From the Archives: Little Boxes

Freecycle is a fine thing if you’re moving. It’s not just a good way to get rid of stuff that no way are you going to sell. (Plus, who has yard sale in Seattle in March?) It’s also a good way to get boxes. I can almost guarantee that someone in your neighborhood has just moved and empty boxes are piling up about the place. The newly moved and exhausted resident knows they ought to recycle those boxes, but they are too busy finding where the power cord to their speakers has gone or buying shelf paper or they’re unable to leave the apartment because for the life of them they can not find the key.


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Dad

 

Not Quite Heaven, Central Virginia

I have heard tell of weddings where the bride and groom call ahead to a local hotel and arrange for a block of rooms at a somewhat discounted rate. I’ve also heard of weddings where they don’t do that, but they do give you a list of local places to stay that are convenient for …


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On Leaving Capitol Hill

I haven’t lived anywhere but the Hill since moving to Seattle. I have always been walking distance from Broadway, at the most, about a mile, at the least, one block. I found my Seattle home here. I have not lived anywhere this long in my entire life. Not in my geographically tumultuous childhood or as …


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Fish Wednesday: Smoked Cod Edition

If you don’t make sure the foil clears the heating element in your oven, you will be shocked by the amount of smoke that you’ve created. It won’t set the smoke alarms off if you are vigilant (or if you haven’t changed the batteries in a while). You will be a little annoyed at having …


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Wanderlust: Sickness and Sin

Note: While some things about this post are as true today as when I wrote it, close to exactly one year after I published it, I was eating dinner at the night market in Saigon.

I was in the airport last week and after I dropped off the husband, I walked past the Hawaiian Air counter. There was no line. “What if…” I thought, feeling in my jacket for my wallet. It happens in the movies all the time. Some disenchanted broken hearted misdirected soul wanders up to the counter and asks for the next flight to the tropics. They hand over a credit card and the camera cuts to a montage of – hey, there I am, shopping for a swimsuit, a towel, some flipflops, and a sarong! Moments later, to the sound of cheesy 70s pop, I’m frolicking in the surf, cut, drinking a cocktail with an umbrella in it, cut, walking in to the sunset, a silhouette against an orange sky. Believe it or not, I’m walking on air, never thought I could feel so free eee eee!

Sigh. As if.


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