Pt. Defiance Park

Shark Chasing a Seagull

Where I've Been

On November 15th I participated in a volunteer event. We planted trees and mulched (isn't that a great verb?) the Duwamish Riverbed area. In the photo below, several of my coworkers are throwing themselves into their planting.


I rearranged the furniture, and subsequently the energy, in my apartment. The very end of October / early November was one of the worst times of my life, so making changes feels good. I've lost 18 pounds in the last year. Not exactly rapid weight loss, but I'm pleased. I've become addicted to climbing hills. Photos of that soon.

Michael Crichton

I was surprised and saddened by the news of Michael Crichton's death. While I certainly appreciate his more famous works (Jurassic Park, Andromeda Strain), my personal favorite is his autobiography, Travels. I also love Timeline, although the storytelling is so three-dimensionally vivid, I felt queasy when reading some of the scenes set in the Middle Ages.

World's Best-Trained Dog

My nephew Jeff, an officer in the Marines, and his wife Taylor, a cop have their much-loved dogs very well trained. Allow the adorable Brooklyn to demonstrate:

I Love This Time of Year

A Heart Shaped Pendant from the Shane Company

I once asked a couple who'd been married about a year how they knew the other was 'the one'. George explained that he saw Deborah sitting two rows ahead of him in a crowded venue. As he looked at her a halo of light surrounded her. When it was "still there an hour later", he knew the universe was telling him he had found his soul mate. Fair enough. I turned to Deborah. She shrugged and said "I was 35, it was time to get married. George is a great guy so I just figured why not?"

Why not indeed. The fact that I will be 49 next month and never married seems to indicate that I would have found a reason to negate that 'why not'. My obsession with personal freedom has been one reason for my singledom. My thousand and one quirks brings the total to one thousand and two. But yes, there are other reasons. As in, you know, not-so-good men. I don’t ever want to be one of those women whose dating angst causes them to bellow “I’m going to write a book!”. I know of one leathery specimen whose man-hating rant is tentatively titled “Three Strikes and You’re Out!” Scary. I honestly do not subscribe to the belief that there are no good men. Of course there are good men out there. But…

I can think of two women I know who are in wonderful, loving relationships. Their boyfriends are smokers. That’s a deal killer for me. Another deal killer? Abject, childish silliness. This is not to be confused with a quick wit, a twisted view of the world, the ability to let go and enjoy life or other similarly wonderful qualities. It's men who try to compensate for their lack of wit with 'funny' (funny as is annoying as hell) voices. Last year I dated a man who was very nice in ways, but who left me phone messages that sounded something like this (Hear this as a 1970s game show host voice) "Hey Wendy, Iiiiiiiiiiit's NICK! Sometimes he also treated me to accompanying dreadful 70s-era sexual innuendoes. Next.

Along came, uh let’s call him Pames, who was 42 going on 12. He embarrassed me repeatedly at a dinner out with coworkers, not only by escalating his voice two octaves into a dreadful girly affectation whenever he was trying to be funny, but...well, by doing some really peculiar things as well. He recently tried to win himself back into my good graces by sending me an Instant Message beginning with "Wanna compare pay stubs from the past six months?" (His tacky way of boasting that he was doing well financially). He then went on to type a monologue so bizarre and socially inappropriate that I copied it and sent it to a friend. A wonderful friend, who responded with "Oh Wens, you deserve so much better." Indeed I do. And I'm glad my loser radar is improving, allowing me to quickly move on when it is obvious a man is not right for me. I’m happy to report that within a month I had divested myself of, er, Pames.

There have been some good men in recent years. I even loved a couple of them. One, let’s call him Schmeter, was a Nordic beekeeper type who loved to love me baby, but when asked, in a romantic cabin by the North sea, if he, you know loved me, gave me that pained, movie of the week Prince Charles to Princess Diana 'What is love?" soliloquy. This of course translates to "I know what love is, dumb ass, it's just not something I feel for you." Said aloof Nordic man is now involved with some local bee keeper-ette. Mazel Tov. The other man I loved was Dave (real name!), who actually loved me back. I wouldn’t say we were deeply in love- maybe more like love lite- but it was happy and good. We're not really in touch anymore. I was quickly replaced when I left Phoenix, but I wrote to him recently to tell him that I appreciated how good he was to me. I'm glad I did that, because he really was very kind and caring and took me on wonderful dates. He wrote a nice note back. After that it was kind of like "Ok, we were into each other at that point in time but now it's a new point in time and that's that." So it is. I’ve made peace with that.

However I'm still in the mood to be pathetic, so I'll share this: What the hell am I going to do with the rest of my life? I am honestly starting to toss around thoughts of moving to a whaling village in the Arctic Circle when I turn 60. Well, maybe the Oregon coast. Or Denmark.

I haven’t given up. I’m well aware that I haven’t always gone about my search in the most conventional ways, and until recent years I haven’t been entirely ready. But now I am So I need to become more proactive. There’s really not much more to say than that. Other than the fact that I don't require cheesey tokens of affection like heart shaped pendants from the Shane Company -although I do confess to a perverse enjoyment of their radio advertising.

Pt. Defiance Rose Gardens

Now that I have a little more patience (thank you Strattera), I've been exploring some of my camera's nuances. I experimented with the macro feature at Pt. Defiance Rose Gardens on Sunday.

Ten Years

I left Denver 10 years ago. I miss it about as much as Tina misses Ike. If you are a fan of Denver's bone-snapping parched air and sludge-brown skies, all I can say is it's all yours. I may have complained about the heat, but in my two stints in Phoenix ('83 and '06), Arizona became part of my soul. South Florida too will always be part of my soul. I doubt I will ever live in either place again, but I will always be happy to visit.

I like Tacoma better than Seattle. It's got more character, it's more affordable, and I love being less than two miles from a stretch of waterfront that rivals anything in Seattle. I spent the better part of yesterday at said waterfront with a new friend. We had lunch on the patio of Katy Down's where we watched a seagull land on an abandoned plate, loop an onion ring around its beak and fly away (awesome!). We watched parasailers make their journey from boat to platform to sky. Parasailing is now on my list of things I want to do before I die.

As we walked along the waterfront, we came to a fishing pier. Three or four people were fishing, but one guy had the look and demeanor of a true fisherman (which I suppose is to say he looked like he wouldn't care about Nordstrom's semi-annual sale). When we first encountered him his fishing pole was arched in half like he was catching a small whale. A minute later he announced that whatever it was, it had stolen his hook. I asked him what kind of fish could be caught from this pier. As he cast out his line again he said "Everything". Within seconds I was finding his answer wholly unsatisfactory. "Everything?"
Everything?<em> What is that supposed to mean? Tuna? Turtles? Eels? Jars of Manischewitz gefilte fish? Daring to be annoying, I asked for a few examples. The payoff was better than I expected: snapper (ok, not that exciting) and squid. Squid. I had no idea people fished for such things. As gross as i think it would be, I'd love to see someone catch a squid- although my commentary would probably consist simply of "Ew!! Ew! Look at it! Ewwwwwwww!"

The weather this weekend has been that perfect sunny and 70s combination. I don't mind the rainy months here at all, but the Northwest on days like this is just extravagantly gorgeous. May I say again that I don't miss Denver at all?

I don't miss Denver at all.

Can't See This From The Highway

But you can from the window of Amtrak starting north of Seattle all the way to Bellingham.

Candidly Cryptic

I spent last weekend with someone I like and haven't seen since the year I made a big change. We started at 2,000 then went to 8,000. Forty five minutes north we gazed upon an awe-inspiring sweeping vista that may one day be a lake. I rediscovered with joy a state I had previously accepted with resignation.

That's not all I have to say.

The Crab Pot

A few months ago Faauu suggested that dinner one night this summer at The Crab Pot would be fun. With summer rapidly dwindling (and taking its 90+ degree days with it, thank God), off we went. We as in me, Christy and Faauu. Have you noticed you tend to hear the same names over and over in this blog? Coming attraction: More names.

The Crab Pot, as one may or may not discern from this blurry, taken-without-a-flash evening photo, is on the downtown Seattle waterfront
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Do you enjoy having creepy crustaceans dumped on your table? If so, you'll love The Crab Pot!

Crab legs, when consumed with multiple glasses of wine, have been known to cause temporary dementia.


Ok, yes, this is what I had. I picture the waiter saying to the chef "Some lady just ordered the Sesame Chicken Salad. At The Crab Pot " The chef makes a disgusted guffawing sound- perhaps "Pffffffttttt", rolls his eyes and mutters a sarcastic "Ooooooh k." Then he dumps a soup ladle full of dressing into a bowl, throws in some lettuce and chicken, tosses in the requisite sesame seeds (after possibly wiping his nose) and sends the waiter off to deliver the concoction to the stupid-enough-to-order-a-salad-in-one-of-the-most-seafoody-restaurants-on-the-planet victim. I know it doesn't look that bad in the photo, but it wasn't good. Honestly.
Why, you ask was my king crab, shrimp, and mussels experience limited to pounding the hell (sheesh, I had no idea it was so hard) out of a crab leg that I didn't even consume? Because, seafood gives me primal dread. Imagine how you would feel if a waiter upended a giant bowl of snakes and rats on your table. I'm not quite that grossed out by seafood, by close...
It was, however, a very fun evening. It felt great to sit outside and to talk about the things women like to talk about (mostly sex). We went to the Emerald Queen casino afterwards for about an hour, where I did some serious high stakes gambling- starting with $20, winning my way up to $32, then cashing out at $19.76.

By the way, there is a cute picture of Christy, Faauu and I at The Crab Pot. I came close to posting it here, but decided that my outside arm looked too fat and too white (I know...) I am, however, getting closer to posting pictures of myself again. I've lost 12 pounds and have a sassy new hair color- kind of a strawberry blonde but more vibrant. I've done exceptionally well at work this week, prompting one of my more intuitive coworkers to half joke that it's because of my new hair. I think that may well be true.

Have a Rainbow Day (But only if you want to)

I Do ??

One of my students (in a grateful tone of voice) said to me today "Wendy, you have the patience of a saint."

A number of other students have given me similar feedback.

It's a huge compliment for me, because I am not naturally patient. I'm glad my professionalism and compassion allow me to appear as though I am.

Farmers Market

Who's That Beautiful Dog?

Entrance to my Apartment Building

Moon and Mountain

4th of July

Happy 30th of June. I saw fireworks all week from my living room window, compliments of Cheney Stadium who ended each evening's baseball game with them.

Lots of boats on Commencement Bay on the 4th.

As in any city, there is no parking anywhere near a major 4th of July event. Since I live only 2 miles from the Ruston Way waterfront, I walked there and back. I had a fair amount of people around me on the way there (pictured, on McCarver St.), and a huge, interesting mix of people on the way back (interesting as in nice young families with babies in strollers and drunken troglodytes whose vocabulary consisted of approximately three words, two of which were fuck and fuckin') Christy and I met up at the waterfront then walked to The Ram to join her friends who had procured a table on the patio. There was a good band playing before the fireworks started. The fireworks included some beautiful, glittery effects, but it was one of the shortest fireworks shows I've ever seen. The whole thing lasted about eight minutes at the most.

This is a firework with a lamp in the way. I prefer to think of it as an interesting idea for a street lamp. A whole city block with color pulsing firework-like lamps could produce a Fremont Street Experience-like effect. I'm not going to hold my breath for it to happen in Tacoma.

No, It's Not a Beauuuuutiful Day

It's 92 degrees. Ugh.

While I'm irritable from the heat, I'd also like to complain about people who demand that I "Make it a great day!" If you'd like to wish me well with the well-worn 'Have a nice day' (which I've always thought should be condensed to the acronym HAND) that's fine. But do not Tony Robbins me and mandate my attitude.

Some people's demands are downright unrealistic. A woman once told me to "Have a rainbow day!" How does one do that? March in a gay pride parade? I mumbled "Thanks, you too" to which she self-righteously replied "I WILL". Ok then. May she and Roy G. Biv live happily ever after.