It seems that everyone across the country is having some form of extraordinary weather, and you’re probably sick of checking your blog lists and reading the same rapturous bleatings. So, I’m just going to cut to the chase and post photos of our Great Seattle Snowstorm of 2008. Perhaps, soon, the blogosphere will cease resembling the Weather Channel.
The snow started in earnest Saturday evening, and Mrs. Perils and I walked up to the Santa Fe Cafe for a dessert margarita (Click any photo to enlarge):
After a morning respite, it began snowing again, and we walked down to Green Lake and around our neighborhood:
The tree in the photo below, right is, according to Mrs. Perils, called a corkscrew hazel:
Here’s Chez Perils from across the street:
And here’s the scene in our side yard:
One individual in our household you wouldn’t have found outside the house for the last 5 days is Mr. Rico:
Winging my way to Milwaukee today, another weekend prematurely torn asunder by the arrival of the airport shuttle. While Saturday began as a perfect fall day, I wanted to do nothing at 8:30 except quaff some more sleep. I awoke at the awkward hour of 11:30, awkward because any hope of a grandiose kayak outing involving a drive or ferry ride was out of the question in the stinginess of these post-solstice afternoons.
I dithered away another couple of hours trying to figure out how to salvage the remains of my only weekend day when my son said he was thinking of going on a bike ride. It never even crosses my mind to ride with him, as he’s hella strong, without an extra ounce of body fat and I’m … going on 59, remember? But my sense of panic was galling me, and I asked him if I could go along, noting that the pace would have to be a bit leisurely. He was surprisingly accommodating, and we decided to strike out for Seward Park and a spin along the shore of Lake Washington.
He was a gentleman about the pace, and I drafted him greedily. It was chilly but sunny, and the lake and mountains in the distance made a pleasing backdrop. I even took a couple of “pride” pulls at the front, and he genially dropped back and pretended to draft me.
Here’s a view of Mt. Rainier over Lake Washington from Seward Park (click to enlarge):
And here’s a picture of my son at Seward Park as he waits for me to quit gasping and bleeding out the ears:
I once again ginned up my GPS in order to chronicle the ride, a map of which can be seen here .
I was working downtown on Tuesday and had a couple of hours between meetings. It was a lovely day, and I took the opportunity to stroll around at lunchtime. Harbor Steps is a sweeping staircase leading from the Seattle Art Museum down to the waterfront, and is a very “happening” place on a summer afternoon.
I arrived at Harbor Steps just in time to catch the last number in a lunchtime concert by Seattle R&B group Choklate. We’d seen the band at the Bumbershoot festival several years ago. My interest was also piqued as I recognized the keyboard player, Darius Willrich, from several other bands and jamfests that we’ve been around in the last decade.
As an added bonus, we were treated to some…eccentric…white-lady booty-shaking. You get a glimpse of her as this video opens, and then at the end, I get a more robust lens-full. I had the A720 and not the S3 IS, so the sound pickup is mono instead of stereo:
As I indicated, we spent Saturday skiing at Crystal Mountain resort. We were thinking that the day would be at least partially clear, but that clearing part was extremely partial, and a lot of the skiing was in fog as pictured below:
I did start to feel my ski legs, and got off the bunny slope and onto some longer intermediate slopes, which was fun and gratifying. I don’t think I’ll make a habit of returning to the slopes, though. It’s an expensive day’s play, and no one else I know does it. But this weekend was a cool way to break away from routine (as long as I didn’t break anything else).
Living here with mountains visible in one direction or the other, we forget how striking it is for flatlanders to turn a corner and see snow-covered peaks. In fact, I still get a thrill when Mt. Rainier peeks out from its shroud of cloud, as it did on the drive home. I couldn’t resist stopping for a photo opp:
We finished our tour-guiding with a seafood dinner at Chinook’s, at Fisherman’s Terminal in Seattle.
My youngest brother and his step-daughter are in town this weekend from Atlanta and Columbus, respectively, for a couple of days of skiing. The trip is a reward to the step-daughter, who will graduate from OSU in March.
I started skiing fairly late in life (42, I believe) when our son started and I wanted to accompany him. I never became very proficient, but got so that I could enjoy some of the blue (intermediate) runs, if conditions weren’t too icy. Since he graduated from high school (2000), however, I have hardly skied at all, and I’ve lost most of my mojo.
Fortunately, my brother is almost a beginner, and we spent yesterday on the Daisy hill at Stevens Pass. I rented skis instead of taking my old boneshakers, since I wanted to try the new parabolic skis that have become popular. As advertised, they made turns and other maneuvers much easier, and I started to feel a little more confident by the end of the day. Here we are posing fashionably at the beginning of a run (Click to enlarge:
Today we’re headed up to Crystal Mountain, down close to Mt. Rainier, for another go. It looks like a much nicer day, perhaps better for photography.
Our trip with my brother and SIL last weekend worked out perfectly - nearly everything fell into place as if it were scripted.
Here’s a little soundtrack for a post about a trip that includes the San Juans - it’s called The Pig War by a Seattle band called Minus The Bear:
[audio:http://perilsofcaffeineintheevening.com/wp-content/uploads/ThePigWar.mp3]
I picked up my guests at the airport Wednesday night, and we left Thursday morning for a ferry ride across Puget Sound and a short drive to Port Townsend on the Olympic Peninsula (Click photos to enlarge).
Port Townsend is a charming little town nestled in a bay off of Admiralty Inlet, the passage that connects Puget Sound with the Strait of Wanna Fu Juan de Fuca. If you click the link above, you’ll read of an interesting wrinkle in its history that ensured the preservation of some knockout Victorian housing stock. Our weather pattern for the weekend was morning fog which the sun chased away at its leisure over the course of the afternoon. As we walked around Port Townsend, fog moved in and out, and eventually settled into a sculpted bank offshore, secreting ferries, container ships and other shipping, and their alarmist honking.
We stayed at a nice little place on the water called The Tides. Port Townsend and environs was the setting for the filming of the movie An Officer And A Gentleman, and The Tides was the site of one of Debra Winger and Richard Gere’s liasons. The middle photo below is the parade grounds at Fort Worden where the cadets’ graduation took place. The filming provided me with my only movie star client as a CPA. Friends of ours lived and ran businesses in Port Townsend at that time, and I did their taxes. During filming, one of their daughters was selected to appear in the film (in the dinner scene where Gere visited Debra Winger’s family. Their daughter was one of the kids at the table.) Every year thereafter, she got a 1099 from Paramount, and I prepared a little 1040 for her.
Friday morning, we had reservations for a boat tour that left Port Townsend, wound its way through the San Juan Islands to a lunch stop in Friday Harbor, and engaged in some wildlife-ogling and orca-watching on the return trip. Below you see the most interesting of our wildlife sightings, each in their own way attempting to absorb as many late-summer sunrays as possible.
And the piece de resistance: Our tour boat headed to the west side of San Juan Island and slipped in among a throng of other boats who were watching the J and K pods of southern resident orcas feeding offshore. The rule for whale-watching boats is to keep at least 100 meters’ distance, and, remarkably, all but one of the boats were scrupulously observing this etiquette. The whales, however, are under no such restriction, and at some point started heading towards the boats. The video below was taken as a pair of them approached, then swam around, our boat.
This might seem heretical to whale worshipers, but the above video for me is eerily reminiscent of this scene from my brother’s pond in South Carolina. For a time, the pond was home to one small-mouthed bass that, for all intents and purposes, became a housepet to my avid fisherman brother. It would follow us around the pond as we circumambulated the shore. I mean, can you eat a fish once you’ve named it “Shamu”? Shamu died of natural causes last spring. Or so we’re told. Me, I think he’s still down there, waiting for his “Call me fishmeal” moment:
And, finally, the ostensible reason for their visit arrived Saturday morning - the game at Husky Stadium between our Buckeyes and the Washington Huskies. Mrs. Perils is not a football fan, so my bro, SIL and I walked down to the stadium, taking time to meander around UW’s campus and absorb a little collegiate atmosphere. Upon entering the stadium, we were delighted to see that there was a large contingent wearing scarlet.
Also attending was an a pep band from the OSU Marching Band alumni club. When they were soliciting players earlier in the summer, I considered playing, but ultimately felt that it was sort of inappropriate for non-students to be participating in a college athletic event. I mean, it’s one thing to have an annual reunion game at our stadium where we play jointly with the student band and they love us and welcome us. It’s quite another thing to start showing up at away games and, in my opinion, usurping the role that students should be playing, even given that the Big Ten schools either send an entire band or nothing. I don’t want them to start thinking that they can quit sending the student band to away games because the alumni are only too happy to play. Our job as band alumni is to shut up and write checks. So, my brother and I attended the game as mere citizens. Meanwhile, the alumni band did a great job of playing and rallying our fans, they were loved and welcomed, and I’d have had a great time participating. But, in retrospect, I’m content with my decision.
The photos below depict a celebration after we scored, the final score on the scoreboard, and the team assembled in the endzone after the game, facing the contingent of fans and singing the alma mater along with the alumni band. A thoroughly satisfying afternoon. (I hasten to add - those people in kilts are not the OSU alumni band - it was high school band day at Husky Stadium, and they’re getting a ground-zero view of a tradition-laden program, even if it’s not the one they came to see!)
OK, not much inspiration for actual content, so I’ll post some pictures from our walk down to Gasworks Park last night. It was a lovely, summer-y (!) evening. Strolling through the Seattle Tilth garden, we saw this hummingbird flit around, then perch brazenly about 10 feet away. They’re usually a lot more skittish than that
(Click any photo to enlarge)
Further down the hill, there was a car festooned with refrigerator-magnet words. I’m not sure if it was an invitation for passers-by to compose something, and I wasn’t willing to risk the ire of its owner by doing so. The reflection of Mrs. Perils is sort of interesting, though. I totally planned that.
Down at Gasworks Park, it was Prom Night for one of the area schools, with a photo session on top of Kite Hill. I’m tickled at how they’re standing in rows facing each other. In the picture on the left, the girl seems to be considering whether she needs to obey the sign on the fence.
These guys are definitely not headed for the prom:
I know you must get tired of this view, but I like these photos so well I can’t let them moulder in obscurity on my hard disk:
A couple weeks ago, as I sat in a cafe in my neighborhood, I looked across the street and was intrigued, and then amused to see this sign:
For about a half-second, I thought it could be a startlingly candid hair salon. I mean, it’s about as hard for a salon to distinguish itself around here as it is for espresso shops and Thai restaurants, they’re so abundant. A tick later, though, I knew it had to be about pets, and I was right - it’s a store stocked with products targeted at owners of female dogs that feel compelled to pamper and anthropomorphize them.
The sign, and its use of the word “bitch”, has caused a little outcry in my urban, blue-state neighborhood, although it’s more of a PC-based complaint than a “family-values” one. My first reaction was that it was cute and clever, and to urge the application of a little humor; for instance, in the interest of inclusiveness, I’d pair the shop with one for cat owners called The Persnickety Pussy. We also have some chicken-keepers in the ‘hood who might be drawn to The Discriminating Cocksman.
But then, if you read some of the reader comments to the article, you can start to appreciate the position that a certain permission has been granted to those who use the word in a hateful fashion, and that perhaps there’s a slippery slope[Ethnic references redacted]. But it’s going to be a problem for a neighborhood that is home to Dick’s Drive-In and a bakery that sells marzipan penises to make a “community standards” argument against this sign.
One thing I can’t get beyond (if you click on the photo) - that dog’s ears are pierced.
Off to Milwaukee today, where it’s a balmy high of 22F. “Balmy” because they didn’t get much above 0F last week. Yesterday, we were strolling around the neighborhood in the high 50s (the temperature, not..well, yeah, us, too). I’m sorta tongue-tied these days, so I’ll just post some photos from yesterday’s stroll. Click any photo to enlarge
These are shot through the window of a little business on Fremont Avenue that makes lawn & garden statuary. On the left appears to be Beauty and the Beast, although the Beast seems the more viable of the two. On the right - who knows? Queequeg and Ishmael? There’s always something nutty on display here.
In Fremont itself, the Burke Gilman bicycle trail runs along the Ship Canal. I really like the line of poplars, but I think Weyerhauser/Quadrant (the owner of the adjacent property and the trail easement) and the city are jonesing to cut them down, positing that their fragility presents a danger. Not sure of the validity of that argument, but they really are striking in the meantime.
In the other direction, the trail comes to an abrupt halt due to construction on the Fremont Bridge. I was amused by the unintentional aptness of the yello warning sign.
On the canopy above a Fremont video store is a diorama-like tableau with miniatures of various city icons.
The architect for this new condo seems to have had a sense of humor.
Finally, a couple of funny bumper stickers I hadn’t seen before.
I’m lucky to live within three blocks of the Tangletown strip in north Seattle’s Wallingford neighborhood. It’s home to an Elysian brewpub, Kisaku sushi, a Might-O donut store, the Luau polynesian Trader Vic’s style restaurant and bar, and Zoka’sCoffeehouse, a comfy local gathering spot.
Although they have great pastries, coffee and free wifi at Zoka’s, I don’t go in there much to sit and surf. It’s always fairly crowded with kids of courting age, and I fear that if I sat my superannuated butt in one of the seats, someone of breeding age would not get the seat, not get to meet the attractive young woman seated next to me, and consequently would not tell her lies about his nearly-finished novel, not herd her across the street to the Luau, not get drunk on rum-and-grenadine concoctions garnished with umbrellas and little plastic mermaids, not wander the neighborhood in vain search of their cars, not have desperate and unprotected sex under one of my neighbors’ hydrangea bushes and not, nine months later, give birth to the marvelous child who would grow up to run for president in 2040 and finally rid us of decades of ruinous Republican rule.
No, I’ll just get that double macchiato to go, thanks.
