29 Week

On Friday, the office was immured in desperation & dissolution; like a plasma ball, with my person the perceived pointed finger. So when Red called me down to the benches beneath the trees, just outside, with two maple bacon bars and a cup of black coffee, I was beyond thankful to have a partner that, without perhaps being aware, could stave me away from the cloudy mirk of an impossible situation. Maple bacon glazed.

When I walked inside our home that evening: a plate of smoked gouda & white cheddar, sliced apples, pickled vegetables, crackers and a chilled bottle of rosé. Also of new addition was a child's pink pool filled, with one cracked out 12-yr-old dog named Sydney having a cracked out time of her life dancing in the splashes. We snacked and sipped, watered our green beans, did yoga in the backyard, finished my current obsession - Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis: The Untold Story by B. Leaming. We must have fallen asleep to Bloodline, a show we had originally held so many opinions about, but have since quieted and enjoyed.

Early Saturday morning I met with Nikki in Fairhaven for a long run. Thoughtful as always, she had packed a to-go meal of thick sliced bread, goat cheese, fresh figs from her backyard, and a gift chosen with much deliberation.

After a hot shower and a pat on the pets' heads, Red and I packed the car, stopped for our ritualistic crusin' coffees and headed to Seattle, listening to podcasts of the speech writers of the democratic campaigns. The McKinnon's had gifted me a day at Gene Juarez, and there on 5th, Red dropped me off for an ever-needed haircut & spa mani-pedi. Gene Juarez is quite high class for me, but I will always welcome an elevator ride up to a high spa. I was promptly encouraged into a brown robe, poured rich coffee from a bar stocked with tea cups, saucers and cream, fingered through highly evolved fashion books, i.e. my favorite, YSL, whereupon I was then gathered by a gorgeous petite women with fuchsia lipstick, a top bun and cape, and hand-held through a haircut, standing up so she could assess where each framing cut should take place to best represent my body, reaching her arms high above her head, as I sip coffee from the tea cup trying not to over-thank her. Deep-conditioning. She walked me to a small, dark room, to another beautiful woman who had the misfortune of handling my black toenails, but who massaged my calves, the bottoms of my feet, and painted me anew, like a non-agitated woman. Greased. Red gathered me lathered and we checked into the Motif a few blocks away.

I walked the city a bit, bought a blue dress to wear to dinner that night while Red rested. We got ready over rosé; met friends on the 5th floor outdoor patio, Frolik, which had views of the seafair parade and the water between buildings. Six of us with IPA's in hand and a buzz of pheromones among well-coiffured young singles. We grab a special bottle of bubbles from the hotel fridge and walk to our surprise dinner reservation at Chef Shiro Kashiba's, Sushi Kashiba. Kashiba, who the Seattle Times calls the "Sushi Sensei."

"...in 1970, Chef Shiro introduced the city of Seattle to sushi when he convinced his bosses at Maneki restaurant to build Seattle's first sushi bar. Chef Shiro had just completed years of grueling apprenticeships at Yoshino Sushi in the Ginza district of Tokyo, training hard alongside his senior supervisor, the world renowned (and now cinematically famous) sushi maestro, Jiro Ono...Chef Shiro was convinced that he could import the Edo-mae style and 'shun' philosophy of Tokyo to the extraordinary variety and delectable seafood offerings of the Pacific Northwest...After working at Maneki, Chef Shiro opened his first restaurant, Nikko, in the International District. 1n 1992, he sold Nikko to the Westin hotel chain and opened the new Nikko at the downtown hotel location. For Westin, Chef Shiro served as executive chef and helped open several properties throughout the Americas. After his first 'retirement,' Chef Shiro opened Shiro's in Belltown in 1994...In 2014, Chef Shiro sold his remaining stake of Shiro's...Nominated twice for the James Beard Award, Chef Shiro has cooked for Japanese Prime Ministers, masters of the arts, star athletes, industry tycoons...but what Chef Shiro enjoys most is preparing and explaining the intricacies and detail of the delicious item he has just served to the customer seated in front of him at the sushi bar."



In luxury and with gratitude we were seated in front of him (most in part to Red's incredible friend, and his incredibly kind gesture). Kumamoto oysters sprinkled with shaved frozen ponzu vinegar, endless nigiri, and only chef's choice, for hours. The bubbles went fast, poured into champagne saucers, then a bottle of sake. Soy & wasabi are not left on the table, because the Chef's discretion in accompanying his piece of art, included just as much as he wanted you to have, right there, beneath the flesh of the fish or baked in by the torch of flame. I really appreciated that there I was seeing green, craving the burn and watery-eye of wasabi, and being told, No. Being told, Trust. Made aware, that what I was about to eat should be enjoyed in a way that I might quite possibly ruin if I were to alter it with my gluttonous Westernized fingers. It woke me up.

After a night cap outside the gum wall, a cobbled walk back to the hotel, and Auf Wiedersehens to our friends, we fell asleep with a box of chocolate caramels between us. Sunday morning, with that good brain cramp, we feasted at Peso's Taco Lounge in Queen Anne (spectacular service, excellent people watching, amazing bartender), stopped for a bag of Dicks, a chocolate shake, and shopping in Ballard before Red drove me home, passed out in the passenger, hot boxing the car in Mexi-can-you-nots?

Monday, Mck and Kris stopped by after a weekend in the mountains, waiting outside my door with a bouquet of white hydrangeas and a fresh baked berry scone. That evening I biked downtown to happy hour with my beautiful amazon cousin, who wore a pantsuit for me. We had chardonnay over burgers and a basket of bread, sitting on the patio by the boats, took a shot of throat-clearing tequila and did a walk about as the sun fell.

Which brings Tuesday, where at 2:46 pm I was birthed at St. Joseph's; my father catching the birth just in time from a flight off the commercial fishing boat he was working on in Alaska, and which, a few hours later he left for. Leaving my mom, likely, in a state of fear. This morning I got to run with Al, who packed over bags of hot buns, cake pops, and two Americanos, which we savored over her trying to teach me about snapchat. If it isn't evident, I am very thankful for all the little and large things each and every person in my life has done or said to show me and show others how they feel. I'd like to end with something my good friend said to me, "Hope this day fills you up with the words we all think but so rarely say."