Sorry Seattle... who you are doesn't work for me anymore.

On September 5, 2017, I boarded a plane at Seattle Tacoma International Airport (otherwise known as a zoo with airplanes) to Boston, Massachusetts (otherwise known as enemy territory -- if you are a Seahawks fan, you know what I'm talking about) with the blissful intention of driving into Maine and then New Brunswick, Canada for a week-long vacation.

Last night, I deplaned at Seattle Tacoma International Airport from a flight that originated in Tampa, Florida, having never stepped foot nor passport in Canada.   A week long interlude with Hurricane Irma not only changed my vacation plans but quite a few things on the inside of me that aren't too apparent to anyone but me.

As I strolled through the airport, I felt like I'd landed on another planet.  How quickly I'd forgotten the endless rush that most of those who live in Seattle adopt as if it's the new normal.   As one after the other busy person crossed in front of me, behind me, over me, under me, and any many of prepositions around me, I didn't change my pace. Because, I'm sorry Seattle. I don't want to be a part of you anymore.

I don't want to sigh impatiently if I have to wait 10.8 ms for someone in front of me to move. Not only is that 10.8 ms irrelevant to my quality of life, I may also miss an opportunity to help that "slow" person in front who has caused such an alarming delay in my daily progress.  I might miss the opportunity to smile, and in the process, make sure the smile goes well beyond my mouth and into my eyes.  I could miss a lot of things in the here and now because I am too busy focusing on how quickly I need to get to the there and next.

I don't want to check my phone more often than I take a sip of water or a moment to notice the sky or a second to breathe clean air.  I'll get the extra dopamine elsewhere, thank you.

I don't want to be available to my employer 7 days a week and shoulder the possibility that I'm the world's biggest loser if I don't answer an e-mail in 24 hours or less.  I don't want to face serious concerns about my loyalty if I miss one meeting out of 246.

I don't want to rely on the horn of a car as a beacon proclaiming the importance of my time.  If you need to get ahead of me because you have an appointment to get to, please feel free; just leave enough space so that our encounter doesn't involve a tangle with our car insurance companies.

I have a secret to share Seattle.  I went without internet and the use of a computer for several days, while still surrounded by pavement and cars and people.  You know what happened?  I lived.  Made it through the "ordeal" of loss of connectivity just fine.  No urgent medical care or concern resulted from my lack of connectivity.

Don't get me wrong Seattle.  You are a beautiful city with many nooks, crannies, and places to enjoy that make urban living good living.

But, somewhere along the line, the frantically increasing pace of building, buying, selling, and competing got out of hand and the speed control on the treadmill broke on the red line setting.

Pardon me, Seattle while I step off this treadmill and try to figure out another life that makes a wee bit more sense than the Amazon/Microsoft model.

The good news is that Seattle won't miss me.  Why?
Everyone will be too busy to notice I'm gone.  

A Walk on the Beach

For those that live in a landlocked state, it is probably sufficient to simplify the walk on the beach as... a walk in a sandy locale, ocean rolling to and fro in the background, a breeze of tolerable temperature touching some measure of bare skin, and with it all, a certain promise of relaxation to the mind and heart.

However, if you've lived on one or the other coast for most of your life, you know a walk on the beach bears subtle but important distinctions from one iteration to the next. There is a certain although not overly complex taxonomy to walks on the beach, that draws out differences in experience and purpose for such walks and makes for a sophisticated palate from which the feet and spirit consider, choose, and indulge.

Of course, there are always the substandard walks, which while fruitful in other ways, deliver minimal benefit pertaining to that expected of a Walk on the Beach.  For example, some walks on the beach have the audacity to require you to look where you are going as a result of frequent occurrences of rocks, uneven terrain, squishy once living blobs, muddy puddles, erratic patterns of seaweed, or other such nonsense. While these walks may be enjoyable, they technically belong in the category called hikes, because a significant part of whatever is going on in the brain has to be dedicated to avoiding a twisted ankle, a face plant, or similar undesirable ending to what would otherwise be a lovely excursion.

There is also the substandard Walk on the Beach incurred by inappropriate clothing or otherwise missing outdoor accoutrements.   How was I supposed to now that by the time I got to the beach, the 40 mph winds were going to drop the temperature by another ten degrees?   How could I possibly forget sunglasses when I have at least three pair strategically placed so that I wouldn't dare get to the beach without passing by at least one?   What do you mean I can't walk on the beach in high heels? After all, I had an hour for lunch at this or that conference and the beach was just a few blocks away, so why not?  The list goes on, but substandard, whether induced by terrain, weather, or my own stupidity... is still substandard.  

One step up from the substandard Walk on the Beach is the perfunctory one.   That's the walk where your inner yuppie forces you to take the walk solely for exercise.  While there is nothing fundamentally wrong with exercise, a Walk on the Beach taken only to get exercise is a little too goal oriented for this category of activity and is to be avoided. So sayeth the elves who live among sandy toes and salty kisses.

Moving upward in the extensive Walks on the Beach classification system, some of us who've adopted a canine variety or two, can testify as to the value of the dog Walk.   As long as no rotator cuff is torn as part of the antics that go on when dogs find themselves both on a leash and on the beach, the dog Walk is typically laced with simple joys.  Play at its best, frolicking in the surf, and stopping and sniffing to the delight of the canine heart can only infect the owner of such dogs with the same.  

When times are hard or grief lingers, it may be time for a Healing Walk on the Beach. This one has many variations, but my own is simply to walk until it hurts no longer. And, returning to my starting place, I may find the hurts of my heart have ebbed, but the pain in many of my muscles has made up for it.   Soreness and ache of the muscles are simple pains, though, compared to the deep, troubled, and complex pains I sometimes carry on my own heart.  

Sometimes, friendship requires a Chatting Walk on the Beach.  This one happens when two people, typically but not always two women, indulge in non-stop conversation while strolling along the sand. While the sounds of the rolling surf may be hard to recall after one of these walks, warm memories of friendship and of sharing one another's lives are often many and memorable.  

When one is alone, the Walk on the Beach may turn into an Incubation. This requires that no attention is given to where one is going, so that the mind can wander in and out of La-La land at its leisure.  In so doing. the mind can relax enough to find a solution or creative approach to one of life's dilemmas that would have otherwise remained tucked away in an untouchable crevice in the brain.  While incubation can happen in many places unencumbered by the crazy busyness of modern life, a Walk on the Beach, under the right circumstances, is one of the most promising.  

And, finally, digressing back to the simple.  Sometimes, a Walk on the Beach is just a walk.   No purpose.  No category.  No end result.  Just a Walk. Warm sunshine.  Gentle Breeze.  Soft or wild wave.  It doesn't matter.  Walks on the Beach, in all their forms, on any coast... are one of life's greatest treasures and often, are a sure remedy to many an emotional or spiritual ailment.

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.