Ready for takeoff.

A few days ago, a pair of friends and I landed ourselves at Vessel for a Recession Proof Mixology event featuring Aviation Gin. All three of us could recall a time when any of us were hesitant to drink anything other than a beverage containing vodka and juice from concentrate; thank Heavens for the many good bartenders who have played a role in steering us away from such amateur beverages, transforming us into "Cocktail Geeks," for better or for worse. (I like to think for the better.) On our gin-induced flight to Shangri-La, we were in good company, also present in our cabin were several of the Emerald City's first-class bartenders, away from their Capitol Hill cockpits, as well as other industry folks and media notability.

We sampled several bright and uplifting cocktails; I, of course, went for all the froufrou looking drinks in the sunset spectrum of pink and apricot. My palate was much pleased as was my field of vision. The order of truffle chips was a tasty touch, but whetted our appetite so much we only sat through a few round of drinks before departing for more substantial forage (I'm sure, due to our early departure, we missed some really good in-flight entertainment.)

The three of us descended our way down to the Harbor Steps to check out a restaurant that had recently opened. The place looked nice, the menu looked decent, and we had a friend's recommendation, but somehow the venue didn't seem to set off our radar, so we changed course and headed up into the Market.

Oddly, the early evening weather was warm and dense, the air being heavy and humid as if we were deep within an equatorial jungle. The sky began to take on a copper-colored hue, glazing the once familiar Emerald City skyline 'neath a rosy haze and heightening our anticipation of something marvelous awaiting us around the corner.

Then, a golden idea came to me and I led us through an alley, beyond the infamous "gum wall," up a hidden staircase, past Rachel (the pig) and out on a tiny terrace until we reached my desired destination with a smooth landing, Place Pigalle.

Place Pigalle is a special place. Small, comfortable, and peppered with just the right amount of class. (Perhaps it's the French influences that permeate the place?) It's perched location offers spectacular, unobstructed views of Puget Sound, who's dark blue waters began to glimmer with a bronze glint by the time we were seated at our white-linen-covered table.

Following our entrance, a pair of fishmongers navigated their way to the slender bar. Also present in the intimate, softly lit dining room were several seasoned couples, as well as a table of executives still formally buttoned-up in their well-tailored suits.

Shortly after the three of us each ordered a glass of wine--rosé for me, of course, Malbec for the Mademoiselle and Tributary for the Monsieur, a trio of Europeans entered the establishment, and instantly were recognized by the neighboring table of executives, who all rose to exchange handshakes before the Continental threesome were seated at their own, separate table.

Following a few bites of fresh-baked sourdough and the creamiest of butters, our starter courses came our way consisting of a hearty lentil and house-made sausage soup; and a light, though flavorful, halibut seviche, all of which was rather delectable.

When it came to our entrées, we could not contain our crooning as we each kept taking nibbles from one another's plate: fresh marlin medallions, lightly seared, served alongside tenderly roasted potatoes and autumn vegetables; al dente fettuccine submerged in a savory lamb Bolognese; and chipotle veal shortribs that effortlessly slid right of their bones and truly melted in one's mouth. Between the wine, the food, and the company, that night it felt as if we truly were coasting above the clouds on a decadent, culinary pleasure cruise.

Quality Time

A dear friend of mine, who I have had the serenity to have known over half my life, has spent considerable time living abroad and exploring the world. Whenever she returns to the Emerald City in-between adventures, we see each other periodically, usually at whatever party or event I'm hosting, and once in awhile we do spend time one-on-one, but those times usual end up being not as frequent as we intend. In our hearts, we know we will always be there for one another and no matter how much time or distance passes, we will see each other's bright smile sooner or later. My friend is set to embark upon another adventure in the upcoming weeks and we've agreed not to let time slip away from us and to make the most of the days remaining until then.

Last week, we brunched (at Tilikum Place,) then headed over to the Frye Art Museum, took in a bit of frankincense and Italian-inspired architecture at the much gilded St. James Cathedral, stopped for espresso, browsed books at the newly re-located Elliot Bay Book Company and meandered through the streets, both meek and grand, of Captiol Hill toward Volunteer Park.

Unfortunately, we arrived as the conservatory was closing, but the Asian Art Museum was still open for an hour so we opted for a quick visit. While at the art museum we discovered a brochure describing various lectures on Asian art with an upcoming one on the art and architecture of India. (A while back, my friend had left to visit India for a few weeks and ended up being away from the Emerald City for a few years!)

Last Saturday, we attended that lecture and it was amazing. A highlight of the presentation is that the speaker opened my eyes to spiritual and philosophical concepts that have manifested themselves in both architecture and urban design. Saturday University is the name of the lecture series and there were only a handful of others attending that appeared to be around our age, the rest of the auditorium was a significantly older crowd as one might expect to see at such an event on a sunny, early Saturday morning.

After the talk, our intellect was on fire and we kept discussing what we had just learned as we wove our way, once again, through the streets of Capitol Hill headed to a yet-to-be-determined spot for lunch. We ended up at a Vietnamese cafe and ate outside, taking full advantage of the glorious autumn sunshine. While we waited for our food R & B and Pop hits of days gone by (Beyonce, Britney, T-Pain etc.) played on an outdoor speaker and we both couldn't help but sing along (Apple-bottom jeans/Boots with the fur...) and bob our heads as we reminisced on times gone by.

After lunch, we were still hungry, for more knowledge. We made our way up to Elliot Bay Books in hopes of stumbling upon another lecture, no such luck. We reversed course and headed downtown with the Klondike Gold Rush Museum as a destination in mind. (It's the only National Park that's indoors!) Along our way to Pioneer Square we popped in to the Central Library, again in hopes of finding another lecture. One was about to start in half an hour in celebration of To Kill a Mockingbird, which also included a screening of the film, but we didn't want to be indoors for so long on such a sunny day.

We ended up at the Chinese Room of the L. C. Smith Tower (Thank you S.W.) and took in a Google-Earth-like view of the Emerald City. I pointed out various buildings and told my friend a few anecdotal stories of their histories. She shared with me childhood memories of various venues within view. The air was warm, the breeze on the 35th floor balcony was gentle and we couldn't help but linger long wondering aloud what is to become of the land beneath the viaduct, as well as what deconstruction and renewal our own futures might hold in the year to come.

Eventually, we took our leave and swiftly descended in the manually operated, 1912 Otis elevator back to earth and wandered through Pioneer Square, stumbling upon the Saturday Market in Occidental Park, before ending up at the Klondike Museum, where we read in-between the lines of the what was being presented to us and created our own narratives of the featured Sourdoughs. We did catch a short film on the history of the Yukon Gold Rush. In a particular scene they showed a line of men climbing a mountain, each with an average of 50 pounds of gear on their back. My friend and I couldn't help but remark, since they all were already in a line up the side of a mountain, wouldn't it have been more efficient if they formed a human conveyor belt and passed goods and supplies from person to person (Chinese-Fire-Drill-style,) instead of each person carrying so much heavy gear by themselves then dropping it off and having to go back down the mountain and do it all over again?

After exploring the Klondike, we made our way back downtown and I tended to a weekly floral installation, after which, we enjoyed a pair of scrumptous cocktails at Vessel (Thank you K.L.) and were treated to an array of fresh market fruit, gourmet cheeses, and charcuterie from Salumi (Thank you C.B.) With Vessel being my home away from home, it comes to little surprise whenever I run into a friend there, which I did.

After sating our thirst and appetite, we had nothing on our agenda until 9:30 that evening at SIFF Cinema, and again began to wander the streets once again, ending up at the terminus for the South Lake Union Streetcar or as most Emerald City denizens like to affectionately refer to it "The S.L.U.T.," with the "T" representing trolley. While on the streetcar we were surrounded by a rather jovial group, it appeared as if they had been imbibing. Three gentlemen and two ladies, both of whom were expecting.

"Whoa! Is that a raccoon?!" One of the guys asked, referring to the raccoon tail I recently embellished my key chain with. "What's that in your pocket?" He continued.

"Wouldn't you like to know." I slyly replied. His friends all started giggling.

"You asked for it," one of them teased him.

My curious inquisitor was tall, good looking and wearing decent designer denim. "I guess nobody wants to let a pregnant lady sit down!..." he shouted to the streetcar riders and two gentlemen sitting behind us, got up and left their seats. The inquisitor's friends did point out there were several vacant seats in other parts of the car. Then one of his friends pointed out that the inquisitor's zipper was down.

"Hey, why did you have to spoil the show?" I quipped, "I know you're pregnant and all, but there's a reason why I wasn't giving up my front row seat."

Everyone started laughing, except for the inquisitor who bowed his head sheepishly to conceal his blushing. "Awww, look, he's embarrassed," teased one of his friends.

"So, where ya going?" The inquisitor tried to recover.

"We don't know, wherever the SLUT takes us, Hooters?"

We all ended up disembarking at South Lake Union Park, but headed in different directions. I didn't realize that yesterday was the grand opening of the park. It's a cute park, with quite a bit of promise. (Might be a bit better if it had a beer garden, just sayin'...) Once we had our fill of the unforgettable fragrance of fresh fertilizer we decided to head uptown along Mercer, but somehow went under the wrong underpass and ended up at Seattle Center.

As we crossed the Center's campus we noticed tents above the Fisher Pavilion and heard live music. We went closer to investigate and it was Festa Italiana. We watched as a few couples mambo-ed on the dance floor and just marveled at how much goes on in this city in one day before making our way to The Sitting Room for another round of drinks and another little bite to eat (Thanks D.,) after which we headed over to SIFF Cinema (Thanks A.G.) where they are showcasing a series of new Spanish cinema.

The movie we saw, After, was a bit dark and intense, but quite evocative in making one reevaluate if the life they is true or not. In some ways it tied everything back to the lecture we saw in the morning on how, sometimes it matters little if what we do is deemed as good or otherwise, ultimately, the important thing is putting one's heart into the action at hand. I'm so thankful to have had spent a glorious day with the company of a dear friend and all of my heart.

An evening of seclusion.

Human beings are social creatures. That is one tenet I recall from my Sociology class. Perhaps that is why solitary confinement is reserved for the most baneful of criminals? Maybe that is why some of us execute the "Silent Treatment" to those close to us when offended? Maybe that is why some many of us are afraid of being alone?

Could it be that in our vastly individualistic society, whenever we come across a connection where we think to ourselves, "Finally, somebody gets me; they see me for who I really am," we feel we have the green light to instantly begin investing in forging an everlasting bond with that person?

Who can say for sure, what we do and why we do it? One thing I am certain of is: Seattle's Darling is a social creature. A highly social creature.

My honed powers of observation are not just limited to home furnishings, food and fine spirits. It also extends to people. How they present themselves in attire, speech, body language, movement, preferences in food and drink, geography, family history, friends and other associations. The list goes on.

As I've mentioned before, in many ways, I am a highly sensitive person. You can imagine, every so often, I have to take some time to rejuvenate my body and revive my spirit. Furthermore, whenever experiencing significant pain, my mind and my senses are easily overloaded. Friday morning when I awoke I was greeted with a dull thudding in my head and muscles that ached nearly everywhere, (apparently my wisdom teeth are coming in.) By the time I was finished with work all I wanted to do was crawl into bed, close my eyes and rest. So that's exactly what I did.

When I awoke, a few hours later, I still ached all over and decided to draw a hot bath. As I was waiting for the tub to fill, I went through my text message inbox: invitation after invitation to come out for the night; birthdays, a dinner party, other assorted parties, friends visiting from out of town, friends of friends visiting from out of town... I just wasn't feeling up to snuff to be around people and actively engaged in the moment.

Ordinarily, when at home, I have the radio on, usually tuned to Classic King FM or NPR. This night, on a much needed night alone, I just wanted silence.

Before stepping into my steaming bath, I grabbed a thick book off of a nearby shelf. One I had read, only once, but written by one of my top three favorite authors, George R. R. Martin. I slid into my nearly scalding bath and submerged myself into another world: Westeros. A land where cunning and ambition can raise one far, where chivalry can be as much of a hindrance as a virtue and very few Princesses end up marrying gallant Princes. Martin's fascinating characters exhibit so much humanness, each with their own unique voice, modus operandi and raison d'être. 

Being such a deft and crafty writer, Martin offers up an exquisite amount of detail and seems to effortlessly weave nearly infinite layers of hope (for love, family and justice,) desire (for lust, prestige and power) and intrigue (the silken threads that tie everything together) into a comprehensive, gorgeous and enthralling tapestry one can't help but to feast their eyes upon it. By the time my bathwater turned tepid, I was some 300 pages in.

I toweled off rather swiftly, slid back into bed and re-visited Westeros, with it's all-too-real inhabitants; in between chapters, I would scour the appendix to have a clearer grasp on the realm's various dynasties, family trees and associated geography and heraldry making better sense of assorted rivalries and alliances. After a few hours, when sleep finally beckoned once more, I drew the shades, put in a pair of earplugs and closed my tired, but sated eyes.