Great Figgy Pudding Street Corner Caroling Contest

Last night was the 24th Annual "Figgy Friday" caroling competition held on streets and street corners in downtown Seattle. This event is a fun and festive holiday tradition. It is also a significant fund raiser for the Pike Market Senior Center and the Downtown Food Bank.

I was there, on the corner of 5th and Pine, singing with a group that is now the Olio Glee Club. Because I was performing, I couldn't walk around and take photos, so I asked my friend, Gordon Hjelm, if he would take my camera and get a few shots. He did a wonderful job and all the images you see in this post (except the Macy's star at left) are his. Thank you, Gordon!

We had a total of 35 caroling teams competing along four blocks of Pine St. from 3rd to 7th Avenues. The area was closed to motor traffic during the competition so people could stroll along the street and see the various teams perform. The weather was good - no rain or snow - and everyone, performers and audience alike, seemed to be having a good time.

A panel of 14 judges selected the winners in the Best Choral Team and Most Creative Team categories. Members of the audience got to weigh in, too, and vote for their favorites for the People's Choice award. There were also "Figlanthropy" awards for the teams that raised the most money.

Money was raised in various ways. Some singers made personal donations. Some of us found sponsors. At least a half dozen companies sponsored the event. And there were "busker" boxes next to each team during the event where people could drop donations. 

I went the sponsorship route and want to say a big THANK YOU to my friends who made donations. Altogether, those checks added up to $170. Outstanding! And much appreciated.

The big winners in the Figlanthropy category, were the Starbucks Coffee Carolers (shown above). Between donations collected by barristas in coffee stores around the area and Starbucks matching dollars, they raised over $31,000! Second place winners were the Phinney Neighborhood Community Chorus. In third place, the Hoppy Holiday, Merry Malty Beer Carolers.

Here's the Malty Beer Carolers, from Pike Place Brewing Company, entertaining the crowd. They also came in second in the People's Choice category. The People's Choice winners were The Beaconettes, whom I wrote about earlier in my Glee! post. In that post, you'll also find a YouTube clip from one of The Beaconettes' past performances.

Here's my team.

And here is where I get to find out that having your picture taken when you are singing is almost as bad as having it taken when you are eating. (That's me, second from right.)

So what did the judges think of all this? The winner for Best Choral Team was Mount Vernon High School. Second place went to Bellevue Christian School. The winners of the award for Most Creative Team went to the Carol Brunettes (shown above). Second place went to the Phinney Neighborhood Community Chorus.

I leave you with this view from Westlake Plaza, at 4th and Pine, across from the Figgy stage. It is a magical scene with the Macy's star shining and children (of all ages) riding the Christmas Carousel.

We had a lot of fun last night and, in the process, helped a lot of people in need - a winning combination all around. Want to join the fun? Plan on coming out next year for the 25th Annual Great Figgy Pudding Street Corner Caroling Competition.

Food and Drug Interactions

A few days ago, I did a post on making soup for a neighbor who had just had surgery. If you are thinking about doing this too, good for you! However, before you begin shopping and cooking, you need to know that there are some drug and food combinations that do not go well together. So it is a good idea to find out if the recipients of your goodwill are coming home with diet restrictions because of the medications they have to take.

Here's an example. It is common for people to be on some type of blood thinning medication after surgery. These drugs prevent the formation of blood clots in the vascular system, thus reducing the likelihood of certain complications. When I had my hip resurfaced, my surgeon prescribed Lovenox for this purpose. The up side was that I could eat whatever I wanted; the down side was that I had to give myself a shot every day for a while.

However, most people on anti-coagulant therapy are given a different drug, one called warfarin (brand name, Coumadin). It has the advantage that it can be taken orally. The down side is that it can be more or less effective, depending on the amount of certain foods in the diet, so extra care must be taken.

I knew that my neighbor was on this drug, and I had a handout listing the dietary precautions. So when I made my choices, I avoided soup recipes that called for leafy greens or foods from the Brassica family (cabbage, broccoli, Brussels sprouts, cauliflower). The dietary guidelines for this drug are more involved than just these choices, so if you are preparing food for someone on this medication, be sure to ask for a complete list of the specifics.

When you check about drug/food issues, also ask if your friend or neighbor has food allergies. Then you've covered all the bases. Don't let any of these considerations discourage you. There are lots of good ingredients to work with, regardless. Combine them with good information, and you're well prepared to create something healthy and healing in your kitchen.

Agreeing to Disagree

I was going through some old journals the other day and came across an email I printed out in October of 2004. It was a message I sent to my son, Mike, the morning after we had had a very angry "discussion" about politics.


Then, as now, we were days away from a major election. The Bush-Kerry presidential race dominated the news. Mike was pro-Bush. I insisted that George W Bush was the WORST president in the entire history of the United States.


It is embarrassing to remember, but we had reached the point where we were actually yelling into our respective phones -- him on his cell phone in Virginia, and me on my landline here on the "left coast." We were like people on those stupid political shows that spend the entire program trying to out-shout each other.

Then suddenly... there was silence. 

The battery in Mike's phone had died. I sat there for a minute, dazed. I was shaking from the emotion of arguing. I was ashamed of myself for letting the conversation get out of hand. The room was SO quiet - did all that shouting really happen or did I just imagine it? It was late, after midnight on the east coast. Should I call him back on his other line? I didn't want to continue the argument. But I didn't want us to end the day on such a negative note.


I was just about to call him when my phone rang. It was Mike. He started talking about something completely unrelated to politics. I was relieved. I began to relax. We chatted a few minutes, said our "good nights" and "I love yous," and hung up. The tension and anger had melted away.


As I fell asleep that night, I thought about my relationship with my son. We've been butting heads all his life. I was an anti-war, anti-gun, no nukes kind of a mom. And I wasn't too keen on the idea of motorcycles, either.

Mike is my polar opposite. He is career military, a gun collector and member of the NRA, a graduate of the US Navy's prestigious Nuclear Power School, and I have lost track of the number of motorcycles he has owned in his lifetime. 

In many families, those differences would be enough to destroy a relationship. Yet somehow we have avoided that fate. In fact, we really enjoy each other's company. As you can imagine, we had LOTS of arguments when he was growing up. But as I wrote in the email the morning after our argument 6 years ago:

"... we have never succeeded in changing each other's minds. But in spite of that, I always feel close to you and I always feel like we love each other. I love you just as much as I would if you and I agreed on everything. ... I personally believe that our relationships are more important than politics." 

His response: "I agree and I love you too."

Somewhere in this exchange, I felt like I had caught hold of something more significant than just me and my son arguing and making up. I had grasped the edge of a train of thought that I wanted to follow. It began with the question:

Why was it that I could have explosive political arguments with my son, and still have a good relationship with him? And why was it that with other people in my life those arguments led to bitterness, mistrust and deterioration of the relationship?

I thought about this off and on for several months. In the meantime, I became fascinated with Byron Katie's process of examining beliefs that she calls, The Work. The process is beautifully simple. You begin with a statement that you believe is true, ask yourself four questions, then turn the statement around. It is remarkable how this simple exercise can shift thinking just enough to allow for some major insights. It became my favorite new pastime as I went through my days, questioning my thinking on just about everything.


One of Katie's questions is: "How do you feel when you think this thought?" I applied this by asking myself how I feel during political arguments and there I found the answer to my earlier questions. When I argue with my son, I feel frustrated. (Jeez, why doesn't he GET it?!) But in political arguments with other people, I have often felt -- scared. 


Neither emotion, frustration or fear, is pleasant. But frustration can easily dissolve. All it takes is changing the subject or finding something funny in the situation. But fear is something else altogether. Fear evokes the fight, flight or freeze response. Stress chemicals flood the cells of the body, preparing us to deal with a perceived threat. If there is no resolution (and with political arguments, there rarely is), the body stays on high alert for a long time. And we feel miserable. No wonder we want to avoid people who insist on "talking" politics.


I began to watch people in social situations when political issues came up. It seemed to me that the most passionate political people often appeared to be the most fearful. Their "passion" was how they dealt with their fear. If they could get other people to agree with them, they felt better, safer. That led to another question:

What are we really afraid of? Why do we even care?

I think it's just this simple - we are afraid that somebody else's ideas will "take over" and we will have to do something we don't want to do, or be forced to stop doing something we enjoy. I don't think it is any more complicated than that. We see a headline, hear a particular phrase, observe someone else's fear and it triggers a sense of threat. When we're threatened, all we have at our disposal is a choice of stress responses: attack, run like hell or stand like a deer caught in the headlights. When we're scared, we can't analyze anything, access our creativity or even think straight.

I've decided that if there is any real threat to our existence, it isn't a conservative or a liberal, Republican or Democrat - it is FEAR.  

We all experience it, but we don't have to live in it. We get to decide if we're going to let fear (and by extension, fear-mongers) run our lives. We are free to examine our thinking and reach for thoughts that feel better. From that better feeling place, we can create a better world.

As Buckminster Fuller said, "You never change things by fighting the existing reality. To change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete." 

A "new model" for my own thinking is one that came, again, from Katie's work. At the end of each inquiry is what she calls a "turn around." That means taking the original statement and asking yourself if its exact opposite could be true.


The subject of politics is upsetting to many of us because we don't feel like we have any control over government. We elect people and hope for the best. We are stuck with whatever "they" decide to do. Government is something that's done to us, not for us. That's how I used to see it, until I turned it around. Once I was willing to consider that government might be bottom up, not top down, I felt more at ease.

I no longer see politics as the cause of our problems. Now I see it as the effect of mass consciousness. Politicians like to think they are leaders. But in my "new model," I see them simply as people who function as mirrors, reflecting our own thinking back at us. The macrocosm is a larger version of the microcosm.

This cause and effect idea might sound crazy to you, but I invite you to just tuck that idea into the back of your mind and observe. Pay attention to the conversations and behaviors around you. Think about the typical complaints about government: not listening; playing the blame game; wasting money; complaining and bickering; refusing to work with certain people; criticizing without proposing new ideas or reasonable solutions. See if you find any matches.


Watch also for the ways our collective fears play out. A politician who backs down on principles in order to placate someone is acting from fear. Attack ads are all fear-based. People say they hate them, but they work. They work because they tap into the collective fears of the constituency. Those ads only resonate with people who live in fear. If a politician wins a race primarily with attack ads, it is because the collective emotional set point of the electorate is fear. To a person who does not live in fear, those ads are either annoying or downright funny.


(Be sure to note the political ads Google serves up on this blog to see some examples of what I just wrote.)


Since that night 6 years ago, Mike and I have had many conversations. But we haven't had any more arguments about politics. Once in a while, he'll make a provocative comment and chuckle, waiting to see, I guess, if I'll take the bait. But I don't. There's not much emotional charge on politics for me anymore.

To paraphrase a classic Pogo cartoon, "We have met the government and 'they' are us." We don't have to change Washington. We have to change ourselves.

How I Became a Landlady

I never thought I would own rental property. I'd heard too many stories about careless renters and middle-of-the-night emergencies for that to seem like a good idea.

However, as I am about to tell you, I suddenly, and quite magically, became a landlady
in the summer of 2002, while on a mission to do something to improve my financial situation.

At the time, I was newly single, living on a combination of savings and income from my landscape design practice. I had money from a divorce settlement plus a modest nest egg invested in a 401K. I was working with a financial advisor who put my money into mutual funds and bond ladders. She assured me that I was doing all the right things. My money would grow and I would be prepared for retirement.

But as time went on, my brokerage statements told a different story. Each month, I watched my assets shrink at an alarming rate.  I asked my advisor if there weren't some other investment options. She encouraged me to stay the course. She showed me articles and charts showing that the stock market was, over decades, the best way to accumulate money. She showed me more charts showing how people who get out of the market and come back later make far less than people who buy and hold. Again, she told me that I was on the right path. 

I wasn't reassured by the charts and graphs. I was in my 50s. I could not afford to wait and see if the "buy and hold" strategy would work. Nor did I have disposable income available to feed the 401K kitty every month. I needed my money to work for me right then, not sometime down the road. In spite of what my advisor said, I was sure there had to be a better way.

There is a Buddhist saying: "When the student is ready, the teacher will appear."

In my case, the teacher came in the form of a book: Robert Kiyosaki's "Rich Dad, Poor Dad." Even though this book had been a best seller for a long time, it had been flying under my radar. But once my interest in finding better ways of investing picked up, I started to pay attention to whatever information crossed my path.

I was drawn to this book because of the title. My late father - a good, kind, hardworking man - had always struggled to make a living. I felt life hadn't been very fair to my dad. He deserved better. What was it that other men knew about work and money that he didn't? I wanted to find out.

As I started reading, I realized why "Rich Dad, Poor Dad" was so popular. It gave me hope and a completely new way to look at money. I could not put it down! The idea that instead of working for money, money should work for me made so much sense. This was exactly the information I had wanted, and never received, from the financial advisors I'd worked with over the years. (If you've never read this book, it is well worth your time and the few dollars Amazon will charge to bring it to your door. A lot has changed in the world since this book was written, but the basic principles of building cash flow streams and putting your money to work for you are just as applicable today.)

I finished reading the book just before falling asleep that night. I woke up excited about what I had just learned and eager to apply that knowledge. But first, I had business to attend to. I had a meeting scheduled with clients ready to discuss the next phase of their landscape design.

I will never forget driving to that appointment. It was a beautiful summer morning. I was high on the possibilities that were opening up for me. And as I drove across the I-90 floating bridge from Seattle to Bellevue, I repeated to myself over and over, "I don't know how I am going to do it, but I am going to have assets that produce income. I don't know how I am going to do it, but I am going to have assets that produce income." 

I arrived at my clients' home and we began our meeting. About halfway through, the phone rang and the husband excused himself to answer it. He came back a few minutes later, very excited. The call was from a real estate broker who was helping them (interestingly enough!) move their money from the stock market into a portfolio of investment properties. Their broker had years of investment experience and was teaching them how to choose and manage properties. He was calling to let them know that the offer they made on a property had just been accepted.

I could not believe the turn this conversation had taken! I had been obsessed with the idea of investment possibilities on the way to their house. I had no idea what those possibilities might look like until that phone call, but what my clients had to say about real estate investment sounded interesting and their excitement was contagious. I left the meeting with their broker's phone number.

I called the broker when I got home. I told him that I'd like to meet with him, but didn't want to waste his time since I wasn't a high income earner. I briefly outlined my situation and how much I might want to invest. He invited me to come in to talk. He said he wouldn't charge me for his time and that within an hour we would know whether real estate investment would be a realistic possibility for me or not.

A few days later, we met. At the end of our meeting he told me that I was in better shape than I thought.  Based on the money I had available to invest, he said I could qualify to buy either a triplex or four-plex, provided that I would live in one of the units. I told him that I didn't want to leave my neighborhood. He advised me not to get too attached to that idea because properties didn't come available in that area very often. As I left his office, he said, "Remember this is not an emotional decision. It's not like buying a personal residence. This is a business decision."

OK, I heard him, but I left his office SO excited! I could do this! I couldn't remember the last time I felt so enthusiastic. I drove home, buzzing with anticipation. I could not believe how quickly things seemed to be falling into place. I had finished reading "Rich Dad, Poor Dad" only 5 days earlier and already I was on my way to owning a major asset that would produce income! It was almost unbelievable.

But there was more to come! As I pulled into the parking area next to my apartment, I saw that while I was meeting with the broker, a sign had been posted at the triplex across the street from me. It said "For Sale by Owner."

I could hardly believe my eyes! I immediately called the real estate broker, who, upon hearing the excitement in my voice, again reminded me that buying investment property should not be an emotional decision. Nonetheless, the property happened to be priced right. I made an offer. It was accepted. Less than a month later, the deal closed. I was a landlady.

I have never, for a moment, regretted that decision.

[All of this happened before I'd heard of Jerry and Esther Hicks and before movies like "What the Bleep!?" and "The Secret" came out.]

My landlady story is proof to me that: Nothing is too good to be true. Nothing is too wonderful to happen. Nothing is too good to last.

Listening to the Train

A few weeks ago, I went down to Portland, Oregon, to visit friends. Portland is about 175 miles from Seattle and, by car, the trip takes roughly three hours, traffic permitting. Which is to say that it is better to plan on four hours each way. Traffic along Interstate 5 between the two cities has become steadily more congested and, over time, making the trip by car has lost its charm for me. These days, I take the train.

The trip on Amtrak takes 3-1/2 hours from Seattle to Portland, with 5 or 6 stops along the way. I can read a book, watch a movie, walk around, get lunch or take a nap. But on this particular day, I amused myself, as you will see, by taking pictures out the window of freight trains as they passed alongside us.

Freight trains move more freight across the US (42%) than any other form of transport. In terms of ton-miles, trucks come in a distant second (28%). Trains are everywhere, it seems, their tracks crisscrossing the nation, connecting cities and rumbling across the wide open spaces between rural communities.

But most of the time, I don't much notice trains. I hear them, of course, and see them in my peripheral vision as I am driving to and from downtown Seattle on Highway 99. But mostly, trains run in the background of my life. So on this particular day, I was was surprised to find that sitting in a window seat on a train, photographing other trains, was a thoroughly engaging and thoughtful way to pass the time.

Visually, trains have a lot to offer. Different sizes, colors. Forms that follow function, like the tanker below.

When I pay attention, trains bring back memories. As I looked out the window, "ridin' the train," the Grateful Dead's rendition of Casey Jones easily came to mind. As did Arlo Guthrie's voice, singing the chorus of "City of New Orleans."

Freight trains remind me of childhood. I grew up in San Francisco's East Bay Area in a town then called Irvington (which later became Fremont). Our house was in the middle of the block. At the end of the block was a pickle factory and, running perpendicular to our street, the railroad tracks. Even now, 50 years later, I have a clear memory of laying awake on hot summer nights, the windows open to catch any bit of breeze. The air was heavy with the sour smell from the pickle vats. (I wonder now what kind they were. Dill?) And the only sounds were the clatter of passing trains and the groan of train cars being rearranged.

In those days, homeless men, hobos we called them, would sneak onto empty train cars and ride the rails from one town to another. When they got off the train, they would go door to door, offering to do chores in exchange for something to eat. Since our house was just a half block from the tracks, we got to see these fellows on a fairly regular basis. Looking back, it is surprising to me that my mother, one of the least trusting people I've ever known, used to actually "hire" some of these guys. She'd occasionally give a man some outdoor job to do and then set about making sandwiches and coffee while he worked. She would never let me go outside while he was there. She would never let him come inside the house. After he finished his work, she would put his food outside and instruct him to knock on the door and hand her the empty dishes when he finished. 

But of all my memories involving trains, the most indelible is one from a time in my 20s when my sons were little boys. At that time, we were living in southern Illinois near St. Louis, and I had to cross at least one set of train tracks to get anyplace I needed to go. In those days I was usually in a hurry, trying to cram as much as possible into my day. Having to wait for a train (or anything) did not set well with me.

One particular day I was driving with my sons: Brett, who was around 4, and Mike, two years younger. I was running late for something or other and, of course, we got caught by a train. I sat there fuming and ranting about stupid trains, and and why is this thing so long, and why can't they run them at night so they don't screw up people's lives during the day, and... honestly, I don't know what all I was going on about. After a few minutes, I heard Brett's clear little voice.

"Mommy, why are you so mad?" he asked. "Mike and I like the train. We like the way it sounds. Roll down your window so we can listen to it."

I sat there embarrassed, realizing that the adult in the car was not the person behind the wheel. My son was right. What was the point in getting upset? Being upset wasn't going to make the train go faster or keep me from being late. I was going to have to wait, pure and simple. It was up to me to decide how I wanted to spend that time; and there was at least one other choice besides being angry and miserable.

So I rolled my window down. And the three of us sat there, in silence, listening to the train. And in spite of myself, I enjoyed it. 

My wise 4-year-old boy is now a 40-year-old man. But I remember his words from that day every time I am stopped by a train. And unless it is raining sideways, as it sometimes does in the Northwest, I push the little button inside my car that lowers the window, and I listen.

A Different Perspective

Welcome to my neighborhood, Alki Beach, located at the north end of West Seattle. It is a wonderful place to live, just minutes from downtown Seattle, yet offering the relaxed atmosphere of a beach community. Nearly every day, weather permitting, I walk along the beach and enjoy the ever changing views of sky, water, islands and mountains. Sunny, stormy, placid, moody, always dramatic - I never get tired of the remarkable scenery here.

This is the view from here: the bike path and walking trail in the foreground; the waters of Puget Sound just past the beach; beyond that you see Bainbridge Island; and above it all, the snow-capped Olympic Mountains. If you look closely, you can see a white Washington state ferry in the distance, making the crossing between Bainbridge and downtown Seattle.

I watch these ferries go by every day and pretty much take them for granted. I realized the other day that it had been years since I'd been on one. I decided it was high time to take a little day trip and get a different view of my neighborhood and city - a view from the water.

On Tuesday, I left my house around noon, headed for Coleman Dock in downtown Seattle, hoping to catch the 1:10 boat to Bainbridge. I was surprised and delighted to find that on a sunny, August day, during the height of tourist season, there were short lines at the terminal. I bought my ticket, took my place in the loading area and within a few minutes I was on board and underway.

This ferry, the Tacoma, is one of the largest in the Washington state ferry fleet. It can carry up to 2500 passengers and 200 vehicles. It dwarfs everything else on the water, except for the jumbo cruise ships that operate in summer, carrying passengers to Alaska. It takes about 30 minutes to make the crossing to Bainbridge, which leaves plenty of time to get out of the car and go upstairs to the observation decks for a look around.

There's no better way to view the waterfront than from, well, the waterfront. Here's part of that sweeping view, looking north. You can see the Space Needle in the distance.

Looking even further north, on a very clear day like this, you can see Mt. Baker. This mountain which is part of the Cascade range, is located near the Canadian border.

Arriving at Bainbridge Island, the ferry docks in the little town of Winslow. I got off and headed into the picturesque downtown area to look around and get some lunch.

[Afterward, I stopped at Eagle Harbor Books and bought a copy of their paperback, "From Bad to Verse: Celebrating Three Years of Bainbridge Island Limericks." This book is a compilation of limericks that have been winners in an annual contest sponsored by the bookstore. Being a lover of limericks myself, I had to have a copy. And after sharing the story of my 50th birthday limerick party with members of the bookstore staff, I was encouraged to enter next year's contest. Woohoo! What fun.]

From there, it was back to the car to go check out the views from the southern tip of the island. I have been to the north end many times, mostly to visit Bloedel Reserve, an extraordinary public garden. But this time, I wanted to see my neighborhood from the point of view of being across the water from my daily walks. I left Winslow, and having forgotten to bring a map, I figured I'd just turn left (south) and somehow find my way. And so I did, winding through miles of woods, acres of green, cool and soothing on a hot day. When I came, literally, to the end of the road, I found what I came for -- the view was stunning!

To the left, I could see the low outline of West Seattle. To the right, Blake Island. And straight ahead, in all her glory, magnificent Mt. Rainier. On a different day, I would expect to see West Seattle and Blake Island, but the mountain is elusive. We can go days, often weeks, without a view of it because of weather conditions. Although I've seen Rainier hundreds of times, it is surprisingly easy to forget how big, and how majestic, it is. So when, as we say around here, "the mountain is out," we locals can be just as awestruck as people seeing it for the first time. I stood for a while, taking it all in, feeling like one of the luckiest people on the planet: grateful for the day, for the view, for being in the Northwest and for having the opportunity to hop on a ferry and have this experience. At last, my eyes were full and it was time to head back to the ferry for the trip home.

I arrived at the terminal around 4:30 and again had just a short wait to board. As we are approaching autumn, the days are shorter and the light in late afternoon makes for good photography, so once we were underway, I went up top for more views and photo opportunities.

In a few minutes, we were alongside my Alki Beach neighborhood, the very top of Mt. Rainier visible above the bluff. Nearly every day, from somewhere along that stretch of beach, I look out and see a ferry. On this day, I'm riding a ferry, looking back the other way.

Moments later, we were back in downtown Seattle. Passengers disembarked and we all went our separate ways. As I drove along the beach on my way home, I looked back across the water at the island I'd just left. My splendid, unhurried little getaway had only taken a few hours. But it gave me a fresh perspective on the geography surrounding my neighborhood. As a bonus, I am sure I will never forget the view from the southern tip of Bainbridge Island.

Related post:

An R-Rated Botanical Limerick

Proposed Development Looms Over Olympic Sculpture Park

My favorite installation at Seattle Art Museum's Olympic Sculpture Park is Richard Serra's "Wake." In the photo above, you can see four of the five undulating metal pieces that comprise this sculpture, each 50 feet long and 14 feet high. Walking alongside and between these metal structures, I can almost feel the bow of a ship slicing through water - a thoroughly fitting image for the maritime legacy of Seattle, and for the park itself, perched as it is at the edge of Elliott Bay.

This installation is a photographer's dream, with light and shadow creating shapes that move and extend the form of the sculpture.

For me, this is a thoroughly engaging work of art. But with all due respect to Richard Serra, part of the success of the installation is the way it is situated in the park. As you see in the photo at the top of this post, the unusual round building north of the park, once home to Airborne Express, provides a unique, sculptural backdrop for the "Wake." If you have never been to the park, you need to know that the view you see in the photo is the main approach to this artwork. From the Visitor's Center you walk down a long set of stairs and before you stands the Serra sculpture in the foreground, the AE building in the background.

This is a good example of what we landscape designers call a "borrowed view." That round, bluish building isn't part of the sculpture park, but its size, shape and position enhance the views there all the same. (Another great example of a borrowed view is just to the west of this area, where the Seattle Post-Intelligencer's classic globe, just outside the northwest corner of the park, is a perfect complement.)

OK, now imagine, if you can, that the round, blue, AE building is no longer visible because between it and the park there looms a large, ordinary, rectangular office building. I think you would agree that the view would be forever changed, and not in a good way. And even if you can't visualize that scene, I'm sure you can imagine that the proposal of such a development is creating a controversy.

At the center of this controversy is Martin Selig, owner of the property adjacent to the Sculpture Park and a well-known Seattle developer. Love him or hate him, Selig has left his mark on this city. Perhaps his best known project is the tallest building in Seattle, formerly known as the Columbia Tower. The views from its 76th floor banquet and meeting rooms are utterly spectacular, as is the view from the ladies' room (there's nothing quite like answering nature's call while enjoying a panoramic view of Lake Washington, downtown Bellevue, and, on a clear day, the Cascade Mountains).

To his credit, Selig has not proposed anything for the site next to the sculpture park that comes close to the scale of the Columbia Tower, but he did ask the city to approve a 14-story apartment building, a structure that many agree would be completely out of scale for that site. After meeting with opposition from local residents, and being literally sent back to the drawing board by the city, Selig has changed his plans. He now proposes a 7-story office building, a scaled-down structure to be sure, but still nearly 30 feet taller than zoning allows. Opponents are holding their ground (so to speak), insisting that Selig work within existing zoning requirements. The city's Downtown Design Review Board is scheduled to make a decision on Selig's revised plan on July 27.

While I am eager to hear what the board has to say about the revised plan, I have to say that the person I would be most interested to hear from right now is Richard Serra. Not one to mince words, he told writer Jen Graves in an interview for "The Stranger" just after the "Wake" was installed, that "architects can be a pain in the ass." He describes most American sculpture parks as "parking lots for sculpture." But he was very enthusiastic about the Olympic Sculpture Park. "To have a park that is accessing the language of sculpture is not only rare, it's fucking magnificent," he declared.

Wouldn't you just love to hear what he has to say about this office building?

My Left Hip

I used to have a website called, "My Left Hip," that told the story of my disability and surgery. I took it down last fall because I didn't want to identify with disability anymore. As I told a friend of mine recently, it feels like all of that happened to someone else, long ago.

Still, there is value in sharing some information about my experience with others who are facing the possibility of hip surgery. This post is for them:

I had a lifetime of difficulty with my left hip and leg, often accompanied by low back pain. Seemingly out of the blue, I would have muscle spasms in my back, shooting pains down my leg, a catch in my hip, and at times my leg would go out from under me when I took a step. 

I started experiencing acute episodes like this when I was 20, which were followed by stretches of time when I felt fine. When I felt good, I thought maybe I was over it, whatever "it" was, but my condition gradually worsened. By the time I was in my 40s, I remember getting up almost every morning, walking across the floor with some amount of stiffness and discomfort and thinking to myself, "Someday I'm going to have to find out what is wrong with me." But in a short time, the pain subsided, I forgot about it and went on about my day.

There came a time, however, when the pain did not go away. In the spring of 2001, I had one of my familiar episodes. I tried all the tricks I had learned over the years to "fix" it, but nothing brought me relief. It took several years, with ever increasing disability, but I did finally find out what was wrong with me. And shortly after I had given up on cures, and made up my mind to have the best life I could in spite of my condition, I learned about a surgical option that could change my life.

In November of 2008, at the age of 59, I had hip resurfacing surgery to repair my left hip joint. Today I am walking normally, without a cane. It is a miracle.

Because I did not have a total hip replacement, people often ask me questions about my surgery. For me, resurfacing was a good alternative. It offers many advantages, particularly for younger patients. It isn't for everyone, however. People with osteoporosis, for example, might not be good candidates.

That said, keep in mind that the total hip replacement is a procedure that most orthopedic surgeons feel very comfortable with. They have performed these surgeries many times and the success rate is good. The resurfacing surgery is more difficult to perform and not many surgeons are trained for it. When you ask about options, be sure to get an opinion from a surgeon who has experience with both procedures. Surgeons who lack experience with resurfacing may be inclined to steer you away from it in favor of what they prefer.

Here you see a normal, healthy hip joint. It happens to be mine - on the right side.

And here you see my left hip before surgery. You can see that the head of the femur is deformed and slightly dislocated.

Here is my left hip after having a procedure called Birmingham hip resurfacing (BHR). This technique, developed in Birmingham, England, has been used successfully in various parts of the world since 1997, but was not approved for use in the US until the summer of 2006. The video clips below explain how this procedure differs from total hip replacement.

One of the reasons I chose this procedure is because I didn't want the top of my leg bone cut off, which is what happens with a total hip procedure. Resurfacing is less invasive than a total hip replacement, recovery time is shorter, and it doesn't involve permanent restrictions on activity.

This last item was particularly important to me because my favorite exercise is taking long walks. When I found out that fitness walking is discouraged after a total hip replacement, I knew I wanted to find another procedure. Every time I put on my walking shoes and head out the door, I'm glad I took the time to find the right surgery for me.

I highly recommend my surgeon, Dr. James Pritchett, in Seattle. He has many years of experience with various types of joint resurfacing procedures and he did a splendid job for me. My surgery was performed at Swedish Orthopedic Institute, which is about as nice as a place can be and still be a hospital. Every patient has a private room. The staff is wonderful. The food is great and you  order it like room service. If you have to have a surgery, this is the place to have it!

For more patient-to-patient information, I suggest that you visit Pat Walters' comprehensive site, Surface Hippy.

Finally, there are many products available that can make your life easier. If you need a cane, get one and use it. Don't let vanity get in the way of taking care of yourself. There are other products, many that you may never have heard of or seen, that help, too. For a long time, for example, I depended on elastic shoelaces to get my walking shoes on. A sock aid made it possible to get socks on my feet when I couldn't reach my left foot.

Here's a fun little video that shows you how to use a sock aid.



For more ideas, see the article "Gardening with Disabilities," on my Seattle Garden Ideas blog. 
Whatever your situation or challenge, I wish you all the best in your journey back to health. Miracles can happen!

A Love Story

I had an apartment for rent. It was a sweet two-bedroom place in a beach community. Built in the 1920s, it had bead-board ceilings, tiny closets and a huge front deck with a view of the water. Its charm and location had always made it easy to rent. Except for this time.

It was high summer, that time of year when everyone wants to live at the beach. I showed the apartment to countless prospects, lowered the rent a couple of times, heard many glowing compliments about the place, but still I had no renter. After weeks of this, I realized that I had not been very "on purpose" in my approach. I hadn't taken the time to set some intentions about who I wanted for tenants. So I took a few minutes to think about that.

I decided that I wanted a couple living here. I didn't care if they were straight or gay. Young or old. Or what their ethnic backgrounds were. I simply wanted tenants who were happy with themselves as individuals, and as a couple. No drama. Once I decided that, I waited to see who would show up. 

A day later, a young woman from the neighborhood, whom I'd known for a couple of years, told me that she was interested in renting the apartment. She said she couldn't swing the rent on her own, so she would have to find a roommate. My heart sank a bit. I really wanted a couple in that space. But on the other hand, I had always felt a lot of affection for this young woman and I knew that she would find a good person to share that space with her. So I let it go and resigned myself to the idea that I'd have roommates for tenants. (Besides, the law is pretty clear on this - I can reject prospective tenants on the basis of financial or criminal issues, but not because they fail to fit my preferences.)

She ran an ad on craigslist that night and right away got a response from a man who was eager to find a place near the beach. She had had male roommates in college and didn't see his gender as a problem. So they met for coffee, talked about their lifestyle preferences and decided that they could make the roommate situation work. She called me to say that he would contact me to set up a time to see the apartment.

As soon as I met him, I liked him. We did the apartment walkthrough and he took a rental application to fill out. After he left, I thought, "Hmmm, if he's not dating anyone and she's not dating anyone, these two would make a great couple." Then I laughed and shrugged off the idea. The important thing was that I had finally found good tenants for my apartment.

A few weeks after they moved in, they had a house warming party and invited me to join them. After I was introduced to their friends and families, I got something to eat and started looking around at the way they had decorated the apartment. I began to notice photos of the two of them here and there and in each of them, they seem to be standing a little closer to each other than roommates ordinarily would be. I have to admit that I hadn't completely let go of the idea that they would make a great couple. So I chalked this observation up to my imagination, until I saw hinged frames with a photo of the two of them on one side, and what appeared to be a poem on the other. 

The title of the poem was "An Ode to Craigslist," written by the male roommate. In it, he thanks the online service for bringing him not only a wonderful roommate, but a woman who is so much more. As I continued to read, I felt the tears well up in my eyes. I realized that I got what I had asked for. Not quite in the way I expected, but in a way more wonderful than I would have imagined. I was looking for people already in a good relationship to come rent the apartment. I never dreamed that two bright, happy individuals would rent the apartment first and then become a joyful couple.

As long as they lived in this building, I felt that there was a happy little glow about the place. It was a bittersweet day when, just before their lease was up, they came to tell me that they had bought a house and were moving out. I was happy for them; they were so excited to move into their first home. I was also sad to see them leave the beach house. 

On Christmas morning of the year they moved out, they came down to take a walk along the beach. He suggested that they walk by the beach house for old times' sake. And here in front of the building, he asked her to marry him. She said yes. They rang my doorbell to tell me the news. I cried.

Fast forward a few years -- their daughter is now 3-1/2 and I get to see her often. We spend time at the beach where she builds sand castles and hunts for pretty rocks. She is a beautiful little girl and I feel so fortunate to have her in my life. In just a few weeks, she will have a new baby brother. We can't wait to meet him!  

One of the best things about a love story is that it never ends. It has its own life, its own vibration. That vibration ripples far and wide, blessing everyone and everything it touches. Think about your life: what love story can you tell?

Horticultural House Calls

I started doing Horticultural House Calls about 15 years ago. It was a natural companion for my landscape design practice. Not everyone needs a full-on landscape plan, but lots of people need help with the basics of gardening and design. What are the names of the plants in your yard? How do you take care of them? What should you put in that bare spot over there? What are soil amendments and how do you use them? What's eating this tree? Where can we plant a vegetable garden? How big should a patio be? Should you use concrete or natural stone? What if you want an outdoor kitchen? And so on... 

The way a House Call works is that I come to your home and spend an hour, sometimes a little more, answering your questions. Some clients take notes, others record the session with a video camera (great for plant identification) or tape recorder. I have lots of handouts to suit various situations. We can cover a lot of information in just one hour! People are often surprised by how much they learn. And by eliminating trial and error, my clients save time, money and effort. There's a lot you can learn from books and TV shows, but it's not the same as having someone come to your house and explain what's going on.

I have over 30 years of experience as a gardener and horticulturalist. In the early 90s, I left a career in public relations to go back to school and get a degree in Environmental Horticulture and Landscape Design from South Seattle Community College. In addition to design and consulting, I have worked for a landscape contractor and at retail nurseries. As a volunteer, I have worked on and managed various parks and tree planting projects in West Seattle. I also served on the West Seattle Garden Tour Committee in its early years. 

The charge for a Horticultural House Call is $60/hour, plus $15/hour for drive time for calls outside West Seattle. (Sorry, gas prices and traffic make that necessary.) I make calls in the Seattle area only. For more information or to make an appointment, please email me. 

By the way, I no longer do formal landscape plans. I had a great run as a landscape designer, but don't feel an urge to return to that work. (Below is a concept sketch of my most dramatic before-and-after which was featured in Pacific Northwest Magazine.) For now, it will make me very happy to help Seattle residents get in touch with their inner gardeners. Let me know how I can help.

For My Son and His Wife

My son is getting married the day after tomorrow. He is marrying a woman with beauty, intelligence and a warm heart. It is an honor to welcome her into the family.

The first time one of my children got married, I was surprised by the way the event touched me. I expected, of course, to be proud and happy. But in my mind, the day was all about them. I was not one of the stars of the show. I was there in a supporting role, to give my blessing and wish them well.

And yet, as I looked around the room at the reception, I saw that the day was about me, too. I had a connection to all those people - many of whom I had known for a long time. Each face was connected with stories from my life, my journey from young woman to mother-of-the-groom. I felt a quiet celebration inside myself, grateful for all those relationships and all that had come before to bring us to that happy day.

Today I was thinking about the upcoming wedding, and one of my first thoughts was of this poem by Kahlil Gibran. It contains the best advice on parenting I ever received. I like to think that at least some of the time I was clear-minded enough to make use of it. But whether I was or not, one fact remains: my son is an amazing young man. To him and his beautiful bride, I send my congratulations, my blessings, and my love.

On Children

by Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

When I'm 64

"Doing the garden, digging the weeds,
Who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four."
- The Beatles

When I first heard that song back in 1967, I had no idea how I would feel when I reached my 60s. In fact, I wasn't sure I would live that long. Don't ask me why. Mostly, I just couldn't imagine being that old.

Well, now I am in my 60s and I can tell you that is isn't all that bad. I have a driver's license and credit cards and I come and go as I please. I treasure my independence and if there's anything I can't imagine now, it is being anything other than that - happy, healthy and independent.

Perhaps my optimism about aging is fueled by the success of my hip resurfacing surgery 18 months ago. Prior to that, I was so crippled that I could not walk without a cane. The cane was my constant companion for over three years. It is just as well that I didn't realize how debilitated I really was before the surgery, because regaining my strength, balance and aerobic capacity has taken a long time. It is still, in fact, a work in progress.

But the key word here is "progress." I continue to get better. I laugh and tell people that I am aging in reverse, because that is how I feel. I am so much more mobile now than I was one, two, three, even six years ago. I have some occasional discomfort, but I no longer live in constant pain.

Another reason I have confidence about the future is because I was able to navigate those years of pain and uncertainty independently. Of course, I have a good network of friends and health care providers. But I lived alone throughout those years of severe disability. If I had to do it again, I know I could. I have no fear about the future.

This is a blessing, really. Some of my cohorts talk about being worried about what will happen to them when they get old. Some are convinced that they will develop any and all diseases that "run" in their families. Many are concerned about who will take care of them. This seems especially true of people who never had children. Even if they are married, they worry that without kids to look after them, they will have to suffer alone.

Which is a funny idea to me. What is this talk of having children to take care of us in our old age about? I realize that's what people not only expected, but needed, generations ago. Before nursing homes, assisted living facilities, and retirement communities, there weren't many options for older people.

But we live in a completely different era. We have many choices available to us. We don't have to live our parents' or grandparents' lives. We get to live our own, complete with innovative housing arrangements and health care options. We don't have to burden our children (I have three sons but neither asked for nor expected them to take care of me - the closest lives 2,000 miles away). Like every other phase of life we Baby Boomers have lived, we will transform what it is to be "old." And I, for one, am excited about the possibilities - at 64 and beyond.