Our Whirlwind Visit to Seattle, Epilogue

 If you have not read Part 1 or Part 2, you will not understand any of this.  Part 3 is optional.  Go ahead.  Go now.  We'll wait.

Update on Part 1
The cell phone I chucked into the garbage can, in the bathroom at Seatac airport was an old phone I had lost before.  Samuel walked off with it once, and it spent two weeks, getting watered and everything, in the back yard.  But it still worked.  Some phones never die.  Nor, it turns out, can they be thrown away.

Several people suggested I contact Lost and Found.  Hubband and I both agreed this would be a fruitless waste of time.  The phone was old.  The phone was gone.

We were wrong.

The phone was found by housekeeping, and turned into the Port of Seattle Police, who called my home to tell me.  But, not before they called a few of my friends.  Now, I appreciate their efforts at contacting me, but since they were in Washington, and the phone was in Washington, which meant that at some point, I had been in Washington, you think they would have called one of the Washington numbers in my phone.  But no.

My friend in South Carolina was quite surprised to get a call from my cell phone number at 2 am.  She thought my house burnt down or I had left my husband.  No.  But the police were looking for me.

I did not find out any of this until I got home.  I had a few messages, I made a few calls, and Seatac Lost and Found, which is run by the Seattle, Kings and Snohomish County YWCA, FedEXed me my phone.  It was still charged up and everything.  Easy-peasy.

Update on Part 2
The Morrison Boomer CD, on which I spent five dollars of Hubband's hard earned money, turned out to be a dud.  Not the music, just the CD.  I could not get it to play on any machine or computer.  But I still really wanted their music.

I contacted them through their facebook page and they got right back to me.  Again very polite.  It turns out, they are from Minnesota, so I would not expect anything less, even if they probably do drink and swear and stuff like that.  They apologized sincerely, and then told me to just go to their website and download it.

It turns out that you can get their music through a service called bandcamp.com, and you get to pick your price.  For as little as a penny, you can own a Morrison Boomer album.  Which is great, since I had already paid five bucks.

I decided to get their latest album, Down The Hatch, rather than the one I bought in CD form, so I spent another five bucks.  The download was easy, and came with great instructions for old ma'ams like me.  It was just a zip file that I saved on my desk top.  Unfortunately, before I got a chance to unzip it and load it on my iPod (every step takes extra time, and there must be time between steps when you have small children) my computer crashed.  It was several hours later and I was doing something unrelated at the time, so I am sure one was not the cause of the other.  Well, I am pretty sure.  At any rate, I have spent ten dollars and still have no Morrison Boomer music to show for it, but I am not daunted.

Update on Part 3
Cara and Justin are honeymooning in Hawaii.  That is all I am going to say about that.

Thank you all for coming.  I hope you enjoyed our whirlwind visit to Seattle as much as I did.

Our Whirlwind Visit to Seattle, Part 3

 Hubband and I were in Seattle for his sister's wedding, scheduled for seven on Saturday evening.  By the time I had cooled down (see Part 2), hosed off, and squeezed into my wadded up dress (see Part 1), my headache was gone.  Yeah!

The ceremony itself was brief, but nice.  The bride had a lovely smile.  The groom got a little misty eyed.  So did the bride's brother, my husband.  It was very sweet.

The ceremony was followed by drinks and hoer devours on the patio of the penthouse.  We had a view of the city as the sun set.

There were not many guests, but there were many kinds of guests.  Washington cousins, and travel-the-world cousins, and cousins who had just flown in from China.  Friends of the bride.  Friends of the groom.  Friends of the family of the bride.  The family of the groom.  There was even one fellow with a handle bar mustache.

After dark there was a very elegant dinner of rib-eye steak and salmon, followed by gluten free carrot cake and dancing.

We left early (eleven) to go back to our room and pack.  We waited up until two o'clock for the mother and father of the bride to return before we gave up and went to sleep.

Twelve hours later, we were welcomed home by three happy children, and one, even happier, Nana.

(I would like the thank the Bride, and the Groom, and their friends for letting me [not that I asked] poach all of these pictures from their various facebook pages, as I did not have any room left in my carry-on bag [see Part 1] for my camera.)

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.)

Our Whirlwind Visit to Seattle, Part 1

Hubband and I flew to Seattle last weekend for his sister's wedding.  The wedding was on Saturday, but the whole family made a big production out of wanting us at the groom's dinner on Friday night.  At least, this is what I was led to believe by Hubband, who was there for the production.  It could just be his dad said, "You should come to the grooms dinner."  No one said anything to me on the matter.  But I do like dinner.  And it meant I would have all day Saturday to be a tourist.

So, we caught a late afternoon flight, landing in Seattle at six.  Dinner was at seven.  This meant that we had to fly dressed for dinner, and not check any baggage.  No checked baggage meant that I had to pack everything required for a formal wedding, including my dress, into a 24" x 17" x 10" canvas box on wheels.

Once we landed, we dashed off the plane, but our gate was not in the main terminal.  A short, crowded, and nausea inducing train ride later, we were spit out, one floor above baggage claim.  Where we did not need to be, as we had no baggage to claim.

"My parents always wait at the Starbucks," Hubband said.

The Starbucks?  There are seven Starbucks at Seatac Airport.  But, he knew which one.  Great!

It occurred to me to ask, "If we are in such a big hurry, why don't they just pick us up on the curb out front?"  It occurred to me, but I did not ask.  They are not my family of origin.  Their ways are not my ways.  Their ways sometimes make no sense to me, but that does not mean they make no sense to Hubband.  I had to trust him.

We found the right Starbucks.  The traditional familial gathering place.  His parents were not there.  We called them.  They did not answer.  We waited.

I took the opportunity to use the bathroom.  While in there, I got a call from my mother-in-law, who was calling on behalf of my father-in-law, who was waiting at baggage claim (not Starbucks), even though he knew we had no baggage to claim.  I hustled about, as fast as I could, drying my hands so hastily that I was still carrying a damp paper towel when I returned to the Starbucks to tell Hubband we needed to go down a floor.  And we had to hurry.

Down stairs we went.  Hubband told his father that he should be waiting upstairs at the Starbucks.  His father told him that he should have stayed on the train until the last stop.  If he had, we all would have met face to face as soon as the doors opened.  I said nothing, but I was thinking, Who cares.  Let's get moving!

We got to the parking garage.  Paid at the kiosk.  Walked to the car.  All precious time.  Why didn't they pick us up at the curb, again?

It was only once we were in the car that I realized, my mother-in-law and Grandmother (the family matriarch) were not with us.  "Are they already at the restaurant?" I ask.

No.  They were at the hotel.  Waiting for us to pick them up.  Whaaa?  I thought we were in a hurry!  I have a dress wadded up in a ball for this?  (Well, this and the twenty bucks Alaska Airlines wanted to charge me to check a bag.)

Whatever.  Crazy not-my-family-of-origin.  I had done all I could to get where they wanted me, when they wanted me, appropriately dressed for dinner.  I wasn't going to worry about it anymore.  I decided to call my mother.  She had all three kids.  It had been four hours.  Definitely time to check in.

Uh.  Where's my phone?  Can some one call my phone?  Nothing.  My phone was not in my purse nor on my person nor in my un-checked baggage.  Think, think, think, Tracey.  Where was the last place you had it?  In the bathroom at Seatac.  My mother-in-law's call rang through while I was, well, indisposed.  So, she left a message.  I checked my voice mail while I washed my hands.  It was not easy.  I was worried I would drop the phone in the sink.  I dried my hands so hastily that I was still carrying a damp paper towel when I returned to the Starbucks to...

Nooooooo!!!!!  I kept the damp paper towel and threw away the phone!