I finally got to go back to Seattle last weekend. I adore that city; it’s really grabbed hold of my psyche in a way I can’t quite put words to. Anyone who knows me well knows that I have a special place in my heart for big trees and mountains and water and real seasons, but there’s something more than that going on for me concerning this particular corner of the country.I was lucky enough to be in the city (all of my northwest friends have relocated to the city proper) during the season’s first snowfall. It was absolutely magical, it really was. The snowflakes were huge and fluffy and because there was almost no wind they were just gently sifting down though the sky in a thick flurry. We first got to see it when we were leaving Brouwer’s--a truly phenomenal beer establishment that definitely prepped us for a magical evening of snowfall. When we walked outside, the snow was coming down thick and fast, and the most beautiful part was that there were searchlights fanning the sky right next door. I cannot describe accurately how gorgeous it was to see these shafts of light weaving through the snowfall; it was like a glittering shower of cosmic space dust all lit up and magnified. Gorgeous!
Then we drove back to S & P’s place and alerted the rest of the household and within minutes most of us were standing outside with big dumb grins on our faces. Since there was still no wind, the snow was piling up in huge fluffy mounds on the branches of the trees. The three-story Victorian house across the street was draped in thousands of Christmas lights that glowed mistily in the snowfall, the streetlight on the corner lit up another show of cosmic dust falling to earth, and the whole neighborhood slowly and quietly turned to smooth white. Magic, I tell you!
The next morning I ran to the front window to see if the magic was still there--it was, but the very first thing I saw was a little dog in mid-crouch on the front lawn, pooping all over our winter wonderland. Ugh. I walked away, waited for dog and owner to clean up and depart, then approached the window again for a fresh look. Much
better! Everything was still covered in pure white, and the air was clear and sharp; I just had to go for walk in it. Steve and I took a leisurely but frigid stroll around the neighborhood a little while later. It was like a community exercise--the entire neighborhood seemed to have the same idea. Couples, friends, and families were all out and about, smiling at each other and trying not to slip on the icy sidewalks. Dogs were out in droves, puffing big happy dog breaths into the air. The snow next to the sidewalks was perforated by hundreds of tiny human footprints, kids were toddling around in their snowsuits like colorful midget Michelin men, and as we neared the park, we saw three pre-adolescent girls gleefully running down the street hauling toboggans.On the way home, we stopped at 5-Spot, my new favorite breakfast place ever. Their hash browns are so good they are just indecent. Honestly. I told Steve the first day we ate there that I didn’t know whether I should have sex with my breakfast or eat it. It was that good. The bathrooms there are also an adventure in artsy-fartsy fun--there are pages torn from a poetry anthology taped all over the walls, including a liberal sprinkling of Allen Ginsberg. A recorded performance of some of the restaurant’s employees reading their poetry plays while you’re in there. I spent way too long in the bathroom reading everything and adding my two cents to the pad of paper on the wall. The final stop on our outing was another of my new favorite places ever: Chocolopolis. They have, in addition to a huge selection of regional chocolates and a very knowledgeable staff, some of the best hot cocoa known to humankind. The first day I tried the Spicy Dark hot chocolate, and on Sunday, the day of our snowy walkabout, I took home a cup of 72% dark chocolate. It kept my hands warm and made my soul sing all at the same time.
