Touch

We Serial'd to Renton; deposited Red at that warehouse of wine while I rifled through Renton community via Goodwill, touching fabrics.The entire staff an older Azian with the cutest L's as R's in the discount catcall of the intercom. There wasn't any rush, any knocking on the door to hurry or item limits limiting, staff watching your feet step into and out of used pant legs. Really appreciated that moment of non-rush. I'm grabbed by Mck & get to see her & Kris' home for the first; we make onion & mushroom omelets with french press. Our feet glowing under fan-heaters; get a few cherished moments of what it was like in London & how a loaf of bread and market items can feel like a lifestyle. We've got our bags packed & LB comes and off to the airport for that safer flight into Spokomptom over the closed pass and semi-crash of I-90. 

On the other side & having trekked from Portland, Cheri & Jessica grab us & we check into the work-comp'd hotel downtown. It's a cold night with snow drifts saved from long ago; we pass the old 7-11 where we bought bagged booze & donuts for the Lampi wedding wknd years ago. Walking to Steelehead B&G, we get to see the Lampi swollen with baby for the first time, perched around a fireside, get to hear the way her voice has changed, about home renovation and sans running & the complicated network of connectedness. Devouring a smoked chicken sandwich & shoestring fries, and on to the incredible Liberty Ciderworks; a flight lined in acidity, dolgo, pippin, crab, Jersey, golden russet apples fermenting fizz and yeast. Lastly, to a wine lounge where a corner-musician croons in dark light beside fire & red velvet, and the whole while this tall fire is beside us, toting babe with admirable energy till the day turns. We take wild slide-rides down the red wagon, pee off slopes & finagle the airport shuttle to take us to get candy and cheap wine. 

In Saturday morning's wet we managed an hour's run along the Centennial. For breakfast: a changed romanticism at Madeleine's, no longer a purple blush, family-style seating, long case of macarons. Instead, hip facial hair, endless X's on the menu, and expensive toast. Estrogen party at the Slaughter's - onesies hung from string, a hot chocolate bar with peppermint pink marshmallows, sangria with bobbing fruit & glittery sweets. Tirelessly watching Danielle open Nameless Lampi's gifts, played old wives tales games. Got mama Slaughter to take us out the seediest bar she knew - JJ's, where they do this nacho and two margarita special. Pops Slaughter comes in fly as hell with rolled sleeves & cologne & gets us more margaritas and encourages the fireball & reminisces who I used to be with all that color. We rent a movie and have a sleepover in the basement, watching Joaquin Phoenix feel weird things; something about that beer belly did not deter me, and something about that birthed slash of a lip looked lovely. We fall asleep in piles, baby mama by the fire. In the morning: bacon, eggs, potatoes, yogurt, fruit, coffee smells filling the multi-tiered home. We run with Kyle, who tours us through the dense snow of freeland, through trees and fenced properties, geeking out over the future of running whether for ourselves or others, and just how weird it is to see how everyone has come to be married. We heard that one day, when they were running with a new mom, he was asked to tote the baby jogger, and in that space something felt good; that's the story of how Baby Lampi came to be. In our goodbyes, mama Slaughter starts crying and we all feel this tug, as Danielle does, and it's this really beautiful thing where we've all come from somewhere else and these two people we love are changing. This babe will have such a fine set of aunts and uncles from a special place we all inhabited: Western Washington University. We put our hands on the bump and considered how it would be the last time.