26

Numbers.  We live by them. Birthdays. Holidays. Anniversaries. Deadlines. Payday.

You get the idea.

I have a number that keeps cropping up in my life: 26.

Why 26, you ask? I grew up on 26th Street in Tucson. 5962 East to be exact.

One of my first addresses in Seattle was 12626.

I took my first real, professional job at 26.  I was the youngest on the staff of the Ag Communications Department at the University of Nevada Reno.  It was the start of an important phase in my life—family, first house, children, pets.

In fact, the first house we owned was 26 East Gault Way in Sparks, Nevada. “Reno is so close to hell you can see Sparks,” as the saying goes.

Then, my little blonde sidekick, Sally, was born on the 26th—of February.  Her breed, Cairn, is also the name of a stack of rocks on a trail to mark the way for hikers.  And she was born in Texas.  I’ve always been a sucker for short, Texas blondes…

More recently the 26th has become our new place anniversary.  Sal and I re-relocated to Tucson from Dallas on July 26th.  So today marks our 6th “month-a-versary” (my best high school friend coined the term to mark the celebration of the months of the first year of marriage to his bride.  So, “month-a-versary” it is.

Six months in a new/old place.  New to Sal, a rebirth of sorts for me.  The house is new to us, but the place, its grid of streets, its ring of mountains, the perpetual sun, are familiar yet fresh and comforting.

Here’s to 6 months on the 26th.

Scroll to Top