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.

These Boots Were Made for Walking

The best purchase I made in 2009? Rubber boots! Thanks to rubber boots, my feet stayed dry both heading to and from work in what proved to be a very wet bus commute. Rubber boots, you're the best!

And second best? Thanks, black button-up $25 cardigan from H&M. I wear you almost every day and your button-up collar even keeps my neck protected in the cold. It's like having a scarf without having to carry it around. Plus, you go with everything, over shirts and under coats.

It's friends like these that make the winter commute bearable.

When Reality Sets In

Fall has come, and I find myself ill prepared. Yesterday evening found me shivering on the sidewalk in a skirt with bare legs and sandals, desperately waiting for the light to turn so I could cross to Target and the warmth of the indoors. But how was I to know? When I left to catch my morning bus, the skies had been reassuringly sunny. Heading to work with only a cardigan over my little black top seemed only natural.

Today I fear I'm out of excuses, although I could claim that the discovery, a mere fifteen minutes prior to departure, that my wallet was nowhere to be found threw me off my game. Just in time to catch the 41, I ran down the road with a pocket full of pennies for bus fare and still only a cardigan on my back. Thus it was that I spent this evening's commute running through the rain bareheaded from one bus route to the next, all of which were late; I guess we really don't know how to drive in the rain in Seattle. At least this time I was wearing pants.

By the time I arrived home tonight, the reality of the season had sunk in, and I could see endless dark, damp nights stretching ahead of me. The three bus commute can be a joy in summer, but the winter waiting is merciless.

But who am I to complain? Next week at this time I'll be in the Greek islands, where the weather report promises sun and temperatures in the mid-seventies, enabling me to blissfully ignore reality for one more month. I can hardly wait.

In Praise of the Mushroom Primo

Dare I say that one of the best things about living in Seattle is delivery from Pagliacci Pizza? When we're having one of our famously rainy days, I'm not so sure that's an exaggeration. And just in time for the annual deluge comes Pagliacci's annual mushroom primo pizza.

Wild mushrooms are something I anticipate eagerly each fall. Chanterelles and porcini are undoubtedly the favorite local specimens, and both can be found topping the mushroom primo, along with mozzerella, onion, capers, thyme, and olive oil. Driving home from a small church group gathering tonight, all I could think about was the mushroom primo (not a very spiritual topic, I admit). And then, right behind me, who should pull up to our house but the pizza delivery guy? Talk about perfect timing! But lest you think that Pagliacci just magically appears when you crave their pizza, take note that Michael was home and had placed an earlier order. They're not that good.

But then you taste the pizza... and, oh yeah, it is, in fact, that good. Thanks, Pagliacci, for giving us waterlogged northwesterners something to look forward to each November besdies election day! Long live the porcini and savor those chanterelles!