State of Emergency declared in Seattle

A state of emergency was declared by the mayor of Seattle on the afternoon of Sunday, October 16.  The mayor wisely took action after a major emotional event occurred in downtown Seattle on a large, nationally televised field of grass embellished with horizontal white lines at five yard intervals.

It was estimated that the event was witnessed by over 400,000 residents in the Seattle area.  The mayor quickly called on the National Guard to patrol the streets of Seattle to prevent a potentially unthinkable and largely unstoppable spread of emotional expressiveness throughout the Seattle metropolitan area and Puget Sound region.  Among many disastrous consequences of such a widespread show of emotion would be an unfortunate acknowledgement to the nation that Seattle residents are actually human.  

The mayor warned residents of Seattle and surrounding areas to remain indoors, turn their televisions off, and seek shelter in reading Atlas Shrugged or The Canterbury Tales to prevent the sideline event at Century Link field from triggering further emotional outbursts.   Amazon, Microsoft, the University of Washington, and other major employers in the Puget Sound region were prepared to close their doors on Monday to minimize the possibility that water cooler and other side conversations might consider the unmentionable possibility that expression of emotions is actually healthy.  Such seemingly innocuous conversations, even if scattered and localized, could lead to a widespread coup of the long standing Pacific Northwest culture which forbids emotional expressiveness in favor of intellectual prowess and economic expansion.

Scientists at the University of Washington confirmed on Sunday, after considering a limited set of data that suited their agenda, that expressing emotions at a consistent and intentional level was statistically unlikely to produce significant gains in economic or intellectual advancement for which the city of Seattle is nationally and internationally regarded.     Given the potential downsides of an ensuing culture coup, these researchers recommended that actions be taken to further stigmatize the expression of emotions in the Pacific Northwest. 

With any luck, the impact of Sunday's event at Century Link will be limited to the sports world, specifically to the poor, afflicted Seattle Seahawks who were subsequently forced to spend the entire week deflecting local and national media attention regarding the sideline outburst of one of their most talented players.   Such media attention understandably took precedence over discussions of how the team could advance its performance and position in the NFC west. 

In related news, the approximate 15,240 transplanted southerners living in the Puget Sound region, were found in sidewalks, parks, and other public spaces on Sunday evening, in various states of laughing and giggling.   Their seeming lack of concern for the seriousness of the situation triggered some observers to make anti-Southern statements that linked the consumption of chicken fried steak as well as biscuits and gravy to emotionally expressive moments and similar behaviors regarded as inappropriate in the great PNW.  

A quick review of  the eating habits of Richard Sherman (the Seahawks cornerback who triggered this crisis) confirmed that Mr. Sherman had neither looked at or consumed chicken fried steak or biscuits and gravy for approximately 47 months before Sunday's incident. As a result, some question whether Mr. Sherman may be genetically predisposed to expressing emotions as a result of his chronic passion for his craft.  Many years in the spotlight of the Pacific Northwest have not ousted these emotional tendencies from Mr. Sherman's psyche.  As a result of his success and resulting evidence that invoking emotion in one's career can be a good thing, it is with some regret that the leaders of Western Washington must now consider that a coup of PNW culture designed to drastically increase and favor emotional expressiveness may very well be appropriate, healthy, and productive to the region's national stature.

Or, according to those laughing southerners in the streets and parks of Seattle, such a coup might simply be... AWESOME! 

A Birthday Present measured in Touchdowns and Field Goals

The sky weighed in heavy with dark, turbulent cloud cover.  The ominous blanket of gray hanging over my head was threatening to turn into yet another cloudburst on this dreary, wet, dismal day that clearly marked the end of summer and embraced the beginning of months of nasty weather to come. Dragging my gaze away from the sky, I picked up my pace, pulling my roll-aboard behind me, daring the sky to drench me on today of all days, September 29.  Today was a big birthday for me, one whose corresponding number I dare not utter, lest I have to face the fact that I am getting old.

I was a mere twenty steps from the entrance to cover and the subway station when the rain began.   I assumed it had held off for that long because of my threats to each and every bloated cloud overhead. I was grateful for only 20 steps that left me damp and uncomfortable but not drenched in a downpour that wasn't particularly welcome on this afternoon.

As I boarded the underground train, I breathed a sigh of relief.  Onward from the wrong Washington to the right one, at least in my limited view of the world.  I was happy to leave the D.C. version of Washington behind and head back to the sweet, peaceful Evergreen State. With any luck, I would arrive there before my birthday ended.

Bless Alaska Airlines' heart.  Their wonderful spiffy airplane sped across the country with the greatest of ease, depositing me at SeaTac one hour before our scheduled arrival.  Although the parking shuttle did not come with the greatest of ease (or efficiency), I nevertheless coasted into the ferry parking lot, several minutes before the departure of the 11 p.m. ferry and was grateful to set foot on Whidbey Island half an hour before midnight.

I had requested a quiet birthday, one without parties or big celebrations, because I'm an introvert, and THAT'S OK.  You got that, ye masses of extroverts out there?

Friday began with a trip to a new nursery.  More trees than I could possibly hug on the way home but that didn't stop me from trying:

A quick lunch, a swim, a ferry ride, and then.... Barry pressed the button, the TV came on, a ridiculous assortment of dips and dippers were laid out on the table, and... the University of Washington Huskies football team marched onto the field on a beautiful night in Husky Stadium to play a slightly better known, nationally recognized team, that had of all things, a TREE as its mascot.  There is only one tree in the world I want to cut down, and the Stanford Cardinal is IT (at least in the world of football).

Truly, I expected a nail biter... a fight to the finish.  An adrenaline roller coaster that went on for three hours, before maybe, just maybe, the Huskies pulled it out and won a difficult game on national television between two top-10 teams.   It didn't go that way at all and I spent most of three hours with my jaw on the floor trying to pick it up so I could actually eat from the buffet before me.

In the end, there is something very sweet about the public school in the little known or recognized pacific northwest winning out against an elite private institution in a very BIG way.  44-6.  That was enough birthday present for me.  All day long, I had been advocating for 'pee'ing on the tree' but I never thought we would actually fell the Stanford Cardinal (Tree).  

I was grateful.  I love to watch the common folk win the battle over the elite.  I know it doesn't often happen, but being a common folk myself who just happened to go to Stanford, I still prefer being the common folk.  Personally, I think we (the common folk) are funnier, but I digress.

44-6 was awesome.  Really.   REALLY.  44 points were enough, all by themselves.  But, I didn't anticipate another 97 points to follow:  27 by the Seahawks two days later and 70 by the Huskies the following week against those pesky Ducks at Oregon.

141 points in touchdowns and field goals for my birthday.  What a present!  I'm still trying to figure out how Barry managed to finagle such football-induced bliss for this very memorable birthday!

Yay Huskies!  Yay Hawks!

Sit, Stand, Kneel...

Sounds like a dog obedience class, doesn't it?   Not that MY dogs have ever been to one.  No sir, they are just naturally well behaved (not), but we've done the home schooled version of dog obedience:

Lady & Lucky do well enough, but that has nothing to do with what this blog is about.

Rather, it is about the recent struggle in the NFL as to what to do during the playing of the national anthem.   Colin Kaepernick (San Francisco 49ers, for those of you out there who don't live and breathe football from August to January every year) started it by sitting during the national anthem for the first three pre-season games (again, for those of you who don't live and breathe football, that's the time of year that the boys in the NFL test out their new boys to see who they keep and who they toss into the wind like deflated footballs).   Colin Kaepernick sat during the national anthem to protest the way the United States now treats blacks and other people of color.  His sitting during the national anthem was followed by a multitude of other NFL players resting on a single knee during the anthem and joining Mr. Kaepernick in his public protest against the recent and ongoing injustice against blacks and others of color in a country that is supposed to embrace people of all color... a fundamental premise on which this country was founded.

In response to his protest, we have seen more protests and counter-protests and sadly, even death threats to Mr. Kaepernick.  Many who disagree with Mr. Kaepernick believe that we should stand during the national anthem, particularly to avoid disrespect or dishonor to those veterans who have fought and risked their lives to protect the very freedom that allows us to protest, to struggle, and to inch ever closer to the true spirit of the golden rule... to love and treat others as we would ourselves.

As I have been pondering what I think of sitting or kneeling during the national anthem, I have had thoughts that range from:

'It's better than burning the American Flag, but ....'

to

'Is Standing no matter what blessing something that is fundamentally wrong?..'

But, in the middle of my pondering, my favorite NFL team did something about the Sit, Kneel, Stand dilemma.  

On September 11, the Seattle Seahawks stood during the National Anthem... arm in arm, intertwined, alternating black and white, united.

How, in all of our struggles have we forgotten this very basic message?  To fight together.  Not separately.   To come together as the melting pot on which our country was founded.

Our Seahawks (and others) sent the very message that we so very much need to hear. Whatever the injustice, whichever the ugliness, however the struggle, whenever the tragedy... we need to blend and fight it as a single country... stumbling, struggling, and inching toward a better unity.    

And, in my not so humble opinion, there is only one thing we need to alternate with being on our feet during the national anthem... and that is kneeling on not one but both knees in humble acknowledgement to an all powerful God that we need help from Him to more fully love and accept one another.   We simply can't do this by ourselves.  We are too weak and too flawed.  

Sound corny?  Well, of course.  But, let's give it a shot.  Instead of protesting, polarizing, arguing, or worse... can we spend some time standing, intertwined? ... black, white, asian, hispanic, male, female, poor, rich, and also some time on both knees?... acknowledging with humble hearts, that none of us has this whole relationship thing exactly right... and we need help.

Please?

A Food Experience

I looked up the definition of foodie the other day:
"a person with a particular interest in food"

My waistline suggests this description fits me, but I envision foodies to be individuals who can sit in the middle of a crowded, noisy, chaotic restaurant and enjoy the gourmet plate placed in front of them.  Place me in that same situation and I might as well be eating cardboard (which I have never tried, but I can imagine it is most unpleasant for both the palate and the GI tract).

I think rather than being a foodie, I am a connoisseur (yes, I had to look up how to spell it.... too many syllabus for my frail memory) of the food experience.   Put in terms I can spell (and understand), that means the whole circumstance, ambiance, and memory surrounding the eating of food which itself has to be exquisite in some way ... the proper Food Experience can emerge from many a circumstance, no matter what the number of stars next to the restaurant review, no matter what the number of $$$ (although I confess to being partial to fewer $$$ rather than more $$$$$).  

For example, my husband and I had the wonderful blessing of doing something that many Americans choose not to do each year:  go on vacation.   We didn't go very far, but we don't need to.  We are blessed by living in a place where we are surrounded by tourist destinations, and once the tourists go home after summer's unofficial end on labor day weekend, we head out to take their place in solitude and quiet... which brings us to Cannon Beach, Oregon.

The day at Cannon Beach starts with a simple walk in the sunshine on a beach that, located anywhere in the continental U.S. outside of the Northwest corner, would be crawling with people.  But, here, people remain few and far between... and allow us to stroll in peace along a little bit of sand, a lot of sunshine, and a rock of some stature:

Such weather and scenery puts us in the mood to walk for several miles, use up all of our film (not... thank goodness for digital cameras!), and after unceremoniously dropping down on to the sand for a sit-in at Haystack rock (above), we head back to the town, feeling of all things... hungry.



At this point, we are primed for a memorable Food Experience  I can sense that the time is just right for the moments of the day to join into an Experience so, despite my rumbling stomach, I become much more particular about our lunch perch.   After wandering along the main street, I see the potential..  at the Driftwood restaurant.

It's a sunny day on the Oregon coast, so eating outside goes without question.  We are seated under a large old pine tree whose shape clearly narrates the windy and stormy nature of the Oregon winter... a season which seems as remote to us as Siberia during our sunny, low seventies heat wave.  

The pine, the shore, the sand, the sun.... mean that it simply wouldn't do to just order anything off the menu.  A true Food Experience does not allow for a willy nilly selection of anything to satisfy whatever craving lurks inside.  Instead, it becomes extremely important to choose a food (and a drink) that matches the mood... otherwise, it's just lunch.  No Experience for us.  Just some disjointed memories of good times someplace along the Oregon coast.

After browsing the menu for far too long, I believe I have discovered the correct items for the Food Experience of September 7, 2016.   After my husband orders the exact same thing that I do, without ever having consulted on the subject, I think we have a winning combination.  When my martini arrives and has the absolutely correct number of olives and two tiny ice cubes to offset the warm day, I am further convinced that we have our food experience is coming together fabulously:

Don't worry.  I am not a Foodie proper.  I am not going to venture into elaborate detail on the lunch itself. Halibut with a creamy lemon dill sauce and rice pilaf on the side

And the Halibut did what Halibut is supposed to do.  It melted in my mouth, joined with the dill and the lemon across the cream... and sealed the deal.  The day has graduated into a Food Experience.. to be remembered and cherished anytime I am stuck at McDonalds or eating Mac and Cheese because life is far too busy to seek out, orchestrate, and gift wrap another experience like this treasured day.

Many thanks to Barry Maulding for helping to being part of my Food Experience on Cannon Beach... I'll remember the day for a lifetime!

Murder on Frogwater Road

At approximately 17:30 hours on Saturday, April 2, the main suspect was seen dragging the victim against his will into the primary structure on 4141 Frogwater Road.  Shortly thereafter, the victim was reportedly locked inside a windowless room inside the structure, alone except for two pieces of ancient heating apparatus and a more modern, ominous-looking freezing device.  

At approximately 19:30 hours, two other suspects joined the primary suspect in a vigil outside the victim's hapless prison.  Eyewitnesses to the vigil stated that joy and anticipation gleamed aplenty in the eyes of at least two of the suspects.   The third suspect, a handicapped individual, seemed to be unaware of the carefully laid plans of the first two suspects.

Overnight, the victim apparently suffered, in total darkness, and at one point attempted an escape by chewing through wires associated with one of the ancient heating devices.   After a shocking rebuke for this behavior, the victim lay quietly for several hours, pondering his dilemma with increasing dread.

At 05:00 hours on Sunday, April 3, the victim tweeted one last dire warning to his friends and family:  "Please, I beg you... Stuff your cheeks elsewhere."

At this point, in an act of sheer desperation, the trapped victim appeared to claw his way out of the locked, windowless prison in a final attempt to escape.   After making a rather clever and unlikely escape, the victim, Chip W. Bey, came face to face, not with freedom but with his very tormentors. The three low-life predators appeared to have laid in wait for him and, upon observing his escape, subsequently commenced a rather gruesome end to Chip's life.

Time of death was estimated at approximately 07:30 hours on Sunday, April 2.  All three suspects in the crime are now held under house arrest, awaiting a-rain-ment, which was scheduled for Monday, according to the latest forecast.

Eyewitnesses reported the primary suspect demonstrated no remorse at the crime, believing herself too beautiful to be guilty of any crime ever:

The second suspect was seen relocating the body to an outdoor location before its discovery by the owners of the property.  She also expressed no apparent remorse and appeared to be eyeing another victim within minutes of this gruesome crime:

The third suspect appeared to simply be going along with the other two masterminds of these events.   Handicapped by a non-functioning fourth leg, she was not considered a threat to society and was thereafter released on her own re-cat-nizance.   

The owners of the property in question wished to make no comment on this brutal crime.  Instead, they spent their Sunday attempting to console the long time partner of the victim -- Dale W. Bey. 

Mrs. Bey,  apparently unable to comprehend the seriousness and finality of the situation with regard to Chip W. Bey, ran around the property the whole day stuffing her cheeks with glee.    

Half a Million Sandhill Cranes

That's a lot of cranes...

far more than New York City has ever seen, despite the economic recovery.

Yet, a small stretch of Nebraska from Grand Island to Kearney sees this many cranes every year in the spring.   As the weather warms and winter comes to an end, the Sandhill Cranes fly from various points south and converge onto this slice of Nebraska to feed, to rest, and then to continue the journey to various points north in both Canada and Alaska. Some estimates put the number of Sandhill Cranes that land here near the Platte River on their migration route as 80% of the total Sandhill Crane population in the world:

And, to repeat myself, that's a lot of Cranes.  

If I can manage to forget thoughts (or calculations) of the increased risk of bird poop falling on my head and shoulders as I walk under a sunset sky filled with v-shaped flocks of Sandhill Cranes, I find nothing but awe and joy in the experience.   After a long day and hundreds of miles along America's highways, awe and joy are a gift totally unexpected and entirely appreciated.

As the sun approaches the horizon, the sky fills with muted oranges and pinks...

and provides a stunning backdrop to the flocks as they rise up from the horizon, one after another, rearranging their formation and order to combat the stiff wind that comes in from the Northwest.  In another day, the temperatures will plunge, the skies will darken, and one last snowstorm will come to disrupt the Nebraska spring. But, on this evening marking the end of a beautiful second day of spring, the flocks of cranes stream in along currents of unseasonably warm weather, and land in the still fallow corn fields, awaiting their first sown seed of the season.

Despite the visual wonder the cranes supply both across the overhead sky and along the vast expanses of corn fields that surround the interstate in this part of Nebraska, this is not their greatest feature.   Rather, as each flock flies overhead or takes flight from a corn field, it sings its own unique chorus of sweet coo's, as if a flock of doves has suddenly stretched and transformed into a flying sea of gracefully long necks and wide wingspans. Having heard the awful and inglorious croak of the related great blue heron, the sweet gentle song of these birds is another wonderful treat, one that fills my heart not only with gratitude but with a reminder of who took all the time to create these beautiful and unique wonders in the natural world.  

Parting a Sea of Gnats

Before the information age began, it was entirely possible to shut the gnats out for a day.  Lock the doors, close the windows, turn the phone off... and Voila... a day without these pesky little bugs could begin.  Mosquitoes they are not, but gnats are nevertheless an annoying part of our lives.


But now, in the advanced and ever more superior Information Age, the gnats travel in not only by open doors, windows, and via telephone... but also through the ever-expanding Cloud.  They travel from far away places like China and Australia. They come in from the Employer Hatchery and other nearby and similarly sinister places. They penetrate every nook and cranny of our daily lives.  They come with bells, whistles, ringtones and the like... they swarm, they perch, they annoy, and they mock.

At the end of the day (if I am lucky enough to have such an end to any day), they take shelter on their little To-Do perches, make nests, and multiply in the night... as methodically and as rapidly as a herd of rabbits in a lush warren.



If I even so much as dare to indulge in the rare and rapidly declining act of concentrating, the gnats will quickly take offense, gather their numbers, and swoop down in an organized swarm to thwart any attempt at meaningful focus designed to produce something more than a three line e-mail, a one line-text, a two-minute phone call.  If I dare to dream bigger, to endeavor to write anything of many pages with some loftier purpose in mind than Task Mastering 101, the gnats will know.  And they will come.

I have heard that solutions to the problem of gnats are held in a body of knowledge known as Time Management.  I have heard that people whose expertise is Time Management will spout wisdom regarding the management of gnats.   I have heard that these peoples will tell eager listening ears to cast many of the gnats away. Strike them from their To-Do perches.   Blast them out the door in an explosion of well-constructed Priorities.  Take control of the Gnats!


But, alas, I have some bad news for these well meaning teachers and coaches -- about the evolution of modern gnats.   Yes, it's true... the proliferating To-Do gnat has continued to evolve over time.   In response to the many efforts to destroy the gnats, gnats have evolved to become time-management resistant.   They have learned their tricks from their friends, the bacterial infectors who no longer respond to something as mundane as the antibiotic police.

This is the way it goes.  A gnat shunned has learned to evolve into a mosquito.   Rather than simply buzzing around my head, the shunned gnat becomes a proboscis perpetrator, designed to abruptly and rudely sting its way onto my radar screen.  If that doesn't work, the resulting sting will stimulate the itch-and-scratch segment of my brain to the exclusion of all else.


Like many others, however, I have discovered both mosquito repellent and cortisone.  If I have both of these modern marvels on hand, I can manage both the gnat and the mosquito problem simultaneously, thereby finding some peaceful time to focus and sometimes, ever so rarely, producing something of quality and creativity.

However, and this is a true story.  Some gnats, obnoxious creatures that they are, do not give up, even at the evolution-into-mosquito stage.  As demands for my time and attention may occasionally fail, one or more particularly insistent gnats will up the ante on intellectual pestering, transforming into:


All joking aside, it's a wee bit difficult to ignore a dragon breathing fire down your neck. There is no OTC solution to that problem... so whatever is a person to do to combat this ever increasing and ever evolving swarm of tasks that takes away from doing anything prolonged and meaningful in life?

In the absence of a grand electromagnetic storm that wipes out our telecommunications and internet, it appears that the most we can hope for in our illustrious time management schemes is to Part the Sea of Gnats, ever so briefly.  At these exquisite times, when the Sea of Gnats parts, we must run through the gap... quickly and immediately... to whatever meaningful goal we may find truly important in our lives.

Be forewarned.  We must not be naive about the Sea of Gnats.  It will not remain parted.  Rather, when the time is right (for the Gnats, not for us), the Sea will close quickly and unexpectedly, thus leaving us bogged down once again with the swarm of things to do buzzing around our heads, drowning out the the call of any more purposeful things that may be accomplished in life.

And, then we must wait for the next time, when our clever efforts and diligence may once again Part the Sea... and the Gnats shut their mouths and demands for another momentary bout of calm, peace, and focus.