Standing on a concrete bridge in downtown Issaquah, the cold worked its way up from the soles of my feet to my legs, and onwards. Drops of rain clouded my eyeglasses. I struggled to balance an umbrella and hold my cellphone steady as I waited, fearing my fingers would freeze. My mission: photograph a Coho salmon approaching its final hurdle before returning “home” to the salmon hatchery. It was early November, slightly past the height of the salmon run. But two mergansers, bobbing their cinnamon-rust-colored heads as they circled the water, offered a clue that fish were still coming. They were awaiting a feast. 

For the fourth year in a row, Lolita the fortune teller sat in residence on a bench outside the post office in La Conner during the month of October. “Look in my purse for your fortune,” her sign proclaimed. Joanne, “Jo” Mitchelle, the artist who created Lolita, hand-writes hundreds of uplifting fortunes, placing them in a container inside the seer’s waterproof pocketbook. 

The score was tied at 2-2 at the bottom of the ninth inning at Fenway Park. Boston Red Sox fans groaned in disbelief as the Baltimore Orioles took a 3-2 lead in the tenth. And then the magic happened. With men on first and third base, a walk-off home run for Boston ended the game at 5-3. The crowd jumped to its feet, belting out “Dirty Water,” the 1966 Spandells hit. So much fun. So much singing! The voices of thirty-seven-thousand people rejoicing to Neil Diamond’s Sweet Caroline in the 7^th inning stretch (so good! so good! so good!) and Take Me Out to the Ballgame in the 8^th. It all added to the palpable feeling of camaraderie. These folks know how to have fun.

It was like déjà vu all over again. Rushing into the Snowy Owl Theater at Icicle Creek Center for the Performing Arts in Leavenworth, a sculpture near the entrance stopped me in my tracks. Could it be? The artist had to be Richard Beyer, whose whimsical aluminum sculpture of a couple holding marketing baskets I’d just seen in the Mercer Island Town Center, and whose Waiting for the Interurban - a group huddled at a bus stop near the Fremont Bridge - epitomizes Seattle. A quick Google search during intermission confirmed my hunch.

“You are so lucky,” my waitress told me. “It’s gonna be sunny and warm through Friday.” 

“Isn’t it like this most of the summer?” I asked, unaware that the peninsula in southern Washington is famously foggy and cold. Earlier that day, I’d cursed the sun as it beat down while I struggled to sync my phone app with an electric charging station. On an 85-degree, cloudless day, sweating with palpable range anxiety, I worried I’d never get my electric car fully charged. After driving 172 miles, I had 106 miles left. Not enough to explore the peninsula, let alone get home.

In a presidential election year, huge conventions for the Republican and Democratic parties give prime spots to former presidents and luminaries from past campaigns. But Gen Z’s, some of whom will be voting for the very first time in November, couldn’t possibly remember the policies and accomplishments, let alone the challenges and controversies that plagued former presidents, especially those who go waaaay back to before they were born. You know, like 30 years ago! Outside of history class, how are former presidents remembered, and how much control do they have over their legacy?

My whole family was gathering in Chicago for a bat mitzvah. I arrived at Union Station a few minutes early to meet my son’s train, due in from New York. But the reader board posted a delay, so I waited. And waited. And waited. Frustrated, I went to the information booth to ask, “What’s going on with the train from New York?” 

Long pants, long sleeves, and a head net covering my face did nothing to prevent a horde of mosquitos from devouring me. With nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, I tearfully admitted defeat. Together with my husband and then-young sons, we broke down our campsite and hiked out of the North Cascade Mountains. It was too late to drive back to Mercer Island. The big question was “where to sleep tonight?” As newcomers to the Pacific Northwest, we knew nothing about eastern Washington. We searched for the biggest nearby city on our AAA map.

Alfie the Cat stretched himself out on a banquette where he’d been gazing out the windows in the hallway of our 3rd floor hotel room. A look-alike for our dearly departed tabby cat, Nile, he welcomed our caresses and rolled himself over for belly rubs. We were staying at the Royal Crescent Hotel & Spa in Bath, England, after a week of walking the Cotswold Way.

A large snake slithered across the footpath just inches from our boots on our first day walking the Cotswolds, 800 square miles of charming villages and towns in southwest England. Though totally uninterested in us, the snake added drama to the first hour of a weeklong walk. Our guidebook identified it as a nonaggressive, though venomous, rare British Adder. Whew!

The grounds of Covenant Living at the Shores come right up to Lake Washington’s waterfront on Mercer Island. On an overcast spring day, I walked the grounds of this retirement community with a friend who recently moved there. The grass sparkled with water droplets, reflecting filtered sunlight. Hydrangeas, rhododendrons, and azaleas in various stages of bloom added splashes of color. As we walked the path that follows the outlines of the water, we saw an assortment of flags, each on a 3’ pole.  

As the Amtrak Empire Builder moseyed up the westernmost side of Seattle, I tried mimicking its sound. Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta-ta-ta. My tongue hit the roof of my mouth, closely matching the noise of the slowly moving train. Departing exactly on schedule at 4:55 pm, we glided past the Smith and Columbia Towers, reaching the Olympic Sculpture Park moments after 5:00.

On a recent Friday afternoon, car keys in hand, I kissed my husband goodbye and prepared to drive to a movie screening. A wave of worry suddenly overcame me. What if this were the last time we’d ever see each other?  Walking back into the kitchen, I looked him in the eyes, and uttered three trite but true words, “I love you.” Smiling back at me, he replied, “Love you too.” 

Today’s blog, Ten Tips for Travel with Kids, is a photo montage with commentary that captures some highlights of that trip. Together with my amazing husband, we entertained our granddaughters for eleven days. In what our son aptly named “win-win-win,” we had barrels of fun with the girls, they had a blast with us, and their parents flew to Marrakesh to have fun on their own.

During my growing up years, my parents had a sheet metal shop in Brooklyn, close to the docks and the Battery Tunnel that connected our borough to Manhattan.  Every year, as the December holidays approached, gifts began arriving from suppliers.  The best of all the gifts was a box of Comice pears from an orchard way on the other side of the country.  Although the docks provided us with a year-round supply of luscious fruits from all over the world, those holiday boxes of pears were bigger, better, and juicier than any other pear, bar none.  

Seattle lost a great man last week, when Chef Thierry Rautureau died on October 29th. Only 64 years old, he succumbed to pulmonary fibrosis, an autoimmune disease that scars the lungs, making breathing difficult.

October 18, 2023

At 6:15 a.m., Avi heard the rat-a-tat of machine gun fire. Residents of Southern Israel are accustomed to sirens warning them of incoming missiles, not gunshots. Something was terribly wrong. Shaking Shula awake, he grabbed their cellphones and ran to their secure room, bolting the door behind them. Their cellphones lit up with messages from other kibbutz members, on a group chat, confirming their fears. They were under attack by Hamas terrorists.

My husband’s birthday present to me this past summer was a Fall mushroom adventure.  He found Travis online and arranged a private tour for the two of us. 

Boomy. Gizzy.  Doody.  Tsilly.  These aren’t the giddy babblings of a toddler, learning to speak.  They’re a sampling of the names of friends and relatives who populated my early life. 

A trip down memory lane.  What does that evoke for you?  Visiting your childhood home?  Reconnecting with a friend from high school or college? Or meeting with someone you haven’t seen in fifty-five years and feeling like time has stood still?