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Archive for the ‘Seattle’ Category

That was Different

Gossamer WheelIt was still dark when I turned the corner and saw the woman lying on the ground. It was outside the transit station, and a few other early-morning commuters had slowed to see what was going on. Shared glances communicated our mutual concern for the young woman spread-eagled on the sidewalk. One man leaned over, peering down into her face.

“Miss? Can you hear me? Are you all right?”

I pulled out my phone but heard a man nearby relaying specifics of our location. I pointed my phone at him–“911?”–and he nodded. I returned my attention to the young woman.

I knelt at her side. My first guess had been that she was drunk and passed out–the bushes lining the walk near the transit station are a habitual crash-point for Seattle’s homeless–but a closer look told me my first guess was wrong. (more…)

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I hope you all had a fine holiday. I had a fine one, myself.

During the holiday break I slept late (well, for me, 7AM is late). Each morning as my wife snoozed in, I’d get up, throw on my old-man schmatta, turn up the heat, start a pot of coffee, and slipper outside into the drizzling wet to retrieve my moistened newspaper. Back inside, I’d pour myself a chunk of joe, settle into my big buffalo chair, and, by the light of the early morning drear, decipher the grey-on-grey type that was smudged across my paper’s wet, see-through pages.

I took great pleasure in this. It was quiet. The only sounds were the exhalation of the furnace, the ticking of the clock, and the drip of rain in the downspout. Sometimes the cat would climb up and join me as I read. It was a lovely way to start each day.

Except for the morning of December 30.

That morning, the Seattle Times, in a massive brain-fart of editorial doofishness, turned a quarter of the op-ed page over to Gage Stowe, a newcomer to our shores, so he could complain about one of Seattle’s greatest flaws: traffic. I mean, they even gave him a lead-in on the front-page banner: “Seattle newbie: Why is traffic so bad?” (more…)

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Chairman MeowThe week started badly, and ended with a…  What? It’s only Thursday?

Well, Hell.

So, it’s been a trying week, so far. I’ve had injury (wrenched back), illness (rhinovirus), family issues (no comment), excitement (took our neighbor to urgent care after an accidental toddler-induced head-butt), day-job frustrations (left hand…have you even met the right hand?), and finally, last night, disbelief (I pressed the button to close the garage door and watched as the motor bucked, juddered, and then, with a thunking crunch, deposited bits of plastic, pieces of metal, and one long, greasy chain onto the top of my car).

And it’s only Thursday.

So, what’s a cowboy to do? Or, more apropos, what’s a crabby old fart with barely a scintilla of patience to do?

As I did before this wretched week started, I shall turn to music. (more…)

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Chuck Mangione’s Signature Hat
at the Smithsonian

My first master class was with Chuck Mangione, jazz composer and flugelhorn player par excellence. He came to my school, sat down with a group of student musicians, and attempted to speak to us about music, as a profession, and as a way of life. When it came time for the Q&A portion, one of the participants asked him, “Why the hat?” Chuck always wore a hat. It was his signature, his trademark, his brand. 

His answer, in those days of personal dignity and privacy, was, “Next question,” which was his polite way of saying, “Don’t be a dick.”

I don’t remember much else from that master class, just Chuck, the hat, the question, and “Don’t be a dick.”

Since then, I’ve participated in many other master classes (mostly from musicians), and each time I strove to get as much as I could from the experience. It’s a rare enough event to be able to sit down with a master artist or craftsman and have a conversation. After that first time, I never wanted to waste the opportunity again.

So, last Sunday, when I had the opportunity to learn from Bruce Naftaly, acclaimed master chef and proprietor of Le Gourmand (formerly a restaurant and now a cooking school), I was determined to learn as much as I could… and not to be a dick. (more…)

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Scarlet CrocosmiaMy eyes brightened when I saw the forecast: showers beginning Friday, continuing through Saturday and Sunday, with sunshine returning Monday morning.

I love drippy weekends. Even though they cut into my convertible drive-time, even though they make my rosebuds ball up and rot, even though they make my friends unhappy because their plans for beach-days or BBQs or mountain drives or afternoon walks get washed out, despite this I still love drippy, rainy, dreary weekends.

Rainy weekends mean I don’t have to mow the lawn.

Rainy weekends mean I don’t feel guilty about not washing the car.

Rainy weekends mean I can let my glass of red wine breathe for a bit while I sit on the deck overlooking the greenery, smelling the fresh, moist air, listening to the birds at the feeder and the drip, drip, drip of the water falling from the trees.

Rainy weekends mean bundled up mornings with warm coffee and a perhaps shot of brandy.

Rainy weekends mean spending time with those closest to me.

Rainy weekends mean quiet.

And I like that all to pieces.

k

Cypress Rain

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Seattle has its idiosyncrasies. It’s what makes this city unique. It’s what gives the city its specific “feel.”

In general, we don’t use umbrellas. We’re more a head-down-and-face-the-weather sort of town.

In general, we’re polite and courteous. Drop your wallet and chances are someone will help you retrieve it (9 out of 10 times, according to a Reader’s Digest study). We say good morning and thank you to the bus driver. We rarely honk our horns at each other, except for a polite little “bip” when the guy in front hasn’t noticed the light’s turned green.

And, in general, we don’t jaywalk. As evidence of this, I supply a recent video that shows Seahawks fans waiting for the light to turn green before they cross the street to revel in their team’s recent victory over the Broncos.

(more…)

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When it comes to snow, Seattle is conflicted.

We love it. We hate it.

And tomorrow, we’re gonna get it, or so says Cliff Mass, a scholar of weather in the Pacific Northwest.

Snow in Seattle is rare and unpredictable. It’s also a huge pain in the ass, precisely because it is so rare and unpredictable. We don’t have “snow storms” in Seattle; we have “snow events.” Incoming storms are always rain storms that freeze up on arrival. Conditions have to be just so before the white stuff falls, and tomorrow, it looks like a sure thing.

When snow does fall, Seattle takes on a different character. People look up more. Spirits lift. I see more smiles on the faces I pass on the street. Old buildings look newer and new buildings look older, as if the entire city has shifted to some mid-20th century convergence point. New sounds fill the streets–crunching footsteps, creaking tires–while other sounds are muffled.

Snow in Seattle is an excuse. Schools open late or close down for the duration. People “work from home” or head home early “to beat the traffic.” Metro buses chain up, giving us the modern equivalent to sleigh bells as they jangle along their routes. News teams put on their yellow weather jackets and stand on street corners to report, or drive around in cars with dash-cams to show us that yes, indeed, snow is falling in Seattle.

We love it!

Until we don’t.

Snow in Seattle is not all Currier and Ives. We have hills–big hills–and it doesn’t take much snow to make some of them impassable. One favorite spot for news crews is at the foot of Queen Anne Hill looking up the counterbalance, where the snow creates a game of bumper cars on an inclined plane for any driver so foolish as to venture on the slick hillside. Our snowplows, such as they are, only hit the arterials, leaving side streets covered in snow and ice. In serious events, freeway shoulders are littered with vehicles wounded or abandoned. 

By and large, the only Seattleites who drive in the snow are those who don’t know how. Those who do know how to drive in the snow know that the real danger is not the snow. It’s the idiots in 4WD SUVs who are going too fast (because they have 4WD), and so we stay off the roads and let the idiots Darwin it out on the unplowed streets.

Luckily, snow in Seattle is usually short-lived. Whatever falls overnight has melted off the roadways by noon and is gone by the next morning. Sure, it might screw up a commute or two, might mess with your schedule as you deal with the kids for an extra 2 hours before their school’s late start, but overall, it’s nice, polite, and beautiful while it lasts.

Tomorrow will be one of those days (or so says Cliff).

I’m lucky. I work from home on Fridays, and tomorrow I’m logging off early to start a super-long holiday weekend. If the snow lasts a bit, I’ll be able to go out for a drive in the white-clad neighborhoods. Perhaps I’ll stop, get out, take a few crunching steps in the pristine snow, smile at a stranger and wish them happy holidays.

Maybe it’ll be you.

I wish you all a pleasant holiday week, and a safe and happy new year.

k

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