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February 22, 2007

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The Boyfriend took me to see & listen to Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band. Everything about the concert was fan-freakin-tastic! Bob Seger. The Silver Bullet Band. The backup singers. The lead sax player. The horn section. The song selection—one cover from the 1950s plus original material spanning the late ’60s to Seger’s current album, Face the Promise, released in 2006. (And Bob, if you’re reading this—and I know you’re not—I hope you got the better of your head cold. If you hadn’t mentioned it, I never would have known. You put on a terrific show.)

And Steve Azar, the opening act. I hadn’t heard or heard of him until tonight. Allmusic.com classifies Steve in the country genre with progressive, contemporary, and inspirational styles. I’d classify him as rock genre, modern electric blues and Mississippi Delta blues styles. But what do I know? In his Web site bio, Steve himself doesn’t get into nitty gritty details about genres or styles. He writes that his latest record “is a fusion, I guess, of my life in Nashville and the music that has influenced me here, with my years in the Delta and all my influences from there.” However his music is or “should be” described, he’s great. (I like to give a shout out to another Steve whenever I can.)

February 22, 2007

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I would think it would be the heat.

February 22, 2007

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Answer: Probably no one.

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Answer: Have some Scooby Snacks.

February 22, 2007

A few days ago, I wrote about listening to an audio cassette recorded by my paternal grandparents at Christmas time in 1972, with grandma describing some of the gifts she and grandpa had received that holiday.

Grandpa’s gifts included some “kitchen stuff”—an apron, a baster, a meat thermometer. I don’t know whether grandpa liked to cook, but at that time, he was responsible for the household chores. By 1972, grandma was incapacitated with arthritis. At one point on this cassette, grandma commented, “Grampa offered to help me open [a present], but I told him I had all day.” Arthritis had crippled grandma’s hands into painful claws; it probably would have taken her all day to open a package. Amazingly, in spite of the condition of her hands, grandma did occasionally write letters. Again, this was 1972—long before personal computers became popular or affordable. So when I say she “wrote,” I mean she wrote. Longhand. I can’t imagine how difficult and painful that must have been.

Any letters from my grandparents are now long gone. I don’t remember finding much correspondence from them during the times my brother, sister-in-law, and The Boyfriend and I sorted through mountains of my folks’ papers and whatnot. We tackled that project on three main occasions: First, as we prepared to move my parents from their mobile home into an assisted living facility in early 2005. Next, after my father died later that year. And then again after my mother died in early 2006.

I know I got rid of at least one letter from my grandma. Part of me regrets getting rid of that and other memorabilia from both sides of the family. But where, in my small apartment and smaller storage unit, would I keep all that stuff? And I rarely look through my own photo albums, correspondence, diary entries, blog, etc. And whatever I do hang on to, someday I’ll die and someone else will have to sort through all that stuff and, knowing firsthand how overwhelming that can be, I’d like to minimize the task for whomever gets stuck with it.

Nevertheless … Note to my friend Matt: As we talked about yesterday—get your grandmother’s stories while you still can.

February 19, 2007

This afternoon, I listened to part of an audio cassette recorded by my paternal grandparents over 30 years ago. Does anybody remember audio cassettes? On the great technology timeline, they fall between 8-tracks (even I’m too young to really be familiar with those) and CDs.

My immediate family lived in the Puget Sound area of Washington state while my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins lived in other parts of the country. During the 1960s and ’70s, long distance telephone calls were deemed “too expensive” so the family—maternal side as well as paternal—kept in touch by recording cassettes and mailing them to each other. (Nowadays, those of us who keep in touch do so mainly through e-mail.)

In the early ’70s, blank cassettes cost approximately one dollar and family members could ramble on for 30, 60, or 90 minutes. How do I know how much they cost? I have a small stack of family cassettes, one of which has a price sticker on the case. I don’t know if cassettes actually were less expensive than long distance calls, but they certainly were perceived as being cheaper. I don’t have any of my parents’ old phone bills, so I can’t do a cost comparison. A year or so ago, I could have done one—I shredded tons of old bills and other paperwork that belonged to my parents, and “tons” is probably literal. Some of the bills were dated as far back as the ’60s, though most were from the mid-’80s and later.

But I digress.

The cassette I listened to was recorded in December 1972, with grandma talking about the gifts she and grandpa received that Christmas. Among grandma’s presents was a variety of greeting cards. She commented, “They are so pretty, and have such nice verses. So often, cards don’t have nice verses.”

So that’s where I get that!

I often get frustrated when choosing paper greeting cards. I find cards with lovely graphics and sappy sentiments or awful attempts at poetry, or cards with decent verses and not-so-great graphics. Sometimes I buy multiple cards and sort of combine them—I’ll get one with a well-crafted message that I then transfer to a “blank,” well-designed card. (For some reason, e-cards are less of a problem. Maybe “online” inherently means “easier”?)

Anyway, now I know that this particular nitpicking is inherited.

February 12, 2007
Updated February 23 with photos of the Lightship Columbia, Astoria Column, and Dismal Nitch.

The Boyfriend and I began the day with a lovely walk along the beach. We started in the rain; the weather cleared up a little later.
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After grabbing espresso to go from Long Beach Coffee Roasters, we drove into Astoria, OR. We didn’t have any particular destinations in mind, but we’d been to Astoria before and wanted to explore the city.

We stopped first at Flavel House; we’d noticed it on a previous trip, when it happened to be closed. A San Francisco architect designed the house circa 1884 for George Flavel. Flavel was one of the first licensed bar pilots on the Columbia River and, through various business ventures, became Astoria’s first millionaire.

We began our visit in the old carriage house (now a gift shop) and watched a short video presentation about the history of the Flavel family and the house. Then we toured the house. To preserve the finishes and furnishings, flash photography is not allowed in the house. TB and I snapped some flash-free photos with our digital cameras, most of which didn’t turn out very well. (Well, most of mine didn’t … I haven’t looked through TB’s pictures.)
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The house has been described in various sources as “Victorian” and “Queen Anne” architecture. From the little bit I read just moments ago, it seems Victorian actually refers to a particular historical era (approximately 1849 to 1900) while Queen Anne is an architectural style.

Speaking of architecture, after Flavel House, we drove along Marine Drive and noticed a beautiful, unusual building. We turned around and pulled into the parking so I could take some pictures. Fortunately, I noticed the sign on the front of the building: Columbia River Maritime Museum. Meaning, we could (for a small fee) legitimately wander around the inside, too.

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I think the front of the museum looks like the bow of a ship cresting a wave, while the back just looks like waves.

The museum’s mission is, “To collect and preserve historical and cultural material relevant to the Columbia River, and to display and interpret selected material from the collections for the education and enjoyment of the public.” They do an excellent job of fulfilling this mission.

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The lightship Columbia is moored behind and is part of the museum.

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Then to the museum gift shop, where I bought this souvenir t-shirt:

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(“Driking. Plundering. Wenching. Flogging. Oh, the pirate’s life for me!” See, the “wenching” part is funny ’cause I’m a girl. And hetero.)

After the museum, we went to the Astoria Column, sort of that area’s version of San Francisco’s Coit Tower. According to a marker at the site, “The Astoria Column was completed in 1926 by The Great Northern Railroad and Vincent Astor, great-grandson of John Jacob Astor, who founded Astoria. The Column is a historical monument which depicts the discovery and settlement of the Columbia River until the arrival of the railway.” The structure stretches 125 feet into the sky above Coxcomb Hill. While the views from the parking area are spectacular, TB and I climbed the 164 steps up the spiral staircase to take in the amazing panorama from the top.
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We also enjoyed the scenery coming back down from the Column, in the downtown area, and the waterfront.

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While driving north across the Astoria Bridge, on the way back to Long Beach, I noticed a sign on a bridge support indicating we were back in Washington. A few supports later, I noticed another sign: “Dismal Nitch.” This I had to see.

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I got the “nitch” part, but it didn’t look dismal when we were there. Of course, we weren’t on the Lewis and Clark Expedition.

Captains Meriwether Lewis and William Clark didn’t have it so good. Not good at all by this point in their journey. The captains and the other members of the expedition departed Illinois in May, 1804. According to the National Park Service, when Lewis and Clark, et al reached this part of the Columbia River, it was early in 1805, they traveled by horse and canoe, they had no fresh food, their clothes were “literally rotting off”, and a terrible winter storm would confine them in a small, rugged cove for six days.

Clark later wrote in his journal that at the first opportunity, he “had the canoes loaded in great haste and Set Out from this dismal nitch …”

Over 200 years later, The Boyfriend and I were safe and cozy inside however many pounds of steel comprise a Toyota Echo. We were dressed appropriately for the weather and if needed we could flip a dial for heat or press a button for air conditioning. We had plenty of snacks and water. And the car stereo. And an iPod which we could connect to the stereo. And we’d traveled a mere 20 miles or so, less than an hour’s time.

Props to Lewis & Clark and the others, but I’ll stick with the modern conveniences.

Surprisingly, we didn’t spot any other creatively named locales. Not a Putrid Passage, an Annoying Archipelago, a Catastrophe Cove, or a Gloomy Gulch to be found.

February 11, 2007

We had dinner at the Shoalwater Restaurant in the Shelburne Inn (actually in the town of Seaview).

Our cottage provided a guidebook with ads, flyers, etc. from area businesses. We saw a menu for the Shoalwater, and The Boyfriend spotted a vegetarian French onion soup listed on it. (Traditional French onion soup is prepared with beef stock, lots of onions, and croutons or sliced bread smothered in cheese.) We noticed several other vegetarian, though not vegan, choices.

The hotel and restaurant looked nice and a bit fancy from the outside. Once we stepped in and were “greeted”* and shown to our table, I expected a bad—and moderately expensive—experience. The “hostess”* (you’ll see the reason for the quotation marks at the end of this entry) asked for our name. I told her that we didn’t have a reservation. Pencil poised over reservation book, she appeared confused. (The restaurant was nearly empty; I saw two other couples there.) I gave her The Boyfriend’s name. The “hostess’s” pencil hovered closer to the reservation list, then retreated.

As she escorted us to a table, TB inquired whether the vegetarian French onion soup was still on the menu. She shrugged and replied, “I dunno.”And that was all she said. Not, “I’m new …” (even if it was a lie) or “Sorry, I’m not familiar with the menu, but your server will be able to answer any questions.” And she didn’t offer to check for us.

Our waiter came to our table to take our drink order. He was pleasant and competent. TB ordered a Spire pear hard cider. I ordered a half-pint of Deschutes Black Butte porter. The cider was delicious, it tasted like a slightly dry white wine. The porter wasn’t very good (not the restaurant’s fault, of course). Though dark in color, it had a very light taste. TB called it “unfinished,” an apt description.

When the “hostess” delivered a small basket of sliced bread, TB asked what kind of bread it was. Once again, a shrug. The bread tasted OK (it might have been a potato bread), but the texture was gluey. It was probably cut while too warm. (A baker in my Ballard neighborhood once explained to me that cutting a loaf of bread that hasn’t cooled enough ruins the texture.)

For our meal, TB and I both ordered the vegetarian French onion soup and an entree salad. I didn’t ask the waiter if the soup was vegan, but I did ask if it was prepared with butter. He said it wasn’t, so I ordered it sans cheese.

When the waiter brought the soup to our table, he mentioned that he had my croutons (actually small slices of bread) brushed with olive oil rather than the usual butter. The soup was rich and flavorful.

The salads were excellent. TB had the dried cranberry, feta cheese, and walnut salad tossed with cranberry vinaigrette. I had the organic greens with toasted hazelnuts and sprouts and salalberry vinaigrette. Portion sizes were perfect.

For dessert, TB had a coconut bread pudding with dulce leche (caramel) sauce and declared it “spectacular.” I had the cranberry-raspberry sorbet, a wonderful blend of tart and sweet. The waiter placed the accompanying butter cookie on the plate the dessert cup sat on, rather than placing it in the sorbet as in the typical presentation. (TB took the cookie with us for future snacking.)

TB and I felt the meal was a good value for the price. We rated it four (“good”) out of a possible five on the comment card that came with the bill. We rated the service a five (“excellent”) and the “reception”* a one (“poor”).

We both enjoyed the food and the service was stellar. I especially appreciated the waiter’s attention to my “dairy issues.” Everything on the menu is fresh and made to order. While the “reception” was bad, we do recommend the Shoalwater.

If you go there, check out the “escargot debacle” letters, framed in the entry way. You can see one of them here, on The Boyfriend’s blog (be sure to click “view full picture”).

* The “hostess” seemed barely awake. She was definitely uninformed about and uninterested in the menu. At one point, I was going to ask her where the restroom was, but she probably didn’t know that, either. I give her an overall rating of apathetic bordering on surly, which comes out to minus one.

February 11, 2007

I probaby won’t have much “dish” on restaurants for this trip. The Boyfriend and I are staying at a place with a fully equipped kitchen, so we’ll make most of our meals. The Long Beach area is famous for its seafood, and since I’m of the vegan persuasion, I wasn’t optimistic about finding Steve-friendly food in the area. In looking through the guidebook provided by our motel, I did see a few vegetarian (not natively vegan) options at a few different restaurants.

We like our room (more about our lodging later). Cell service is almost nonexistent and Internet service is sporadic; that’s not necessarily bad. After our homemade breakfast, TB & I headed into the town of Long Beach for caffeine and Internet fixes. We stopped at Long Beach Coffee Roasters.

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In addition to free wi-fi, LBCR offers large selections of teas and coffees, soy milk in addition to dairy milk, and vegetarian pastries. My Americano (espresso & water) had a good, medium-bodied flavor free of bitterness.

LBCR displays art by local artists in its larger room. I particularly liked the “accent & antique reproduction” furniture by Wayne Ivy. I found some of Mr. Ivy’s business cards at the coffee shop; he doesn’t appear to have a Web site … well, he kind of does now.

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If you’re looking for gorgeous Mission or Arts & Crafts style furniture, give Mr. Ivy a call in Oysterville, WA at 360-665-3780.

After getting wired (with caffeine and the Internet), TB and I visited the World Kite Museum. We saw lots of gorgeous kites and watched a couple of short, interesting videos.

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The kite museum is close to beach access, so we meandered along the beach for a little while. Actually, it was fairly windy, so we were blown around more than we walked.

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In the afternoon, we went to North Head Lighthouse in the Ilwaco area. Although in disrepair, the lighthouse is impressive and the views from the Light Keeper’s Trail and the lighthouse grounds are terrific.
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Later, we went for a sunset walk along the beach in Ocean Park and then to dinner.

February 10, 2007

This afternoon, The Boyfriend and I headed out for Long Beach, WA for a few days. We stopped in the town of Raymond along the way. (See the Willapa Bay Chamber of Commerce Web site for additional information.)

I really liked Raymond for its quiet, small town atmosphere and its great public art — the Sculpture Corridor, decorated sidewalks and terra cotta planter boxes, sculptural sidewalk benches, and variety of architectural details.
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(I’m not sure where the Sculpture Corridor proper is; I saw lots of metal sculptures throughout town.)

Raymond also has the Northwest Carriage Museum and the Willapa Seaport Museum. The Seaport Museum was closed, but we arrived at the Carriage Museum shortly before its closing time.
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We’d like to thank the docent (or guide?) at the Carriage Museum for her hospitality. She was friendly and helpful, sharing information about the town of Raymond, the museum, and herself, and I think we kept her past closing time. We didn’t ask her name (I know — how rude!); she’s about 60, has long dark hair gathered in a ponytail, wears glasses, used to make architectural models in the San Francisco Bay area, now creates soft sculptures, and she has tinnitus (ringing in the ears). If you stop by Raymond and encounter her, please extend our extra gratitude. (We did thank her before we left.)

We arrived in Long Beach after dark. Lucky for you, dear blog reader — fewer photos.

February 8, 2007

The UHaul on Leary Way in Ballard is next door to Wild At Heart. I think Wild At Heart should move one of the UHaul signs closer to their business.

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