This past Saturday, Miss Lellow Submarine was pitted against many fine souped-up “cars” in the Great Zucchini Races of 2015. Now in it’s second year, the Great Zucchini Races are an annual event (I hope!) in Seattle’s Central District neighborhood.
Little Bird and I went to pick out our zucchini at our Friday Farmers Market. Where else can you get a giant zucchini for only $1?
Money was exchanged and we took our squash home. Only 24 hours before the big event.
Saturday, August 22. We walked a few streets down from where we live to join in the festivities. People were gluing, embellishing, and gussying up their squashes like nobody’s business. The creativity I saw was awe inspiring!
And the people–lots of people, neighbors all, playing, eating, and prettifying their zucchinis in anticipation of the BIG RACE.
Our entry? Miss Lellow Submarine (yes, LELLOW). Isn’t she simply gorgeous?
We placed her on the table, heavily laden, with many delightfully decorated squashes.
Apparently, the judges thought she was–all that–because she was awarded the Most Glamorous Squash award (shhhhh…each and every contestant won a prize). How cool is that?
Here are a few examples of the competition: 
Finally, the time had come. The Great Zucchini Race was ON! Two by two they mustered to the top of the ramp. 
Ready. Set. Go!
One hot rod went a loooong way…we are talking a block!
Finally it was our turn. Little Bird and her buddy Izzy climbed up to the back of the ramp.
Off they went, speeding down hill. And…she’s down. An illustrious, albeit short-lived, career.
Nevertheless–prizes for all.
More eating. More playing. And then time to pack it in and head home. Until next year…
Are you excited about our upcoming trip to the Tri-Cities?
Yes.
What are you looking forward to?
I get to make my own pizza.
For several weeks prior to our Tri-Cities weekend adventure, whether we were standing in the check-out line at Safeway, playing on the playground, or stopping to pet the random dog on the street, she would announce–to anyone who would listen–I get to make my own pizza. And that’s exactly what one 4-year-old girl got to do this past Saturday at Stick+Stone Neapolitan wood-fired pizza in Richland, Washington.
We arrived at the eatery on Duportail Street at noon, hungry and excited. Stick+Stone serves pizza made with fresh dough, salads, appetizers and desserts. They also offer local wines and have several craft beers on tap. We might have been seated for one minute when my daughter queried our dining companion Karisa Sawyers:
When do I get to make the pizza?
Are you going to show me how to make the pizza?
Thus began the line of questioning as she pointed to the server who brought our water, and then Michael Miller who manages the restaurant and stopped by our table to say hello:
Are you going to show me how to make it?
Is he going to show me how to make it?
Until our waitress arrived and started taking our order.
I want to make my own pizza.
What kind do you want to make?
Pepperoni.
Do you want cheese?
No cheese.
Dada was incredulous. No cheese? You love cheese!
No.
A few minutes later her pizza making “kit” arrived and included: one wood paddle with dough, flattened and ready to go, sauce and pepperoni at the ready (and some apples, for snacking I presume).
With that, one 4-year-old chef wannabe was off and running or, more accurately, painting her first pizza.
Next step was careful placement of the much beloved pepperoni.
Pizza project underway.
A little taste testing, of course. Any chef worth her salt would do the same.
Okay, so she didn’t make her own dough from scratch but thank you Cameron Hall dough maker extraordinaire. Cameron informed us dough tossing wasn’t part of his usual routine, but he was willing to do a performance for one very interested little girl.
And she didn’t place her personal pizza in the scorching (upwards of 900-degrees Fahrenheit in some spots) wood oven. However, she did enjoy watching it circle round and round.
It’s like our microwave, Mama.
Pretty soon one happy girl was eating her very own–made pretty much by hand–pizza. She deemed it tasty. Pizza making 101 was a resounding success. Sadly, Bunny was not offered a slice.
If you find yourself in the Tri-Cities, go make yourself a pizza! Stick + Stone is located at 3027 Duportail Street in Richland, across from the Gold’s Gym off of Queensgate.
Our pizza-making experience was complimentary and provided by Tri-Cities Visitor and Convention Bureau but all opinions expressed are my own.
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Take the road less traveled, Beth
Losing one’s wedding site puts a bride and groom-to-be in a precarious position. Not only are you faced with finding a new location for your nuptials, you need to secure a spot that is available on the same date as the first place you reserved.
This is the scenario Big Papa and I were up against six months before our wedding when the B&B, where we were going to hold our ceremony, informed us they had to back out. The City of Bainbridge Island, where the B&B was located, had decided to uphold an old (and previously unenforced) ordinance preventing B&B’s from hosting events on their property, at least without paying a hefty fee in the order of several thousand dollars.
We found ourselves scouting for a new locale, one that–hopefully–had July 28th open because that was the date for which we’d shored up our caterer, photographer, florist, wedding night B&B and officiant.
Several weekends were spent visiting prospective wedding sites, trying to find somewhere that had the date and felt like a good fit–ideally–a place where we could house our elderly relatives so they wouldn’t have to shlep to the ceremony and then back again, crisscrossing Puget Sound on Seafair weekend.
Our situation was looking star-crossed until one day, I called a B&B where some good friends were staying to make plans to rendezvous with them during their visit.
“Hi, I’m calling to speak with my friend Carolyn who’s staying at your B&B. And um, I know this is completely out of the blue, but any chance you’d be open to hosting a wedding?”
“Well, I might be,” the owner Marcia replied. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about doing. You would be the first.”
A week later, we made a trip across Sound, to Poulsbo. The place, Morgan Hill Retreat, looked lovely: northwest-styled home on a generous piece of land with a view of the Olympics and a large old cedar tree and a cute little pond beside the house. We told her the specifics: small wedding, July 28, rooms for our parents to stay, and a contract was written up.
Time passed. More plans were laid. The wedding neared, one month and counting down. That’s when we received an email from the B&B where we were going to spend our wedding night.
“We regret to inform you that we have decided to close our bed and breakfast and pursue a different path. Unfortunately, we have to cancel your reservation.”
Seriously?! We immediately contacted every bed and breakfast within 20 miles. Booked. No room at the inn, any inn. Joking, we told Marcia we might end up spending our wedding night in the barn with the llamas. Star-crossed again.
With a couple weeks left to spare, Marcia called us and said she’d found a couple who were thinking of starting a B&B. They had a room over their garage where we could stay.
Two days before the wedding, we held a rehearsal in our backyard with our officiant and members of our wedding party. Then, on the night before our wedding, along with our families, we enjoyed a delicious salmon dinner at Morgan Hill and put the final touches on arrangements for “the day.”
I kissed Big Papa goodbye, with the agreement we wouldn’t speak to or see each other until our ceremony. Big Papa spent the night in Poulsbo with his best man and I rode the ferry back to our home in Seattle.
Wedding Day. Big Papa and his best man took a leisurely drive to Port Townsend. I treated myself to a relaxing massage and then boarded a ferry to Bainbridge with a friend, where we would do a bit of wine tasting before I had my hair done, and headed to Morgan Hill for our wedding.
At 2:47, a time neither of us will ever forget, Big Papa got a phone call from our officiant.
“Please take this with a grain of salt. I was a car accident and I’m on medication so I won’t be able to make it to the wedding.”
“Pull the car over!” Big Papa yelled.
I am thankful I wasn’t in his shoes. Instead I was at Eleven Winery, several sips into a wine tasting. My friend’s phone rang.
She listened and look worried. Very worried.
“Do you want me to tell her?”
I got the news. No officiant. Three hours before our wedding.
Why? Why us? I wailed.
Sarah, the wife of the winery owner, offered to pour me a full glass of whatever wine I wanted.
If ever there was a star-crossed wedding, it was ours. In that moment, it was hard for my mind not to wander…and wonder. Is the universe trying to tell me something?
I am still amazed that Sarah was able to think so quickly on her feet and post “Urgent! Officiant needed” on IslandMoms, and even more blown away by the fact that someone responded and managed to get there with 30 minutes to spare. Debbi was so calm, so centered, and pulled off our wedding without a hitch. She even knew several of our guests. In fact no one, aside from the wedding party, knew she Plan B until I gave my thank you speech at dinner.
We said our vows beneath the ancient cedar, and then spent our first minutes as husband and wife toasting our good fortune in a rowboat on the pond, a rowboat with one oar. How fitting, because all along it felt like we were up that creek without a paddle. Yet in the end, the stars aligned.
Eight years later I believe it was meant to be. All of it. I can’t imagine a more beautiful place to be married, or a finer person to marry us. Even the room above the garage, where we spent our wedding night, was just the right spot. On our nightstand the B&B owners left us a bottle of wine, a card, flowers, and a vintage porcelain trinket box topped with a bride and groom. Whenever I’m not wearing my rings, I place them inside the box, look at the bride and groom, and remember all the people who came together to help us become exactly that.
Happy Anniversary Big Papa!
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Take the road less traveled, Beth
So this past weekend, this happened…
Then this happened…
And next thing you know, there are two kittens living in our home! I have not been mama to a wee kitten in 20 years, but our home felt empty without Maggie (and Madison, who left us five years ago) and so I decided it was time.
I intended to get one cat, not a kitten, and tailless (both my previous cats were Manx cats). Searching online for “the one,” reminded me of internet dating. I made my list of contenders and visited several shelters over the course of a few days, trying to imagine this cat or that cat joining our family at The Urban Cabin. None of them felt like the right fit.
On a visit to PAWS Cat City to meet an older cat I’d read about online, I spied a tiny tabby out of the corner of my eye. “Tell me about her,” I asked the shelter volunteer. When I went into the room where she was, and sat down to play with her, I saw this handsome gray face staring back at me from inside a cubby.
A few hours later after consulting with Big Papa, I returned to Cat City, kitty carriers in hand. By 6:00 our family had two new furry members.
The tabby has been named Winslow (nickname Winnie) after the city on Bainbridge Island where Big Papa and I traveled by ferry on our first date. The gray kitty is Wallingford (nickname Wally), after a neighborhood where Big Papa lived for awhile. My previous cats were also named after Seattle neighborhoods: Magnolia, or Maggie, and Madison, or Maddy.
Four days in, it’s been–and will continue to be–a new chapter, getting two know these two cute-as-the-dickens feline friends. Both have been a bit under the weather (respiratory cat crud common in shelter cats) but I’m hoping they will recover soon and we’ll enjoy many, many years together.
I love cats because I enjoy my home;
and little by little, they become its visible soul.
~Jean Cocteau
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Take the road less traveled, Beth
Average temperature of the water in Puget Sound is 56 degrees in July.
Swimming in Puget Sound is downright chilly, at any time of the year. Even in July, the average temperature is 56 degrees.
But that didn’t stop one 4-year-old from swimming in the waters off Gig Harbor.
Granted, by the time she was fully wet…
…and had splashed around for fifteen minutes or so, she confessed to feeling a little bit cold.
With teeth chattering and lips turning blue one little girl headed for dry land. Her mama suspects her motivation to get out of the water may have been due to the really cool rope swing hanging from a tree over the sand. The perfect place to dry off.
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Take the road less traveled, Beth
When the entire U.S. is celebrating the 4th of July, if it’s your birthday, sometimes you just want to get away from it all. For a boy born on Independence Day, that can be a tall order. I still remember the first time I asked Big Papa, “What do you want for your birthday?” and he said “Peace and quiet.” I laughed and replied, “Well, the only way that will happen is if you leave the country,” which is exactly what we did. In fact, for several years running, we headed to Canada for a little R&R.
Our birth dates hold a great deal of fascination for many of us. We might feel an affinity for the season of our birth or find special meaning in the date. I know whenever I meet a fellow Gemini (I am a June baby), I sense a certain connection. I am also lucky to have one special “Birthday Buddy,” a young boy–the son of a friend–who shares my exact birth day.
Being born on a holiday is an extra burden. December 25th babies will say they have a hard time thinking of their birthday presents as anything more than a few extra Christmas gifts. July 4 is an auspicious birthday, but only here in the U.S. Anywhere else in the world, it’s just another day.
But for one key member of my family, July 4th is the day he entered the world. The sun was situated in just this one place, for this one moment, the moment of Big Papa’s birth.
Birthday Persona Profile
People born specifically on the 4th of July are destined to be strong willed and determined alongside their typical crab responsive and dependable nature. The astrological planet that rules over this particular day is Uranus making you highly practical, very hard working and sharply decisive. If you have this birthday early family roots are considered important and it is rare for you to ever forget them. Naturally caring and empathic you can also be temperamental and at times argumentative but also always willing to quickly admit if you are wrong about something. Your humanitarian approach directs you to be kind and usually more objective than others of your zodiac sign, so your kindness is unlikely to be taken advantage of. Individuals with a July the fourth birthday may appear quite straightforward and uncomplicated but they can be sometimes clingy, demanding or repressed emotionally. Under that seemingly tough exterior you are surprisingly sensitive.
Happy Birthday, Big Papa!
Here’s to one more trip around the sun.
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Take the road less traveled, Beth
Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.
~Anatole France
I am unabashed when I say I loved, loved, loved Magnolia, my cat. She was with me for 20 years, and when I met Big Papa, with us, and then Little Bird too. We called her Maggie, Maggie Moose or simply Moose. She followed us —everywhere–the best companion one could hope for: our bathing assistant whenever one of us took a shower or bath, at the dinner table in her own seat, nestled between us every night (or an inch away from Big Papa’s nose), always nearby whether we were gardening, doing office work, or hanging out with friends and family.
Oh how her silly antics made us laugh, like the time she sat near the Christmas train set that wrapped around the tree, backing her booty up closer and closer until the train goosed her as it rolled along the track. She let out a loud Brrrrp, her legs running fast in place on the hardwood floor, just like you see in cartoons. before speeding off like a locomotive herself.
She was a talkative cat to say the least, serenading us with a chorus of brrps, and meowps, trills and chirps. If ever a cat were to start speaking words, I was sure she would be the one.
During difficult times, she was my comfort, staying by my side after several surgeries, there for me to hug close like a teddy bear when my sister, father and dear friends Dee and Marshall became ill and passed away, there through all our adoption woes. For 20 years my day began with seeing her face, and making her a bowl of food. My nights ended hearing a thunk-thunk as she jumped onto the bed and curled up next to my head, purring.
The bond between us was long and strong. So much history and and so many memories of spending my days with my green-eyed, tailless tabby girl.
If you’ve never felt a deep connection with an animal, then what I’m saying might sound frivolous. But if you stop to think about it, twenty years is a long time to spend with any living being. How lucky I am she was able to be a member of my family for so many years.
Saying goodbye was heartbreaking, but I was fortunate to spend her last day–just the two of us–in the garden we both love so much. We sat together in the sunshine, and then in a light summer rain, amidst the plants and flowers, feeling the soft breeze on our faces, listening to the sounds of chickadees chirping. I will miss her sweet, gentle soul.
There cannot be love without loss, just like there cannot be happiness without sadness, or light without dark.
~Markus Peterson
Magnolia: May 23, 1995-June 24, 2015
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Take the road less traveled, Beth
Halfway around my little world
You had no idea that you were my girl
~Josh Kelley
6,267 miles between Seattle, Washington and Gyumri, Armenia
3 years of waiting
4 trips
16 hours of flying time each trip
12 time zones
Happy Father’s Day Big Papa
…and all the dads out there, not matter how you got there.
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Take the road less traveled, Beth
I’ve always heard that if you want to learn how to drive, start with a tractor. This is exactly what my daughter and I did on our recent family trip to Jenne Farm on Whidbey Island. Farmer Fran hitched up his rig and with Mama there to get things rolling, off we went down the lane to the open fields surrounding the farm. That’s when I took my hands off the wheel and let her take over.
There were a lot of distractions like Dada, running through the tall grass, taking photos, cows in the field. And, well…there was a loud horn. I think she was more enamored with the beeping than the driving, but all in all, I know she had a blast because she’s been talking about it ever since. As for me, I’m counting down the years before she can get her driver’s permit.
That’s the great thing about a tractor. You can’t really hear the phone ring.
– Jeff Foxworthy
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Take the road less traveled, Beth
