garden.

The thought struck such a chord with me that I've been searching on the 'net, looking for places like that - and I've found them. At more than reasonable prices.

Not that we're ready to move, not that Dad would up, sell, and move Mom and himself North - actually, he's demurring now - but the thought teases, beckons. How would we live? Don't care. How would we survive? We'd manage. Rain? Love it. Snow? Rare, depending on where you are.

Possibilities have now opened up - the vistas are endless, and I've been beckoned away - not just away *from* here, but away *to* there.

It makes all the difference in the world. It's one thing, not liking where you live - it's another, totally, knowing in an instant where you *could* live.

It makes the writing more real, somehow. Instead of feeling pressure to "make it", it's a desire to "go somewhere". And who cares that Europe will be a couple hundred dollars more from Oregon. We'll deal.

I feel, somehow, like I've finally got a goal worth while, something that makes my writing make sense. Because I know well that nothing else will let us go up there.

I've been reading of people who sold up, moved out of So. Cal and up to Washington State, or Oregon. They couldn't handle the rural-ness, or the weather - and upon coming back, they can't afford to buy. That won't be me, if I ever make it up there. Oregon is so damn beautiful.

And this market is amazing. I just hope I can take advantage of it at the right time.

I hope my Dad can. I'd love to be able to hand him his dream. I just don't know how he'd do, accepting it.