d the foundation for the window. Each rock was lovingly cemented in place. The stone wall rose about two feet where it met the window casing.

A small stereo played Andrea Bocelli all night as the waves gently washed against the stones. And in the morning, ah . . . in the morning. As the sun rose, it lit up the peaks of the Olympic Mountains. How Susan did it, I'll never know, but the highest peak in the range was dead center in t

A friend of mine kept inviting my wife and I to dinner. They even said we could stay the night in their guest cottage. Finally, we found a date that worked. We went for dinner and stayed the night. It will live in memory for the rest of my life.

Jim and Susan had been to our home for dinner and to one of our anniversary parties, but we had never been to their place. We live in Tacoma and they live in West Seattle. That's probably a distance of only 35 miles or so. Depending upon traffic it takes around forty-five minutes to get there. With a full meal and drinks I hate to drive, however, so the invitation to stay the night was attractive.

Their home is on the water. Susan has done a fantastic job with their home. The house surrounded by trees looks like a little gem from a fairy tale. It is picture perfect. The guesthouse was even more perfect.

The home faces Puget Sound. In the background are the Olympic Mountains. We had dinner near the beach where Jim had a barbeque and patio built. It was a nice dinner. We laughed and talked for hours. But I don't remember the other couple at all, what I remember is the guesthouse.

The guesthouse had been a dilapidated boat-house with concrete walls and no roof. Susan transformed it. Even the littlest details were made absolutely perfect. The hinges on the door were handmade in a Bavarian style at a local forge. The green slate floor had cozy rugs and a drain for the shower. The crawl-up-into-bed, which dominated the floor space, looked like something out of the Three Bears . . . and with goose-down comforters, it was "just right."

The front of the old boat-house had been replaced with a picture window. Jim and Susan had scoured the beach for the rocks that formed the foundation for the window. Each rock was lovingly cemented in place. The stone wall rose about two feet where it met the window casing.

A small stereo played Andrea Bocelli all night as the waves gently washed against the stones. And in the morning, ah . . . in the morning. As the sun rose, it lit up the peaks of the Olympic Mountains. How Susan did it, I'll never know, but the highest peak in the range was dead center in th

a distance of only 35 miles or so. Depending upon traffic it takes around forty-five minutes to get there. With a full meal and drinks I hate to drive, however, so the invitation to stay the night was attractive.

Their home is on the water. Susan has done a fantastic job with their home. The house surrounded by trees looks like a little gem from a fairy tale. It is picture perfect. The guesthouse was even more perfect.

The home faces Puget Sound. In the background are the Olympic Mountains. We had dinner near the beach where Jim had a barbeque and patio built. It was a nice dinner. We laughed and talked for hours. But I don't remember the other couple at all, what I remember is the guesthouse.

The guesthouse had been a dilapidated boat-house with concrete walls and no roof. Susan transformed it. Even the littlest details were made absolutely perfect. The hinges on the door were handmade in a Bavarian style at a local forge. The green slate floor had cozy rugs and a drain for the shower. The crawl-up-into-bed, which dominated the floor space, looked like something out of the Three Bears . . . and with goose-down comforters, it was "just right."

The front of the old boat-house had been replaced with a picture window. Jim and Susan had scoured the beach for the rocks that formed the foundation for the window. Each rock was lovingly cemented in place. The stone wall rose about two feet where it met the window casing.

A small stereo played Andrea Bocelli all night as the waves gently washed against the stones. And in the morning, ah . . . in the morning. As the sun rose, it lit up the peaks of the Olympic Mountains. How Susan did it, I'll never know, but the highest peak in the range was dead center in t

home faces Puget Sound. In the background are the Olympic Mountains. We had dinner near the beach where Jim had a barbeque and patio built. It was a nice dinner. We laughed and talked for hours. But I don't remember the other couple at all, what I remember is the guesthouse.

The guesthouse had been a dilapidated boat-house with concrete walls and no roof. Susan transformed it. Even the littlest details were made absolutely perfect. The hinges on the door were handmade in a Bavarian style at a local forge. The green slate floor had cozy rugs and a drain for the shower. The crawl-up-into-bed, which dominated the floor space, looked like something out of the Three Bears . . . and with goose-down comforters, it was "just right."

The front of the old boat-house had been replaced with a picture window. Jim and Susan had scoured the beach for the rocks that formed the foundation for the window. Each rock was lovingly cemented in place. The stone wall rose about two feet where it met the window casing.

A small stereo played Andrea Bocelli all night as the waves gently washed against the stones. And in the morning, ah . . . in the morning. As the sun rose, it lit up the peaks of the Olympic Mountains. How Susan did it, I'll never know, but the highest peak in the range was dead center in t

. The hinges on the door were handmade in a Bavarian style at a local forge. The green slate floor had cozy rugs and a drain for the shower. The crawl-up-into-bed, which dominated the floor space, looked like something out of the Three Bears . . . and with goose-down comforters, it was "just right."

The front of the old boat-house had been replaced with a picture window. Jim and Susan had scoured the beach for the rocks that formed the foundation for the window. Each rock was lovingly cemented in place. The stone wall rose about two feet where it met the window casing.

A small stereo played Andrea Bocelli all night as the waves gently washed against the stones. And in the morning, ah . . . in the morning. As the sun rose, it lit up the peaks of the Olympic Mountains. How Susan did it, I'll never know, but the highest peak in the range was dead center in t

d the foundation for the window. Each rock was lovingly cemented in place. The stone wall rose about two feet where it met the window casing.

A small stereo played Andrea Bocelli all night as the waves gently washed against the stones. And in the morning, ah . . . in the morning. As the sun rose, it lit up the peaks of the Olympic Mountains. How Susan did it, I'll never know, but the highest peak in the range was dead center in the picture window. As the sun rose higher it lit up the water view. From bed all you can see is Puget Sound and the Olympic Mountains.

We stayed in bed wrapped in each other's arms listening to the music, the waves, and drinking in the beauty of the Pacific Northwest. We didn't want to leave.