As fall approaches, I’m working hard to keep our big summer vacation front of mind. We went to France, and o mon Dieu!
The isolation of island life seems more pronounced at the holidays, mostly in really good ways. As Southcenter Mall beckons, I hug trees. It’s not like me to hug trees, but it helps.
At my house, we’ve been watching a lot of “Survivor” lately (don’t judge), and we have learned something important: Ozzy is super hot. That and a $1 million prize, a national audience and forced dehydration makes people mistrust everybody and want to vote them off the island.
Vashon was consumed by the Seahawks over the past several weeks, just as much if not more so, than the rest of the region, nation, world and universe. It was a fascinating and enthralling, all-encompassing vortex
It’s been a while since I’ve written, dear reader, but last week’s front pager about a new plan for K2 got me sort of worked up. I had several simultaneous reactions.
February is brutal. February is a test of character, so buck up! February is just same as it ever was. February is glorious! Which kind of Vashonite are you?
I was on Bainbridge last weekend, meditating, with a beer in my hand. You see, my parents were visiting, and I was doing two-pronged stress-reduction. The visit went well. Thank you for your concern.
Sorry, but this column has ADHD. The last five months got lost somewhere, and it has messed with my focus.
A couple of weeks ago, on my first outing after Snowmaggedon 2012, I was at Bishop’s or, for the sushi-eaters, the Red Bike, having a beverage with a north-end friend who shall remain nameless and a couple other mid-Islanders. These distinctions will prove important later — promise.
It’s Gift Season on Vashon. How did it happen so fast? Wasn’t it just Halloween? Suddenly there were 18 Christmas tree retail operations on the main highway, and the massive (classy, iconic) candy canes were up, and oh, right, I’m supposed to do something about presents.
There are Island moments, and then there are did-that-just-happen? Island moments, the ones that you pass down to your children and grandchildren as family myths, told so many times they morph into wondrous tales that leave listeners awestruck and incredulous.
Do you ever think, “There’s the real world, then there’s Vashon”?
In The Mists of Avalon (a top- 10 trashy novel for neo-pagan Islanders), Avalon, the Isle of Priestesses, gradually disappears into the mists, even as they await a great king (Arthur) to bring lasting peace (and effective governance) to their land. Just like Vashon.
The lawns on Fauntleroy freak me out. It is a tweaked world of Competitive Landscaping, specifically designed to intimidate, and it frightens me.
