I read email first thing every morning while having coffee. It’s how I start my day so it was especially delightful to get a short note in my mailbox from neighbor R saying that she’d been admiring my work up at North Hill Bakery, even without knowing it was mine. An excellent start to the day. If you haven’t seen the show, you still can, and if you go early enough on a Friday, you can take home a challah. G’wan, git. Call me, I’ll meet you there.
At 9:45 I buzzed over to New Seattle Massage where I handed my body to one of their excellent massage practicioners for about an hour. I’m somewhat tweaky, having finished my first week back on the yoga mat at Seattle Yoga Arts. I’ve been doing yoga for a while but had fallen out of practice mostly because I’d been getting a little bored. I’m taking classes from my first serious – and favorite – yoga teacher. My body knows pretty much what to do, but because I’m not very strong from lack of practice. Ouch. I seem to be able to move my head again, and lesson learned: just because you can reach, doesn’t mean you should.
We returned from scenic Eugene last night. We spent the weekend visiting with the western parental contingent. On Saturday, stepfather, husband, and I walked out across Fern Ridge Reservoir, drained for the summer for repairs to the dam. We saw many white egrets, a heron or two, several tiny sparrows, and a really cool snake. We ate wild blackberries and apples, and then, it poured rain just when Mom came to pick us up. As always, we dined like royalty on my Mom’s excellent cooking out at the Garden Palace where they live. There was much conversation about the proposed itinerary for their next Fall trip to – you guessed it – Austria. We can’t wait to tell them where to go and what to do and what to eat and what to look at and and and…
Satruday evening, after Chinese food, we caught the second set of Brook Adams and the Marmalukes, a delightful gyspy jazz/tin pan alley combo. I introduced myself to Brook, who, god love him, plays the ukulele, and invited him up to play with the good folks up SUPA. He gave me a copy of his CD and sent me away grinning like an idiot over the wonders of ukulele diplomacy. Aloha, I tellya, it’s some powerful stuff. World peace through the ukulele. I ain’t joking.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the deliciousness experienced last weekend at Tomatopalooza. We had pasta with roasted tomatoes, tomato pesto bruschetta, Greek salad, and other fine tomato based or supplemented dishes. No scurvy for us, no sir. We have to pick tomatoes again and pronto, as the plants are once again heavy with fruit. I continue to roast them by default, but Mom sent me away with a recipe for tomato bread that I will make with the next big harvest. I may need to make several loafs.
While we’re enjoying the incredible abundance of
late summer, I should give props yet again to the remarkable Grace who found herself on the news talking about the direct relief project she helped launch. As the guy in the interview said, “You should be running FEMA!” No shit. This reminds me to tell you yet again to buy my book because not only did my dear friend K. do an edit pass for me, thus shaking out several embarrasing grammar errors, but also, it’s still September and before I go on to be the best-selling independent author of silly essays in 2005, I’m keepin’ it real and donating all the royalties to the Red Cross Katrina fund. It’s no direct relief project, but we do what we can, right?
In the midst of all this, it’s a swirl of busy with work. I’m very excited about the feature spread I’m writing for the inaugural print issue of Snowshoe Magazine. I’ve got some technical articles published too, because, you’ll be stunned to learn, swanning about the Northwest eating tomatoes and hobnobbing with ukulele players just doesn’t pay the mortgage. Speaking of mortgages, do you need one? The downstairs two-thirds of my house is still for sale, so if you’re dying to live in the heart of Cap Hill below a Very Considerate Neighbor, all I can say is this: What are you waiting for?