Inspired by Friends

13 Wednesday Jun 2012

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A friend may help you “get there,” but an enemy will goad you into getting there faster and further.

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A friend’s co-worker, heartbroken just short weeks earlier because his wife divorced him, is now ready and eager to marry a divorcee he met in a bar. Rose_cropped

When he made the announcement, my friend was shocked and later repeated to me this conversation with him.

She asked, “Is that the place to go looking for a woman to marry? In a bar?”

He explained, “Why not? It’s a good a place as any. She’s lonesome, she’s got problems. She comes in for a few drinks, and to forget things for a while. I’m lonesome too. Two lonesome people met in a bar. So what?”

She inquired further, “Why don’t you join a club or go to church? You could meet a nice woman there.”

And he responded, “There are just as many fine people in bars as in church. Look at me. I’m a fine person.”

I’m inclined to second my friend’s attitude, but frankly, I’m not sure. Am I being too prim? Too intolerant?

Rose Ridnor

Julie-Approved Pizza

11 Monday Jun 2012

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In an attempt to get Rich to eat more whole grains, I cunningly substitute brown rice for white, quinoa for orzo, and whole wheat for regular pasta. Of course, he always notices, and loudly protests, which does little to deter me from further trying to trick him into eating healthier!

One challenge was pizza. We’d been using the pizza mix from WinCo Foods, which comes in bulk. You simply measure three cups of the mix, add yeast, warm water, let proof, and then roll out. It’s simple to use, but made from enriched white flour.

The solution to healthy pizza came several months ago. While waiting for a meeting to begin, a vendor and I were chatting about food. He mentioned he regularly makes pizza dough from scratch. I commented it takes too long to proof, which is why I use the WinCo pizza mix.

“Ah,” he exclaimed, “Use BreadMachine RapidRise yeast.” According to him, it takes only an hour to proof, and can be done on the counter, rather than warm oven. He shared his recipe. I jotted down the ingredients and method, but didn’t write the proportions. Instead I’ve been using my “approximation” methods. He’s the recipe (more or less):

  • Add to a food processor:
    • 1.5 cups of whole wheat flour
    • 1.5 cups of white flour
    • Sugar (tablespoon or so)
    • Salt (teaspoon or so, I use Alaea sea salt from Hawaii)
    • Splash of olive oil
    • Italian seasoning (tablespoon or so, the mix I have contains thyme, garlic, marjoram, onion, rosemary, oregano, basil, savory, and sage
    • Heaping tablespoon of BreadMachine RapidRise yeast
    • Cup or so of warm water
  • Process until it forms a ball.
  • Let sit a few minutes.
  • Process again for a few seconds. The dough should be firm, but not sticky. Add more flour if sticky. Add more water if it’s too firm.
  • Dump into a large bowl with a bit of olive oil, roll into a ball and coat with olive oil.
  • Place in a warmed oven for an hour or cover with a towel on the counter.
  • Roll into a large round on a marble slab with flour, place on cookie sheet dusted with corn meal or pizza pan with holes.
  • Brush crust with finely chopped garlic and olive oil, and then sprinkle with more Italian seasoning.
  • Top with sauce, vegetables, cheese, meats, etc.
  • Bake at 425-degrees for 20 minutes.
  • Enjoy, knowing the crust is at least 50% whole wheat!

Check out above the pizza we made on Sunday and the proud chef! We topped the pizza with red, yellow and green peppers, scallions, red onions, tomatoes, mushrooms, kalamata olives, garlic, New York Style sausage, mozzarella cheese, and a bit of cheddar cheese for color.

There’s No Sense When It Comes to Westboro

06 Wednesday Jun 2012

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While driving to work this morning, I heard members of the homophobic Westboro Baptist Church will be picketing at the funeral of Gloria Koch Leonidas, a Bellevue woman who was killed last Wednesday during Ian Stawicki’s shooting rampage in downtown Seattle.

It’s unusual for church members to venture so far north to spread their message of hatred and intolerance. If I hadn’t lived in Texas, I may not have been aware of the Westboro Church and their determination to not only disrupt, but exacerbate the grief of mourners by picketing at memorial services and espousing everything from “god hates gays,” to “Jews killed Jesus,” and “Obama is the beast.”

I saw their impact on a sticky June afternoon. After ordering a cake for Rich’s and my anniversary, I was heading back to the Dell West Parmer campus. There were several cemeteries along the way, and as I approached one, I saw a long line of cars with police escorts. I noticed several cars pulling over and I did the same.

I remembered a funeral was being held that day for a young man who’d been killed in Iraq. It was early in the war when every death was significant, and not a regular occurrence. People still believed we’d be in-and-out of the country within months, Saddam Hussein brought to justice, ally troops hailed as heroes, a new president elected, and the country rebuilt and restored as a democracy.

With the air conditioning blasting, I watched as the motorcade drove by, half dozen motorcycle officers, followed by the hearse, several town cars, a long line of cars… and then a contingent of noisy motorcyclists, wearing black leather jackets, embroidered with the name of their groups. Dozens and dozens of cyclists. Clean-shaven and bearded men. Some with helmets and some with bandanas on their heads. Mixed in with the large, acoustically distinct Harley Davidsons were small bikes, some with women on them.

My first thought was of sadness. Sadness for the family that had to be burdened with knowing the Westboro Baptist Church was planning to show up at their son’s funeral. They suffered from the heartbreak of losing a child who was only a few years out of high school.

I was saddened the motorcyclists had to gather, perhaps missing work or neglecting obligations, to selflessly rev up their motorcycles’ engines to drown out the rants of the picketers.

And then I was angry.

A funeral should be a private affair. It’s a time to reflect on someone’s life, and based on one’s beliefs or relationship to the deceased, silently mourn, turn to others for support, or perhaps toast to a life well-lived.

The funeral procession I observed had swelled in size, not because people knew the young soldier, but to create a distraction, a noise barrier between the egotists from a church thousands of miles away who felt the need to force their misguided beliefs on others, the conviction “military funerals have become pagan orgies of idolatrous blasphemy, where they pray to the dunghill gods of Sodom & play taps to a fallen fool.”

As I watched the last motorcycle pass, I sat for a few minutes, the sun glaring through the window, and tried to make sense of the lunacy. But there was none.

As my days in Texas passed, I saw several motorcades for fallen soldiers, usually consisting of a brigade of motorcyclists, a growing necessity for high profile military funerals.

And now, the ugliness of the Westboro Church is coming to Seattle. Tomorrow, they will arrive, ready to spew their hatred, at the funeral for a mother of two. It simply doesn’t make sense.

Invocation #14: September 1984

31 Thursday May 2012

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It is said that we are the captain of our soul. That we alone plot the course, set the sail, and steer the tiller.

That is not so, we do not stand free to follow our charts. Our lives are entwined with the lives, the needs, even the demands of others.

There are times we are called upon to go where we don’t want to go; do what we don’t want to do; give more than is fair; be denied more than is just; to ask for less than we need; even to bear another’s burden.

As such times, O Lord, help us to hold back our angers; to accept, with grace and without rancor, what we cannot reject; to bend without breaking, and through it all to hold fast to the sanctity of our being, the worthiness of our lives, and to never relinquish to the full our station as captain of our soul — to hold onto the very last shred.

My grandmother was a remarkable deep thinker who after arriving at a philosophical conclusion spent considerable time come up with profound ways of expressing it. It’s sad that after so much effort, her writings were usually shuffled aside, or like this invocation, delivered to an audience, and then forgotten within minutes.

Her last statement, however, “to hold onto the very last shred,” is a thesis on her approach to life. When she broke her shoulder, late in life, she forged ahead, pushing through the pain and following through with her physical therapy plan until the shoulder healed and she returned to fully using both arms.

As her eyesight faded, with thick felt-tip pen in hand, she scribbled out her thoughts on large pads of paper. Much of what she wrote, in the last few years of her life, was impossible to read, her handwriting, reduced to jagged scrawls. But, she held on, determined to put her feelings on paper until her ship was no more.

Even though my grandparents had a long, peaceful marriage, dying within a year of each other, my grandmother at times, probably put on a “smiling face,” accepting with grace the station of her life, that of an adoring wife, mother, and skipper of the house. She bore the burdens of her husband’s seven eccentric sisters, and the melancholy of her three sisters, one who never married, another who tended to her handicapped son, the result of a suicide attempt gone wrong, and a third, contently married, but subdued by a well-meaning, but vivacious man whose personality, interests, and needs overpowered hers.

My grandmother’s brother, Ted Powell, was shuffled from household-to-household after her mother died, and her father, Solomon Powell, remarried the cousin of his first wife, Dora Sparks. Two more boys were born. The oldest, and undoubtedly smartest, Milton Powell, married young, had three children, and out of necessity, settled into a blue-collar job at a shipyard.

The youngest, Arthur L. Powell, went off to college (the only one in the family), found his fortune as a real estate developer (Kravco) and ended up developing the King of Prussia Mall, the largest shopping mall on the east coast, now part of the Simon Property Group. No one on the east coast was aware of Arthur’s success until recently when he wrote an autobiography of his life.

Of the seven children bore by Solomon Powell, only one truly plotted a course, set sail, steered the tiller, and became not only the captain of his soul, but a captain of industry. The rest, their lives caught up in circumstances, accepted what they couldn’t change… and like my grandmother wrote below, denied themselves, sometimes the simple pleasures in life.

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The first time Grandpa and I broke away from the kids and went to the movies by ourselves, we saw “You Can’t Take it With You.” I enjoyed it so much that it wasn’t until both children had seen the picture for themselves that I could stop regretting we had not taken them along.

And Grandpa and I never went alone to the movies until the kids had divorced themselves from us for “dates.” Silly, wasn’t it?

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The hen who cackles the loudest doesn’t necessarily lay the most eggs, but the rooster sure is going to know she’s around.

Invocation #13: August 1984

23 Wednesday May 2012

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Who’s living to long!

The young woman protests: The old live too long; they take too much; they deprive the young of life’s limited goods and services.

She is young, O Lord; has not yet the vision to see down the long road, or the wisdom to interpret what she sees.

She does not realize that no person comes into life with the proviso that they depart at a given time. On the contrary, nature endows us with the instinct for self-preservation; to hold on to life, doing whatever it take to prolong it.

If that means hospital beds, doctors, continuing care, who had the right to forbid it?

Living equates with consuming, needing; food, shelter, services. That equates to jobs and income for others; a contribution to society. Once dead the needs stop; contributions stop.

Today’s youth is tomorrow’s oldster. At what age will my young friend think she has lived long enough, and be willing to go?

O Lord, let not this young women begrudge us our years. Help her to see that, even to the last breath, the old contribute to life, and take nothing away.

For weeks, I’ve started to write the response to this invocation, but I keep returning to the premise that perhaps the “young woman” was me who thoughtlessly told my grandmother, “The old live too long; they take too much, they deprive the young of life’s limited goods and services.”

Eck!

I’ve become “today’s youth” who is rapidly turning into “tomorrow’s oldster,” and as such, clinging to the desire to appear spry enough to be a valued employee in a sea of younger, more desired workers. When a waiters calls my “madam,” I cringe. And my need “touch of my roots” is becoming a regular occurrence now that my lightly salt-and-peppered hair has turned into streaks of gray.

Even though Rich and I are frugal, and probably in no danger of ever becoming indigent, we worry constantly about whether our money will stretch enough to provide the food, shelter, services, and more importantly, healthcare we might need should we live into our eighties or with luck, nineties.

And ironically, few days pass when I don’t pine for my grandmother, yearning to speak with her, if only for a few minutes. But towards the end of her 90-years of life, when she’d grown frustrated with her failing eye sight, inability to write, and dwindling strength, I avoided calling her.

During this time, when we did talk, usually Sunday afternoons, she told me of her dreams, of winged angels. I told her to follow the angels, knowing they could free her from the anxiety of waking, and wondering what affliction would await her next.

And now, regrettably, I understand what she meant, when she wrote, “even to the last breath, the old contribute to live, and take nothing away.” I wish I’d told her just one more time how much she contributed to my life, and how little she asked for in return.

What to Do with a Nagging Cat

23 Wednesday May 2012

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If you have never been nagged by a cat, you cannot know what nagging is.

When a child gets on your nerves, you can threaten all sorts of dire punishment. Wait ‘til Daddy gets home; no dessert tonight; no TV; no going to Johnny’s birthday party.

All of which the child knows, from previous experience, you won’t carry out, but it grants him a moment to weigh the worthiness of his misbehavior.Rose_cropped

Or you can order, “Go to your room!” “Stand in the corner!” You can even turn him over and administer a spanking, which will smart your hand more than his rear-end, but at least the tension in you will be broken (to be replaced by self-nagging of reproach).

But what you can you do about a cat? Spank it? Stand it in a corner?

I might put him outdoors, but he will stand there raising such a howl, Siamese are extremely vocal, that for the sake of the neighbors, I’ll have to pull him in again.

So, I just lock myself in my room!

Rose Ridnor

Rich’s Birthday Week

13 Sunday May 2012

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The first day of May, Rich’s daughter, Stacey, arrived in Seattle from Long Beach, California, setting in motion a week of celebration, including Rich’s 60th birthday on Sunday, May 6th.

Wednesday afternoon, Rich and Stacey went to Mount Vernon to garden and hook up the trailer to purchase dirt for a landscape project we’re doing in Kirkland. Ceasing the opportunity, after work, I whooshed to the Bellevue Goodwill, convinced something “wonderful” was waiting to be purchased for Rich’s birthday.

After searching through the store and coming up empty-handed, I decided to investigate the glasses cases in the front. Sure enough, looking back at me was an antique barometer, a bit tarnished, but still in good shape. It was similar to the one on eBay. On another shelf, was an even better find, a Semca Travel clock! In a dainty, red leather case was a wind-up alarm clock, small thermometer, and barometer. With hardly any thought, I said I’d purchase both.

With my finds safely in my basket, I shifted through the rack of men’s outerwear and found a fleece shirt, which was probably new or darn close. I also chose a flouncy pink dress with white polka-dots for Lila, and a little Hawaiian shirt for Jujube. Check out the photos below of the felines in their snazzy birthday outfits.

Thursday, was rainy, but Stacey and Rich forged ahead, purchasing soil and bringing it to Kirkland where we’re extending a flower bed in the front yard to balance out the landscaping, and also create a better environment for the plantings. Currently, little rainfall reaches the plants under the front window. By making the planting area bigger, and removing the grass and brick border, the rainwater should be able to better reach the plants.

In addition, we have giant rhododendron bushes in front of our house, which look unbalanced. By incorporating them into a larger flower garden, they’ll look less awkward. Stay tuned for pictures and details in the coming weeks as we start to create our new flower beds.

Rich’s birthday festivities heated up on Friday morning with Stacey baking a decadent chocolate cake with German chocolate filling, and a whipped chocolate ganache icing. That afternoon, Rich’s son, Chris, and his wife, Shawnie, arrived from Camas, Washington to spend the weekend.

Earlier in the week, I’d made a rich tomato sauce with spicy turkey meatballs. I also pickled some cauliflower, carrots, and celery to serve with olives, cheese and pepperoni as an antipasto. We had a pleasant meal, completed with Brussels spouts, and garlic bread, made from kalamata olive bread, crushed garlic, olive oil, and margarine… lightly browned under the broiler.

Following dinner, Stacey said she wanted coffee with her cake. It was a ploy to use the mug Chris and Shawnie had brought, which said “Grandpa” on it. When presented with the mug, Rich was confused. Even though he was prompted with hints ranging from “what do married couples produce,” and “what constitutes a grandfather,” it took him five to ten minutes to guess that Shawnie is pregnant. She’s due in December.

After learning he’s going to be a grandfather, Rich opened his gifts, including tickets from Stacey, Chris, and Shawnie to see Steve Martin & The Steep Canyon Rangers and Emmylou Harris at Chateau St. Michelle Winery in Woodinville in late July.

Full from dinner, grandpa charades, cake, and coffee, five of us squeezed onto the futon in my hobby room – the location of the only TV we have in Kirkland – to watch Hop, a super cute live-action/animated flick about E.B., a rabbit who does not want to succeed his father and become the Easter Bunny. Voiced by Russell Brand, Hop poops jelly beans, has a snarky sense-of-humor, and wants to be a drummer.

Burke Museum to Improv

Saturday morning began with my making a vegetable frittata with sliced potatoes as the crust, and layers of garlic, onions, carrots, broccoli, peppers, spinach, tomatoes, and scallions, all held together with beaten eggs, milk, and jack cheese!

Tummies full, we drove to the Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture on the University of Washington campus. I’d never been to this museum so I was excited about checking out the exhibits and seeing their special exhibit, “Hungry Planet: What the World Eats,” which examines what ten families, from around the world, eat in a week. The families – in Mexico, India, Japan, United States, Peru, Germany, Greenland, three other countries – were photographed with a week’s worth of groceries around them, and the cost of the foods.

It was extremely engaging. For instance, the Japanese family ate lots of packaged goods; even their produce was packaged. The Mexican family spent a large chunk of their weekly grocery money on colas, sweets, and starches. The family in India were vegetarians, eating vegetables, legumes, and other healthy, but spicy foods. The Peruvian family barely ate. The family in Greenland dined on seal, polar bear and whale meat, and other animals and birds that they hunted.

Coinciding with this exhibit was one on the Salish Bounty: Traditional Native American Foods of Puget Sound. It’s astonishing how ordinary plants in the Pacific Northwest like ferns, skunk cabbage, tiger lily bulbs, nettles, clover root, yellow pond lily, and a hundred or so other bulbs, berries, nuts, roots, and vegetables sprouts are edible.

Also part of the series on food was cooking demonstrations by chefs with PCC Natural Markets. We watched a chef, who’d worked at The Herbfarm, and written several books about local cuisines, prepare wild mushroom risotto. The resulting dish was nauseatingly rich, with as she pointed out, four types of fats: Prosciutto, olive oil, butter, and Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese. The texture was creamy with undertones of wine, salt, savory mushrooms, and goo.

We spent another hour going through the museum, visiting the dinosaurs, and meandering through the Pacific Voices exhibit, depicting the cultural artifacts from seventeen Pacific Rim countries and regions, including Hawaii, New Zealand, Korea, Japan, Pacific Northwest Native Americans, Lao, Vietnam, Papua New Guinea, and Micronesia.

With weather nothing less than splendid, we decided to wander through the University of Washington campus, and look for a geocache. The buildings on the campus are spectacular… ranging from huge brick Tudors to dramatic, glass buildings and concrete atrocities like McMahon Hall, a dormitory.

By the time we got back to the car, it was close to 3 o’clock and everyone was starving. We’d brought some hearty snacks. All we needed was a place to ear. We headed to Green Lake Park. The lake was formed over 50,000 years ago by the Vashon Glacial Ice Sheet, which also formed Puget Sound and other area lakes. Today, the lake is a popular place for rowing, canoeing, kayaking, and sailing… and in the surrounding park, walking, running, biking, skating, picnicking, and day dreaming.

Our next stop was Fremont, considered the “Center of the Universe,” and undoubtedly an eclectic neighborhood with a huge troll clutching a VW bug under a bridge, status of Lenin, circa 1950 rocket fuselage, two life-size dinosaur topiaries, and a multitude of other strange landmark and funky shops.

Fremont, which is located along the Fremont Cut of the Lake Washington Ship Canal, is also the home to Adobe Systems’ and Google’s Seattle offices, and other trendy companies, including, Theo’s Chocolate!

We didn’t have time for a tour of their factory of magical smells and delectable treats, but visited the retail store next door, sampling many types of chocolates, including slightly bitter cocoa nibs. I can’t believe how many types of chocolate bars they offer, including toasted coconut, salted almond, cherry almond, orange, mint, spicy chili, 70% and 85% dark chocolate, and varieties of milk chocolate, along with honey saffron caramel, pink salted vanilla caramel, and ghost chili salted caramel. We bought six chocolate bars from their fantasy flavor collection: Coconut curry, hazelnut crunch, and of course, coffee. Also in the collection is chai tea (awful), bread and chocolate (why), and fig, fennel & almond (gasp).

Satiated with chocolate, with headed to Northgate Mall to Rich’s favorite food emporium, Red Robin. Because we it was still early afternoon, we wandered around the mall for a bit, and then settled into a booth at Red Robin for gluttony, capped with a birthday sundae and really bad singing by Red Robin waiters.

Our final stop of the evening was Jet City Improv to see their 8 o’clock show. I’ve been several times to Comedy Sportz in Portland, Oregon, and was expecting the same level of improv, but was disappointed. Certain aspects of the show were good, but others fell very flat.

The best part was when they invited the people celebrating their birthdays onto the stage. Rich begrudgingly went up, but had an enjoyable time shouting out recommendations like “oysters.” I snapped a bunch of pictures of him on stage.

A Warm-Up to Dim Sum

Sunday morning, we had a light breakfast of fruit and yoghurt because we were heading downtown to have dim sum in Chinatown at noon. Even though it was sunny outside, the morning was brisk. We parked in Chinatown, and then meander down to the water front; stopped a few times to look for geocaches near the Smith Tower and Ivar’s on the waterfront.

We also zipped into the train station, which is still being refurbished and will be gorgeous when returned to its original splendor. A sunny Sunday morning in Seattle, weaving between the new and historical buildings can be so rewarding. The only negative was seeing the long line of homeless and indigent people lining up in anticipation of a soup kitchen opening at noon.

We met Randy, Stacey and Chris’ cousin and a dentist in Bellevue, and professor of dentistry at University of Washington, at Jade Garden in Chinatown. Also joining us was Randy’s friend Mike, who is a super exuberant, fun person. We spent several hours nibbling on dim sum, telling stories, and laughing. It was a glorious visit!

We then did popped into couple of shops in Chinatown before Chris and Shawnie headed back to Camas, and Stacey, Rich and I zipped back to Kirkland to do a little yard work before washing up and attending a choral performance at Temple B’Nai Torah in Bellevue.

The music was very uplifting, and nice conclusion to a very busy weekend.

The Celebrations Continued

Monday I went to work while Rich and Stacey cruised around Lake Union and through the Fremont Cut in the P/V Goldfish — our yellow Hobby Cat two-person, kayak, which is propelled by pedals making it a “pedal vessel.”

Stacey stayed in downtown Seattle, where she spent the rest of the day, along with Tuesday and Wednesday, visiting with friends. Wednesday evening, we met her downtown, and ate at the Pike Place Bar & Grill, and then went to the Can Can.

Rich and I have eaten at Pike Place Bar & Grill before. I relished my macaroni & cheese with garlic bread, and Rich and Stacey had fish (halibut) and chips. Nothing to write home about, but certainly convenient with a great view of Pike’s Market and the surrounding area.

The Can Can is a fun, affordable, cleansing get-away. Being so close to the stage it’s easy to get immersed in the show, forgetting about work, chores, and other anxieties, which tiptoe into one’s mind, becoming pests and disrupting one’s ability to simply “chill.”

The performers in the Can Can might get a bit chilly, scantily dresses, but they’re hot and sassy on staging, dancing, lip-syncing, and parodying. All of them are outstanding dancers. One of my favorite was a slender man who came out in black slacks with an orange, long-sleeved shirt, wearing a huge horse head. He was lyrical to watch. His hands and movements were elegant, controlled, and mesmerizing.

Fuschia Foxx, a woman of breathtaking beauty, came out in roller skates, wearing a traditional can-can outfit. Her movements and doll-like appearance reminded me of the ballet Coppelia. Later, she did two belly-dancing routines, which were enchanting from the costumes to her facial movements and rhythmic dancing. Here’s another video of her.

I’m glad Rich was able to spend his birthday weekend and week with Stacey, Chris, and Shawnie, and also enjoyed outside weather, entertainment, and his favorite foods.

Invocation #12: August 1, 1984

08 Sunday Apr 2012

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We meet today, O Lord, at the beginning of a new month.

“Beginning” a word that bespeaks of freshness, of hope, of promise.

A word not unknown to us seniors. We have faced many beginnings. And too many endings.

Now we ask your help, O Lord, that whatever may come, we continue to look upon each new day as a new beginning; a new promise of hope. A new day well worth the living.

Today is the second day of Passover. It commemorates the beginning of a new life for the Jews, having been liberated from slavery in ancient Egypt, and with Moses at the helm, crossing the Red Sea, and then spending forty years in the desert, until a new generation had grown, free from slavery, and ready to begin a new life in Israel. The story of Passover focuses on God’s power to save the Jewish people, in spite of the hopelessness of the situation.

No doubt, as my grandmother wrote, “beginnings” signify freshness, of hope, of promise. In a sense, so do “endings.” An endings isn’t always final. It could be a fork-in-the-road, realization that points to a previously overlooked opportunity or cessation of an unpleasant experience.

What one does with their endings is what determines the success of their beginnings. For the Jews in Egypt, the ending of their enslavement presented the promise of a new life, and the hope of generations who every year could celebrate the miracle of a new days, and the promise of a better tomorrow.  

Staycation to Celebrate my Birthday

28 Wednesday Mar 2012

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Secrets Unraveled

For the past month or so, Rich has been planning a surprise weekend get-away to celebrate my birthday. He said that I’d be told what to bring, and nothing further.

Sure enough, Saturday morning, I was instructed to pack comfortable and “nice” clothing along with a jacket in case it got cold. Indecisive and uninformed as to whether we’d be taking a ferry to an island, staying in a hotel, pitching a tent, or staying in the motorhome, I packed for every possible scenario, taking three times more clothing than I could possibly need.

I first I thought we were heading to the freeway, but then it occurred to me Rich was driving to Shari’s, one of his favorite places for breakfast, and a Pacific Northwest chain. He ordered his customary fajita chicken omelet, and I opted for my usual eggs benedict with fruit. One can never have too many goopy eggs sopped up with bits of soggy English muffin.

Back in the car, Rich plugged in the GPS, which indicated our next destination was just 21-minutes away. I guessed we were either going to downtown Kirkland or Bellevue. Rich said I was wrong as we headed down the freeway Seattle. He also commented that he may have “input a waypoint into the GPS to throw me off track.”

I was still in the dark when we parked in a garage by the Bell Harbor Marina, and the terminal where the cruise ships dock. As we walked along the water front, Rich seemed a bit distressed. A light bulb went off in my head.

A few weeks earlier, Rich had commented we should use the coupons in our Entertainment Book. “Are we going to the Seattle Aquarium,” I inquired.

“Yes.”

“Well, we’re heading the wrong direction,” I snickered, smiling shamelessly.

I’d never been to the aquarium so I was pleased with Rich’s decision to use the two-for-one coupon. Unfortunately, the aquarium, in my opinion, didn’t live up to its fanfare. Although, I did enjoy tormenting starfish, urchins, sea cucumbers, and anemones in the petting tanks, and it was fun to see the tropical fish (reminded me of snorkeling in the British Virgin Islands). And I’m always amazing by seahorses. They seem too fantastical to be real.

I was thinking about why I’m usually disappointed by aquariums and I came to the conclusion that it takes only a few minutes to watch twenty different species of fish swimming in a tank. At a zoo, however, it takes considerably longer and is more engaging to see twenty different animals, stopping at each exhibit, reading the signs, and observing the animals’ behavior.

Relishing the Waterfront

When we left the aquarium, the sun was shining bright, making it very pleasant to walk along the waterfront. We stopped to watch a cat scamper up a tree after a bird. The cat was owned by an elderly man who was associated with the First Nation wood carvers, who have a small area near the Seattle Center where they’re carving several totem poles. We spoke with the man for a while, mostly about the tenacity of cats.

Still full from breakfast, we decided to take a walk before Rich’s next planned activity, lunch at The Fisherman’s Restaurant and Bar. We headed to SoDo (South of Downtown), which has many very old, but elegant buildings, along with funky shops and restaurants. We turned down a narrow alley, which was blocked by a large horse trailer. In the adjacent warehouse was a huge Percheron horse, a breed of draft horse that originated in the Perche valley in northern France.

After doing a little research, I figured out the horse, Major, belongs to Phyllis Eide, owner of Emerald Country Carriages in Redmond. Standing 18.1 hands high and weighing 2,200 pounds, Major is one of the largest carriage horses in Seattle.

Because Major’s stable mate, Troy, a Shire/Percheron, wasn’t working that day, he was rather perturbed. He kept neighing and assertively pulling on his rope. Nevertheless, I got to pet him, and was given two carrots, which he noisily slurped up, barely pausing to chew before he swallowed.

Rich, meanwhile, stood outside the warehouse, nervously wringing his hands, convinced at any moment I was going to be clomped on or pushed over by the giant horse. He’s not overjoyed with my adoration for draft horses. I’m a bit scared of horses, but fearless when it comes to rushing up to a Clydesdale, Percheron or Shire.

After petting Major, we stopped in several upscale furniture stores that line Western Avenue. With seven cats, the idea of investing in new furniture is ridiculous. Aside from their claws, our cats are shedding machines, their fur ranging from black (Jujube) to white (Lila), and from short (Pu’Yi) to long (Zephyra).

Our appetites whet, we headed to the kitsch and touristy Fisherman’s Restaurant and Bar. I was mostly interested in eating the Alaskan Sourdough Bakery bread with whipped butter. Sourdough bread can be so wickedly good!

I also nibbled on salad, sautéed chicken breast, broccoli, and rice pilaf. Yes, I know it was a fish restaurant, but I ages ago I read an article, which inferred the freshest fish tends to be on served on Mondays. By the weekend, the fish that was delivered earlier in the week starts to get slimy and old.

I was going to get the swordfish, but know it’s full of mercury. Rich says they won’t serve a fish that was full of mercury, but “hello,” all swordfish is full of mercury! And halibut contains worms. And I can make salmon at home… you get the idea.

Rich had a pasta dish with bits of seafood. It was tasty, but very rich with lots of cream. I was surprised when he pushed back his plate, having eaten only half of it. We’re not used to eating (and digesting) rich foods.

The best part about lunch was the view! Located at the end of Pier 57, the restaurants affords views of Mount Rainer, The Olympics, Elliott Bay, downtown Seattle, ferries going to the islands, and a construction crane building a pier to hold a 175-foot high Ferris wheel, which will open in a few months.

The wheel will have 41 enclosed, air-conditioned gondolas, and cost $12 to $15 per ride!

A Room with a View

With the weather getting warmer by the moment, Rich announced our next stop was the Olympic Sculpture Park, at the far end of the waterfront. We meandered, stopping to see a sculpture contest, watch boats go in-and-out of Bell Harbor Marina, and admire the wealth of people, kids, and dogs enjoying the yellow orb, which occasionally appears from behind Seattle’s overcast skies.

As we walked past the Marriot Waterfront, Rich commented we should go inside. I found his request rather strange because we NEVER go inside fancy hotels! Nevertheless, I was in “follow-mode” and was happy to see a very attractive, large glass sculpture in the lobby, which I immediately started photographing.

Peering through the lens of my camera, I noticed Rich was standing in line at the registration desk. Sure enough, he had made a reservation for a room with a view of the waterfront. Sneaky. Sneaky!

Our room, on the third floor, was amazing with a sizable balcony, king-sized bed, and all of the luxuries you’d find in a 4-star hotel!

Because our room wasn’t ready, we continued our stroll to the Olympic Sculpture Park. One of the nicest features of the park, aside from the many meandering trails, swatches of deep green grass, and dramatic sculptures, are red, metal chairs. There are a couple dozen scattered around the park. You can grab a couple and move them to where you’d like to sit.

Throughout the park, you can see people sitting in these red chairs, becoming like the sculptures, part of the artwork.

It’s a very pleasant experience… and presented a perfect opportunity to snap another one of our “famous” self-portraits.

After checking into our room, and with several hours of light left, we trotted down to Pike’s Market. I wanted to buy a bouquet of flowers, but they were mostly composed of tulips and daffodils, both of which I’m growing in my own garden. Instead, we looked at the produce, bought two plums to nibble on, wandered among the stores, saw the famous “gum wall,” and then on the way back to the Marriot, purchased wafer cookies and chocolates at World Market.

The only negative of the day was twice bumping into tables staffed by Lyndon LaRouche (LaRouche PAC) cuckoos that had posters of President Obama with a Hitler mustache, and the inferences that he’s going to start World War III.

I lost my cool when I initially saw them at a table near the Seattle Aquarium. I pointed out Obama’s policies weren’t even close to Hitler’s determination to take over countries, kill people, and dominate the world. Another set of crazies had set up a table by Pike’s Market. This time, only Rich approached them, trying to determine how they’d arrived at their misguided points-of-view. They claimed several retired US generals said Obama is planning to attack Iran. Then they had the gall to ask Rich to give them some money.

This week, I listened to LaRouche the ludicrous, who was imprisoned for six years’ because of conspiracy to commit mail fraud and tax code violations. He said that President Obama is mentally incompetent and a British agent who gets his order from Britain (British Empire conspiracy). Oh yeah, I forgot, Bozo Bush, the village idiot was brilliant free-thinker, and not a puppet of the ruthless, heartless (he had to get a new heart because his shrived away) hawkish Dick Cheney.

Steam comes out of my ears even now, typing this account of the encounter with the LaRouche lunatics.

On Saturday night, for dinner, Rich had originally planned for us to eat at a snazzy restaurant at the Westin Hotel, but I opted for more simple and affordable food at Romio’s, a pizza and pasta joint a few blocks from the Marriot. We had a splendid meal, eating half, and bringing the rest back to our room, where there was a refrigerator (We had the rest of the food on Sunday and Monday evenings).

At Romio’s, we both had huge salads and split some dolmates (stuff grape leaves). Rich then had a few bites of fettuccini with shrimp in a sauce that was half alfredo and half marinara sauce, and I had some scrumptious tortellini with black olives, artichoke hearts, capers, and feta in a pesto sauce. We then asked for doggie bags, and happily tottered back to the Marriot to watch a little TV and enjoy the view from our balcony before conking out.

Table with a Revolving View

The next morning, Rich insisted we leave the Marriot by 9 a.m., saying we had to be at our next destination by 10 a.m. He also instructed me to put on nice clothes. After loading our suitcase in the car, we head north to the Seattle Center. Rich had made reservations to have brunch at the Sky City Restaurant, at the top of the Space Needle.

While waiting to enter the Space Needle, we bumped into two women we’d seen the night when we shared an elevator. At the time, Rich commented to one that the candy bar she was eating looked good. She reached into her coat and handed us two mini Three Musketeer bars!

The next morning, we talked to them briefly, laughing at the unlikely coincidence of seeing them the night before. They were visiting from Portland, and like us, waiting to get into the Space Needle.

Inside the Space Needle, we took an elevator to the observation deck. It was amazingly clear, perfect for taking pictures.

We then walked a short flight of stairs up to the restaurant, and were seated by a window where we could watch Seattle slowly spin by, as the restaurant rotated 360-degrees, every 47 minutes. The brunch consisted of three courses: Appetizer, entrée, and dessert. Rich has clam chowder soup with razor clams and bacon, followed by poached salmon with Chinese broccoli, roasted potatoes, pomegranate seeds, and a lemony sauce.

I had tomato bisque with a mini grilled cheese “bite,” egg benedict with crab cakes and breakfast potatoes. We both had apple/cranberry cobbler for dessert with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream. We were also served a selection of sweet breads. I had lemon, and Rich chose pumpkin.

The food was very elegant and good, so good that I decided to eat half of my main course and bring the rest home… which I ate for dinner.

After brunch, Rich wanted to go to a home improvement show at the Seattle Convention Center, but parking was a challenge, and the fabulous weather beckoned us home. I spent the rest of the afternoon gardening, planting dahlia bulbs, racking up leaves, pulling weeds, and wonder when my spring bulb are going to bloom.

Check out the pictures from my very memorable and thoroughly enjoyable birthday weekend.