Archive | September 2024

Watch Me Dance

Sep25

The smaller grandchildren tumbled about on the living room floor like happy little puppies, while the eldest girl tried to organize the bedlam. Anne kept repeating, “Let’s put on a dance for Grandma!” I smiled. The younger children were lost when Anne wasn’t home to direct their play.

 A golden ray of late afternoon sunshine found its way into the room through a slight opening in the drapes. The wayward shaft of light was like a spotlight on each towheaded child as they obediently trooped out of the room through the light to put on dress-up clothes.

Before the children were dressed and ready to put on a floor show, their mother and youngest sibling returned from town. I got up and walked into the dining room to talk to my daughter. When the children came back downstairs from their visit to my dress-up box, they were wearing prom dresses, scarves, petticoats, and lacy kerchiefs pinned in their hair. Anne begged over and over, “Mom, Grandma, come into the living room and watch us dance!”

We all returned to the living room, and Anne lined her siblings up. I took a picture of the performers. When she said, “Ok” they all began to twirl, jump and leap. If enthusiasm indicates a superior performance, my daughter Niki and I were watching the world’s best dancers.

“Watch me dance” was a demand I heard Anne make often when she was a small girl. It didn’t seem to matter if her siblings danced with her or not. In her mind, she seemed to feel she was on a stage, and that her leaps and twirls were flawlessly choreographed movements.

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A Luthier’s Gig

Sep18

A shaft of late afternoon sun peeked into the building’s smoky interior. The bartender stood, polishing drink glasses and watching the band setting up for their gig on the far end of the room between drawing fresh drafts of beer for customers. One of the musicians on the stage was my nephew, John.

John is a luthier. I like telling people this, but very few people know what a luthier is. One of the people I told was silent for a while before inquiring, “Do you mean, he is a Lutheran?”

I kindly explained, “A luthier is a maker of stringed instruments, which requires a lot of artistic skill. John has made and sold several huge upright bass instruments since he completed his training in Red Wing, Minnesota. When my nephew talks about building them, the wood he uses, the carvings in the wood, you can hear his passion for the job. He works for hours in his workshop to make an instrument produce beautiful music.”

Five lone drinkers dotted the long, polished bar. They were sitting slumped on tall stools, hitched to what I figured were most likely their favorite, and frequently used spots. A few steps from the bar, clusters of tables and chairs ran almost the entire length of the room. Due to the early hour of the evening, not all the places to sit were occupied.

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Sweet Relief

Sep11

Spotting a shaded bench in the garden, Tammie hurried over to it and quickly sat down before anyone else had the same idea. Slipping off one of her shoes, I noticed a spot on her foot where her shoe had rubbed the skin raw. She sighed with resignation, “Here we go again! The shoes I’m wearing today are rubbing and making my feet hurt, and I didn’t pack any band aids.”

This was our first full day in Seattle, Washington. The day before, my sister Agnes, daughter Tammie and I had done a lot of walking in the airports. Today, we were touring the Chihuly blown glass display and garden next to the Space Needle Center.

After thoroughly searching through her purse, Agnes handed a band aid to Tammie, proudly announcing, “I knew I had one in there somewhere!”

I sat down next to Tammie to apply the band aid for her. Slipping her shoe on again, she stood up, saying with relief, “Now it feels much better! We’re going to stop at a pharmacy to buy a box of band aids before returning to our bungalow for the night.” 

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Swimming Through Crowds

Sep4

I had a hard time following my daughter Tammie and sister Agnes. A river of people surged past market stands displaying everything from honey, jewelry, large bouquets of fresh flowers, meat, candy, fresh fruit, and clothing. Just when I thought I could catch up to them, another group of people intent on reaching a nearby stand stepped between us. Despite it being a weekday, the determined crowd at Pike Street Market reminded me of a strong current of downstream water that I had to swim against to get where I wanted to be.

Pike Place Market in Seattle Washington doesn’t require an entry fee to enter, nor does it have official entry gates. People just flood in through the many entrances from the surrounding neighborhood, or up the steps and elevators from the wharf level stores and the stores on the floors in between. Small stores and shops also line the streets and back alleys outside of the market. Tammie, Agnes and I visited an alleyway tea store and a leather goods vendor.

In all, Pike Street Market District covers nine acres. It is described as Seattle’s largest incubator of small, independent businesses where there are a couple hundred independently owned shops and restaurants. It provides income to over three hundred farmers, entertainers and crafts people and affordable housing for over 450 people.

I finally caught up to Tammie as she was examining skin care items made with honey. Agnes was nearby, looking at earrings. I said, “I wonder if there is a public bathroom nearby?” The friendly shopkeeper nodded and pointed further down the hallway saying, “You’ll find one just beyond the Pike Place Fish Market, then down one floor.”

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