The Play's the Thing

Julian enjoyed his first night out at the theater (or should I say "theatre"?) last night.How does one take an eight week old to see a play? Thanks to summer, outdoor theater in Seattle is abundant, so yesterday evening we caught a performance of the improvised classic, "The Lost Folio", wherein a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions was created on the spot using audience suggestions. Julian didn't offer any suggestions, unless you count suddenly shrieking. What brought on the unexpected outburst? A few minutes later he burped, then all's well that ends well.

The brilliance of outdoor theater with a baby was that by positioning myself at the edge of the audience I was able to make a quick exit if needed, or simply walk back and forth with my son in my arms from the back of the crowd, disturbing no one, yet still able to enjoy the show myself. I could also pass him off to Michael and take my seat back on the grass to enjoy some of the delicious picnic that had been assembled between us and our friends - quinoa salad, Vietnamese spring rolls, barbeque turkey meatballs, cupcakes, and more.

In years to come, I hope Julian will learn to enjoy seeing live theater for himself, but in the meantime, it's great to know that he can tag along while his parents enjoy a summer evening out. A free show, friends, great food, and a sunny spot on the grass without having to pay for a sitter make the most out of our fleeting summer eves.

While the Sun Shines

Here in the Pacific Northwest we await summer with expectations high, glorified memories of sunny days past bursting through the rain clouds that fill our vision. There's nothing quite like waking to the sound of rain drops pelting against your windowpane in June. After eight months of saying, "Oh, summer in Seattle, it makes the winter drizzle worth it!", the sense that the weather has let you down out of pure spite is hard to shake.

So we are cautious now. We recall the saying that summer in western Washington doesn't start until after - that's right, after - the Fourth of July, and hold on to the hope that the last decade of shorts and flip flops, sunglasses and sunscreen while munching burgers and potato salad on the lawn in dutiful celebration of our nation's birth wasn't just a fluke. It was easy, in those years, to forget the times we suffered, bundled in sweatshirts and positioning buffet tables under cover, knowing that a "chance of showers" has less to do with chance and more to do with showers.

When a sunny day dawns, spirits soar. It's like nothing so much as falling in love. I love you, Seattle! There's the sensation that my heart is actually swelling as I pass beneath the big leaf maples that line my favorite stretch of road in our neighborhood. The overlapping leaves above my head form a mosaic of dappled green, illuminated by the glorious sunlight. Lake Washington shimmers below, a sapphire blue reflection of the sky.

But tomorrow? Well, who would dare to predict it? Make hay while the sun shines, as they say (not mentioning, of course, that a sudden storm can turn the freshly mown hay to rot before it ever gets to the barn). We wait and hope, but hesitate to speak aloud, fearful that the sunny spell be broken.

Chiang's

When pondering what to do for dinner on Sunday night, Michael decided that nothing sounded good but Chinese food. And for us, Chinese food means pretty much one thing only: Chiang's.

We couldn't remember the last time we'd been to Chiang's, which is a sure sign that it had been too long. Chiang's is something of an institution in north Seattle, the funny place with the red vinyl banquettes stuffed inside a former A&W Root Beer joint, the sign proudly proclaiming "Chiang's Gourmet", even though it looks more like something you'd find adjacent to a truck stop than a dining destination. But for Chinese food in north Seattle there's no place finer, and everyone knows it.

We decided to branch out a bit and try some new dishes, the problem being that we tend to get the same items each time we go. But I knew that we hadn't really mined the depths of what Chiang's has to offer, and we were more than pleased with what we found: leek dumplings, bursting with an herby, woodsy mixture of... what? leeks? leeks and...? Michael declared he didn't want to know; he knew they were darn tasty, and that was all he needed. We also went for the spicy Szechuan pan-fried homemade noodles, the hotness of the red peppers melding with the numbing quality of Szechuan peppercorns. Wanting to be sure we ate our greens, we also ordered an old favorite, the sauteed pea vines, which come in a brilliant green puddle, wilted in a mound of garlicky goodness.

Of course, these dishes are all pretty pedestrian compared to many of Chiang's other offerings; their Chinese menu (they have two dinner menus: Chinese and American) also includes such delicacies as the tofu of strong odor, jellyfish, and pig intestines. We have not tried any of these items as of yet, and I have to admit we probably won't any time soon, but it's somehow reassuring just to know they're there.

But I still have a few spicy Szechuan noodles leftover for my lunch today, and that is definitely something to look forward to.

Dance Like You Mean It

There's this thing called the Seattle Head Nod. Or so I've heard it called. Go to a live rock show, and people don't dance. They nod. Heads bobbing in time to the music. Heck, that means you're into it. Everyone else is standing stock still, beer in hand, or hanging out in the back, catching up with friends.

Because, you know, you don't want to get too carried away. Except That Guy in front, dancing like a maniac, a lone hip shaker in a crowd that barely sways to the beat. But who wants to be That Guy?

Secretly: everyone wants to be That Guy. Well, maybe not everyone, but come on, he's having fun. And last night, at the Sunset Tavern, there were a lot of folks who decided to let their hair down and just have fun.

It was the album release party for the Tripwires, and no doubt the fact that these guys have been around for, oh, a couple decades, playing in bands ranging from the Screaming Trees to the Model Rockets, played a part in the festive atmosphere. The small crowd seemed filled with many who knew the band, and connections were tight between the Tripwires and their opening acts, Small Change and Llama. During the first two sets, Liz and I were happily head bobbing to the music, but when the Tripwires came on stage, everyone let loose.

People shimmied and swayed, twisted and turned. Up on stage, the band members sweated it out in sports coats, jumping and grinning and playing to the crowd. As people squeezed by to get to the restroom, I more than once felt someone's hands lightly at my waist - not in an obtrusive way, mind you. These were just people passing through, and rather than elbow their way by or try to skirt around us with as little contact as possible, they weren't afraid of a little touching out of consideration. It was, well, friendly. And like little kids dancing out of sheer youthful joy, we just felt happy to be there.

After all, there's no shame in being that lone dancer when you have a whole crowd backing you up. And dancing to the Tripwires beats doing the Seattle Head Nod any day of the week.

Bring It On Home

Late last Monday afternoon, following a harrowing night trying to sleep in the Athens airport, a total of thirteen hours in flight, one layover, U.S. customs, and our first ever ride on Seattle's new light rail, Michael and I arrived back home.

Determined to stay awake until a decent bedtime, we headed out for groceries at Costco. The car radio was tuned to KEXP, and within ten seconds the opening strains of the Zombies' "Time of the Season" came over the airwaves.

Which just so happens to be the song that was running through my head as our last flight made its way to Seattle.

Which proves that the DJs at KEXP are not only capable of spinning a great mix, but are also psychic.

Hey, Seattle, it's great to be home.

Summer Sun and Summer Sniffles

This last week did not go exactly as planned. After a busy weekend that began with very little sleep on Friday night (not for any wild and crazy reason - I was simply volunteering overnight at the young adult shelter), I found myself with a sore throat on Monday, and more or less fully sick on Tuesday. Ah, colds! Isn't winter supposed to be the season for them? I must say I'd rather that were the case, as staying home with a cold, yet without air conditioning, during Seattle's hottest heat wave ever was not particularly pleasant. It was nice to be back at work in the land of AC on Thursday, but unfortunately my stuffy sinuses and cough still linger.

Still, we managed a little fun in the sun before the my being confined to the cooler climes of our basement for the week. On Sunday, some of our loosely named "young adults" group from church biked out to the Redhook Brewery in Woodinville, while on Monday evening Michael, Leslie, Amy V, and I enjoyed the substantially less sweaty activity of lying on the grass at Lakeside School, listening to the sounds of Haydn, Brahms, and Bartok as the Seattle Chamber Music Society broadcast their live performance for the benefit of listeners on the lawn.

And now July has ended. August begins in full force with an outdoor wedding tonight, and in the meantime I struggle to find the energy to take Lucy on a walk this afternoon. A little summer sun, I can handle, but summer sniffles, well, that's one thing I won't miss when fall comes around.

Play Days

One of the best things about Seattle in the summer is that there are so many free events happening. It's as though, since we spend more than half the year under cloud cover, apprehensive of grey skies that could suddenly morph into rain, we have no choice but to take advantage of even the possibility of sun by spending as much time outdoors as possible.

This weekend, Seattle outdid itself with the free events - the Chinatown Street Fair, Green Lake Milk Carton Derby, the Outdoor Theater Festival at Volunteer Park, concerts at the Locks, and West Seattle Summerfest, just to name a few. Waking up to gloriously sunny skies, and shirking our household responsibilities, Michael and I packed a picnic lunch into the car yesterday morning, picked up David, Joan, and Hazel from their current house-sit, and headed to Green Lake with Lucy nervously digging in to Michael's lap in the front seat.

Starting with the milk carton derby, we watched as boats ranging in design from viking ships to clownfish to a human powered "hamster wheel" took to the water with only milk cartons (and the occasional orange juice carton, I noted) as flotation. Leslie met up with us in time for lunch, before we headed to the other side of the lake for a free (donations accepted, of course) performance of Noel Coward's "Hay Fever".

"I don't think we'll be able to get seats," Michael was pessimistic when we found ourselves getting to the playhouse later than planned. "There are too many people here."

"Yes, but on a day like today, people are here for the park - not an indoor play," I responded. Sure enough, the playhouse was nearly empty, and we enjoyed front row seats. My theory proved correct.

But what if you could enjoy a play and the outdoors together? That, doubtlessly, was one of the inspirations behind the popular "Shakespeare in the Park" performances that pop up every year. Even after one play, Michael, Leslie, and our friends Stephanie and Sandy decided they were still up for a performance of The Comedy of Errors at Volunteer Park. Heading to Capitol Hill also gave us the chance to try Bluebird, the newest of the popular homemade ice cream shops that have been multiplying this summer. Michael and I split a cone with a deliciously creamy scoop each of northwest strawberry and peanut butter.

One things about plays, however, is that they don't afford much opportunity to visit with your friends, unless you arrive early. And not all of our friends (ahem) are known for punctuality. Fortunately, a trip to B&O after the show, where they open the windows on the north end of the cafe to the sidewalk in good weather, gave us a chance to chat.

It turns out the timing for the day's events was perfect, as storm clouds rolled in overnight, leaving me rushing to take the laundry down from the porch in the morning rain. Still, a little spot of rain should never stop a true northwesterner from enjoying their summer. After an indoor brunch this morning at Curio Confections (which I highly recommend), my friend, Lewissa, and I braved possible showers and headed out to the West Seattle Summerfest to explore more bakeries, drink a little booze, do a little shopping, and listen to Kim Virant perform. And the rain? After a few noncommittal drops, it disappeared, leaving us with familiar grey skies and pleasantly temperate temperatures.

Tomorrow it is back to work - and supposedly sunnier skies. How I wish summer weekends in Seattle could last all week long. But perhaps it's better this way - after all, I need some time to plan and prepare for the next one!

Signs of Summer

It's summer in Seattle! How do I know?

• We can make sun tea on the porch - most days, at least.
• I can hang the laundry to dry on the porch - again, on most days.
  
• Michael even cleaned the porch to get it ready for summer shindigs (Hmm, many of these reasons seem to focus on the porch...)
• We have a new barbeque (also located on the porch)! In fact, it arrived today, and I, with some help from our summer housemate, David, who moved in today with his wife, Joan, and daughter, Hazel, put it together tonight.
• David, Joan, and Hazel have moved in for the summer!
  
• I can leave my heavy coat behind and go in to work with my jean jacket instead.
• The dog has new red toenails! No more of those winter booties in the house, she can now come straight in from the outside in her little plastic red nail caps (chosen because it would be difficult to easily notice should she lose a black nail cap) with no fear of scratching the floors (this, not the weather, was the real reason behind the house booties). Doesn't it just say summer when you see a dog out for an evening walk with crimson toes? Doesn't it? Anybody?

Well, red toenails or not, summer is here and we - including Lucy - are loving it.

You've Been Good, Have a Beer!

OK, so Las Vegas was, in its way, fabulous, but let's be honest - the desert and casinos just aren't really my thing. So I was just a little happy to be back in Seattle today, despite the clouds and cooler temperatures, and I was also more than a little happy to check out the newest addition to our downtown Lake City merchants: The Beer Authority.

Yes! I kid you not! Lake City now has a beer shop! And, in all seriousness, I didn't intend for those last sentances to (almost) rhyme, but I must have been so excited that I spontaneously burst into verse. The Beer Authority has taken over the spot that once was Flava Coffee, and, while it is admittedly smaller and feels less lived-in than Bottleworks, they offer a fantastic selection at prices comparable to the other, not quite so local, places I go for beer, plus they have a 5% neighborhood discount. They even have a website already: http://seattlebeerauthority.com/

OK, I should probably stop before I start to sound like a literal advertisement for the place. No, I am not being paid, I just really enjoy good beer and supporting local independent businesses. Lake City has lost too many of those in recent years, so I hope the neighborhood will show it's dedication to the ones that are still there and the ones just starting out as best we can.

And in further Lake City news, I also saw that the vacated space that used to house the upholstery shop next to Toyoda Sushi (and which has since moved down the street to the former Taco del Mar location) has proclaimed in handwritten black marker on the brown paper lining the windows that it is soon to be a coffee shop! Now I am doubly excited because since Flava and Cranium's left we have had no real coffee shop to speak of, and I do not count the two Starbucks shops. They are too far from the downtown core to be easily walkable, anyway, aside from the fact that Starbucks in Seattle - or anywhere, fo that matter - is hardly unique.

But our future coffee shop needs a name and they are seeking submissions. You can leave yours by the door of their humble location. Let's also hope that they can put forth a good paint job and some fun decor to appeal to the locals, too. Lake City, I knew you had it in you!

Showing Off Seattle

I love playing tour guide. This, I suppose, is one reason why I actually am something of a guide in Real Life - an assistant tour guide, but that's close enough, right? So when two of my cousins, Audrey and Bethany, along with their friend Becca, asked if they could stay with us for the weekend for the purpose of hearing one of Audrey's favorite singers, AA Bondy, perform at the Tractor Tavern, my first thought was "Yes! I can play tour guide for the day and show them Seattle!"

OK, not really. That was not literally my first thought. In truth, I was more excited by the fact that some of my cousins were interested in coming up to visit, even if the visiting part was not their primary motivation. While most of my cousins, all of whom are younger than I, have moved into adulthood, I've spent little time with them since my own teen years, back when I was the babysitter or just the goofy older cousin. It's an interesting experience for me to get to know my cousins now as peers rather than cute (and sometimes mischievous - although I wouldn't really put Bethany or Audrey in that category) little kids, reading Ranger Rick magazines, eating peanut butter sandwiches, and playing dress-up with grandma's inherited costume jewelry collection.

But playing tour guide was a nice little perk (Seriously - I love showing people my town - take me up on that offer if you dare!). In Wallingford we tasted wines at Bella Cosa, ice cream at Molly Moon's, cupcakes at Trophy, and Bethany even bought a bottle of one of my favorite beers to take home from Bottleworks. We hit Gasworks, the samples at Theo Chocolates, and rummaged through the crazy (crazy ugly, in many cases) fashions of the past at the Fremont Vintage Mall. I discovered, not that it was a surprise, that visiting the locks on a February evening is pretty dull - there are no boats and no fish - and still managed a brief evening trip down the beach at Golden Gardens despite the fading light. Following dinner at Root Table in Ballard we headed to the Tractor, and I have to say that Audrey has pretty good taste in music. We were treated to some great performances to cap off the evening, and Audrey seemed more than please to report that AA Bondy was, "way better in person."

They've turned out pretty well, I think. At least they put up with all my random Seattle factoids and stories pretty well, so they're nothing if not polite. I think I need to stop referring to, "If it was summer..." in my Seattle guiding. But hey, maybe it will encourage people to come back!

Sounds Like Seattle

"Seattle has one of the best live music scenes," claimed my friend Kristina.

"Really?" I asked. We were sitting at the High Dive, having just listened to a set by the band Ivan and Alyosha, a band that neither of us had even heard of before Thursday, but one we both found so enjoyable that we couldn't resist the CDs they were selling for five bucks apiece.

"Well, maybe not like New York, but..."

"How about L.A.?"

"I don't think L.A. can compare with Seattle."

I sipped my beer thoughtfully (if that's possible). To be honest, I really don't know if that's an accurate assessment or not, and those who are still mourning the loss of Seattle's indie music rag, The Rocket (despite the fact it departed almost ten years ago) may disagree. But just thinking about it made me feel pretty lucky to be sitting right where I was, listening to bands no one's ever heard of, but are nonetheless pretty darn good. I've been to a grand total of one live music show in L.A., and while the bands there were also unknowns, they actually deserved to stay that way. Not that this one experience is in any way indicative of the L.A. music scene, but it seemed to lend some credence to Kristina's assertion.

Unfortunately, I haven't always taken good advantage of what Seattle has to offer. This past week was an exception, as I made it to two shows in the span of seven days, the first one being the Supreme Beings of Leisure at Chop Suey this past Saturday. That night I was happy to groove to familiar songs, but there's a certain thrill that comes when taking a chance on something unfamiliar and being rewarded with great music. It's something I'd like to experience more often. And in Seattle, apparentely, I have plenty of opportunities.

A Winter Evening at Gasworks Park: A Photo Series with Accompanying Haiku

Houses by water
Sparkle in the evening sun
Gasworks glows golden

Microphones above
From below we wonder what
On earth it's about

Sailing peacefully
Oh, where do you go from here?
I'd follow gladly

Branches are barren
Much like the former foundry
Still beauty is there

Is it truly hard
To look in my direction
For a photograph?

The Joule of Wallingford

There is a tiny restaurant in Wallingford that goes by the name of Joule. On winter Sundays, they dispense with their everyday menu and offer up a theme dinner for the bargain price of $20 per person. Add to this the fact that they also offer house wine for only $4 a glass and, well, this is a deal that's hard to beat in this city.

But what's really hard to beat is the story of how Michael, Liz, and I finally made it to our dinner reservation there last night.

It started out simply enough. Michael and I motored our way down Lake City Way, heading onto Roosevelt on our way to Liz's place.

"Aren't you going to turn here?" Michael asked innocently when I drove past the Roosevelt Safeway.

"No, Liz told me this morning her house is on 70th, I'll turn there." I had, in fact, dropped Liz off at her place before, but it had been awhile, it had been after dark, and I'd never bothered to remember which street it was on anyway. Momentarily I pulled up across from a house on 70th. Michael hesitated.

"This isn't right," he told me.

"Well, this is what she told me. Come on, get out of the car, and go see if she's there." Honestly, it didn't look right to me either, but I was positive Liz had said 70th... that morning after church, with the fellowship hall full of the clamor of post-service chat.... and I was talking with that new guy... he was standing between us... OK, OK, this sounded bad, but I had repeated it back to her, and had gotten confirmation in the affirmative; this had to be right.

Michael was still unconvinced. We were running late by now, and I impatiently urged him to get into the car while I checked. I lightly ran up the steps of the craftsman on the corner and peeked through the window, only to find a living room that looked very much like an actual living room, complete with mission style furnishings and lovely artwork. In short, it looked nothing like the rental house where Liz lived with seven guys would actually look. I ran across the street, trying to get my bearings. All the houses looked like perfect mini-craftsmens, the kind where middle-class urban families settle when they decide to have children, or at least a family dog. Something was wrong.

It was then that I realized something was more than wrong, something was downright sinister. Michael, and the car, were gone.

OK, Ruth Ann, don't panic. Think, think.

My first thought was to run down the street screaming, "Liz!" I even tried that once or twice, then realized I should be thankful that everyone was probably watching the Superbowl and therefore unable to hear me make a fool of myself. Then, it came to me. 70th Street sounds an awful lot like 75th street, when you think about it... could it be?

I spun on a dime and started running uphill towards 75th. I didn't even pause when I passed the man lugging his Christmas tree as he trudged up the sidewalk; this whole experience was turning surreal. Who takes out their Christmas tree in February? And why carry it for five blocks? I had no time to ask such questions, however; I was almost there.

Liz, however, was not there at all. Three of the guys, all wearing hoodies, answered the door about a minute after I rang. "Someone was coming to give her a ride," one of them offered.

"Yes," I responded, "That would be be me."

Dejectedly, I stood on the sidewalk in my shirtsleeves, warm from my recent run. Surely, I thought, Michael must have realized where Liz was and come to pick her up, and surely he would come back to find me - although, having been left stranded once already at 70th, I wasn't feeling particularly optimistic.

Then, just as I was pondering whether to wait or head back down the hill, our little Vibe pulled up to the traffic light. Michael and Liz were both inside. We made it to our reservation (thankfully John, the other member of our party, had had the good sense to arrive on time), and sat down to a lovely meal. Hot duck noodle soup, ginger roasted carrots, and chicken rolled and stuffed with sticky rice, gingko nuts, and dates were just some of the delightful dishes included in our prix-fixe meal.

At the end of the evening, we stirred sponnfuls of honey studded with finely shredded quince into hot water to create a soothing tea. The theme for the evening's supper had been "Cure for the Common Cold", and each ingredient was purported to have specific health benefits. I'm not sure if dates really have a "calming effect", but we all felt relaxed as the meal drew to a close.

I look forward to another winter supper at Joule soon, but next time I don't plan on running up any hills to work up an appetite.

Food of the Gods

When you think of Seattle, what comes to mind?
a) the Space Needle
b) grunge
c) Bill Gates
d) chocolate!

There are no right answers here, but there is a better answer, and if you chose d) chocolate, congratulations! You have very good taste.

Seattle is home to the only certified organic and fair trade chocolate maker (not to be confused with chocolate melters, which are the many companies that buy partially processed chocolate and melt it to create their own confections) in the United States. And luckily for us who live here, they offer tours. For the bargain price of $6 you get an entertaining, informative look at their factory in Fremont, and as many chocolate samples as your heart desires. Is there a better way to spend an afternoon? My friend Rebecca, for whom this tour was a dream come true, would doubtlessly respond to that question with a firm, "No!" And far be it from me to argue.

Stephanie, Rebecca, and I took our first tour of Theo (I say first because I'm sure I'll be back) yesterday afternoon. While the factory shop stocks plenty of samples and is well worth visiting on its own, the tour brought chocolate to life. Our guide was a young, chipper employee, happy to share her company's mission of bringing delicious, sustainable, and socially responsible chocolate to the world, and able to answer every questions her audience threw her. As a guide myself, albeit in a far different capacity, I was impressed.

But the best part, of course, is the chocolate - the food of the gods, as the botanical name for the cocoa plant implies. We tried dark chocolates from Ghana or the Ivory Coast, milk chocolate flavored with chai tea, chipotle spice truffles, freshly roasted cocoa nibs, dark chocolate with orange, and much, much more. And since Theo chocolates do not come cheap - quite understandably so after you've taken the tour and learned the difference between their products and methods and those of the mass market - this feels like the best gourmet deal in Seattle.

One taste, and any chocolate lover is sure to agree.

Big John's

One of Seattle's best kept secrets (in my humble opinion, of course) is hidden at the back of an old brick warehouse on Airport Way, only a few blocks south of Uwajimaya, yet a world apart. The location, to say the least, does not inspire confidence in the uninitiated.

"Why are you driving down here?" Michael asked me as I pulled into what appeared to be a merely a parking lot down a gravelly hill by a decrepit building.

"This is it," I told him. "This is PFI!"

PFI, or, if you want to get technical, Big John's Pacific Food Importers, is a small shop crammed with all manner of Italian and other European, Mediterranean, and Middle Eastern imported foods, most sold at lower prices than can be found elsewhere in town - if, that is, you can even find some of these items elsewhere. Of course, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and Italian pasta are sold everywhere nowadays, but is your local grocery mart going to offer frantoia olive oil or spaghetti noodles that are three feet long? No, I didn't think so.

And the cheese counter at PFI will make any lover of the curds salivate. Cheeses that sell for $25 a pound at Central Market of Whole Foods might be $15 per pound here. And if you, like Michael and I, are a kalamata olive snob and only like the unpitted kind (believe me - pitting the olives before selling them noticeably decreases their flavor; we know, we've tested this theory), this is one place you can always reliably find them. The catch: with bulk chesses and olives, you must buy at least one pound, making PFI a kind of Costco of the specialty food world.

I regret to say that this was the first time I had made it back to PFI in more than a year. Its location, coupled with the fact that I don't technically need most of the things they sell here, inadvertnatly led to a PFI dry spell. Now, finally, I was going to get that good bottle of balsamic vinegar again, after having subsisted on the cheaper Trader Joe's version for at least a year. Life has been hard, what can I say?

Today I was also in luck because the other item I really needed - fresh mozerella - was on sale, and I snagged a three pound tub for five dollars. Unheard of!

"This is still OK?" I questioned the woman at the cash register. I was going to use it on the pizzas I was making for our neighbors who came over for dinner tonight. The dinner was, in part, a way of thanking them for the help they'd given in patching up our broken window while we were gone at Christmas (see the blog post, "When Winter Trees Begin to Fall"), and passing on the gift of food poisoning wasn't really what I had in mind.

"It's fine, it's just that they were dated for yesterday, so you should eat it soon," she told me.

No problem. For five bucks, that didn't even register as a risk, in my opinion.

Michael and I headed to the car with our purchases, and I pulled out the can of San Pellegrino Limonata soda I'd found for him. We traded sips as we drove home.

"It's such a strange place," Michael told me. "It's kind of run down, and there were some weird smells in the back."

I reminded him of the not-so-distant past when one had to use a ten gallon bucket as a shopping basket; that, along with four ramshackle shopping carts in various stages of falling apart, were all they had on hand.

"If they fixed it up too much, they'd probably charge more," I countered. Then maybe Big John's would be secret no longer. And really, feeling like you're one of the ones in the know is half the fun.

When Winter Trees Begin to Fall

While typing an email to a friend via facebook earlier today, an unexpected message from our housemate, Amy, flashed on the screen.

"A tree branch fell through the guest bedroom window. Please call me when you get this message."

It wasn't exactly the Christmas present I expected, to say the least. I immediately called Amy, who gave me the complete picture, including a couple of actual pictures that she posted on facebook so I could assess the damage from my current location in Phoenix (isn't technology great sometimes?). Broken glass shards on the floor, butt end of a douglas fir branch with the diameter of horse hoof resting on the sill, poking through the blinds a good four inches or so - yep, a branch had indeed fallen through. The recent snowfall, it seems, was too much for this branch to bear, and the weight of this heavy load had sent it crashing down.

But look on the bright side: no one was hurt, and with Amy home to hear the crash and feel the house rattle, the situation was under control in a mere two hours or so. With the help of lovely neighbors and friends who came to the rescue, the glass was swept up, the branch cleared away with the help of a chainsaw (hey, I can't say it didn't have it coming, cheeky branch! the nerve!), and the broken window was even removed and replaced with insulating foam to protect the guest room from the elements. Michael and I are incredibly grateful for such support and hard work.

And in the end, this is no great tragedy. We'll order a new window when we get back home, and in the meantime, the guest room will simply be out of commission. Sorry, potential sleepover pals! We can still make room for you if you need a bed.

Speaking of which, it's time I head for bed myself. By the time I post this, it will be Christmas day in Arizona. So merry Christmas to all, and safe slumbers, free from falling trees!

Leaving Las Vegas

In about three hours or so, we'll be leaving Las Vegas, and I have yet to set foot inside a casino. I must be just about the only person to visit Vegas who can honestly say that. The truth is, casinos have never really interested me, although it would be something to see the spectacle that is the Strip. There will be other times for that, but the main purpose of this brief trip was to visit Michael's brother, Ryan, and his fiancee and future step-son, so we mainly stayed close to home.

Not that staying home can't produce the unexpected - I was standing in the middle of a Barnes & Noble yesterday, taking care of some last minute Christmas shopping for our southwestern relations, when I heard a voice exclaim, "Ruth Haggard?!" OK, so my name used to be Ruth Hagglund, not Haggard, but this was close enough to make me look up and take notice. I found myself staring across a display at a woman who, I realized after a second or two of sheer blankness, was a former high school classmate of mine.

"Kelly?" I said, thanking God that I remembered her name. I have been thrown for a loop several times in the past when meeting people from an earlier stage in my life unexpectedly. It's a little embarrassing.

"Yeah!" was the response. And I got to hear the brief synopsis of what had transpired in her life since high school, as well as a few other people who had been with me from kindergarten through graduation. None were part of my little circle of friends (I wasn't one of the popular people, but in a small town, you still know everyone), but it was still exciting to hear what they are up to, and, from the sound of it, to know that they are doing well. This is the first news I've heard of just about any of my classmates in years, and to think it would happen in a bookstore in northwest Las Vegas!

Besides catching up with old schoolmates, yesterday also introduced me to two wonders of the modern world: Guitar Hero and Lee's Discount Liquors. After an initial struggle getting used to the game, I now rock the bass as a Guitar Hero goddess, alongside Michael or Ryan on the guitar. Michael is now convinced we need our own Guitar Hero game at home, and while I can't say I don't like the idea, I'm not eager to spend the money quite yet.

One thing that cannot be brought home, however, is Lee's Discount Liquors. I laughed when Michael told me the name of this "Costco of Beers", as he put it. Red Neck, much? But this is Vegas, and Nevada has possibly the loosest liquor laws in the nation, although I'm not sure that they can beat the drive-thru daiquiri stands of Louisiana.

Red neck name or not, Lee's is pretty cool if you're into any kind of semi-obscure alcohols; they sell everything, and are certainly not limited to beer, which takes up only a small portion of the massive store. But beer is why we went, so that Michael and I could exclaim over the many Belgians, wheat beers, and other imports both familiar and unknown. We took home a variety to try: the one and only quadrupel ale in the store, a Belgian trippel, a six pack of Flying Dog's In Heat Wheat, which Michael was ecstatic to find, apple lambic, and blueberry oat beer (yeah, that's right - blueberry oat beer; I'd never heard of such a thing, either).

Of course, we did not drink all these beers last night! We saved the In Heat Wheat for later. We drank the Belgians, discovering that the La Chouffe Trippel was an IPA and intensely hoppy, not something Michael or I have really developed a taste for. The Urthel Samaranth Quadrium, my first quadrupel, was so rich and heady (this beer is 11% alcohol!), that I couldn't stay awake for long after finishing my glass. As for the blueberry oat beer, Ryan loved it, but I had a couple of sips and am still not sure what to think of such an odd mix of flavors.

So in the end, I did get to experience one Vegas institution, although I'm not sure that tasting "specialty" beers at home is a very Vegas thing to do. It actually sounds more like a Seattle thing, where, in truth, we could probably find all of these beers at a shop such as Bottleworks. But Bottleworks wouldn't sell about fifty varieties of vodka and cognac for $1400.00 per bottle alongside the beer, and therein lies the real Vegas difference.

Snow Day!

The phone rang around 9:20 this morning, jarring me from my peaceful slumber.

"I'm on Boren," Michael voice came over the receiver. "This is horrible! James is closed. How should I get to the freeway?"

"Wait - it really snowed last night!?" I was a little incredulous.

"Yeah, this idea to take Boren was a bad idea. Oh, it looks like I can take Cherry."

I cringed inwardly, thinking of Michael driving down the dangerously steep hill on Cherry Street to get to the freeway entrance. The truth was, I really hadn't expected this. Walking home for the bus stop at 1:40am, what little snow there had been in Lake City had mostly melted, and the U District where I had just been was completely snow free. Unlike the previous few days, the temperature was now a solid couple of degrees above freezing.

But when I peered out the bathroom window this morning, a white world greeted me. Being as I was scheduled to work the late shift from noon to eight at work today, I called to see if the office was even open. Keith answered the phone, "We're open, but stay home if you need to. They said only to drive in if you feel comfortable."

Thankfully, Michael made it home safely. But he didn't recommend my going anywhere, and frankly, I knew there wouldn't be much to keep me busy at work today if I did make the effort. It looks like this would b e a snow day, after all!

Still, a snow day sounds much more glamorous than it actually is. There will be no sledding for me, no steaming mugs of hot chocolate waiting when I return from the cold. Instead, I will be cleaning out the refrigerator, vacuuming, doing laundry, packing for our trip tomorrow, and wrapping presents. Snow day, indeed!

A Night at the Nutcracker

If there is a Seattle Christmas tradition that is more beloved than the Pacific Northwest Ballet's annual production of the Nutcracker, I'm not sure what it might be. Sure, some may look forward to the lighting of the tree at Westlake following Thanksgiving, but that is a more casual affair, while the Nutcracker is a true "event". And there are those who go to the Nutcracker almost every year, perhaps to see their children or friends' children join the company on stage in a real professional production, or because of the enduring charm of the Maurice Sendak-disigned sets, the fairy-tale costumes, or Tchaikovsky's inspiring music (although Tchaikovsky himself would take issue with that last one - he felt that the Nutcracker was possibly his worst composition, and was terribly disappointed by it).

Years ago, Michael and I saw PNB's Nutcracker for the first time. We had splurged on second tier box seats, and I was almost as excited as one of the six-year-old girls who flock to the Christmas ballet dressed in their best holiday party dresses and clutching a favorite doll or stuffed animal. And it truly was magical; the Christmas tree grew to the size of a monster, snowflakes drifted down from above as snowflake ballerinas danced below, and dolphins jumped through the waves as Clara and the prince sailed off to his exotic kingdom where we would all be feted by dancers ranging from peacocks to a playful, typically Sendakian monster.

This year was our first back, as we joined a group of more than 40 people from our church in the upper balcony. Sure, the view wasn't as good, but the magic was still there. To be sure, a couple of the teenage boys who had come looked less than thrilled at the prospect, but hopefully even they enjoyed it, just a little bit.

Quietly Thankful

As a nurse, Michael has no guarantee of a work-free holiday. Generally, each year we'll decide well in advance (most likely a full year in advance, when the current celebration is fresh in our minds) which holiday(s) Michael will request off and where we will travel - Oregon for my family, or Arizona for Michael's.

The remainder of the holidays will most likely be spent at home, with Michael working in the wee hours of the morning, then coming home to retreat to our room, shrouded in black-out curtains, and sleep until evening. I'll spend the day on my own, leisurely making a dish to take to take to Michael's grandparents' place for dinner and going out for a long walk with Lucy.

This Thanksgiving followed the usual pattern; Michael came home to find me just starting to awake, and I wished him a good night as I heated up a bowl of leftover rice for breakfast. A little later I headed out to get my hair cut, where I was utterly surprised to see my friend Leena getting the finishing touches on a her own haircut. Who would have guessed that she had booked the appointment before mine on Thanksgiving Day, of all days?

It is little things like that that make my holidays at home so dear to me. Left to my own devices, I can relax without feeling guilty (it is a holiday, after all) - watching old movies on Channel 9, napping with the dog on the sofa, and enjoying the ever changing clouds on a beautiful late autumn day in Seattle. The city I live in always seems particularly beautiful on a holiday. Is it just the good will I feel? The sense of peace to have a day to myself, free from any major responsibilities?

These quiet holidays will not last, I'm sure, and perhaps that's part of the reason I treasure them. Some day, other obligations and different schedules will mean an end to my own private Thanksgivings, Easters, and Christmases. For now, I am simply thankful - for family and friends, of course, just as everyone professes this time of year - but also for these quiet times, and the chance to savor life outside the rush of everyday living.