Our Whirlwind Visit to Seattle, Part 2

My grandfather was born in Seattle in 1910.  That is a long time ago, by Seattle standards.  My father was born in Seattle in 1944.  I was born, not too far away, in Ft. Lewis in 1969 (though I moved away shortly after).  That is quite a legacy, again, by Seattle standards, a city which was not incorporated until 1869.

Sorrento Hotel, 1912

I remembered this when I saw the Sorrento Hotel.  The oldest luxury hotel in Seattle, built in 1909.  (Which, to me at least, begged the question:  What is the oldest non-luxury hotel like?)  Our accommodations were the fold out sofa in the sitting area of my in-laws suite, lest you think we are made of money.  But it is still a fun place to stay if you ever get the chance.

Sorrento Hotel, 2010

I woke up on Saturday morning with a migraine.  And, I was hot.  The high is Seattle that day was 97 blistering (by Seattle standards) degrees.  But I ventured out anyway, insisting that, at the very least, Hubband take me down to Pike Place Market.

Pike's Place is a fun, quirky carnival of humanity and tourist.  Fresh fish, produce, used books, Afgan clothing.  On a Saturday in August, it was crowded, and hot, and man did my head hurt.  I was really not enjoying myself at all, but I was trying to pretend the opposite.  Until, I came out into a stairwell, and heard music playing.  It was live music by two buskers billed as Morrison Boomer.  Though, I was to find out later that they are, neither of them, named Morrison or Boomer.



I stood on the landing of the stairs listening.  It was shady there, and a sea breeze was finally coming up.  I was cool, and strangely happy.  And, best of all, my head had stopped hurting a bit.  I thought their music was amazing.  Two guys, two guitars, tight harmony, the acoustics of a stairwell.

I waited for them to finish their set and went down to drop five dollars on one of their CD's.  I asked one of the fellows which CD contained the song I liked.  "Oh, you mean the girly song?" he asked.  Girly?  I wouldn't call it "girly."  Are you mocking my taste in music?  Your music?  It turns out the song I liked is called Lullaby  (though since then I have found songs of theirs which I like better) and it is on their second album, Deuce.  I dropped five dollars into the box and took my CD.

"Thank you, Ma'am," said the polite young man with the guitar.

Ma'am?  I had just been ma'am-ed.  I have been ma'am-ed before, of course.  I was ma'am-ed at fourteen by the clerk at a department store, who was trained to ma'am everybody.  I get ma'am-ed weekly by the young kid who bags my groceries.  But this was different.  They are two young artists, and I appreciated their art.  I even paid for it.  I thought we had something special.  But, alas, no.  I was just a middle aged housewife with five buck to spare.

I was out in the sun again, at this point.  I could really feel the heat, and my age, and  my head.  I whimpered for Hubband to take me home.

(Please click on any of the Morrison Boomer links.  And if you have six minutes, check out another of their songs, called Sunburnt Tongue.  Amazing, amazing.  Though, I must say, if you get the chance to hang out in the stairwell at Pike's Place, they sound even better there.  Tell them a middle-aged housewife sent you.  I wish I were a middle aged housewife married to a record company executive.)