This Just In

The Committee Hoping for Extra-Terrestrial Encounters to Save the Earth (yep, that spells “CHEESE”) claims they have 1962 World’s Fair plans stating that the Space Needle was built to talk to aliens in other solar systems.

Clearly, it was to talk to aliens in this system as well, because that’s where we went for my dad’s official birthday, the revolving SkyCity rest(a)urant atop the Need(l)e, suspect s(i)st(e)r i(n)cluded.

“To

“To

The folks across from us cleared out soon after we got settled in, momentarily leaving a clean and pristine spot from which to capture the view beyond. I raised the camera, pushed the button and upon review of the shot, found that my dad had im(perfectly) timed a sip. That’s lemons for ya.

“To

“Overpriced and far from good,” to quote a write up of their fare, was spot on. The meal arrived looking like this, but ultimately, tasted like that- a pile of poorly marbled too tough tenderloin with dry and forgettable sides so bad they refused to be pictured a second time.

“To

“To

Turns out the Lunar Orbiter saved the day! Uh, night! The iconic dessert arrived billowing bountiful puffs of smoke, as if floating in on a cloud from just outside the window. An ice cream sundae, it is, an item still featured from the original 1960’s menu. The dessert and bustling atmosphere accompanied by undeniably magnificent visuals makes this one needle not to drop, despite them lacking luster in their main meals.

“To

“To

We stepped outside soon after, as the sun set in the distance. I located the Northwest (it’s the place to be). And then I spotted ginormagantuan daddy long legs atop the Seattle Center far below. See?

“To

Turns out Seattle artist and science illustrator Marlin Peterson was commissioned to paint a mural in the city somewhere. He started searching for a large roof after not finding a large available wall, and tada!- trompe l’oeiled. ♦

“To

In daylight

“To

“To

Marlin doing his thing

Painting by Victor Figol

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And Counting

A few party details from the dad’s 75th birthday celebration.

And Counting

Finally got to see (!) and own (yay!) photos from my dad’s childhood in the last decade or so. Long time coming. And perfect for copying and making a number of banners to be strewn about the place.

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Silver and gold was the theme- kept it simple as opposed to honing in on a beloved book, show or movie. He loves to find coins on the ground and picks them up regularly to add to the various sets he’s ordered and collected over the years. Thought I’d toss a heap’s worth here and there around his home (the party destination) for him to pick up at his leisure, after running the pros and cons of the idea. Among the bunch (coins- not pros and cons), many a foreign one, knowing he’d have fun investigating what was what and from where. In addition, silver coins- we both love ‘em! Me, from having sold movie tickets galore, dealing in bills and quarters mostly- got used to distinguishing the sound of a silver coin plunked down on the glass versus a mixed metal. I’d immediately pull it from the bunch and swap it out later on, happy for the find.

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Got all the decorations up and in place, though someone put the fence stars on sideways- tallwise instead of widewise. The only one to notice that was likely me.

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Frank and …

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Everything was nearly ready, when this happened! Bean spilled the beans.

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Pickles and monkeys: requirement met.

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Had all the classics our dad likes at a bbq, kept it simple.

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The memory jar was a joy for my dad to read (again and again) as hoped. Some of the kindest words shared- admiration of his wit and acknowledgement for his softness of heart- any joke ever made is never at the expense of another, and if there’s the slightest hint that he may’ve hurt another’s feelings, he apologizes with the deepest sincerity. No facade there.

And Counting

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And this little monkey, Carl’s sweet baby boy, Julian. Best tempered little guy ever, and Carl, perhaps the best dad I’ve had the honor of witnessing. Their bond is a thing to behold, love made palpable.

And Counting

The only hiccup was this sad excuse for a balloon garland, as one popped every twenty minutes or so till they all made like little shriveled raisins of there formerly plump selves. ♦

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Sweet Sinnamon

How Sweet

It Is

So this terribly naughty thing happened recently, but I forgive myself.

A bacon cinnamon roll skillet cake for the breakfast-themed pot luckage at work.

Bacon tucked then sprinkled. Everywhere. That’s the only way to do it. My skillet made a great accomplice. As did butter.

I’d do it again. ♦

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Verbing

“Keep It to Once a Month

I’m thinking of making the consumption of donuts a verb. Not in the snow-in-a-parking-lot-donut-verb-kinda way (though I’m great at those!), but in a “Yeah, if ya need me, I’ll be over there, you know, donuting*” kinda way. ♦

*I much prefer the English spelling for doughnut (< see, there it is right now), but for demonstrative purposes, “donut” seems to work best.

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Parked

“Fall”

“From

“Clink”

“Tat”

“Round”

Caught up on some reading and writing this week at a nearish by park while waving at small children wheeled by in strollers. An American flag flapped in the wind and the snow capped mountain stoically held down the horizon in the scape beyond. Photographed most everything in immediate sight in way of procrastination, but once I got to it, the words flowed like poetry. ♦

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Cat-a-tat-tat

“The

Back down the windshield

It came for me in the night with a quick leap and a light landing on the hood of my car. Its gaze fixed, intent on its prey, it made its way up the windshield glass headed for the open sunroof.

*swiftly turns knob to close roof window*

Playing on old fears that once ran rampant, my pulse quickened as it padded back and forth along the sunroof, beginning to mew repetitively, poking at the glass with a front paw and butting a nose quizzically against the pane. All that could be seen were glowing eyes the color of honey against inky black fur all but blocking out any light from the carport ceiling above. Minutes passed and the thing made its way back down the windshield, only to turn and sit, staring at me intently. I moved to open the door and it leapt down to greet me, trying to jump inside. I closed the door and waited, wondering why this unknown creature of night so intently needed to be near me and I fought thoughts of Stephen King’s The Cat From Hell knowing full well just how near that particular one wished to be.

“Dorbs”

Feeling fairly trapped, I threw open the door to get on with it, standing up to find this feline sitting near the adjacent car’s back tire still mewing continually and, frankly, looking adorable. As I began walking, carrying a billion zillion (exact count) items for my dad’s approaching party, it circled my feet multiple times, splaying out across the walk with a come hither pet me invite, belly exposed and legs bent laxly in the air. Silly thing, though I don’t know its name, gender or residence, it now regularly escorts me to and from my car as with the Bo-Bo kitties from times past.

Mew. ♦

Painting by Aaron Bolton

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