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Trip Reports

Northwest Tour: 1999

This was known as Steve's Great Northwest Tour.  The last serious trip I had planned was two years ago to San Francisco and all points south.  All those were connected by stops to see his family and mine.  All the way down to San Diego.  This time we would have a more peaceful trip with many more mountains to see and fresh foggy air to breathe.

And this year's was also alot easier because it was much more varied in modes of transportation.  Keeping a car the entire time was going to be much more expensive and, as it turned out, less interesting.  It took several days to decide how we would chart this and, in the end, what we did ended up being the best and the most fun.  

The ultimate mission was the Virus Bulletin Conference in Vancouver, BC and, since we were in the region, we were planning on calling my mother's house in Seattle home base.  Seattle is beautiful this time of year (it's always beautiful despite what ANYONE says!) and we wanted to taste the best of the city and celebrate my mother's 90th birthday.

We left NYC at some really ungodly hour on Saturday, the 25th of September.  This was the first time that Steve and I would both be away from our new apartment and there would be additional considerations.  I had to arrange for Danny, our doorman, to "visit" our new plants and care for them on sunny, rainy, or hurricane days since we had had the occasion to experience Hurricane Floyd.  We really had no clue as to what to expect for the period we would be gone and, of course, I over prepared.  I did everything short of tying our terrace furniture to the rails.

I was flying on miles so we were forced to fly connecting flights and the first leg was to San Francisco.   Our flight was fairly uneventful until we were on our final approach to SFO.  Steve and I were discussing how smoggy San Francisco had gotten (to later rib my sister who lives in Palo Alto) when our pilot must have discovered he was on approach to the wrong runway, only yards off the water (I don't even WANT to consider what that might have meant) and our plane banked over to another parallel runway.  Hmmmmm.  I was not impressed. But this wouldn't be the last of our interesting landings on United...

We had a couple of hours layover so that gave me the chance to pick up, write, and mail the postcard I had promised Ann and to buy as much sour dough bread and starter mix as I could carry.  Ok, so I bought myself a cloth bread bag and spent some time helping a woman choose the appropriate ornament for her Christmas tree.  You can NEVER have enough advice on important purchases like that!  I went back and joined Steve waiting for our flight, which seemed to get further away.

Sitting in the San Francisco Airport we were STILL waiting for our flight to Seattle.  I was using my field coat as a pillow and it fell to the floor, jingling.  Absent mindedly, I balled it up again -- a good field coat always shows wrinkles or you'd never be able to prove to anyone that you've been anywhere.  I stuffed it under my head.  I closed my eyes.  But the damage was done -- I couldn't get back to my doze.  This was no sleep.  You can't sleep through all the announcements of the incoming and out going flights and directions to the closest smoking lounge.  

My coat continued to jingle.  I reached my hand inside the pocket and pulled out four one dollar bills, a paper clip, a bunch of coins including some quarters (!), and a champagne cork.  Hmmmmm............when did I wear this last?  Obviously I didn't care about using the quarters for laundry after the champagne.... 
 
 

After a flight carrying San Francisco 49er fans (to who knows where) was announced and departed, our flight was called.  We boarded and settled in.  Another 3-hour flight.  I just hoped that my nephew Edward would remember his promise to meet us in Seattle.  I read, looked out the window, and said few words.  We flew over central California and then over Crater Lake.  Steve and I tried to remember the name of the volcano that formed the lake.  I swore it was Mazama.  Steve couldn't remember.  I was right.  And what a view!  The blues and greens seemed surrealistic.  I recalled a trip when I was in 8th grade driving up to Washington State University to pick up my sister when I played there in the snow in June.   I hadn't seen snow for years and, as dirty as it was, it was still snow. 

We flew on the west side of Rainier.  She was poking her head thru the clouds.  We didn't see my mountain -- St. Helen's.  She was asleep.  Where I wanted to be.

We landed easily in Seattle.  I was glad.  
 

Back in the 70's I knew a man whose boat our company on Lake Union maintained and was a pilot for Western Airlines.  He was after me to apply to the airline; that I should be a flight attendant.  I didn't and wished, now, that I had.  It would have merged two facets of my life that I knew I'd be good at -- travel and people.  Oh well............. I didn't do it.  Several years later when I was living in San Diego there was a horrible midair collision over North Park and since, flying has lost a lot of its joy for me.  The day and emotions are etched in my brain.
 

Edward was there at the terminal, looking just like my father.  Whew!  Each time I see him, I shudder.  He helped us collect our bags and we were off to Home.  
 

Seattle will always be home for me.  I'd lived here in New York City for nearly 18 years and only spent 10 years in Seattle but my roots are there.  I long for the pine, and mountains.  The rain in the summer to cool off, the mist throughout the winter to quell our lives.  I loved sitting in my office at the end of the dock trying to get taxes or payroll done, not being able to keep my eyes off the changing skies and water.  I loved hiking in the hills, gingerly stepping over ferns and logs that were mothering small trees.  The snow that stopped our busy lives, requiring us to find more peaceful means of passing time.  And I missed my chaotic years in college when I would sit and share conversation with students who had just returned from Viet Nam; planning the latest protest or march.   Seattle was my growing ground.  My mothering log. 
 
 

Mother was waiting for us.  Flank steak was marinating on the sideboard.  
 

The house hadn't changed -- why I had expected it to, I don't know but each time I go home I have to wander from room to room standing inside each for a minute or two, my eyes scanning the walls, the bookshelves, the furniture for some sign of the passing of time.  

Time doesn't pass there on 39th Avenue West.  

My great grandfather Ward's Indian baskets are still on the high shelves in the Ethnic Room.  All of Mother's research books for the museum.  The Chinese and Japanese screens haven't been moved from the master bedroom and living room since we moved in 1970.  My portrait of Matilda and her father, Senator Tipton, still in their places.  Every dish seemed never touched.  This was like Sleeping Beauty's castle.   And I felt like a cat remarking her home.
 

I went outside to the patio and tried to decide whether or not to put on my shorts.  It certainly was hot enough.  But I knew the sun would disappear soon and then I would need my jeans again.  So, I stayed put.  At some point someone brought me a drink.  Yes, I could live like this..........the wisteria was no longer in bloom but the greens continued to drape the house's eaves.  It reminded me some much of Monet's home in Giverny, France when we were there in 1986.  

I explored the backyard.  What new ferns had been added?  What new rose bush was there?  How was the curly willow doing and the pussy willow tree, too.  Mother had always sent me 4 ft boxes of pussy willows when I was in La Jolla and at 7 Park.  I had saved them for years, even as they collected dust and drove Steve crazy.  

Mother's stone lantern was still standing in the corner.  I always laugh when I think of the story of Daddy, when we were leaving Taiwan, swearing at the "rocks" mother insisted upon bringing back as household goods thus raising the price the Army would have to pay.  She stated very simply, she wouldn't leave the lantern behind and so she didn't and so Daddy just rolled his eyes.  

(Today, November 9th, 1999 is the 21st anniversary of his death..........) 

There were roses in full bloom.  They smelled as sweet as I remembered.

Dinner was yummy.  Mother always insisted upon composed salads as opposed to just a good ol' tossed green.  So I pleasantly conceded (can't argue with her -- she's always gotten what she wanted!  And at 90, who's to fight with her??) and spent every night creating every damn salad as the one before.  

We crashed early.
 
 

Sunday morning I got up early.  I was in my mother's house and was expected to go to Mass.  Steve still slept.  I needed coffee and all my mother had was instant. ACK!  But in our house you didn't ingest anything prior to Mass.  Christ's body was meant to be the first thing to hit your tummy.  Mine was growling.

Our church has a new organ that overwhelms the altar.  I had always thought that our church was very "Prody" Episcopal.   The church I attend (occasionally but soon to be my new "home" church) in NYC is High Church -- the classic stained glass, flying buttresses, stone, smoke and bells and an overwhelming sense of England.  The new design at Ascension distracted me.  It just wasn't right.  I had a hard time being with the Spirit.

On the way home I persuaded mother to stop by Starbuck's for a Latte.  A real COFFEE!  

Breakfast was frozen waffles (yes, they were cooked) and bacon -- two slices (two?? ack!) each.  We discussed the "plan of the day" (POD, as Daddy called it).  Steve had researched a couple of galleries we wanted to go to in Pioneer Square to see Dale Chiully's glass, eventually to buy one for the apartment.  And we needed to shop for dinner.  So, off we went.

The galleries are in a part of Seattle that is south of Pioneer Square. This is where Seattle first started.  A treat is to take the Underground Tour (which I've never done) and see the remains of the buildings from before the big fire that demolished Seattle in 1889.  It is now a very popular tourist sight, not unlike SoHo was here in New York City years ago.  It was breezy so I wore my grey wrap over a sweater and a skirt.  I looked very "arty".

Oddly, on this beautiful Sunday, the galleries were empty.  There was a Seahawks game a few blocks away and that was where everyone was headed.   We were headed for a gallery.
 

We chose the Foster/White Gallery on Jackson St. to start because it had, along with the small collection of Chiully’s glass (that was WAY out of our price range), some extraordinary large and small mixed media hanging pieces that, upon close examination, truly appeared to be coarse but elegant fabrics in earth tones and textures.  There was a pair there, not more than 2 by 3 feet, which I could have very happily shipped home.  

Dale Lindman creates art using acrylic emulsions, pigments and other additives which range from nails to iron shavings to wires -- colors and textures that would compliment our apartment nicely 

After visiting with the gallery owner, we walked next door to a more typical Northwest oriented spot.  Alot of Indian artifacts and jewelry.  Nice, but not my cup of coffee.  I was really happy with what I saw at Foster/White.   

Steve and Mother and I continued further up Occidental Ave and came across Seattle's oldest glassblowing shop, Glasshouse Studio.  Knowing we were looking ultimately for a nice piece of art glass, we wandered in.  While the experience of observing these fellows blowing glass (I hadn't seen this since we were in Wick, Scotland at the Caithness Glass factory), there was nothing there for us.  Most of the work was very commercial and not particularly imaginative.  But we had a devil of a time dragging Mother away.  She kept leaning way inside the workroom, visiting with the blowers.  Find her an interesting person and you have a ready-made conversation!

Yet, further up Occidental, we found Thesaurus Fine Arts.  Ok, now I knew I had found MY store.  My mother's, too (as Steve says, if one Bowden girl does it, likes it, says it, thinks it, they ALL do.  And that statement makes us all furious!  hmmmmmm.........).   They had a large collection of Asian antiques and fine art.  Absolute heaven!  Mother and I very slowly drifted around the store.  By God, you actually afford some of these things!  I discovered some pendants of a red-orange colored smooth stone.  Lovely.  Would look magnificent on the black blouse I was planning to wear to the Virus Bulletin Gala with my long, split-up-to-the-thigh black skirt and topped by a Tibetan prayer jacket.   Come to find out, they were Tibetan coral.  "Coral??" you ask, "from Tibet??"  Well, yes, at one time, millions of years ago, Tibet was under water.  

I tried one, after the other, on.  This was not easy choice.  The woman in the store took great joy in my indecision.  Everyone there was chipping in their own opinion.  I finally decided on one that was perfectly smooth and even except for two small holes.  

We continued our conversation with the lady and she discovered that my mother was a docent at the Asian (Seattle Art Museum's Asian Collection at Volunteer Park).  Now we couldn't run away without first thanking her for the 10% discount on my necklace, due to Mother's work, and a waiving of the sales tax since we were from out of state.  My impression is that she shouldn't have done that but I wasn't about to refuse the gift.

We had to escape before our Visa was spent.  There was that Tang horse there calling to me........
 
 

(Steve and I were talking about the next part of the day tonight and, as I was doing other work, he wrote up the following and asked me to insert it as mine.  It obviously isn't mine, so this is Steve talking as me....)
 

It's hard to get to Uwajimaya. Not that it's in an obscure part of Seattle, and not that it's a long way from anything. In fact, it's quite centrally located. The problem is that its parking lot is always full - stuffed infact - and you have to wait in a long line on the street just to get in, it's that popular a place.

This time, once we finally found the one parking place vacated just seconds ago, Steve parked my mother's battleship (our Miata could fit into the back seat of her Grand Prix) and we headed toward the entrance - where earnest and friendly people solicited donations for victims of the recent Taiwan earthquake - and entered another world.

Just a grocery store? Almost. But to our left, aisle after aisle of faux-lacquer bowls, sushi platters, chopsticks, porcelain cats with one paw raised. To our right, fifty-pound bags of rice, but not just rice - twelve different varieties of rice were detailed in a hand-lettered list on the wall, all with today's prices for each.  The bowls were, of course, a necessary destination, the attraction built deeply into the genes of my family. Then to the back, wandering along displays of fresh cut sushi as well as fish so fresh all you could do with it was make sushi. Shelves and shelves of plastic bags full of - spices (?), seaweeds (?), octopi (?) - the labels gave no clue to those of us who only read English. The snack aisle - hot peanut treats, wasabi peas, shrimp chips - we couldn't seem to find Cheetos or Ritz Crackers anywhere. On our way upstairs, we passed the ice cream locker - mango, leechee, and a few we didn't recognize at all - yum? Upstairs is divided into clothing and books (and the curious garden ornaments lining the stairs). We found a couple of new yukata (lightweight cotton robes, sort of) for Steve, and tried unsuccessfully to find him a new obi (a waist tie for yukata). We wandered through the books (you thought the snacks were incomprehensible!), and drifted downstairs, past the fresh bok choy and ginger, to the checkout counter (which we recognized, a tribute to the universality of commerce).

Walking out through the door, passing the Taiwan relief fund, it was odd to see American cars and the skyline of Seattle. It's hard to leave Uwajimaya.
 
 

(I'm back....)

It was getting late.  Not nighttime but we'd been going all day and I was getting tired.  

I always get tired in Seattle.  The damned bed in the guest room (my room still has the antique single bed my great aunt May used when her father was the commanding officer on an outpost in South Dakota in the 1880s -- too small for two bodies) has the hardest mattress and I awoke most mornings with a backache.  I often feel the packing along of my feather bed would make sense on trips!  

And I just needed some alone time.

Before dinner that night I noticed our neighbors, the Boroughs, were home.  I had gone to high school with their son and daughter in law.  I excused myself and dashed out to the backyard and cut a red rose that was in full blossom.  Mother had said it was Bob's birthday and I really believe that men should get flowers, too.  Barefoot, I ran next door with this fragrant gift.  To my surprise, they were having a family dinner party.  I apologized for the interruption, gave Bob a kiss and, after being invited back, promised to return for dessert along with Steve and Mother.  

We did return and I spent a good deal of time catching up with Brad and Pam.  They too had received the announcement of our 30th high school reunion (ack!) and were planning to attend the party the following weekend.  We, thank God, had made other plans.  It's not bad enough that my high school, built in 1909, was now a condominium (!) but also I didn't like many of the kids I went to school with.  I spent most of my time with Up With People at that point and didn't have much time for my snobby classmates.  Brad, Pam, and I all agreed that someone had ripped of pages of the calendar without telling us -- 30 years couldn't have gone by that quickly.  

Brad and Pam had given Bob and Fran tickets to hear The Three Tenors at the Kingdome the next night.  The four of them made dinner plans and we discussed our present to Mother for her birthday -- dinner at The Painted Table (thanks, Tom!).  Eyebrows went up all around.  Yes, they DID know the restaurant and began their raves.  I think we made the right choice.

We said good night -- I was fading rapidly.  Tomorrow we had to go out buy Steve some new dress shoes and a pair of walking shoes.  And then get all beautiful for the much anticipated birthday dinner.
 
 
 

I was up early still not finding the real coffee and settling for instant.  Ick.  I had a bowl of cereal and read at the glass table in the kitchen alcove.  Mother emerged and we visited until Steve finally appeared with sleepy eyes.  He never gets enough sleep.  

Mother asked Steve to drive today.  As noted previously, Mother's car is huge.  And her driveway barely accommodates the girth of it.  I'm always amazed at my mother, with her bad neck, as she navigates the behemoth backwards out of the garage and out to the street.  Steve, several times, nearly ran down her tomatoes and zinnias.  It was a real study in concentration.  And patience.

Mother directed Steve up to NorthGate Mall in north Seattle.  I observed where I got my ability to give directions.  It was frightening ("if one Bowden does it...")  

Unlike Mother's house, Seattle has changed a great deal since I lived there until 1975.  New buildings, new homes, new roads.  But there were the old bones of the city.  

In Magnolia, where our house is, the movie theatre became a bank; the bowling alley, a State Liquor Store.  The old Five and Dime is now an upscale men's store.  There are numerous coffee shops (can't be surprised about THAT!) and a well-known gourmet restaurant, Szmania's, where one of the highlights is sitting at the dining bar and watching the chef and sous chefs in the open kitchen.  Here in NYC, there are restaurants that have a Chef's Table where you actually sit in a small area of the kitchen amongst the hubbub and observe the chaos. 

Mother and I had dinner at Szmania's one night when I was in town for a weekend of helping her give her annual Chinese New Year parties.  I declared that one night, in between her two parties in 1996, that since there were no guests to entertain we would EAT OUT!  We had a ball talking to the "low guy on the totem pole" about his job.  I was still doing per diem cheffing at the non-profit organization God's Love We Deliver in NYC so I could really relate to his stories.   While we didn't serve the individual masterpieces that he was finalizing, I had been too tired and too hot and under too much pressure.  It's a tough job!  They couldn't pay me enough now to return unless they could guarantee a daily massage to work all the kinks out.
 
 

I HATE shopping!  I HATE malls!  But it wasn't crowded.  And Mother knew exactly where Nordstrom's was.  On route we passed a small candy store all bright and packed with colors and treats.  We found ourselves mysteriously drawn in.  Mother and I poked around the funny counters and carousels.  Then we found the Jelly Bellies.  Now, I'm not a big fan of them -- the popcorn flavored ones always trick me and then disgust me.  But she got big eyes!  (That's a term we used to use for our cat Thomas when he would get excited) I insisted upon treating her and I poured an extra scoop of coconut beans into the glassine bag.  She said no, no, no, but her eyes were dancing. 

On we went to Nordstrom's.  We found the men's shoes immediately.  Not much choice there.  Certainly not the selection we women are used to.  Steve wandered around until he found some simple black shoes.  $175!!!  Were they kidding??  You put these things on your feet!  Scuff them up and them kick them off when they hurt too much.  Sorry, if the darn things are over $80, I go somewhere else.  That's why I don't like to shop.  

He paid for them and we left to find some sport shoes.  That was easier and cheaper!  Mother was amused at the children's shoes that had lights in the heel that were activated by pressure.  Purple, brilliant green and pink!  There was nothing like this when we were kids, just Keds.
 

Mother knew a Chinese restaurant that had great wonton soup.  I wanted fried rice.  We headed there.

I have a real thing about fried rice.  Pork fried rice.  Rice is what makes me cozy when I'm down.  It started a long time ago.  

When I was a small child we lived in Japan.  Our housekeeper/maid, Michiko, was like a member of our family.  She traveled with us on holiday, caring for me exclusively.  She fed me, clothed me, and played with me.  That's what this two year old needed -- an adult who wanted to spend time with her!  I ate my meals with Michiko.  So, she naturally served me what she was eating, what she liked.  As a result I learned to love rice, dislike cheese and gravy (I've learned better about cheese -- my downfall and I make a terrific gravy!).  We had our evening meal in the kitchen before the rest of the family so I was tucked away in bed before the family's evening activities.  The joys (or curses) of the youngest child.  Eventually, when we were returning to America, Mother asked Michiko at the ship's dock what she could send her.  Stockings, perfume, anything.  She just said, "Hon.” Michiko had difficulty sounding out "e"s and "l"s.  One of my nicknames since is "Hon Babe".  The last time I saw Michiko I was head and shoulders above her at 12.  

In 1960, Daddy was posted to Taiwan.  We would spend our Sundays after church at the Grand Hotel in Taipei.  My sister, Elizabeth, would play mixed doubles tennis with Daddy and the rest of us enjoyed the pool.  I learned to swim there, not well, but I succeeded in paddling around and staying out of trouble.  Mid afternoon our spongy bodies would draw from the water.  Fried rice all around! That, and watered-down warm coke.  Nothing ever tasted better then!  Or since.

Mother and Steve had wonton soup.  They shared with me.  I avoided them.

We had to get home and clean up for dinner.  Steve and I were very excited about this.  Mother had no clue how special tonight would be.
 

We emerged from the house as Bob and Fran and Brad and Pam were also leaving for their concert.  I have never seen a family that got along so wonderfully.  I can't imagine that as teenagers living at home Brad or his brother, Randy, ever had cross words with their parents like I never seemed to avoid.  

We said good night and drove off.  I didn't know, at that point, this would be their last evening together. 
 

The Alexis is a European styled hotel in downtown Seattle.  This lovely old property has the distinction of being on the National Register of Historic Places and is a four star hotel.  Many hotels throughout the country often rest on that laurel alone to beckon clients.  But the Alexis goes beyond the typical amenities to guarantee the comfort of their guests.  The interior is cozy; warm and welcoming.  Many of the suites have wood burning fireplaces with spectacular views of the harbor.  The staff is renown for knowing your name before you even check in and there is a small library-like bar/cafe snugly tucked off the lobby.  And then there is The Painted Table.
 

The lobby of the Alexis Hotel is a small intimate place.  There is wood everywhere.  We wound our way back towards the restaurant.  There was no one to great us.  I was surprised.  This didn't bode well for me but I'm not sure Mother noticed.  I took the lead (don't I always!) and introduced myself.  We were immediately lead through the bar, down some short, nicely place stairs into the dinning room.  

Heavy drapes lined the walls. The lights were low.  There was no view but it wasn't necessary.  The hominess of the room was welcoming.  I ordered champagne; I always order champagne.  Steve was driving so he was happy with water and Mother had her requisite martini.  Actually, the vermouth never comes close to the glass.  

The menus were delivered. 

Chef Jim Kelley had his initial training in the Napa Valley and continued on to New York City where he had the extraordinary fortune of working at Bouley and Vong prior to moving to Seattle.  His Asian background is obvious in his cooking.  He is a common fixture at the Pike Place Market giving tours there for lucky visitors and then taking them back to his kitchen and preparing with them "hands-on" a three-course meal. I wish I had known about this before the trip.  I would have jumped at it!   

The menu was extensive.  Almost too much to take in.  Our job was made easy by the Tasting Menu.  It was a five-course dinner with matching wines.

All the courses arrived on porcelain white plates that had rims of color.  Each plate delivered was different.  A blue, a red, a yellow...all identical except for the edged color.   Layers of dense goat cheese with grilled baby eggplant and slices of sun dried tomatoes layed upon an onion-thyme comfit.  The strength of the tomatoes was matched only by the eggplant and pungent cheese.

We had begun to endure our meal.........

Next, was a light salad of mixed wild greens, chosen that morning at the Pike Place Market by Chef Jim Kelley.  The crisp and sweet yet tart, Asian pears were offset by crunchy glazed walnuts and sprinkled with small delicate flowers. 

Our waiter was patient with us.  The three us of discussed the form and beauty of each offering.  The tastes were to be a lasting memory.  Everything was to be savored.

Our colorful plates were again replaced with yet another delectable.  Atop sautéed leeks and fringed with fried sage leaves were duck ravioli bathed in a star anise infused squash broth.  At first tasting we couldn't determine what the sweet but unusual flavor was.  Our waiter brought back to us the menu so we could walk through this meal with our questions answered.  The star anise, of course!  I was amazed that anyone could combine such flavors.

As it if that wasn't enough, when our waiter delivered next course it was an herbed basted Chilean Sea Bass with Japanese eggplant and roasted pepper and Tomato cumin broth drizzled atop it all.  The Asian influences were a common but not surprising theme throughout dinner. 

The best for me was the next course prior to dessert.  Pan Seared Day Boat Scallops.   I am not a scallops person.  Ok, in sushi, yes, but usually scallops are so overcooked they take on a chewy consistency reminding me of conch.  But once again I wasn't disappointed.  There were only three of them, cooked to tender, nearly raw inside, surround by caramelized endive, tomato fondue and oyster mushrooms in truffle oil.

I don't remember dessert.  I am not a dessert person.

We floated out of the hotel.  Our car was brought around to us shortly and we headed home.
 

It wasn't late.  Maybe 10:00.  I turned on the back porch light and sat on the steps and lit my cigarette.  It was quiet.  There was an occasional jet flying overhead, to the northwest.  Mother always said, "It's going to China." with a sigh.  She always knew they were flying to China and I know she wanted to be on every one of them...

There were voices.  In the distant, I heard Bob's strong voice and Fran's more lilting one.  They were saying good night to their children after the concert.  Bob and Fran were leaving the next morning for a business trip to Florida and then a short holiday in Nova Scotia.  I smiled...what a great family.  I heard Brad and Pam's car start and drive away.

Another cigarette and I was done.  We had to pack tonight in order to be up for our early train to Vancouver.  I had no idea what delight that trip would be.  
 
 

The alarm rang early.  I didn't hear Mother, one floor above us, stirring but I was up.  Steve and I dressed quietly and then went upstairs.  What things we weren't going to require in Vancouver were left in the bedroom closet.  We would return on that Saturday for three more days with Mother before we took off for the coast and three days of solitude.

King Street Station is just southeast of where the galleries we visited on Sunday were. The sun was just up.  It's a lovely old building, completely shadowed by the Kingdome and newer SafeCo Stadium.  I just knew we could grab something inside to call breakfast.  

Mother dropped us off with kisses and we went inside.  This was no Grand Central Station.  

Train travel in the Northeast is a popular thing.  Nearly every hour, trains leave for Boston and south, towards Washington, DC and points beyond.  But King Street Station looked like a "way station".  There were no delis, no cafes, no coffee shops (in Seattle??).  Only machines dispensing sad little things that pretended to be food and I wouldn't touch a cup of their automated coffee.  I knew better.     

I had ordered coach tickets when I set up the trip.  We don't travel first class.  The dollars that we might spend traveling in style could finance another trip (maybe to Scotland??).  There was a great assortment of people traveling this morning.  Small families, European visitors with only backpacks, used to traveling by train overseas, lone individuals, two or three small groups of older women with nothing on their arms but handbags.  I wondered what their destination in Vancouver might be.  

When we boarded we found our seats on the left side of the train car.  Now, THIS was stylish training.

The windows in the cars were like picture windows. The seats reclined without encroaching upon the passenger seated behind you.  These slid forward and down.  The upholstery was cushy and new.  The handy fold-down tray was just large enough to hold a book or magazine and a cup of coffee (coffee???  I was dying...) We settled in.  I pulled out a book and Steve found room forward for our bags.

Now, had we decided to drive we would have driven up Interstate 5, slightly inland, all the way to the Canadian boarder.  In this case, however, the train took us up through Seattle's train-yards, over the locks, towards the water's edge.  There was a map on the video screen above our heads showing our route, time, and location relative to our destination.

The day was clear and bright.  The weather since we had arrived in Seattle was brilliant.  There was a chill to the air that kept the sky blue and crisp with slight clouds.  As we continued along the coast, we traveled by houses on the water's edge that I never knew existed.  Somehow, within the Seattle city limits there were homes that appeared to have been dropped on the shoreline from the surrounding islands.  Driftwood boarded the water's rim and there were early rising fishermen seeing what Puget Sound might provide them.  Ferries traveled from the western islands delivering businessmen and workers to their day jobs.  I once again realized I had forgotten to bring a map.  Give Helen a map and she is happy for hours.  I never remember to have a map on flights either and I spend my time guessing at what I'm seeing.  I knew pretty well what islands were out there and what mountain peaks in the Olympics were lining the horizon. I'd grown up with them and they hadn't changed.  Steve sat and read or dozed.  I never can understand how he can.  I have to watch.  

I saw otters in the water and diving birds.  Pelicans, fishing for breakfast.  Dogs with their masters chasing sticks in the cold water but never seeming to mind and then wringing their bodies in the sand.  Small boats drifting on their moorings.  Young men and women jogging with headphones providing different sounds.  The water was smooth and train followed in kind.

At Everett, the train continued on inland past factories and then on to grazing fields.   Horses and cows and, occasionally, sheep.  Cars waited at crossings for us to pass.  Where we they going, I wondered?  We crossed slews and rivers.  Saw Mount Baker in the distance. Eventually we crossed the Canadian boarder along the coast again.  There was the Peace Arch dedicated to fact that the Americans and Canadians are brothers.  It's a beautiful white monument.  We rode on.

Some four hours after we left Seattle, we arrived in Vancouver.  I had not been here since I was a junior in college.  Then, my parents and I had visited for a long weekend.  I don't remember much of that visit.  It was one of my black years.  I was not happy then.

Ah, customs, this should be easy.  The last time Steve and I were in Canada I had forgotten my passport.  On our return to the ferry, the agent asked for my papers and I had to admit to forgetting them.  He queried me on my birthplace.  Where was Chicago?  I correctly answered, Illinois.  They let me go.  This time, though, the only question that was asked was did we have any handguns or pepper spray.  Handguns, I understood but pepper spray?  That was a new one.  Steve and I carried neither. 

After getting a few US dollars changed into Canadian, we carted our bags to the curbside and hailed a cab.  The hotel wasn't too far away.
 

The Hotel Vancouver is the Grand Dame of Vancouver.  Virus Bulletin always seems to select the best of the best for their conferences.  This time it was no different.  

Built between 1928 and 1939, interrupted only by the depression, the Hotel Vancouver is a chateau-styled creation that once towered above the city.  The arched entranceways, the buttressed and frieze-worked vaulted ceilings, and Spanish marble floors lend graciousness to the lobby but don't deny the guests an occasionally intimate conversational alcove.  As you remove yourself from the reception area you are greeted by an open-air cafe and bar.  Palms shelter you as you sit and sip afternoon tea.  Sounds are muted.  Colors are subtle.  You feel as you might be in the living room of a friend.  

Our room was on the ninth floor looking over to the northern mountains.  None of the rest of the group had arrived so we dropped our bags and headed out for a bite.  Steve had seen a Chinese restaurant from our window and we aimed in that direction.  

It was still warm outside and we walked up Robeson St. until we came upon not a Chinese restaurant but a fish and chips joint.  I don't think I had had fish and chips since Canterbury. That's what I wanted.  While I held the sidewalk table, Steve went inside and ordered.  In a few minutes out came the yummiest looking lunch I had ever seem.  I didn't hurt that we hadn't eaten since the night before.

The breading was moist but firm and the fish was mild and flaky.  Perfect!  Icy cokes and crispy chips that we shook malt vinegar on.  I was happy and, after all, satisfied.  We continued our walk.  

Robeson St. has all the posh boutiques and requisite tourist shops with postcards, carved Canadian jade and smoked salmon.  I found one salmon store and we went inside to check out the goods.  Everything was delectable and they were serving samples.  Too bad we had just eaten!  We promised to return.  I knew I would spend ALOT of money there on presents.

We headed back to our hotel.  We were a little tired but I needed to tend to our clothes.  As we were walking towards the elevator we ran into the first of our group.  Bill and Lynn had just arrived and we made plans to meet for dinner.  Upstairs, I unpacked and ironed while Steve set up his computer.  I knew we would be fighting over it soon.  

As I ironed next to the window (why is it that hotel rooms always have one outlet that is accessible and is always used by the coffee maker??) I had a visitor.  A large, white sea gull was watching me work.  Not frightened by my movement, we had a conversation.  She mentioned that she was hungry and would appreciate anything I might offer.  I told her I had nothing so she still waited.  

By 5 o'clock we were ready for dinner and met Bill and Lynn downstairs.  I had asked the concierge about a nice seafood restaurant close to the hotel as well as a fine sushi place.  Steve had promised John, another manager in his group, that if the demo for the Immune System worked during his talk, we would take him and his wife out for sushi afterwards to celebrate.  One never knows about software. 

The concierge had recommended Joe Fortes for dinner. It was just two blocks away on Thurlow St.  She had said they served fish as well as steak.  Bill is a vegetarian and this would suit him well.  As we were leaving we ran into several people as they were arriving for the conference.  We see them almost exclusively at this annual meeting.  I hadn't traveled to Munich last year (the new apartment had drained the funds I would use to finance my way there) and we all hugged and joked that now we had a "child" that was keeping me busy.

Joe Fortes was obviously a Friday hangout for business people on their way home from work.  I wondered how long it would be before we were seated.  Immediately, as it turned out.  This was BIG place!

The menu was large and had a number of "fish of the day" entrees.  But what caught my eye was prime rib and Yorkshire pudding.  I hadn't had Yorkshire pudding in years.  Everyone else ordered the three fish combination.  I had a Bloody Mary.  We visited.

I rarely see Steve during the conference.  I felt abandoned the first couple of years and then I finally ventured out on my own.  I guess the first year I felt comfortable doing this was Edinburgh.  Not a bad place to begin.  In Amsterdam, I walked, walked, walked and took the trolleys when I tired.  I saw the flower market and the Van Gogh Museum along with the Rijksmuseum.  Discovered the Red Light district myself.  In Brighton, I walked wide mouthed thru the Royal Pavilion and thru the antique market.  On Jersey, I figured out the bus system well enough that I spent my days from one end of the island to the other visiting the Neolithic sites there.  I found cairns over looking the channel that faced France.  I was alone.  The hike in detered most tourists.  The best was the standing stones that couldn't be seen from the desolate roadway in the sand fields.  I got off the bus in the middle of nowhere.  I wondered what I was doing there, not seeing anything that was 8 ft tall.  I hiked up to the top on one 20 ft sand mound and, with my telephoto lens, spied what looked like could be a rock.  When I approached it I realized that, yes, it and several other rocks around it were standing stones -- just 2 to 3 feet high.  The other 6 ft was buried in the sand.  I felt like I wanted to shout to the world that I had discovered them myself.   

Now I love to travel alone.  But on this trip Lynn and John’s wife, Maureen, would join me. 

Dinner was good -- the Prime rib was bloody; the Yorkshire pudding was crunchy.  We left sated.
 

I had brochures and maps and books spread out on the bed around me.  The zoo, the aquarium, Chinatown, a possible bus tour across the water to Victoria.  Finally, I decided that I really wanted to bicycle around Stanley Park. 
 

On one thousand acres of land to the northwest of downtown Vancouver is Stanley Park, a magnificent and unusual wilderness, located on the site of an old military reserve and culturally important Coast Salish Indian villages.  Named after Governor General Lord Stanley, this huge space offers a respite from the busy downtown, a brief fifteen-minute walk away.  The park is nearly encircled by the ocean and encompasses dense natural forest, wandering paths, rose gardens, an aquarium and numerous public areas for picnics and dreaming.  Along with the roadway that approaches the Lions Gate Bridge there is an 8.8-mile path for walkers and cyclists.  I was drawn to it.  
 

Steve and I had breakfast on Wednesday morning in the lobby.  We arrived late and they were beginning to remove the continental buffet but replenished it when we sat down.  Gradually, other scientists, walking by, would come over and sit with us and talk.  IBM has always been on the cutting edge of anti virus research and Steve had spoken at each of the nine conferences, giving the keynote in Brighton.  There were always interesting ideas to share and pass around.  I knew I was losing him soon.  He had to set up the demo that afternoon.

We were joined by Lynn and told her that we were going over to the nearby Canadian Craft Museum.  She had nothing better to do!  She had just returned from the Museum of Anthropology at UBC.

The Canadian Craft Museum was close and just small enough to spend a few minutes and then return Steve to the hotel.  Ha!  No museum is ever small enough to dash in and out of.  

It's a lovely small space.  Leaded windows and a loft-like feel.  As we walked in many “randomly” hung fabrics faced us.  The overall show was called "Cobalt and Indigo".  Textile master Hiroyuki Shindo had created many indigo dyed muslin hangings in a technique called Shibori or a shaped resist dyeing (much like batik).  They seemed suspended in the air at different levels and floated with the movement of air around them.  We were able to get close to them and examine the various thicknesses of the fabrics and density of dye.  Later when we were in the balcony at another part of the show, we looked down and across them as though they were drifting clouds.  There was, as well, a permanent display of ceramics by the artist Kinichi Shigeno.  He has an elegant way with cobalt; cobalt so dark as not to be identified as such. Pieces were begging to be touched but I resisted.  This was beautiful glass.  

Ah, the gift shop -- a wonder in one-of-kind craft works by Canadian artists.  And a wonder in my own resistance.  Too many beautiful things.  Steve and I admired the work of one glass artist and took her name perhaps for a commission.

After we left Steve on the steps of the hotel, Lynn and I went off to find her some shoes.  I hate shopping.  We did, however, make it back to that great salmon store.  I bought presents!  Birthday presents for my sister and my best friend, canned salmon for stocking stuffers, shrink-wrapped salmon for future hors d'ouvres, and maple sugar for......eating!  I spent $100 but in US dollars that was only about $60.  Canada was on sale!  This could be my downfall -- I could learn to love shopping again!

But I got tired.  We headed back to the hotel.   Lynn and I saw Mo in the lobby and we dragged her along with us.  I had to find Steve and make plans for meeting him prior to the Welcoming Cocktail Party.  He was in the conference hall surrounded by multicolored cables.  He, John and several other IBMers were praying to their gods for fortuitous luck.  Steve promised he would be back in the room in time to clean up and attended the party.  I knew better.

Goodness!  He returned in time to dress.  I was wearing a gauzy, flowered print dress that danced on my body.  We left our room just as the party was starting.  

The Welcoming Cocktail Party is the official kickoff for the conference.  It was held in the sky top restaurant with the most amazing view of the sunset and mountains glimmering with pink light.  The place was packed.  Offer free food and drink to computer scientists and they crawl out of the walls, leaving their computers until they are full.  Tables and tables of canapés were refreshed constantly.  The bars were three deep in people.  Lynn was already holding forth in the smoking lounge.  Steve offered me a drink and promptly disappeared.  The wives congregated.  This was the worst part!  I had a date somewhere but I couldn't find him.  It had begun.  I would see him only to have an occasional meal and wake up next to in bed.  Until Saturday morning. After that he'd be all mine!
 

Thursday morning Steve was up early and off to breakfast.  I was meeting Mo and Lynn for breakfast in the hotel's Griffin's Restaurant at 9:30 to decide what our day would be.  I really wanted to rent bicycles and prove that you never forget how to ride them.

Mo and Lynn decided on the buffet.  It was just too much food for me so I ordered a variation on Eggs Benedict.  Instead on Canadian bacon they replaced it with smoked salmon and using a large crumpet as its base.  They hadn't touched the Hollandaise sauce, though.  I devoured it.

We did decide to ride around Stanley Park that day.  If the weather continued to be mild and sunny this would be spectacular.  I suggested a picnic; perhaps we'd find someplace that sold sandwiches but Mo mentioned we had that buffet available so they went back and collected goodies.  Rolls, croissants, yogurt, fruit, it all ended up in my purse with or without napkins.  I was fishing out puffed pastry crumbs for days!   I felt like we were acting out a scene from "Where the Boys Are" (Ok, who remembers that movie??  Come on, fess up!!!)  Off we went.

The bicycle rental shop was just outside the park.  We got on our "steeds" and rode off.  Well, you DON'T forget how to ride a bicycle.  I was a little wobbly at first and figured out which hand brake controlled which tire.  After a few false starts we reached the Park.  

There were alot of joggers and cyclists, some more serious than others.  We weren't serious at all.  Once again the water was like a mirror and provided us some nice photos looking back towards the city.  Lynn lent me her camera strap (mine is stilled packed, somewhere) for my old Olympus.  We rearranged our wire baskets, and FINALLY took off.  

The first sight we had was a display of four or five magnificent totems.  The totem typically tells the story of a family or chief of a family.  These particular totems represented a variety of BC nations.  They were freshly painted and surrounded by carefully planted and brilliantly colorful flowers.  I got some fine pictures of them against the deep blue sky.  Cobalt blue, in fact.  

We continued on the coast coming upon a view of a mermaid in the water.  She is a bronze sculpture sitting on a rock just off shore.  The residents of Vancouver have a wonderful sense of humor.  Today, she had on a tee shirt.  Yes, I imagine at night it was a bit chilly.  She has been known to wear a diving mask despite being a sea-maiden.

We went on...  We rode in and out of walkers, aware of cars behind us.  There is a bicycle path most of the way around the island but occasionally we were forced onto the roadway.  I found myself stopping here and there to get another photo looking northwest towards the Lions Gate Bridge and the mountains beyond.  It was a magnificent view and allowed me to lag behind Mo and Lynn for some private time.  I love them dearly but I also treasure my solitude. 

The three of us came upon a lonely children's water playground.  It was too cool for water play today but I bet that place is packed in the summer.  Off to our left was the road up to the Vancouver Aquarium.  They rode up it, I WALKED up it.  I know what I can do and what I can't do.  And it gave me chance to watch the geese.   Mo and Lynn were toying with the idea of going through the aquarium.  I wasn't into that right then.  So we continued on.

The Lions Gate Bridge marked the half point of our ride.  It is very reminiscent of the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco.  That bridge was being built when my mother was in graduate school at Mills College in Berkeley in the 30s.  She has very strong feelings about it.  
 
 

Every time we went overseas, we took a military transport.  Those grey ships frequented all the ports along the west coast.  Their striped stacks were a familiar sight in those harbors.  I suppose we could have flown home from Taiwan but the ocean voyages gave Mother a vacation and rest of us a very large playground.  

The first trip my family took on board ship was to Hawaii.  (I think it was in 1948.  I wasn't there; I hadn't been born yet but I've seen alot of movie pictures.)  My father had preceded her and she brought over the twins and my eldest sister.  Mother has movies of the girls on leashes and Katie all over the place.  The things we do for our men!  

The next time we sailed out, under the Golden Gate Bridge was in 1953.  I was just 2 and don't remember that either but once again Mother was doing it alone.  We were meeting Daddy, after the Korean War, in Japan.  When we docked in Yokohama, Daddy was there the greet us.  As we reached him, he threw his arms around Mother and kissed her.  I saw this strange man taking my mother and I let out a scream.  I hadn't seen him since I was 6 months old and all my father was for me was a photograph of an officer with a pipe in his mouth.  Not this man grabbing my mother!

The final adventure in foreign lands was not too foreign.  That was Daddy's tour of Taiwan.  I remember that trip well.  I was nearly ten -- I'd reach that milepost on board the ship.  I celebrated my last birthday with impetigo in Virginia; not allowed to have a party but given a beautiful purple English Racing bicycle.  This year I would be given present signifying my arrival to young womanhood.

The first thing I remember on board ship was the fire drill.  It happened almost immediately.  Our family congregated at our Life Station, after the alarm, on deck with our life vests and towels around our heads, looking like refugees and Mother STILL insisted on filming as we went under the Golden Gate Bridge.  She had done this ever since her first voyage and the military wasn't going to stop her now.  Anyone who has meet her would verify that she cannot be stopped from what she wants to do.  But every piece of film she has ever shot is a treasure now.

I was a bouncy kid.  When everyone else was grabbing the hallway rails being sick, I was running around discovering yet another part of the ship.  They ran movies for all the kids in one of the interior rooms.  Disney!!  Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, all over and over again.  I saw them all -- over and over again.  I have to admit they colored my life as the way it should be.  Anyone who knows ME knows that I have a pair of rose-colored glasses in my back pocket if I'm not wearing them. 

Father always brought balloons on board ship.  Everyday or so a bunch of us kids would join him on a top deck and he would blow up the balloons, tie, and toss them in the air and we would scream and shout as the wind would carry them away, bouncing off the back of the boat.  We would watch until we could no longer see them and then Daddy would let another go. 

My sisters, teenagers, were busy meeting young officers on their way to Viet Nam.  I guess we didn't know it was Viet Nam at that point but it was 1960 and things were getting going over there.  The three of them had their own stateroom, I bunked with The Parents.  They had more fun, too.  

We stopped in Hawaii, Yokohama, and Naha, Okinawa.  We would have day trips.  I was usually bored.  But my birthday was the day before we landed in Taiwan and we'd a have a shipboard celebration.  That's when I was given my first strand of pearls.  Mother had gotten them in Japan.  Yes, I still have them!  You don't lose Mikimoto pearls!
 
 

After riding under the Lion's Gate Bridge we were facing the shipping lanes of the Strait of Georgia and the winds.  Many huge container ship powered by us leaving wakes that would crash against the seawall.  This is about where we decided to stop and have our lunch.  Before, though, Mo and I scaled down some narrow steps to the slippery rocks below to examine the tidal pools.  Lots of little snails and mussels.  Smooth stones and pieces of driftwood found their way into my pockets.  A wave almost swamped her.  We decided to eat at that point.  

The view here was even more magnificent than anything we'd seen so far.  We could see Vancouver Island, clearly, directly west of us and to our north, the Coast Mountains seemed only yards away.  We could see Garibaldi Provincial Park where Whistler Mountain is located.  There was still snow on the peaks from the previous season.  To our Southwest was Vanier Park and beyond, the large campus of University of British Columbia.  Mo and I would go over there on Friday to visit the museum that Lynn was raving about.

Lunch was done so we got on our bikes and continued our ride.  We had about 3 more miles to go.  It was about 1:00 and I wanted to get back to the hotel to sit in on Steve's talk and the IBM demo.    

The west side on Stanley Park has several bathing beaches.  I don't know if they are natural beaches or man-made but they were smooth white sand and some folks were actually in the water.  There were alot of outdoor activities available here from a lawn bowling club to putting greens and playgrounds for children.  We rode on.

We finally reached the beginning of our ride.  I was disappointed that it was so short.  I wanted to ride further but the public streets faced us and I wasn't sure the cars would be so kind here.  Our bikes got returned.  We walked home.

On the way I told Mo and Lynn I needed to find some chopsticks.  I had left my black lacquer ones at home that I had planned to wear in my hair.  I needed something.  We found an accessories store and by God they had some.  Mo was playing with some butterfly clips and Lynn was admiring silver bracelets.  We escaped without too much damage to our pocketbooks.

Back at the hotel the three of us agreed to meet at the conference hall after dropping our stuff.  

Mo was the first one down.  When I arrived, she was up front setting up the video camera with John.  I found a seat in back next to one of Steve's wizards and settled in.  The lights lower and the talk started.

The Immune System is a project at IBM Research designed to thwart global epidemics by fast-spreading computer viruses like Melissa or ExploreZip. It can find entirely new computer viruses on your PC and send them safely to a central analysis center, which determines how to detect and cure the virus, packages this ability into an update to your anti-virus software, and distributes the cure, first to your computer, then worldwide to all protected computers. This is all done automatically, and very quickly - so quickly that it cures the virus worldwide before the virus can spread. (The current system can find, analyze, and cure the virus in under an hour.) The Immune System is currently being piloted with several large customers as an extension to Norton AntiVirus from Symantec. The researchers expect it to bring them lasting fame, fabulous riches and to significantly enhance their romantic lives, but they will settle for just seeing it shipped.

(I must thank Steve for the previous entry.  There is no way I would assume to be able to explain this.)

The talk was good and the demo actually WORKED!  There was lag at one point that Steve had to fake through but no one knew until well after the fact.

I made my way through the throng to him, kissed him and said I'd see him later.  He had press to meet with.  As usual........

Two years ago when IBM introduced the IS to the world we were at the Fairmont Hotel in San Francisco.  Steve and I had a huge suite (it had been the suite that Frank Sinatra would use when he was in the Bay Area).  It was bigger than our apartment!  The Group used the bar area to set up the demos and I had to BE GONE by 9:00am so I wouldn't collide with anyone in the bathroom.  At the same time, we were closing on the contract for our new apartment.  Each afternoon Steve and I would meet to discuss any updates on both the apartment and the conference activities.  It was a very exciting time.
 

It was 5:30 so I needed to get upstairs and prepare for the evening.  

By 6:30 Steve had STILL not arrived back at the room.  I had already showered, done my makeup, was doing my hair when the doorbell rang.  There was Mo in her full length, backless, black sequined gown with her waist length hair in what seemed hundreds of braids.  "What NOW?"  she asked.   I clipped mine on top of my head and set to work.  God, this reminded me of college.  I found a bag of Bobbie pins and hair clips and went about trying to do something romantic.  I succeeded in creating a long thick loop of braids and sent her off, promising to meet her at her room if the guys didn't show up.  

They didn't and we left, dateless, once again, for a party.  This wasn't the first time and no doubt wouldn't be the last.
 

Mo and I arrived downstairs for the reception prior to the dinner.  The room was packed.  But instead of the conferees wearing their latest silly T-shirts, many were dressed in tuxedos; many of the ladies, in gowns.  I feared we were too late for champagne when all the glasses I saw on trays were empty.  I began to panic.  Ah, there was one!  But no men -- at least not the ones that counted.  We discovered Lynn. We did the "women" thing: admired each other’s clothes and jewelry and hair.  Since it's long now, I had managed to knot mine on top of my head with the chopsticks.  My Tibetan necklace stood out on my black and white.  

Immediately before the doors opened to the Gala, Steve, John, and Bill appeared.  They had had several long conversations with reporters and were ready to party: the talk and demo were over!  

Steve and I reserved two round tables adjacent to each other for the IBM group.  In all there were about 16 of us.  The six of us sat together along with a very funny marketing guy from Atlanta and another member of marketing here in New York.  A very lively group.

The food was fine.  Nothing too remarkable.  It's simply too tough to do wonderful things for 300 people.  The music was swing and "oldies".  Most of us were in our 30s and 40s.  Mo and John are great dancers and I sat there wishing Steve would ask me to dance.  

He's a terrible dancer.  I hate to say that, but it's true.  Once when we were in the British Virgin Islands, I had the stereo on in the cottage as we were eating dinner on the porch overlooking the islands.  We could hear the surf and the air was soft.  I got romantic and wanted to dance with him.  But he can't lead so I started to.  He immediately pulled away from me and sat down.  I begged him to try again; that I wouldn't lead again.  Unfortunately, I did and at that point he swore he'd never dance with me again.  That was two years ago.  Steve is stubborn.  We haven't danced at weddings or parties since then and I've always felt left out of the fun.

I got tears in my eyes.

Steve asked me to dance.  I let him lead.  It was romantic.  

Balloons!  I almost forgot the balloons!  A very serious tradition since the very first VB on the Isle of Jersey.  I'm afraid it started with Steve.  
 

We all know the power of helium and power of humor.  Mix that with tedious entertainment and you have a combustible combination.  Also at that dinner I felt there was a competition with the waiters as to how much wine they could serve.  Our table for that party was in the back.  Steve and I sat with several other scientists that he had known previously and we were all really bored.  Steve and Gene looked at the balloons and then each other.  I pulled out my lighter to cut the ribbon and one balloon of the bunch over our table came down.  I had the fingernails, they had the nerve.  After passing the balloon around we started singing the Munchkin song.  We SOUNDED like Munchkins.  And started to laugh.  Then the next one came down.  And the next one.  Tables around us got the idea and gradually balloons vanished from the air all over the room. 
 

This year at the conference the balloons were there.  No, we didn't suck on them.  We're adults now (when did THAT happen??!!)  This year we collected them.  Our table ended up with dozens.  Steve and John decided to see how they could create an even buoyancy.  We tied a sand weight to the bottom of the bunch and then added balloons from other tables, as necessary.  It was not what typical physicists do for a living but..........well, they're not normal.  You've probably figured that out by now.  The bouquet successfully floated around the room to everyone non-amazement.  They had gotten used to us by now.  Later, the cloud left us with Sarah and Richard (others in our group) and I have no clue what they did with them.

Friday morning came MUCH too early with all the wine we had had.  Painful?  Yes, probably a good description.
 

Lynn didn't appear for breakfast.  I was afraid to call her so Mo and I had our meal alone.  I repeated the Eggs Canadian and Mo, God knows what she had -- I was lucky to be conscious.  We needed an easy day.......

We had it.  We were going to catch a bus off to the University of British Columbia and the Museum of Anthropology.  This had to be easy.  Mo also had to pick up presents for her girls and various folks who made this trip possible for her.  

The bus was around the corner.  We made sure we appropriate change without having to cash in more US $.  We would only be around for one more day and we needed was excess Canadian $.  No one in the US would accept them.  Everything we spent would be on our VISAs.

I struck up a conversation with a woman at the bus stop.  I do that.  Even here in New York, I do that.  You never know what interesting story you might hear or person you might meet.  This lady, immaculately dressed, had emigrated from Hungary in the early 50s to Montreal.  She married there, had her children and lost her husband there, as well.  She move to BC when her kids were older because they wanted to live in the west and she didn't like the French Canadians much and certainly didn't want to live among them by herself.  She was very happy in BC but yet still wondered why there were so many begging "youngsters" in Vancouver.  I wondered the same thing.  It was odd to me that in a city as affluent and progressive, there were so kids on the streets.  Somehow, I expect it in NYC but not in Vancouver.

The bus came and we boarded.  She went to a seat and Mo and I found a place to stand until we could sit.  But I continued to think about our conversation. 

The ride out to UBC was rather long.  It ran through neighborhoods that reminded me of San Francisco and others that reminded me of San Diego.  We rode to the end of the line and got off in the middle of a college campus.  What a great place!
 

Occasionally, when I go down to the Village, here in New York City, I have a sense of being the wife of a college professor.  Had Steve accepted the Post Doctoral position offered in 1982 at University of Illinois, I would have spent nights feeding students pots of spaghetti or piles of hamburgers.  But the conversations would have been riveting and the exhilaration of their youthful minds would have been stunning.  Even today, when Steve would no doubt have become a senior professor, I wonder about it.
 

University of British Columbia, the oldest university in the province, opened on Point Grey to students in 1915 and today has nearly 30,000 undergraduates and over 6,000 graduate students on a campus of 1,000 acres.  To their credit, they have the third largest research library in all of Canada.  Along with all other major courses of study there is, as well, a First Nations House of Learning that works to expand the educational and professional opportunities of the country's First Nations people.  One of the best exhibitions of those lives is at the Museum of Anthropology.  

The path to the museum led us through a picturesque rose garden that not only overlooked the hill down to the water but over to Stanley Park and onward towards the mountains. The roses were in full bloom and I stopped to smell them.  There is nothing as sweet as a rose on the stem.

I could not believe how difficult it was to find the museum.  We arrived but not in time for a tour;  we would have an hour or so to wait so we lead our own.  

The Museum of Anthropology was first opened in 1949 and the present building was built in 1976.  It was designed to recall the post-and-beam cedar houses of the Northwest Coast First Nations.  MOA is presently the most popular of the public museums in Canada and is also Canada's largest teaching museum.  As well as housing local First Nation artifacts it also holds archaeological objects from around the world.  I think what completely stunned me was that you could see their entire collection.  So many museums are unable, due to space limitations, to display their complete collections but MOA has successfully created partitioned cabinets to hold valuable artifacts.  As a visitor, you are encouraged to pull out the glassed topped drawers and examine the interior.  I could have spent hours just doing that.

As you first enter the museum, you are faced with many huge totems.  The room they are housed in is glassed on three sides and, again, overlooked the Coast Mountains to the north.  It is an awe-inspiring sight.  You sense the all the spirits that surround you.  

We were nearly alone.  The sun was so bright outside that I switched my camera to its manual operation and metered the light.  I LOVE this camera.  The darn thing keeps threatening to die after spoiling me for 16 years.  I took some beautiful close-ups of one canoe.  This was a visual feast! 

Bone carvings, baskets, masks, jewelry, sculptures -- there was just too much to see.  Mo and I got separated; I, spending time with the American Indian baskets and she, with the expanse of masks.  Occasionally she would call out to me and I, to her.  We were alone and took advantage of it.

One of the most stunning sculptures was a gigantic piece of yellow cedar, designed and carved by Bill Reid, a renowned Haida artist.  It is called "The Raven and the First Men".  The piece was finished in 1980 and took five people more than three years to complete.  The Raven, known as a cultural hero and trickster in the Haida tradition, is sitting atop a nearly opened clamshell containing the small wriggling bodies of early man either struggling to get out or hide.  The lighting is provided by a few spotlights but, in day, overwhelmingly by the skylight allowing the sun to peer in above.   We spent alot of time there taking pictures and reading the plaques.

We had finished the exhibitions, tired.  But we had yet to do the museum shop!  Museum shops are my downfall.  I want to bring it ALL home with me, and here was my chance!  Again, I bought presents for dear friends and my sister, Kate.  Mo still looked for the perfect things for her girls.  She was still unsuccessful but continued her search and I went outside to have a cigarette.  Why is the world so mean to us misbegotten??  

When she appeared I sighed at the thought of the walk back to the bus stop and the long ride back to the city.  As we climbed the stairs, there sat a cab, our savior!  We got in and told him our destination. Mid route Mo decided to stop by Granville Island to continue her quest for presents but I couldn't even consider it.  I needed to be prone.  I watched the meter.  $$$ clicked by and I became uncomfortable.  I had $30 (CA) in my pocket and would never ask Mo to lend me money.  I had no clue what the final tab would be but would wait to see if we would bargain in US$.  We dropped Mo on Granville, filled with Disney-like shops.  The cab driver and I continued on. 

We were two blocks from the hotel when I decided to get out.  I had extra money but only enough a buy a coke and some chips and take them upstairs.  I was pleased.  I would leave Vancouver with no Canadian $$.
 

For the record, I have little envelopes of foreign currency that I have saved from past adventures for future adventures:  French francs, Dutch guilders, English pounds, Austrian schillings, Italian lira, and Hungarian forint.  I am more likely to visit any one of those places than Canada.  Don't ask me why......somehow crossing a land boarder isn't enough for me.  I need to cross the water.  Maybe that's why I love to sailing.
 

I was simply BEAT!  I had enough energy to turn on the TV and nothing else.  Oh, maybe to devour the chips and drink the coke.  But little else.................But first I had to go down stairs and sit in on the closing panel session that Steve was moderating.  Steve hadn't been asked to be a part of the panel since he usually answered alot of the questions.  As a moderator, he would have fun, though.  IBM had two people on the panel and there was also one person from Symantec, the company IBM is working with in producing the Immune System.  Most of the questions were good and thought provoking.   But there was one very strange fellow from New Zealand who went on and on and on.  He claimed to have anticipated the Melissa Virus that previous winter.  Everyone glanced back and forth to each other, raising eyebrows.  This guy was a nut.  Where he had come from, Sarah knew.  He had been on her "list" for some time. Somehow she tended to collect these types.  Steve successfully reeled him in and then chose another questioner.  

After the Q&A session, VB always presents a photo exhibit of the preceding days at the conference.  

For three days of the meetings, Kim (pronounced "Keem") from South Africa, had been taking digital photos of everything.  From set up to speakers; from parties to goofy people.  As people's photos would hit the screen there would be applause of various levels.  Many members of our group were shown.  There was a picture of me that Kim had said I looked like a princess.  That was at the welcoming reception and I got a round of applause.  They laughed at Steve when he was doing something silly and clapping at his photo of his presentation.  It was really fun to have been the core of the original VB group.  We all knew each other really well.  Again, it was like a reunion.

Once the presentation was completed, I pulled Steve away from the room and we buttonholed the folks we would be dining with that evening to let them know about dinner.  We would meet at 6:30 in the lobby.  

I hadn't made reservations and I hoped that wasn't a mistake.  And I also hoped the sushi would be good.  We owed John that much.  Well, pretty much.  
 

We congregated downstairs.  There were nine of us.  The usual suspects.  At the same time, there was another, much larger, group of conferees and spouses arranging their own, much larger, dinner party.  Usually, we went out with this whole group the final night of the conference.  I always felt so sorry for any maitre'd as we would stream in the door.  And then we got rowdy.  Not pretty.  One year in Boston the group just skipped dinner and went directly to the bar.  At the first conference this was the night that Steve discovered Single Malts and life has never been the same since.  I think his first was Laphroaig..

Everyone wanted to know where we were going and we told them, sushi.  Not being adventurous eaters, they decline and we went on our merry way.  

There is an extraordinary hotel down on the harbor called The Pan Pacific Vancouver.  It appears from a distance to be a sailing ship with great rigged canvases.  Closer though, the superstructure looks more like a circus tent and as you get right up to it, they are huge mast-like forms that tower above the conference space.  The VB Conference had initially planned for the meetings to be held there and later changed the venue to Hotel Vancouver.  It was to this hotel  we were headed.

Inside and up a long escalator was the most beautiful eight-story atrium.  Shops, a bar, a restaurant and above, on many levels, were the guest rooms.  Gigantic glass windows overlooked the harbor.  A magnificent building.  I think if I were to return to Vancouver in the future, I would opt to stay here.  But it is also known as the priciest hotel in the city.  

Up another escalator we approached Misaki, the Japanese restaurant.  The entire way I prayed they wouldn't be too busy to accommodate us.  We put on our finest manners (we hadn't left those at home, it seems!) and introduced ourselves as a party of nine for sushi. There was much scurrying around and we were then lead to a large table in the center of the room -- not in the back, as I had assumed.  We had to behave.  This could be tough!

Several of the group ordered cooked food but the rest of us had sushi.  Steve threw out ideas and I wrote down what we were going to order.  The gentle kimono dressed woman took our order -- actually I handed her our sushi list and she was quite pleased at our organization.  We were ready for a treat.  Sake was poured all around.  The conference was over; we were ready for a party.

Dinner was filled with lots of gossip and stories from the proceedings of the conference.  Sarah explained about the crazies and we were reminiscent that it was at this conference year earlier that she and Richard had met and had announced their engagement in Boston several years later.   They were married in Scotland.  

Steve and John joked about the lag during Steve's talk.  The demo was actually connected with the lab in NY where the detection and cleansing of the system occurs.  John had given Steve the high sign that the cure was done.  But nothing was shown to that effect on the overhead screen and so Steve was forced to do a little verbal soft-shoe until it, finally, was displayed.  I must say that from the audience, it wasn't evident.  Steve nearly had John pay for dinner that night.  We had a pretty little bill and John would have felt the effect!

After dinner we wandered around.  There was jazz coming from the bar and I found the door out to the terrace over the water.  The evening was slightly cool but soft.  We all hung around the rails discussing our morning departure plans and taking pictures of each other.  Mo had the digital camera and took lots of pictures.  

We hated to end the evening but it was getting late.  And the view was tough to give up.  When we got back to the hotel and there was a gang hanging out in the bar and I BEGGED Steve to let us join them but Steve knew better.  We had to pack and get up early for our drive back to Seattle.
 

Saturday morning, Steve and I met John and Mo for breakfast.  They were driving back to Seattle as well and would stay one night before flying home to New York.  We had arranged for them to have dinner with us at Mother's.  We left about 11am expecting to be back in the city by 3.  They would come over after they checked into their hotel.

Steve and I had to walk for what seemed miles to get our car at Hertz.  I had reserved a compact.  When we got to the desk we asked if perhaps they had a convertible.  

Steve has been transformed by his Miata.  He never wanted a convertible but I finally talked him in to it.  And we got it for my birthday that year (I don't drive!).  Today he now drives to work with the top down in 55-degree weather.  Heater on, windows up, but the top is down (we had  just gotten our new license plate - BOWDONIA)  

They HAD one!  A very sexy Pontiac.  So we started the process of renting it until they discovered we would be dropping the car at SeaTac Airport.  They said no.  Hertz would only rent the car for a round trip.  After much sighing on my part and sad expressions, they gave in.  Then they wanted an exorbitant amount of money.  I said there was NO way I could justify the expense.  So this cute guy, we had spent so much time with, gave us discounts until the rate became something I could live with.  Steve and I got into the car and put the top down and drove out of Vancouver.  I couldn't wait to have this car on the coast in the trees!
 

The route out of Vancouver goes on city streets forever.  I thought we would never get to the freeway.  I think it took us about an hour.  I watched the clock ticking away wondering what time we would arrive.  Nothing I could do about, though, so I just leaned back and enjoyed the weather.  Mother wouldn't worry, would she??

We drove for, a while, along the route that the train took on Tuesday.  In fact, I watched the train tracks for a long time.  Finally, the tracks went off to the shore and we stayed inland.  We could see Mount Baker off to the east.  Mother used to call it an ice cream mountain because when you could see it from Seattle, the sun was always painting it pink like strawberry ice cream.  I don't know what it is about the northwest that makes the mountains appear so close in the proper atmosphere.  Occasionally, before she blew, we could see St Helen's from Mother's hill in Magnolia.  "See, your mountain is out," she would say.

We crossed the border at the Peace Arch. 
 

Located between Blaine, Washington and Surrey, British Columbia lays White Rock, on Semiahmoo Bay, a charming village that is the home of the Peace Arch.  Dedicated in 1921, the arch celebrated the centennial of the establishment of the border between the two countries after the signing of the Treaty of Ghent in 1814.  This treaty established diplomatic ties between British North America (Canada) and the United States that demonstrated lasting peace and harmony between the our two countries and has remained since.  The engraving on this tribute to peace between us is the words "Children of a Common Mother".  There are few international borders that are as constant as this.

H.W. Corbett of London, England designed the white arch in a classic Doric style.  It towers 67 feet above 40 acres of land that overlooks the bay.  The grounds that surround the monument are jointed maintained by the US and Canada.  At opposite ends of the park are flowered plantings in the design of the American flag, on the south side of the arch, and the Canadian flag, on the north.  Picnicking is encouraged and I was amazed at the number of people having their photos taken here.  It really is a marvelous site.
 

Steve and I sat in line for 30 minutes.  More time ticking away and I was wondering if John and Mo would beat us to the house.  That could be embarrassing!  There were sniffing dogs examining cars.  Lots of people walking around.  I can only imagine how slow the border would be during the holidays or summer.   

Yes, we got through and roared down the road.  The Olympics were out to our west and Mount Baker followed us until we left her behind.  Interstate 5 up there was beautiful and we had miles of green tree-lined roads.  With the top down on the car, we were part of it.

South of Bellingham we stopped for a late lunch and I thought about calling Mother and then didn't.  It was 2 and I figured we might pull in about 3:30.  We hadn't counted on traffic, though.  

As Steve and I drove through Everett, we entered the corridor of this great metropolis which would span from Everett to Seattle and then continue on down beyond Olympia.  Thank God this wasn't rush hour.  But we would only miss it by minutes.  As we approached the University of Washington district we could see the backup beginning at the bridge over the Ship Canal and I told Steve to take the next exit (I saw yesterday that Seattle has some of the most congested traffic in the country.  How odd in a city where bicycles are so popular!).  We wound around and pulled up in front of Mother's house about 4:30.

I opened the door and she was relieved.  I had, foolishly, told her we would be home about 3 .  We were well past that time.  l didn't change my clothes and set to work helping her in the kitchen.  John and Mo had called and they were on their way.

Dinner was lovely.  Mother had decided to do her Game Hen with Fresh Tarragon (it's an easy favorite for anyone who might want it!) along with brown rice.  I made composed salads.  I was really good at this by now!  Mother enjoyed our friends -- I knew she would and, after dinner, John pulled out his computer and did a picture show of the days they spent at Mt Rainier prior to the conference.  We were all bushed but before John and Mo left, he took photos of us all in the living room in front of the coramandal screen.  Father had taken The Twins to Hong Kong for their high school graduation when we were in Taiwan and they came back with this magnificent screen to surprise Mother.  It worked.  
 

Sunday morning after Mass we started a quiet day with a copy of the New York Times that I had found at the market.  Our cousins, Fran and Frank Ross, would be coming for dinner.  These would be the only relatives we would be visiting while we were in Seattle.  I often feel bad about that but there are so many relatives there that we could spend all our time doing only that.  And Fran and Frank are my favorite cousins.

Flank Steak and four more composed salads.  I was beginning to dream about them.

Monday morning we had many missions.  I had put off too many things and here we were on out last full day in Seattle.  I never did get to Mother's museum.

First, we had to find a fabric store to buy material for our Halloween costumes.  That year’s theme was, of course, Millennium.  Steve had decided to be a victim of the Black Plague and I was going to be a rat.  Yes, I could have bought this stuff in NYC but I had run out of time, as usual.  We also needed to pick up food for the cabin at Kalaloch, where we staying on the coast, and Steve wanted to buy some CDs to play in the car.  We had left the ones we wanted to play at home in New York.

Off we went.

The fabric was easy. We spent a long time finding and then measuring grey fur for me and then white muslin for Steve.  Mother was amused.  I describe my images to her: black tights and leotard and black slippers under a short tunic-like fur body.  We would be in Disney World the week after our trip so I would pick up Mickey Mouse ears for my head (THIS is a whole different story!).  For Steve, I would design a caftan and bind his feet in cloth.  Then he would muck it up with soy sauce, wine and mud to look genuine.  It was all too funny.  Mother loved it!.

The bag was so big that we had mother ship it back to us in the city.

Next: food.  We needed cereal, milk, juice, chips, peanut butter, jelly, bread, cookies, wine and cokes.  Why it all cost over $100, I have no clue but never let Steve loose in a market.  We left with three bags full.  I had no clue how we would consume it all!

After picking up CDs, we went over to my favorite place in Seattle.  The Chittenden Locks. 

We parked, noticed the fish and chips stand (yum!) and wandered through the gardens to the waterside.
 

The Hiram M. Chittenden Locks are on the Lake Washington Ship Canal between the freshwater lakes to the east and the saltwater of Puget Sound.  Originally, there was no passage between these two bodies of water except over land and when it became evident that the waters could be used for the fishing and shipping industry at the turn of the 20th century it was Chittenden, a District Engineer for the Army Corp of Engineers, who persuaded the city to build the locks of concrete rather than more fragile wood.  The project was begun on 1911.

Concern was shown early on for the ecosystem of the freshwater lakes.  Having saltwater in the lakes would destroy the freshwater wildlife.  This is one of the most marvelous parts of the construction of the locks.  A basin was created above the large lock, which, because saltwater is heavier than fresh, would cause the saltwater to fall into it and then be returned downstream to Puget Sound.

Today, the locks provide passage for approximately 75,000 vessels a year -- mostly pleasure craft but for also fishing boats, barges and container ships.  

Mother always tells stories about me taking sailboats through the locks while I was working in Seattle.  The times I did, we always went through the larger of the two locks which are the locks that have fixed walls requiring us to slowly release the lines that we had looped around the stanchions at the top of the walls to stabilize our position.  The smaller locks have walls that moved with you (we called them "idiot locks") so all you had to do is tie on and let the walls do their work.  It was a fun job since “civilians” were always watching you from the view stations. It got to the point where Al and I could do this without speaking. He always treated me to lunch afterwards.

This day, though, I was watching the boats go through admiring the classic Northwest designed powerboats and fiberglass and wooden sailboats.  I wanted to be on any of them............  

Also, part of the Chittenden Locks system is the fish ladder, which beckons thousands of visitors each year.  Since the salmon and steelhead must spawn in the freshwater streams and rivers to the east and the locks create a blockage to that, the ladder had to be built.  In 1976 a new fish ladder was built replacing the 1917 original.  Today, you can go inside a darkened concrete building beside the ladder and watch, through 6 lighted window displays, the fish migrating.  We just sat and watched for what seemed hours. 

Now it was time to go off and EAT fish!

The fish and chips were good.  I think having our lunch along side a couple of fishermen on the picnic table added to our enjoyment.

Steve and I had to get home and pack for the next three days on the Washington Coast.  This was going to be Steve's introduction to the wild coast in the fall months.  We also had to get ready for dinner out. I had chosen Ivar's Salmon House.

Ivar's Salmon House is located on the Ship Canal just beneath the Interstate 5 bridge.  It is a replica of an Indian Long House where, over a smoky, alder wood fire, salmon is the taste of the house.  The best.  And the corn bread is enough to fill you!  The food, while not the creative menu of The Painted Table, is standard fare; very predictable for the palates of the unadventurous.  But GOOD!  We had a table next to the window and watched boaters arrive all evening for dinner.
 

It wasn't bright nor was it early when we left Seattle on Tuesday morning for the coast.  

The one thing I love about the Washington Coast in the fall is the rain and stormy driftwood lined beaches.  After 10 days of perfect weather in the Northwest, we were going to get what is known as typical Seattle weather.  It was cloudy and drizzly.  Not what we had planned for a convertible.  We had had our fun with it and, now, we may as well have gotten a compact.  The top wouldn't come down again.

We packed the car and, without checking the ferry schedule to Bainbridge Island, we were on our way.  By the time we reached the ferry terminal, we discovered that we had just missed a ferry and it would be another 45 minutes before the next one.  I went and got a latte at Starbuck's and Steve stayed in the car and listened to the radio. 

The ferry finally approached.  It slowed as it came to the landing and the mastery of the captain was superb.  He manipulated it like a motorcycle.  Not a bump as it touched the pier.  We drove on board and Steve and I once again began our travels across unmet land.
 

All the years I spent in Washington I never once went to the Olympic Mountains or rain forest.  I suppose it's like so many people here in New York who have never been on top of the Empire State Building or have climbed the Statue of Liberty.  I have done both but only as a tourist or with tourists. They're just things you don't do. 
 
Father, Mother and I had our favorite spot on the Washington coast outside of Moclips called Iron Springs.  Every year, at least once, we would spend weekends, or weeks, there walking, walking, walking the beach or digging razor clams and when we did, Mother would spend hours cleaning them in our cottage, number 14, overlooking the ocean.  Again, Mother swore she could see China if she looked hard enough.  Occasionally, I saw it too.  

I celebrated I don't know how many of their wedding anniversaries with them there and the last time Mother was there was three weeks before Daddy died.  She hasn't been back since.  My sister Kate has been, scattering her husband's ashes there.  She says that Iron Springs has changed alot.  I wanted to remember it as that college kid.
 

Mother had said the trip to Kalaloch would take three hours.  I believed her but she also had said our drive from Vancouver would take 3 hours.  She was wrong!

When the ferry docked at the pier on Bainbridge Island it was about 11:30.  Ok, so three hours would make our arrival at Kalaloch about 3pm.  That was doable with a stop here or there.  Lunch maybe on a mountain outside of Port Angeles.  We drove through the forests on the island and crossed over the bridge in the direction of Fran and Bob's summer home on Marrowstone.  Steve and Kate and Mother and I had celebrated our birthdays with them there two years ago. Bob had dug clams and we had them and a fresh baked salmon on their porch overlooking the water.  What a bright and warm day we had.

Steve and I drove on behind logging trucks until we reached Port Angeles.  The ferry to Victoria left from there.
 

When I was a high school kid, I was in Up With People and we had made special arrangements with the cast in Victoria to perform with them at several venues.  Our entire group hired a bus to take us up and across the Straits of Juan de Fuca to Victoria.  We stayed with cast members in their homes and were treated like royalty.  The Canadians were so welcoming and were an appreciative audience.
 

It is said that in 1592 Juan De Fuca, a Greek explorer sailing for Spain, “discovered” the passageway of water that separates Vancouver Island and the Olympic Peninsula.   Of course the Northwest Indians were the first residents of the area, fishing the waters and living off the land.  Today the Strait is the means to which the hundreds of ships deliver products and people to the ports of Seattle and Tacoma as well as to Vancouver.   No matter who discovered the strait, it surely was a magnificent sight, welcoming to sailors too long on the seas.  
 

At Port Angeles, Steve and I decided it was time for lunch but we also wanted to drive up to Hurricane Ridge.  It was still drizzly and cold.  We found the ranger station for the Olympic National Park went inside and got a map of the entire area.  Then we began our ascent.  And turned the heater on.
 

Hurricane Ridge is 5200 feet above sea level.  In favorable weather, the view is panoramic including a sighting of the Straits of Juan de Fuca and Vancouver Island to the north and, elsewhere, of the alpine meadows and glacial peaks of the Olympic Mountains.  We spent 30 minutes driving the 17 miles to the top of the ridge, stopping here and there, taking pictures.  It was cloudy and visibility would be nonexistent up at the top, we were told at the Ranger Station.  We were disappointed after seeing all the photos of what was behind the clouds.   Oh well, we would see what we could see.

Steve and I both knew that in the warmer months the meadows were filled with wild flowers and teaming with wildlife.  Perfect for a peaceful relaxing picnic.  But as we continued, it now also became foggy.  No view for us but on we drove.  Maybe it would break.  We could see patches of snow off to the side of the twisty, windy road.  The cedars changed to fir as we got higher and higher.  The patches of white became more frequent.  We saw sign postings that marked starts of hiking trails.  Steve and I knew we were nearly on top --  it got thicker and thicker with fog.  

At the end of the road we spied the lodge that entertains hundreds of snow enthusiasts in the winter. It was not yet season so there was no one on snowshoes or skiers and the ski slopes disappeared into the fog.  Yes, fog.  All around us.  Nothing but clouds.  We couldn't even see the meadows anymore.  And then it began to rain. And then pour.  Lunch was in the trunk -- I would be getting VERY wet.

I got out of the car and ran around to open the trunk.  Bags, bags, everywhere.  No rhyme or reason to any of them.  Had I been smarter, I would have packed the lunch goodies in one bag.  But.......well, I had done worse.  I found the peanut butter and jam and bread and then looked for the cheese and Gallo salami (my junk food when I lived in the west) and Triscuits.  And, of course, the cokes and cookies.  Where was that knife I bought??  All this in the torrential rain.  I had given in to it.  ohwell...... 

Back in the very picnic unfriendly car, I created a small space to work.  I had done something similar in southern France when we visited there in 1986.  We had found a pate stand!  Along with pate, they sold splits of wine and wonderful bread.  I proceeded to make a gourmet picnic there in the little car as it rained.  I couldn't do it here.  There just wasn't the space.  Juggling, we ate in shifts.  This was not romantic.  But we could at least see each other.  And nothing else.  

We didn't stay long.  It was obvious that the fog was here to stay.  Steve and I finished our lunch, I put everything back in the truck and we left.  As we descended, the fir turned back to cedar.  I asked Steve to drive back a few yards where there was a lovely sight of the tree in the fog.  More pictures and we left.  It was 2pm and I saw no way that we would reach our destination by 3.  I guessed it would be closer to 7.  We were being challenged by logging trucks on the two-lane highway.  Then came the detour taking us 20 miles out of our way and further along the coast.  I opened the fudge cookies.

We were on Rt. 101.  Beautiful but slow.  Rt. 101, typically a four-lane highway, goes all the way from Mexico to the tip of the Olympic Peninsula and back around to Puget Sound.  It is one of the most picturesque drives in the country.  Here, we drove through miles and miles of trees behind logging trucks (a curious juxtaposition).  But the drive was slow and wet.  I counted the miles out loud so Steve would know that they would finally come to an end.  He was tired and I was just waiting to see the ocean.

Kalaloch Lodge is one of several resorts in the Olympic National Forest.  The other two, Lake Quinault Lodge and Lake Crescent Inn are both on large wild lakes.  Kalaloch Lodge, instead, is perched on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean.  The main lodge is made of cedar shingles and the adjacent cottages are log cabins.  

I had reserved a one-bedroom cabin that was off to the end of the road in a grove of pine tress.  It was dark when we arrived to check in but we could hear the constant Pacific roaring in the distance.  And I could smell the fireplaces.  I could NEARLY taste dinner.  

Our cottage, even in the dark, was perfect!  To the west we could sense the ocean.  Above was a canopy of pine and occasionally I could hear birds.  Inside we found a full kitchen and cozy dining area along with a comfortable living room and attached sleeping alcove.  After further exploration we found yet another bedroom.  We closed that door and never reentered it.  

The BEST thing however was the huge stone fireplace between the bed and the two overstuffed chairs in the living room.  Immediately, as I was unpacking our suitcase and groceries, Steve pulled the chairs over in front of the fireplace and started to build a fire.  The owners had wisely put a large woodbin outside one of the living room windows so all Steve had to do was to open the window and reach down to grab logs of wood.  Each day the bin would be restock.  We were all set!

Steve and I spent the next two days vegging.  Yes, we had made earnest plans to take day trips into the rainforest and hike and picnic.  I had praised the beauty of the ocean during the fall season with the whistling winds and wild waves, the dancing and singing sea gulls.  Rocks, I needed rocks and shells too.  But the fire was beguiling.  We could only pull ourselves away long enough to make breakfast and lunch and then dress for dinner.  We read, did crosswords, slept, described dreams, and were simply together in our warm nest.

Yes, Steve and I did walk on the beach.  I ran and chased after gulls and collected small, fine pieces of driftwood.  Steve quietly walked behind me in deep thought.  We had stick-boat races in the stream that fed into the ocean.  Examined what appeared to clam markings in the sand.  Then we went back to our cottage.
 

Wednesday night the fire burned long after we went to bed near midnight and when I awoke early Thursday I poked the coals and added more wood.  We had exhausted our wood supply and didn’t know when the deliveryman would arrive.  I sent Steve out into the fog to scavenge other cabins while I made breakfast.  More reading and conversation followed.

I won’t spend any time here discussing the food at Kalaloch as it wasn’t particularly remarkable.  Lots of fish and red meat in great quantities.  We usually brought back leftovers to munch on later.  Their fish and chips were good but not what we’ve had previously.   The wine list was acceptable.  The prices were high.

Friday morning Steve and I agreed that we had to at least see the Ho River Valley before returning home.  We could hardly go back to Mother without having seen SOMEthing!  We sadly left about 9:00am knowing that someday we would return for more fires in the cottage.  And days.  And nights…….

In the car Steve backtracked our earlier route on 101.  On the way I told him to pull off on a side road.  Down and around was a parking lot and below was Ruby Beach.   I had read about Ruby Beach.  A wonderful beach with giant sea stacks.  Steve and I hadn’t seen sea stacks since Scotland and I needed to see them.  On soft-footed trails we explored, glimpsing water and rock, stopping for pictures and the smells of the wet woods.  At the bottom we were met with magnificence.

Again, another racing river met the ocean.  The two of us crawled over piles of driftwood and wandered off in opposite directions.  Steve, towards the rock stacks and, me, on my way towards the pebbles and waves on the shore that beat, beat, beat the sand.   I continued taking my photographs and, I think, took the best of my life there.  The atmosphere instantly was spiritual and quieting.  Off to the south was an endless horizon disappearing into the mist and water.  Behind me were the jagged rocks and rain.  Two atmospheres conjoined.  I gathered special stones and took many memorable pictures, trying to engrave them into my soul.  This was a precious place and I didn’t want to leave.  This was a place that reminded me of my younger years.  I felt as I belonged here; here in the woods with the water and the wildness of the sea and spirit.  I couldn’t leave it.  

And I did.
 

I left it all in 1975.  I felt a need for the warmth of the sun of Southern California.  I left Seattle on Palm Sunday, 1975, while Mother was at church preparing for our new religious season.  I left to find something else.  I didn’t know what and I’m not sure I found it for years.  But what I DID find was a different family of very special friends and a newly discovered freedom.  I was no longer ruled by my parents and their immediate expectations and suddenly! I grew wings and I flew like those gulls on the wind streams on those Northwest beaches.  I discovered my further talents and unknown desires.  California was nurturing.   And…… I found Steve.  
 

Steve and I fought our way up the path to the car and drove onward to the Ho River Valley, to those often-photographed moss covered trees.  

The road continued to be slow but we drove in silence, surrounded by the towering green shades of pine.  The tips of them vanished in and out of the clouds and mist.  We had turned the radio off.  After a few miles we found the turn off to the river valley and followed the road for many miles until gradually the trees became ensconced with draping fringes of rich velvet.  And it increased until we were convince we were in some fairy tale.  This was not real.  This couldn’t be the Pacific Northwest!  It just wasn’t natural!

Well, so what!  Here we were and we were in the midst of a mystery.    

Through groves and groves of pine we walked and stepped over “mothering logs”.   Trees were being born as we passed them.  The earth was recreating herself as we breathed.  While we spoke, our voices were muffled by the feathers that hung from the branches above us.  Steve examined individual fronds and I traced the path of roots and stalks.  Sadly, my pictures were unable to capture our experience of the woods -- the magical tone and smell and quiet.  Or even the color.  It simply didn’t translate.  But time haunted me and I didn’t want to worry my mother.  We left and drove south towards the highway back home.  

Several hours later we were in the midst of rush hour. This was as shocking to us here as our return to New York City from our little island in the Caribbean.  There was no commonality.  Nothing related.  Just cars and trucks and their traffic.  Through Olympia and then Tacoma and then into Seattle.  Our idyllic few days had ended.   We were headed home.
 

Steve and I arrived back at Mother’s house about 6.  She hadn’t worried.  But we were beyond tired.  While Steve stayed upstairs to set up his computer and contact the lab, I went downstairs and started to pack.  We had A LOT to pack!  Why I never bring another rolled up duffel bag I don’t know.  After minutes of frustration, Mother agreed to mail a big box back to our apartment.   That task completed, I went back up stairs to help with dinner.  She had prepared a beautiful salmon dinner.  I made salads.  Yes, it was the same as all the others.  

I wish I could say that the dinner conversation was scintillating but we were too tired to be interesting.  Mother enjoyed our description of Kalaloch and Ruby Beach as well as the Ho River Valley.  She hadn’t been there in years and had a fondness for the area.  She knew all the botanical names as though she had created them.  After dinner we sat and visited for a while and then went to bed.  We had another long day of travel ahead.
 

Saturday morning Steve and I awoke early to finish putting everything away.  I stripped the bed and loaded everything into the laundry hamper.  Steve dragged all our bags up the stairs and went out to the car and loaded it all inside.  We had time for a quick breakfast - no one ever knows when they will eat next when flying these days.  

As we were leaving to get in the car the phone rang.  Mother went into the breakfast room to take it and I followed her.  “oh, NO!” “NO!” “Oh, CJ!”  I stood and listened to her - she was talking to a friend from church.  I don’t know what had happened but I knew it was terrible.  Steve came in from outside and we waited until she hung up the phone.  

Bob and Fran had been traveling in Nova Scotia after his meeting in Florida and he had suffered a BAD heart attack.  CJ said he had stopped breathing for 20 minutes.  When the medics arrived they connected him to life support but both Steve and I knew what that meant - he was brain dead.  But I couldn’t say that to mother.
 
 

In 1978 all of us girls were living in various parts of the country.  August is a celebration of several birthdays and The Parents decided to make that time a family reunion.  We all flew in, some with spouses and children.  It was an absolute roar!  Late nights of wine and song.  Crab and Flank Steak.  Father and Kate’s husband, Jack, had gone ocean fishing and Jack had caught the most magnificent salmon.  We enjoyed that week so much and had three birthday cakes.  When we left there were no signs of any serious health concerns.

In November, my father voted for his first Republican.  He was a family friend who was running for re-election as County Prosecutor.  Father respected him a great deal.  Election night daddy and I spoke on the phone about the returns and I teased him about voting for Norm.  Daddy used to give us all the worst time for crossing party lines.  Now HE had done it!  Two days later, after I had returned from a late night of working in the darkroom at work, I received a phone call from Mother.  

Daddy had gone downtown that Thursday morning to stop by the bank (he had retired as VP from Seattle Trust and Savings several years earlier but was still involved there) and then continue on to the YMCA for his bi-weekly 3-mile run.  In the midst of his run he suffered a massive heart attack and died.  Fortunately someone there knew that daddy was associated with Seattle Trust and called the President.  He in turned called our priest.  Mother was at a welcoming luncheon at CJ’s house.  Father Fred arrived unannounced.  He took her into the kitchen and told her about daddy.  I can’t begin to think what transpired at that point -- whether Mother had cried then or was too stoic to.  He took her home and stayed with her until one of our cousins arrived.  

Kate, Frances, Elizabeth, and I arrived in Seattle in the next few days.  Daddy’s memorial Mass was on Monday.  The church was packed.  At one point to keep from crying, Frances said, “sing LOUDER!”  Daddy used to love to hear all of us sing.  We harmonized each other freely.  And we were singing all his favorite hymns.  
 

I told Mother that I would stay in Seattle with her if she wished.  Steve would go back to NYC and I could follow later.   She insisted that it wasn’t necessary; that she’d be just fine but I knew that she was reliving 1978.  I told her it was ok if she revisited her feelings on that.  That she should expect to mourn daddy all over again.   I also told her we would call when we got into New York.  She walked us out to the car and kissed us goodbye.  Steve and I got into the car and drove off.
 

Whenever I leave her at the house, I always wonder if it might be the last time I see her.  She’s ninety now and has slowed down a lot.  It bothers her that, while her mind is so amazingly sharp, her body is getting so frail.  Nothing else about her is frail.  She has very adamant thoughts about many things and her mind isn’t about to be changed.  A very strong woman.  All four of us live in awe of her.  Again, a force to be reckoned with.
 

When Steve and I got to the airport we had to drop the car so, while Steve stood in line, I waited with all our bags.  The queue he was in moved slowly but we had plenty of time.  I waited.  When Steve was finished he came over to me and picked up a duffel.  I asked him how much the car cost and he pulled out the bill and told me $500.  WHAT???  I was furious!  Hertz had charged us so much more than we had agreed upon in Vancouver.  I was flaming!  Steve suggested that we go back the desk and we did and I spoke right up.  The agent was patient with me.  She search back to the contract and after reading and reading it she noticed that it had been written in Vancouver, BC and therefore reflected Canadian dollars and not American.  I was satisfied and relieved so we went to check in at the United desk.

Steve and I finally arrived to the gate for our plane.  I went off to get a Starbuck’s latte while he sat and read.  We waited for the flight to be called and, when it was, we boarded and took our seats.  We were on our way to Denver.  Traveling on miles is cheap but rarely convenient.  Actually, I was looking forward to changing planes in Denver.  It was the new airport that everyone has heard lots about.  Fortunately, we weren’t going to experience their luggage handling - something that Denver’s new airport had been slammed on.  Steve and I were just changing equipment.

The short hop was pleasant.  When we took off from SeaTac we could see Mount Rainier for only a very short time.  Then we were in the clouds.  And coasting away.  I was hoping to see the Rockies up-close-and-personal.  The clouds continued and we never would see them, landing uneventfully, in Denver.  But my thoughts were with Mother and I wondered what she was experiencing.  

Minutes later our flight was called.  There wasn’t the usual crowd at the gate.  I was hoping for a spacious flight.  One that would offer a real meal and knee room.  I wouldn’t be disappointed.  

Steve and I boarded as the Co-Captain and attendants greeted us.  I was surprised that the Co-Captain would have the time to say “hello” but I responded in kind and Steve and I went on to find our seats and buckle up.  We were on a 757 and dreaded the possibility of another person sharing our three seats.  By God, no one appeared to disrupt our privacy.  In fact, as the passengers entered, the plane never filled.  Both Steve and I were pleased.  That meant we would have a seat between us, which would provide a nice little catch for all our on-flight goodies.  We settled in once again for a 4-hour trip.  Happy……

Our plane took off and almost immediately the Co-Captain greeted on the overhead speaker with a wonderful sense of humor.  I felt I was on a Disney ride.  He joked with his passengers about the path we would travel together.  As the flight attendant passed out soft drinks she chuckled at his remarks.  When I asked about his repartee, she explained that they had been teasing him all afternoon since this was his first 757.  He was being promoted from the 737 and he WAS enjoying it.  We were amused.  And happy.  Steve and I were on our way home to our beautiful new apartment with a view of the New York skyline.  Life didn’t get better than THIS!  Well, maybe in first class……  

Throughout our flight Steve and I read and talked and were continually amused by our occasional unseen leader.  The Co Captain would speak to us all afternoon about weather and the sights below us.  He was obviously enjoying his first 757 and we were happy in his hands. I don’t know that I had a flight that was so much fun since my first trip to New York in 1977.
 

I was new in San Diego, not yet able to afford La Jolla.  Later I would find a sweet cottage with a white picket fence on La Jolla Blvd.  In 1977 Mother and daddy joined Elizabeth and me for Christmas and, after we celebrated together there, I flew off to visit Frances, recently planted in New York City.   I didn’t really know her very well; she’s distant at best and sheltered her thoughts most often.  I had established my adult relationship with Kate in Maryland and I looked forward to doing the same with Frances.  On my trip to The City we stayed in the Russell Hotel on Park Avenue.  Frances‘ furniture hadn’t come from Baltimore, her last home.  Sheraton Hotel had made her offers that were appealing to her.  She would help organize the renovation of the Russell and then later would be given the opportunity to handle the turn over of the Americana Hotel to Sheraton and later manage the Towers.

My first flight to New York!!!!  I couldn’t wait to be there!  I make friends pretty easily.  On the plane I stared out of the window at the sights below and discussed with my seatmate where we might be.  The conversation began to travel in our immediate area and before long 5 or 6 of us were wagering drinks.   This got up to the Captain and, before we knew, it he was participating over the intercom.  Every twenty minutes or so he would announce our location.  It was a fun way to pass 6 hours.  This has never happened since…….
 

Dinner was served.  I continued to read and Steve drifted back to sleep.  Slowly we approached New York.  I couldn’t wait to be home.

Finally, I sensed our descent and looked at the window to the lights of the suburbs of New Jersey.  The plane continued to circle up to the northeast and then banked back to the south to make its final approach.  We were landing on my least favorite run way at LaGuardia.  This runway was the north/south access - reaching into the bay adjacent to Riker’s Island.  There have been numerous accidents on it.  I took Steve’s hand (I hate landing) and controlled my breathing.  I’m sure my heart rate was elevated.  We wondered out loud to each other about the new Co Captain.  

Eventually I saw the runway below us.  We seemed higher than we needed to be and I wondered what was wrong.  Suddenly we dropped and hit the pavement.  The plane banged and shuddered.  I squeezed Steve’s hand and gave him a terrified look.  Someone behind me said we had blown a tire.  I waited for the bump, bump, bump the flatten wheel.  The plane continued down the runway and suddenly the reverse thrusters were thrown on and we stopped at the opposite end of the runway.  As we taxied for the gate, the flight attendant came on the intercom and made a pointed remark about the landing and welcomed us to New York.  I was shaking.

As we departed the plane, we thanked the attendants and noticed that the door to the cockpit, which is ordinarily open with the pilots greeting their passengers, was shut….tight.  We raised our eyebrows and no one said anything.  I think we all knew what was going on inside.   Oh, to be a mouse!

Since we hadn’t checked any bags we were able to walk right out of the terminal and get a cab.   Once inside we queried the drive as to the weather and local news.  Then we leaned back and looked forward towards the Tri-Borough Bridge and home. 

Post Script

Our apartment was still in one piece.  Every box exactly where we left it.  My plants had been watered; over watered in some cases.   I lost two of the three African Violet plants that Mother had given me as a house-warming present. 

I called Mother to see how she was doing.  She spoke quietly with great emotion.  Fran had told her on the phone that the boys were flying out to Nova Scotia to meet her and they would return to Seattle with Bob.  Several days later Fran hired a medical evacuation plane to bring them home.  Bob was on still on life support and on Thursday, after arriving home, they removed the machines and Bob silently floated away.  Once again The Church of the Ascension was filled with relatives and friends.  A church that Bob never really attended but, because Fran is an involved member, he always sponsored a salmon bake each year.  As the former owner of a major fish purveyor Bob provided only the best.  Today, Mother and Fran have a much closer relationship, frequently having dinner and going to the theatre and opera together.   

Four days later Steve and I left for a few days in Orlando where he had a meeting.  A hurricane threatened but never really developed.  And we had a lovely time with Mickey. 

© 2002 Steve R. White, All Rights Reserved