7.03.2018

joy ride

Red-eye flights are aptly named; mine came in this morning at just after seven. I returned from a short trip to Seattle, having stayed up past midnight one-too-many days. It was good to get away, though I had too little time to see everyone I wanted to see, and re-entering the atmosphere that is all-things-Calvin has proved a bit trying, particularly when it is his third day in a row of seizures, humid, and ninety degrees.

My trip was relaxing and invigorating. I spent some time driving around my old suburban digs—the pool where I spent all of my summers, the brand new high school, the house I lived in from the age of two until twenty, which now seems a dwarfed and somewhat dilapidated version of the one I remember, the pond where I used to catch frogs. The place had changed and yet, in ways, had remained remarkably the same.

I dined with dear friends whom I've known most of my life and who have kept in touch with me, noshed on homemade Indian food and pizza. I rented a car and cruised south to my nephew's wedding, met his new bride, sat and shot the shit with my brother Steve whose wit and humor I so appreciate. On Sunday I sipped a sidewalk bourbon at the Pike Place Market, ate roasted octopus and gigante beans in Adirondak chairs on the shores of Lake Union, strolled past sleepy Capital Hill mansions and—one of my trip highlights—rode the ferris wheel on the wharf drinking chilled white wine from a sippy cup. My other nephew and I scored some tasty shawermas on Broadway, satisfying a craving I've had since having left San Francisco seventeen years ago.

And though all that is a distant memory already, I'll still have etched in my mind forever the faces of people I love deeply, and the joy ride I took on a cool summer day in June, Seattle style.


from Christy Shake on Vimeo.

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