How tall would you like your condos?

Seattle Metblogs reports the first sighting of "impeach greg nickels" bumper stickers. (Or I guess you could put them on your briefcase if you're riding the bus.)

Don't blame me, I voted for Sidran.

Fremont Parade picture

There's a funny story along with this photo Jeff Carlson got of me.

Two sides of the Fremont Solstice Parade

I danced in the Fremont Solstice Parade today for the first time; last year I was a crowd monitor, and Zorg has been a crowd monitor for several years.

Being in the parade was amazing. The crowd along the route is only about five rows deep; you see every face, and I saw dozens of friends and was able to wave to them as we danced by. I was in Delilah's Visionary Dance Studio belly dance troup. Here's a picture from the Seattle PI of Dahlia Moon, one of the teachers, leading her Gawazi (Egyptian) troup. Dahlia's group wore striped jackets; we wore more traditional "cabaret-style" costumes, all in hot pink.

While the parade (performers and audience) is very much Fremont artists, hippies and yuppies, the crowd that turns out to party at the growing number of bars and nightclubs in Fremont, and listen to bands on the Fremont Fair stages, is something else -- younger, more commercially oriented, and louder. The parties along N 34th as I walked back to the car at 4 p.m. looked more like grad school spring break than the Fremont Solstice Festival; the insiders had gathered down at Gas Works Park, where there was a strong scent of ganja and naked people were taking pictures of costumed ones.

Both crowds seemed to be having great fun.

Parade pictures were already flooding onto Flickr.com at 5 p.m. Here are some of my group:

Peace bra.

Lineup of belly dancers.

Following Delilah.

Henna tattoos.

Dress rehearsal

My bellydance costume is ready for tonight's dress rehearsal for the Fremont Solstice Parade, but I'm not.

I'm frazzled, freaked, and my hands (and other parts of me) looked like I was attacked by a porcupine with St. Vitus Dance.

There are whole books written on making the tops for bellydance costumes. I bought one of them, read it, and concluded its detailed content would be useful if you had a spare month or two to devote to sewing.

I didn't.

I was completely ready to buy a bellydance top (which can run up to a cool $500) except our teacher decided all the costumes should be hot pink, and there aren't many well-structured hot pink costumes available. One woman in my class bought a cheap one and brought it to class, shrieking "It doesn't even fit half way around me!"

So I bought a nice pink skirt, and went to work upholstering a black molded bra with a hot pink sequined paisley fabric.

What a mess.

I think I've employed every form of technology known to attach one thing to another — short of duct tape. In addition to thread, I have used elastic, stitch witchery, velcro, fabric glue, and ribbon. It didn't help that the cats kept lunging at the thread and needle every time I took a stitch. The top should have a label that says "No animals were harmed in the creation of this costume, but three were severely disciplined."

Initially I had been very concerned about making sure I had a top that would look attractive. Well, the sewing ordeal took care of that silly worry. At the moment, I don't care if I look like a hippopotamus in this get-up. I'm just praying I didn't leave a pin in it somewhere that will emerge as we prance down the parade route on Saturday.

Long days, busy week on the way to the parade

Three evenings in a row of two-hour belly dance practices (for Saturday's Fremont Solstice Parade) are making for very long days. Particularly because, for some reason, I also scheduled an 8 a.m. business appointment every morning this week and another away-from-home meeting around mid-day every day.

The result is that I put on a business costume, dash out, come home and put on practical clothes for a few hours, get back into a business costume for the next meeting, then come home and put on a belly dance costume.

I think I'd be bitching less if the weather were about 10 degrees warmer. And I'm looking forward to testing that hypothesis.

By the way, the inside word on the upcoming Fremont Parade is: best floats ever!

Blogging less, writing more

I've been writing fiction for the past few weeks, which likely accounts for my blogging less. Yes, I know -- I've been writing fiction for the past 20 years! But previously I've worked on one project at a time. Currently, I'm working on several, from short stories and ultra-short "flash fiction" to novels. And I'm working in multiple genres and multiple styles. I know it sounds weird, but if I don't want to work on one piece, I generally find that I do want to work on another one. At other times, I find myself thinking about a particular story or character, and head for the computer specifically to work on that piece.

Weird as it is, this system is apparently working because I'm completing projects that had been percolating for months. And I'm sending finished pieces off to various magazines and contests.

Be patient. Many of the magazines take months to respond (usually, with a rejection!), and contests take months to announce winners.

The one tight deadline I'm facing is getting three book chapters in the mail before the end of June to be considered for a fall writers workshop. Part of me wants to write the whole book before committing to the first three chapters, but there simply isn't time.

The Mysterious Traveler turns 5

Thursday, June 12, is our 5th anniversary here at the The Mysterious Traveler. Ironically, we'll be celebrating it by blogging for clients' blogs — evidence, perhaps, of too much success!

The blog has had 995 posts in five years, and will hit the 1000th post sometime in June.

The blog's most popular page continues to be the Waring Ice Cream Parlor machine instructions. Check out the comments!

At the market and at the movies

I started the day by dashing down to the farmers market. Got fresh cow's milk mozzarella that tasted like very large-curd cottage cheese (expensive large-curd cottage cheese), a nice bouquet of rainbow chard, two very esoteric tomato plants, and a dish of fresh mint chocolate chip ice cream.

After the market, Zorg and I went to the Jewelbox (a tiny theater inside a bar on Second Avenue) to see the film "Ordinary Angels" by Todd Downing. If you like "Heroes," chances are you'd enjoy this well-cast indie film; it's presented as a documentary about the final days of contemporary angels on earth.

Unfortunately, it was the middle film of a group of three, and the first film was simply ghastly — a bit of black humor that would have been amusing for 30 seconds but was pure torture for the several minutes it persisted.

When we returned from our artistic interlude, I planted the five tomato plants purchased from various sources over the past week, along with two tomato plants that grew from last year's seeds. The back yard beds are full of heads of lettuce and strawberry plants. I think I'm almost done for the season, except for some basil.

Chaos level back to normal

My mother's plane landed late Tuesday night. Her luggage failed to appear, but we spotted it in the unclaimed luggage area — it had arrived several hours earlier. That was fortunate, as quite a few of her fellow travelers on the delayed flight from Dallas discovered their luggage had languished on the tarmac in the rain for many hours before being loaded onto a plane for Seattle. One woman pulled her bag off the carousel, unzipped it, and what looked like the contents of a washing machine in mid cycle poured out. Murmuring sympathetic phrases, we grabbed our (dry) luggage and dashed for the car.

I dropped my mom at her condo in Edmonds, where we'd already delivered her freshly detailed car, and she appears to be settling in quite well.

Wednesday night my cousins from Baltimore were in town and we had them over for dinner, along with my mom.

Thursday and Friday I refocused on client projects, of which there are many, but still room for a couple more for June. One possibility is a very exciting business-to-consumer site with a focus one of my favorite lifestyle topics. (No, not belly dancing, but just as colorful). Stay tuned.

The cool, gray weather this weekend has really got me down. I walked to many of the Sunset Hill yard sales yesterday while Zorg was out cycling (a car + bike operation). My friend Tom came over to watch Heroes (nominated for a Hugo this year), and last night Zorg and I continued our watching of the Harry Potter films.

Today I did trailer park yoga and the spent the rest of the day writing while Zorg went out and did two more bike rides. He just got back and now I'm headed out to grocery shop before making a run up to my mom's to deliver a package that arrived here for her.

June in Seattle: Turn up the heat, please.

Fasten your seat belts

As I write this, my mother has been stuck at the Dallas airport (currently in a plane on the tarmac) for six hours.

The site Flightstats.com is allowing me to monitor the situation as it deteriorates. I've been making periodic phone calls to Zorg as we reconfigure the schedule for picking my mom up this afternoon/evening when her plane arrives at SeaTac.

I have her car, and the original plan was that I would to pick her up and drive her to her condo Edmonds, where Zorg would pick me up in time to drop me at my dance rehearsal in Fremont.

With the plane delayed, it soon became apparent I'd miss the rehearsal, meaning I'd need to attend tomorrow evening's rehearsal, creating a conflict with a dinner I'm supposed to be hosting tomorrow for my mom and some rarely-seen cousins who are in town for the day.

As the flight's departure time inched later, the problem shifted to Zorg having to pick me up late at night in Edmonds, when he needs to get up tomorrow at the crack of dawn for a bike ride. We've now shifted things around so that he'll come home early, we'll take both cars to Edmonds, leave her car there, drive back home, drop him off, and I'll take his car to my dance rehearsal, then rush from the rehearsal down to Sea-Tac to get my poor mother.

The summer is off to great start.

Checking Flightstats.com, I see that the plane is now delayed another 30 minutes, meaning I can take my time on the way down to Sea-Tac after the rehearsal.

My mother, who started traveling at 4 a.m. Seattle time, is going to be berserk. I'll bet she'll have talked American Airlines into giving her a free round-trip ticket; if they're smart, they'll buy her one on a different airline.

Folklife, now tea

It's midnight. I'm sitting at my desk sipping a fabulous cup of Yorkshire Gold tea (amazed that I managed, somehow, to make it 24 hours without a cup of tea) while Zoe eats my last arrowroot biscuit. She missed me during Folklife, and has been bringing me stuffed mice all evening.

I said at the start of Folklife that it was going to be the least dramatic Folklife weekend on record. Since my 24-year record at Folklife includes one divorce, several severe migraines, a lost car, a screaming fight on my lawn at 2 a.m., a couple of bizarre house-guest incidents, and one ghost sighting, that was a pretty ambitious prediction. And, as it turned out, spectacularly wrong: For the first time in Folklife's 27-year history, there was an episode of violence and an arrest.

But, from my personal viewpoint, the prediction was right: No big drama. I did, however, get to introduce quite a few of my favorite people to each other, and encountered several folks from my far, distant past, almost all of whom I was delighted to see.

Chicken feathers and tales of Folklife

"What side of a chicken has more feathers?" Bob McQuillen asked me this morning as the early risers at Folklife milled about the Harrison Street entrance, unloading instruments and gulping coffee. I was working the first greeter shift, and pianist McQuillen, in town from New Hampshire, was already entertaining.

"The north side?" I guessed.

He gave me points for trying, but the answer was: "The outside."

Folklife weekend

I'm heading off to Folklife tomorrow morning for my 24th year at the festival. I've volunteered all 24 years, performed (with Nonesuch English Country Dance) for a half-dozen years, and was even on the board for a few years in the early '90s.

If you are a visitor to Folklife, three things will amaze:
• The breadth and depth of the performances, particularly the ones on the indoor stages.
• The fact that all the performances (with the exception of one benefit concert) are free.
• All the opportunities to jump in and participate — at the Roadhouse dance hall and the Center House dance venue, and at dozens of small specialty workshops.

As a volunteer, what amazes me year after year is the way the festival runs itself, with the vast majority of the work being done by experienced volunteers. The Folklife staff plans the event in meticulous detail (see photo, above) but when the festival goes live, their work becomes coordination of the volunteers, who are out there emcee-ing the stages, manning the info booths, asking for donations at the entrances, and performing on the stages.

Folklife is an organizational wonder.

Not yer daddy's square dance

The (mostly) Monday night square dance with The Tallboys is back at the Tractor Tavern (which a few of us old timers still think of as The New Melody Tavern). It's a great time, and I heartily encourage you to attend, keeping in mind that it's not quite the way we remember it.

Square dancing to Southern style music has swept through the Seattle folk dance scene periodically since the 1970s, and the Tractor's Monday Night Square Dance is the manifestation of the latest square dance craze.

It's loose, it's fast, and it's very old-timey — no smooth New England quadrille influences here. And it's extremely physical and active, in part because the people doing it are in their 20s and 30s.

Get a taste of this style when The Tallboys play for dancing in the Folklife Roadhouse 9-10 p.m. Friday.

They're grey, not green

Renee's Home and Garden in Bellingham is selling a 10'-high space ship and 10 little grey aliens. Spaceship seats seven — perfect for your next garden party.

You have no idea how tempted I am...

Meditations on cats, present and past

I've been sick with the flu for much of the past week, and spent a lot of time with our cats. Well, perhaps not much more time than usual, but instead of trying to get them to quit pawing at me and meowing to be let in and out and in and out, I paid attention to them.

Though tiny Kaylee still looks and moves like a kitten, she is beginning to show some signs of common sense. She has also recently become a bit more affectionate. Sitting still for more than a few seconds has always been a problem for her, but now she seems to be able to sit on a lap and have her head scratched for a minute or so. Oddly, in view of this, Kaylee is very good companion when I'm sick. If I run a fever, she is on me like glue. We've had cats like this before, that just "take over" when someone is significantly ill, and then wander off to resume an aloof lifestyle as soon as the owner recovers.

Large-tabby Zoe, who is perfect happy throwing her 13 pounds of fur and apparently un-retractable claws directly across my chest and going immediately to sleep, doesn't seem to differentiate between sick owners and healthy ones. They're all nice to sleep on.

Sheba, whose deafness contributes to her feline self-centeredness, didn't seem particularly concerned that I was sick. She snored right through some particularly miserable episodes.

But I noticed that instead of yowling and knocking things off the furniture to wake me up at the usual time, all three of the cats slept in when I did.

As the weather gets warmer, the tabbies are starting to refuse to come in at night. Sometimes one comes in, and in my sleepy and increasingly inept attempts to capture the one out on the patio, I let the captured one of the pair out again and have to start all over.

I was up quite a bit in the middle of the night this week. One night I found myself in the kitchen with the cats (they were hoping for a handout) and glanced out the glass door at the back garden. Suddenly a big fat raccoon ambled up the back stairs onto the little porch and put its nose against the door. Zoe hissed and whined. The raccoon was unimpressed. I walked over to the door, and it remained unimpressed. I think it was looking past me at the cat food bowls in the kitchen. It's probably going to report to its clan that they should try back in the afternoon when I'm out gardening and tend to eave the door open.

The lawn went unmowed much of the week (until Zorg got into gear on Sunday) and the tabbies were hiding in the long grass like lions, and springing out at each other. Sheba, being bright white, has no illusions about being able to hide in greenery.

This led us to think back on poor Socks, a big long-haired tabby we had at the old house in Wallingford. In Wallingford, we lived next to "the house" on the block — you know, the type of run-down, overgrown place with six cars that you'll find on most older North Seattle streets. The owner of the house (actually, the owner's black sheep son) went months, perhaps years, without mowing. The local cats, possums and raccoons (mice? voles?) had created a network of paths through the back yard. When we put a second floor on our house, we gained an aerial view of the feline Ho Chi Minh Trail and amused ourselves picking out the various cats hiding in the foliage.

One afternoon Zorg looked out the window of the upstairs office and panicked. The lawn had been mowed to a stubble, and what appeared to be the dead body of a cat — Socks — was in the middle of it. He grabbed binoculars and saw it truly was Socks. But when he rushed out the back door and into the neighbor's yard, he realized Socks was alive and perfectly fine — at least physically. Socks was laying out there in the sun because he thought he was still hiding; he was too dim to understand the implications of the grass being gone.

One tough day

Everything today was just a bit tougher than I thought it needed to be.

Recovering from one illness, I got hit with a touch of something else.

It seemed like everyone I tried to lean on for balance (and I rarely do that) was out of town, heading out of town, coming down with something or just wasn't answering the phone.

In short, I had some reality experiences I could have done without.

But I made it through. I delivered proofreading work to a client, gave an adequate training session at Folklife, made tapioca, and got some writing done.

And summer is finally coming. It still feels cool to me, but the cats know. They don't want to come in at night when I call them!

House guest, entertain thyself!

I'm not wild about out-of-town guests of the tourist variety.

Friends who are in town for business (such as our musician friends) are more my style—they have transportation, agendas, and plenty to do. Plus invites for us to all the best parties.

It's the ones who bounce in to breakfast and chirp brightly "Well, what are we all going to do today?" who strike fear into my heart. My cruise-director skills are...negligible.

So I want to thank the Seattle Times for today's brilliant article listing dozens of inexpensive tours and sights for out-of-town visitors of every age and interest. The article also lists how many hours you can expect to have the guests out of your hair while they are on each tour, for instance:"

LOCKS CRUISE

They get: To see the harbor, see the sky, see the wildlife swimming by — from Elliott Bay into Lake Union via the Ballard Locks on an Argosy cruise; 206-623-1445 or www.argosycruises.com/publiccruises/locks.cfm.You get: 2.5 hours, more if they're stopped by the feds for a random safety inspection.

Oh, where was this guide when I really needed it 15 years ago?

Is a kitty looking for you?

Purrfect Pals is having their Average Joe Cat Show, which includes adoptions, tomorrow (Saturday) in Shoreline. Details here. This is an agency that goes to great lengths to match cats to your home environment to assure a successful placement.

What a great day!

I got up this morning, put on gardening clothes, and rushed out to work on the front garden. Zorg went off bicycling. There was plenty of time to wander from task to task, giving the Japanese maple its "Farrah Fawcett" haircut (the layered look) and training a winter groundcover.

After I was sufficiently blissed out, I got out the tools and wrestled with the second of the two nightmarish cast-iron chairs, assembling it with the better-quality hardware I'd purchased after my melt-down with chair #1. So, the chairs are done and there's a place for us to sit out front when you drop by for iced tea this summer.

Zorg returned from his bike ride, and John came over to go to the Puget Soundkeeper Alliance first annual Oyster Roast. I changed clothes, and we headed down to the event at the Golden Gardens bathhouse. The beach was just packed with people.

The oyster event is a nice mix of folks concerned about the local marine environment and folks interested in...oysters. They served oysters, roasted and raw. Actually, the raw oysters were better than raw. They were alive. One of the experts showed us how to shuck a few. I found it helped quite a bit to do the shucking standing up, holding the oyster steady on the table while twisting the knife to pop the shell. There were a few self-inflicted stabbings at our table; we decided that the Tabasco sauce was a good way to treat the damage.

One of the beverages at the feast was the Firesteed Pinot Gris that was such a smash at the oyster event at Anthony's Homeport last year. It's one of the most full-bodied and flavorful white wines I have ever tasted.

Got back from the oyster event with plenty of daylight remaining, so went back to gardening. I edged the lawn with the weed-eater for the first time this year, and a neighbor and his hulking teenage son came over to help me reassemble the concrete bench that had been in the front yard in its new position in the back yard. Then I removed grass to expand the shade garden, and then got to work on the ground cover in what will be the tomato garden. By this time, I was dashing around in the dark. I had dirt in my Keens, dirt in my hair, and grass clippings on my glasses. Wonderful!

I got in around 9 p.m. and now I'm starving. I'd kill for a chocolate cupcake with chocolate frosting. Too bad Verite doesn't deliver.