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“Good luck,” I say, flashing Sophie a thumbs up. As a parent, there are milestones you prepare for — the first day of pre-school or teaching your kiddo how to ride a bike without training wheels. And then you have to just let go (gulp) and hope for the best.
“I’m here to speak with Chris McLendon,” I say to Santa’s look-a-like wife behind the counter. “Take a right on 20 and follow it to the back of the store,” Mrs. Klaus directed. There was a twinkle in her eye, cherubic cheeks and a smile that was as pleasant as hot cocoa and whip cream.
“Can you pick up your media badge at the front desk?” Rich Gonzales, Seahawks communication manager asked me the other day.
“Mommy?” Amelia paused. “What’s your favorite movie?” “Wizard of Oz,” I rattle off, preoccupied.
“HOOT! HOOT!” My fingers round into a megaphone. I commence a series of sharp owl cries — a means of communication the kids and I developed for when we’re exploring. I hear giggling and fast-moving bodies zigzagging through the trees like the Lost Boys. Technically, the Kubota Gardens is just outside the Renton border and if you want to split hairs, it’s not really Never, Never Land.
“You’ve definitely got a rooster . . . he came over and tried to get on my crippled chicken,” My neighbor informed me. I was wide-eyed and speechless leaning up against the chain link fence that runs the length of our yards.
“Good job,” I say, helping to chop the last bits of cilantro. I stand beside my daughter Sophie in our Mad Men-era kitchen. The double oven is yellow, the countertops are a rusty orange Formica.
I can remember my first coffee experience. At the time, I was a grungy 18-year-old college student. The year was 1991.I was never tempted to… Continue reading
Most of us create garbage, pay people to haul it away and forget about it.Unless you forget to drag it to the curb at 5… Continue reading
“What are you doing?” I asked.“I’m digging a seven-foot hole for the Henry Moses Totem Pole,” the man replied. He stood in the center of… Continue reading
As if he’d seen everything before, including me and my picture. The one I’d just lugged down Third Street with a frame the size of a small canoe. Mroczek Brothers Auctioneers have been in business for more than 45 years. Larry is the patriarch of the family.
I was knocking back wheatgrass shots with an orange juice chaser at seven. We lived in a vegan commune. A stones throw from the Santa… Continue reading
“Wide load coming through!” I tweak the bell on my silver handlebars. Behind me, my 3-year old, Patrick, is harnessed inside a child seat bolted… Continue reading