The Sunday Scramble

In this modern life, it is inevitable that schedules must sometimes collide. Michael and I had grown spoiled and accustomed to his having weekends off over that past several months, so much so that I took it for granted that our weekend plans were set - until last Tuesday night, when it suddenly dawned on us that he was scheduled to work twelve hour shifts on both the following Saturday and Sunday.

"You can't!" I cried. "The Pink Martini concert is Saturday, and we've had those tickets for months!"

A last minute decision to work a twelve, rather than eight, hour shift on Wednesday gave Michael the freedom to leave work in time for Saturday's concert (although this turned out to be unnecessary since he stayed home sick on Saturday - yes, sick again - still sick, in fact, although he made it to the concert and to work for the past couple of days). Sunday was another story. Just because Michael was at the VA for the day didn't mean my plans were in any way altered. Well, except for the fact that I needed the car. For the first time, I rose at 6:30 on a Sunday morning so I could drive Michael in to work and keep the car to myself for the day. For a Sunday, that's early. Very early.

Somehow Sunday had morphed into a day crowded with church-related events. I'd planned a hike for the "young adults" in the afternoon, it was the first day of Sunday School for the year, someone else had planned a walk at Volunteer Park, there was a meeting for Elizabeth Gregory home, a fundraising dinner for Elizabeth Gregory home, and I was counting the offering money with Erv. Not that all of these events affected me, mind you, but it seemed everyone in the congregation was busy in some way or another. Hey, at least the church felt alive, right?

Well, I'd planned the hike, so I was going hiking, no matter what. Four others crowded into my Pontiac Vibe, with Lucy huddled in the very back, and we headed out of town for Little Si. Not nearly as famous (or infamous) as Mount Si itself, Little Si offers a more gentle hiking option within 45 minutes of the city. Sure, there are some switchbacks and rugged, rocky steps and serpentine roots to navigate, but there is also a long, lovely level stretch through the woods, surrounded by alders and firs, ferns and snowberry bushes. After a final climb, we were rewarded with views across the valley, including a less-than-awe-inspiring peek at Issaquah's suburban sprawl, and a shady place on the rocks to relax over lunch. Out of all of us, Lucy seemed the least relaxed, having wedged herself into a fissure in the rock that was perhaps a little too tight for comfort.

Back at the trailhead we were happy and a little weary, and more than a little dirty. Two of us were attending the Elizabeth Gregory benefit dinner that evening at Portage Bay Cafe in South Lake Union, and time was running short. I pulled into the ULC parking lot around ten after five, sped home, fed the dog, took a shower, got dressed, and made it to the cafe promptly at six. Truly, that was miraculous timing. I also discovered the benefits of rolling down the windows to dry one's hair while cruising down Lake City Way. God bless multi-tasking!

Dinner seating was family style, with a wonderful buffet of salad, roasted vegetables, mashed potatoes, and stuffed chicken breasts. My friend Stephanie joined me as my guest to take Michael's place, although I'm afraid I lost her for a while when another friend, David, and I started up a conversation about rowing, inspired by the racing shell hanging from the Cafe's ceiling.

The best thing about the dinner, however, aside from great food and company, was the fact that every single cent from the very reasonable ticket price of $30 per person is going to Elizabeth Gregory Home. This is the women's transitional housing shelter instigated and brought to fruition through our church, a shelter that has now been helping women in need for three years. The fact that the owners of Portage Bay Cafe were willing to donate this entire meal to the cause, and provide us with a wonderful community night out while doing it was inspiring.

After dinner, I headed back to the VA to pick up Michael after his shift. Tired and coughing, he was eager to be home, sipping a tall mug of tea before bed. I felt a twinge of guilt at having been the one to get the long end of the stick, so to speak. Even if I had to rise at 6:30, going hiking on a sunny day and feasting with friends can hardly be considered hardships, while working at the VA... well, that's another story entirely. The man deserved a back scratch, and after he'd had his tea, I was happy to oblige.

In the Pink

On Labor Day weekend it appeared that fall had arrived with a vengeance. No sooner had we noticed that the leaves were beginning to turn a suspicious shade of yellow than we were suddenly whipped by angry winds and accosted by weather that went from party sunny to completely rainy in 60 seconds. Thankfully, this weekend summer came back for a final showing, which worked perfectly for us, as last night was the long-awaited Pink Martini show at Chateau Ste. Michelle Winery.

The Chateau does a concert series every summer, although I'd never been before. After encountering the stop and go single lane traffic jam to get to the event and carrying our cooler from where we parked half a mile down the road (at least we managed to avoid the $10 parking lots), I began to see the wisdom in avoiding the scene. After spending fifteen minutes roaming among the picnickers spread out across the grass, searching for our friends Heather and Satoshi, I questioned further the fact that I had left our cell phone in the car... now half a mile away.

But finally Heather spotted me and flagged me down, and the four of us, including Michael, set up our picnic far from the stage, but with plenty of room to take off our shoes and wiggle our toes. Out came antipasto pasta salad, pesto foccacia, deviled eggs, and Jones soda, with almond cookies and Lu biscuits for dessert. This being a winery, I was happy to take advantage of a bottle of red for $13, an unheard of price at any other local events or restaurants, which I found went especially well with Lu biscuits. Who knew?

As for the music, when China Forbes' voice rang out across the amphitheater clear and pure, Michael simply turned to me and said, "They're good!"

Well, yeah. That's why we came, after all. This being Michael's first live Pink Martini show, I guess he didn't realize the caliber of musicianship he was in for. The band played through old songs and new, and by the final song, Brazil, many in the audience were up and dancing. I was, too. And the fact that we were able to drive home from our parking spot and avoid all the bad traffic? That was just icing on the cake.

A Little Bit of Paris in My Life

"When a girl is tired of Paris, she is tired of Life." I found this aphorism quoted on a notepad some years back, and at the time it seemed the perfect gift for the secret Santa gift exchange at work - the recipient was, in fact, a girl who now lives in Paris.

Lately, though, I felt that I was craving a little Paris in my own life. Daily I would walk - or run, on those days I was afraid of missing my bus - past Edmonds own little mini-Paris, the charming Daphne's. About the size of a decent walk-in closet, Daphne's spills out onto the sidewalk in the summer, with two marble-topped tables tucked behind a wrought iron fence to create a cozy space amid the pedestrian traffic. Daphne's is basically a one man show, but that man is dressed in a white dinner jacket and tie, suavely offering wine, beer, and nibbles in his cozy shop.

Charming as Daphne's may be, I've rarely been; aside from work I just don't hand around in Edmonds. But I had fond memories of my first, and, until yesterday, only visit there a couple of years ago with Amy V, so when I realized Amy would be winding up a class in Edmonds around six o' clock last evening, I asked if she'd like to meet for some wine and conversation. She happily obliged.

Now Edmonds is a far, far cry from Paris, and sitting outside with a view down Main Street doesn't exactly make the U.S.A. melt away. But it did feel rather chic, sitting at a sidewalk cafe nursing a glass of vinho verde and snacking on olives. And who knows how many more chances there will be to enjoy such an evening outdoors this season? It may not be Paris, but Daphne's has just enough je ne sais quoi to make any evening feel a little bit special.

Laboring the Day Away

"Ruth," a small voice croaked as I got out of bed this morning and headed to the door. "I need more sleep. I'm sick."

The missing word that hung in the air at the end of that last sentence would be "again". This is at least the third time in about one month that Michael has been sick, although thankfully this time it appears that no vomiting is involved. There have been some miserable days for my husband of late. It's a good thing we're headed to Greece for a vacation in four weeks - he really needs one! I'll cross my fingers that any sickness will stay at bay during our travels.

In the meantime, we have been preparing for our departure by using Labor Day Weekend as a Weekend of Labor. During my spring Europe trip, work on the bathroom cabinet doors that we were preparing to paint ground to a halt. Not surprisingly so; wood cabinet doors, especially those with beveled fronts and deeply grained wood are a real pain to clean. The process starts with stripping, a messy, foul-smelling task wherein you apply orange goo to the wood and allow it to dry before scraping it off in dirty, rubbery ribbons. Then follow hours of sanding, working your way from 80 to 220 grade sandpaper, going crazy trying to sand those hard to reach beveled corners by hand. Next, the first coat of primer, followed by a layer of spackle that must be laboriously sanded down after hardening, all for the purpose of filling in the wood grain that would otherwise show through the many layers of paint. Now it's time for a second coat of primer, followed by a light sanding and four coats of white paint, a light sanding between each coat.

At this point, after more than twelve hours of actual labor each, including the stripping that was completed in the spring (oh wait, let me amend that - twelve hours of work for me, probably more like 20 for Michael; I should give him credit where credit is due), we are ready for the first coat of paint! Woohoo! Except now that Michael is sick, the project may have ground to a halt for the day. Sure, I could do it on my own, but because of all the crazy beveling (I'm not sure what else to call it, but you can see what I'm talking about in the photo above), it's probably not a good idea. Michael, in all seriousness, is a better painter than I, and trying manage all the picky little corners and then get everything with the sponge roller before the brushwork dries could lead to disaster. I can only hope that Michael will feel well soon, not due so much to the painting project, but just to be able to see him well and healthy for more than one week at a stretch would be wonderful.

And lest you think the weekend was nothing but work for us (no wonder Michael got sick!), we did manage a few enjoyable breaks, including having friends over for dinner last night, when I witnessed this amazing sunset from our porch, and I made it out Saturday night for the Mighty Shiny show with a friend. But don't think I'll be taking a break all day now that Michael's down; I'll fill the time with my own errands, from baking cookies to going to Costco. Labor Day, indeed!

Getting the Kinks Out

I had sensed that my back has been a bit sore of late, although I hadn't given it much notice until last night, when I found myself looking squarely across the room at my friend Lewissa's place, staring straight at her red microfiber massage chair.

"Can I use the massage chair?" I asked, already knowing what the answer would be and moving up from the dining chair I'd been occupying.

Ahhh! Who doesn't love a little massage now and then? I settled in while continuing my conversation with Lewissa, with Michael playing with Diego, Lewissa's unusually energetic pug, on the sofa. It's a good thing to be among friends when using a massage chair, I noted, as they can lead to a lot of jiggling. On the Turkey tours we offer at Europe Through the Back Door, our bus frequently stops at service stations offering ten minute mechanical massages for a small fee in giant, overstuffed black leather chairs. Watching people in the chairs is almost as good as getting to be in one yourself, and after hours on the road people find their inhibitions sufficiently lowered for this sort of thing, and simply sigh contendedly while their torsos are kneaded and prodded regardless of who might be looking on.

So it was that I was able to remain dignified (at least, from my perspective) while being treated like a snare drum by the little red chair. But honestly, while the rolling action was quite nice, the snare drum effect left something to be desired. Next time, I know what option not to pick.

This morning I found that my lower back and neck felt nice and relaxed. The area around my shoulder blades, not so much. Oh, massage chair, you sneaky devil, I'm going to need another massage to undo your work! Now I just need to figure out how to convince Michael to take on the job himself... Hmm... perhaps this was my brilliant plan all along.

Fair Food and Fainting Goats

"I wish we lived in Wallingford," Michael mused.

"Yeah, but if we lived here we'd probably get fat," was my response.

Case in point: We had just bought a chocolate mint cupcake at Trophy - for later, naturally, because we'd just shared three scoops of gelato from the Fainting Goat, a new gelateria that has joined the conspiracy to make Wallingford a center for sweetness. The verdict on the Fainting Goat: the mango sorbetto is excellent, the peanut butter (yes, peanut butter gelato) and the coconut very good, but perhaps not the best we'd ever had.

"It's hard," said Michael. "I really judge a gelato place by their coconut; it's my favorite."

"Yes, but you can't beat that mango!"

"True, that was amazing."

At least we'd been responsible adults and eaten our lunch before our dessert. Joule was having the last of their "urban barbecue" Sundays for the summer, so we stopped in to try their take on fair food. As always, food at Joule comes with a twist. Michael tried a homemade hot dog topped artfully with shoestrings of pickled white cabbage, while I went the healthy route with "Farmers Market in a Cone", which turned out to be a paper cone stuffed with a variety of heirloom veggies served alongside a tasty dipping sauce. Maybe it seems silly, but I don't know when I've had so much fun eating a salad. Pulling out mustard greens, a skinny radish, an albino carrot, and an Anaheim pepper and dipping them in the mystery sauce allowed me to snack on my salad the way I always secretly want to - with my hands rather than a fork. Actually, in the privacy of my own home I will often roll up salad leaves and pop them straight into my mouth; it seems much less fussy than stabbing them with a utensil, only to find that half of what you wanted didn't even end up on the fork.

We also split an order of cheese curds, a collection of precious cubes of fluffy farm cheese lightly battered and appetizingly golden, scented with truffle oil. Rather than the heavy, tastes-so-good-but-you-know-they've-got-to-be-so-bad cheese curds I've had before, these ones tasted suspiciously... healthful. OK, healthful would be an exaggeration, but they had none of the oozy melting qualities of the typical fried curd. I can't say I really minded once I dug in, however. Cheese is cheese, after all, and I am a fan of all kinds.

And yet, I am already feeling a little hungry again. And that cupcake is just sitting upstairs.... so lonely. Yes, I think a little snack may be in order. We may not live there, but at least we can bring a little Wallingford home when we want it.

A Golden Afternoon

This year's barbecue at Golden Gardens was, like last year, a small gathering. Still, we managed to light the charcoal grill without the use of lighter fluid or a chimney starter, and the evening bonfire provided a good opportunity for s'mores. All in all, it was a pleasant afternoon on the beach, but a sad reminder that summer will soon end.