My To Do List

I like both my dentist and accountant, but I don't look forward to either of these like I look forward to getting my haircut or walking around Green Lake with a friend.

Duck and Cover Dinner

First, I am okay and Jack is okay.

We were at dinner in Belltown at a tapas place, Pintxo, near 4th and Bell, tucked at a quiet table in a corner in the front of the restaurant. We were done eating our paella, dates wrapped in bacon and sherry and almond mushrooms, waiting for the waiter to return our check when we heard the shouting:

"There's a shooter. There's a shooter. Get to the back!" Where was the shooter? In the restaurant? Outside?

Jack tried to open the front window, when someone at the restaurant told us to crouch down and head to the back. For some reason, I grabbed my coat and purse. I remember once I was on an airplane that had caught on fire, and left my purse and briefcase on the plane. My dad asked my why I did that, saying that I should have grabbed my bag. In the restaurant, I grabbed my purse and my coat and went to the back room of the restaurant with Jack. As we walked back, people were already under their tables. We were the last to know because our table was furthest from the kitchen. As we left our table and went to the back, there were little places to duck and hide along the way--bathroom, side dining room, hallway--but the staff kept telling us to move to the back so we did. I dropped my coat and decided it probably wasn't going to protect as much as I thought it might. Initially, I thought we might have to go outside, and my house and car keys were probably in my coat pocket. Maybe. I don't remember. My coat is pretty thick and warm, but it is not bullet proof. Maybe I wanted it as a security blanket ala Linus.

I had left my cell phone at the condo, so I couldn't call or text anyone. It was probably better in that moment to stay in the moment and pay attention to my surroundings than to be poking around my phone trying to text my kids and dad.

I thought of what I would text to the Boy: "Love you!" and leave it at that. Would I have texted Claire-Adele? I was irrationally worried that I'd wake her up or unnecessarily freak her out. "I'll tell her in the morning," I thought, assuming that I'd make it home safely, which we did. The Boy, however, would need to know if we got stuck there for a bit or didn't come home. I wondered where on my body I might get shot. My head, my torso, my arms? Would I just be wounded, or would I die instantly? I decided I'd likely just be wounded, that my arm would bleed like crazy from the wound, but I would live.

I snuggled up to a young couple, Meredith and Mo, under the bar. Mo was visiting from New England. Her flight was delayed because of snow so she was staying a few extra days. Mo works in a high school where she has practiced active shooter drills. I think I was holding Mo's hand, and I had my arm around Meredith. The three of us were cozy, and they didn't mind a third person intruding on their date. It might not have been a date when they started out the evening, but it ended up a date by the end.

We sat on the floor in the back of the bar for several minutes. I didn't check my watch to see the time. I looked down at the mess of Meredith's, Mo's and my arms and I saw a watch and thought "That looks like my watch" and it was my watch.

This was my first duck-and-cover-there-is-a-shooter-in-the-building "This is not a drill" drill. I have to say I was impressed at how calm and organized the wait staff was. After all, they had to herd lots of people who eating large meals with decent amounts of alcohol. The strangest thing was that no one knew what was going on. When you hear about shootings on the news, it is after it happened, when they can tell you what happened. While you are there, you have no idea of what is going on. Later we learned that one of the restaurant staff went out for a smoke and heard gunshots in the alley. Was it one person? Two? Ten? Was it a shotgun? A handgun? An Uzi? No one knew. Were they in the restaurant or outside? What did the shooter look like? Were they in the back with us, and decided after a few glasses of sangria to take people out? At the time, we didn't know. All we could do was guess. All the staff could do was guess, and they had about eighty people to take care of.

And then it was over. The staff said the cops were there, and we could resume whatever it was we were doing. I signed the check, and we left. On the way out, the waiter apologized for the disruption.

"It's not like the waitstaff was wielding the gun," I said. "That would have been a problem." He looked at me confused, when I realized he was probably in a little bit of shock from the incident.

When we got back to the condo, we walked Fox. When I walk Fox in the city, I feel safe, even though he is a wee little mutt of nine pounds. He can make a noise and fuss and honestly, people don't harass people walking dogs. They know you are likely not a drunk tourist but rather a local whose dog needs to pee. As I was walking Fox, I began to notice places to hide in case a shooter were to come down the street. Here's a concrete wall to hide behind. Here's a garbage can or planter or parking garage entrance.

There is no nice and tidying ending. The whole thing sucked, and luckily I don't think anyone was hurt. Hopefully, we were all in far less danger than we felt, and the staff was going to into lock-down safety mode as an extra precaution.

Melt

Yesterday I took the bus to work after four days of working at home. I missed the 8:10 bus because Jack refuses to let me wear sweatpants to work so I had to change into jeans. I normally dress up and wear a skirt to work, but I’m in tech where the dress code is “not pajamas or beachwear.” The former president wore Lululemon. I wanted to be warm in case I had to walk a mile and a half home from the train.

When I left the house, our street was covered in black ice. Our street was better than most as the night before we got out with the neighbors and shoveled the street since the city doesn’t plow side streets. I was wearing boots and walked gingerly so I wouldn’t slip. On the bus, I was engrossed in a New Yorker article about the guy who wrote “The Woman in the Window.”

When I got downtown, I walked out of the bus tunnel and there was no snow. None. Not a flake. It was trippy. I later told the Boy it was like flying to San Diego from Seattle, leaving the cold and rain and landing someplace warm and dry.

“Except it was a ten minute ride through a tunnel,” he said.

Yes.

 I searched and I found small bits of snow in a few places:

This morning, I walked Fox in our neighborhood and some of the sidewalks were so icy it was like I needed crampons.

Snow Day 2 and Work From Home

We had another wintery day here in the Pacific Northwest.

I am so done with this.

I worked from home again today. Here are a few random observations.

• The snow is dominating our consciousness, for good and bad. 
• I am glad I live in an era with weather forecasting. As much as Cliff Mass is having a hard time predicting this storm, can you imagine living in a time when we didn't know that arctic air was coming down the Fraser River Valley and would converge with the warm air off of the Pacific creating this weather system? I am impressed. Maybe more people will now study weather forecasting. That would make Cliff Mass happy.
• There is a new, insidious form of ice that I've discovered. Trees are covered with snow, and yesterday the temperature got to be around 33 so some of this snow melted and dripped on the sidewalks. Then it immediately froze into evil little ice lumps. There is no god. Or if there it, he has a sick sense of humor. He. A woman god wouldn't do this. She'd make a world with typhoon-free Maui climate, which wouldn't make the Boy happy. He'd miss snow in the mountains.
• The barista at the coffee shop around the corner from house keeps showing up for work. She drives in from Capitol Hill. I go in and buy something every morning to show my appreciation for her being there. I tip her 25%, and it seems insufficient.
• I wonder what is going to happen to our local economy (as aside from my barista) as we are not spending any money.
• I am realizing how much we eat dinner out now that someone has to cook dinner every night. :( This is a total drag. Last Monday when it snowed a wee bit and the Boy and I stayed at the condo, we went to dinner at the Virginia Inn. It looks old and stuffy, but the food was delicious. I had duck confit with lentils and the Boy has risotto with chanterelles. While most people were clearing out grcoery shelves last Thursday night before the Friday storm, the Boy and I went out for chinese food and ordered enough food for leftovers for a few days.
• The good news is that we are not spending much. Snow makes money dieting easy.
• I misplaced my make-up this morning and I wondered if Sephora at U Village would be open today. 
• Yes, I wore make-up today when I worked from home.

The Snow is Getting Real

It snowed about six inches Friday and it snowed about four inches this afternoon. The snow was predicted to start at 4:00, and right on schedule like a Swiss train, it started to snow. It is supposed to snow more later this week.

When the snow started, it was tiny flurries and there was only expected to be one inchced of accumulation. Wrong.

I am not excited about this.

I wonder when we are going to melt, if ever. Of course, it will warm up, but then it will re-freeze leaving everything covered in a sheet of ice.

Jack and I got out to shovel the sidewalks. At least, I haven't hurt my back or anything else while cleaning up the snow. I remember when I grew up in the midwest, there were men who would shovel snow and drop dead from heart attacks. These were guys who hadn't lifted anything heavier than a beer over the previous year and then they would go out and do a cardio/weight lifting combo in the cold. No wonder they keeled over.

I am raedy for this to be over.

Snow Day = Work from Home = ?

Yesterday, Seattle expected the snowstorm of the quarter-century, which means like six to ten inches. Having been raised as a hearty and hale Chicagoan, I have lived through multiple blizzards.

When I googled the definition of a blizzard (because that is what bloggers do), I found this:

A winter storm warning for one to three inches. Seriously. I lived in Chicago when we had one to three feet of snow. We also had flat terrain, frozen ground and snow plows. The clothes weren't nearly as high tech as they are now. I remember my mom wrapping our feet in old plastic bread bags before we slid them into out boots to keep our feet dry. I remember jumping off our second story deck into a snow drift with my dad hold us above ledge. After we moved to Columbus, Ohio, I remember taking two hundred mile road trips to Chicago over Christmas to visit my grandparents during blizzards which are different than snowstorms, apparently. According to Wikipedia:

Given the snow as forecast several days ahead of time, everyone on my team planned to work from home on Friday given the impending snowstorm. My manager posted this on our team's chat page:

This is highly relatable as last night my former Iowan husband grilled steak outside for dinner and this morning the governor declared a state of emergency. Not kidding.

I worked from home yesterday for the first time in the year and a half that I started my new job (which isn't so new anymore) as I got a laptop a few weeks ago. There is a wonderful New Yorker humor piece where a man calls 911 because he is working from home which is true and scary and hilarious. Until you work from home and live it.

I fail to see the appeal of working from home. I got up, took a shower, washed my hair and I even put on make-up and jewelry for no one except myself. Sure, I skipped the commute, but I also skipped lunch because I didn't have my co-workers there pushing me along to stop promptly at noon to eat, play cards, and/or walk to the market. I worked through the noon hour because I wasn't hungry. Then at 2:00, I was on a phone call when I became ravenous. We were sharing a computer screen so I couldn't just click the mute, walk into the kitchen and make lunch. So I ate lunch at 3:00. One of my remote co-workers who lives in the Central time zone said "You are eating lunch now?"

Yeah. Because I suck at this.

And then I worked until 6:00 p.m. because like I didn't need to stop. I was on a roll. And now, Saturday morning, my computer is here in the corner, beckoning me to work. I am supposed to finish something by end of day Monday which could take one hour or could take six depending on what I uncover in the data. So should I work on it this weekend? Maybe start this weekend and then double check it Monday? If I work now, I will be undisturbed by meetings and emails. My head hurts thinking about it.

And the worst thing is that snow days used to mean no work or school. Now that I have a laptop, I can work instead of baking cookies, working on a quilt or doing a jigsaw puzzle. That is NOT a snow day. God made snow days to make us stop, and now that is not possible. Oh the existential crisis I am having!

...which was wiped out when I went for a walk in the quiet beauty of my neighborhood blanketed in snow.

Fox looks like a honeybee except his sacs are snowballs not pollen.

Swearing, Part 2

I like to swear and I swear a lot. I can't drive without swearing at other drivers. Is swearing a problem? At times, it can be unprofessional when used inappropriately at work. It can be hurtful when swearing at someone else. Otherwise, I am fine with it. It is like chewing gum, another vice of mine. It is kind of gross but meh.

Apparently, the US Youth Soccer League thinks swearing is bad all of the time. They have a new rule where any player who swears on the field will get a red card for three games.

Seriously.

One of the best and most fiery boys on my son's soccer team was jacked for three games because he dropped an f-bomb on the field. Their coach was subsequently jacked from three games for saying the call was bullshit. I am not sure how many people if anyone knew that was a rule besides this ref. Trying to get a group of physically aggressive teenage boys from not swearing would be one mean feat.

Today at my son's soccer game, I ran into the mom of the boy who got the red card for swearing. I told I thought her son's ejection from the game was ridiculous.

"I don't think I could go a week without swearing," I said to the mom.

"I don't think I could, either," she said.

I had to leave the game early to wait for the cable guy at the condo. As I was driving downtown, someone cut me off while they were making a right turn on red while I had a green.

"Douchebag," I said to the man in the Denali/Suburban/Mt. Everest size truck who tried to cut me off. Drivers who make a right on red directly in front of oncoming traffic with a green light should be deported. I don't care if their ancestors came over on the Mayflower. In that case, they should be deported back to England or wherever. I suppose Native Americans can stay since they were here first, but I'll still swear at them.

Okay, where was I? I dropped the thread. Swearing. I also flip people off while I drive, but I hold my low enough so they don't see it. Seattle is so polite I don't want to offend anyone, but I sure feel better knowing that I am giving them the bird while they can't see it. Also, when I swear, other drivers usually can't tell I'm swearing. When make a rude hand gesture, they know I am trying to communicate with them. Not only is Seattle polite, but it is small. I am afraid that if I flip another driver off, it might be someone I know. It has happened before and it is very embarrassing.

And so my goal of not swearing for a week didn't make it past a five mile drive. I am going to try again, starting at 11:00 p.m. before I go to bed. I likely don't swear in my sleep so I'll have a nice eight hour cushion to start the week.

I get to the condo to wait for the cable guy, whose visit was a disaster. (Insert worst story of cable guy visit, which ties with more than half of all cable guy visits on the planet.) Then I get a text from Jack:

"The Boy got a yellow card for dropping an f-bomb."

My first thought was I am glad it wasn't a red card. And then I thought I was to blame. Now I am not one of those parents who racks up tons of guilt for all of the crap their kids do. In this case, however, I think I have the right to feel a little guilt. Perhaps if I wasn't such a potty mouth, maybe my son would swear less.

When I got back home, Jack told me the story of rough play, an opposing team player down on the ground, and the parents of the other team calling for the head of one of the Boy's teammates to be served to them on a platter. Refs and coaches were called to discuss, while the parents on the other team boil to a froth.

"Shut the fuck up," said the Boy yelled to the parents on the other team, particularly one very loud and hostile parent in an orange poncho suggesting to the ref that someone on the Boy's team be kicked out of the game.

This is not the first time the Boy has said this to parents on the opposing team. Last time this happened, the other team's parents actually did shut up. Being called out for boorish behavior by a fifteen year old can have that effect.

After the game, I asked the Boy what happened. "One of the parents was heckling our team, I heckled him back, and then he shut up."

"The guy in the orange poncho was being a total jerk. Action needed to be taken," he said. "After I yelled, the guy was ashamed and he went off and hid at the end of the field by some trees, although it is hard to hide in an orange poncho. I won that argument. What a pussy."

While I don't exactly condone my son's behavior, he did stand up to what he thought was bad behavior, albeit with bad language. The two people I feel most sorry for here are the ref and the son of the guy in the orange poncho. I would imagine the worst part of being a ref for youth sports is being harassed by parents. One ref once thanked the parents on the Boy's team for being civilized. But we are. Our kids are fired up enough. We don't need to add fuel.

And the boy of the orange poncho. Sometimes mild mannered people lose their shit when their kids play sports. Sometimes assholes have kids who play youth sports and use the soccer pitch as a venue for sharing with the world their true nature.

While in this case, swearing was unfortunately effectively, sometimes we are not so lucky. I should know better. I am going to try to go a whole week without swearing. I'll keep you posted.

Mackenzie Bezos and Lauren Kondo

Why am I so curious about the Bezos divorce? I find it so fascinating, I am almost giddy when I read about it. Am I basking in a little bit of schadenfreude, enjoying someone else's misfortune? I thought I'd be angry, pissed off the Jess Bezos ran off with someone with my first name and my age whose had way more plastic surgery than I've had. (Lauren McGuire = 0 botox injections, facelifts, liposcution, etc., Lauren Sanchez = a lot).

I was walking Fox today when I realized I am jealous of Mackenzie Bezos. Of course I fell bad for her that her marriage of 25 years or whatever is falling apart because of her roving spouse. But I am jealous because she gets to divorce Jeff Bezos for $70 billion. Heck, I'd divorce him for $7 billion, except for that precedent would hurt other divorcing women in the State of Washington who are entitled to half of all martial assets.

Plus, Mackenzie looks sweet. She looks like someone I'd walk around Green Lake and have coffee with. I wish her all the best as she creates her new life.

(And isn't this rich (no pun intended)--an article from the summer of 2018 on how Jeff Bezos keeps his marriage strong that was published about the time he started his affair.)

I haven't been following Marie Kondo too much with her Netflix show on decluttering, I but I did figure out how I got rid of a ton of stuff from my house: I brought the extra plates and silverware and mugs and rugs and whatever cluttering up my house and brought it to my condo. Could I market this idea and call it Lauren Condo?

Condo Weekend, Part 2: The Monday Reckoning

Mondays are the true test of a weekend. Are you tired? Hungover? Relaxed? Happy to be at work? Sad the weekend is done?

This morning, the weekend in the condo felt like a month vacation. It was awesome.

And yet, there were things I did and did not do that I had planned to do, like

• my taxes
• balancing the checkbook
• working on a quilt

Instead, I worked on the hardest jigsaw puzzle in the world. I have a friend who asked me once why do women feel like they always need to accomplish something. Why can't they just sit and have a beer and do nothing and feel good about it? He was well intentioned and has a point but I didn't want to say because women across the globe have been conditioned for generations to be taking care of other people and not ourselves, but I digress. My piano teacher said the jigsaw puzzle is meditative. She is right.

So today, on Monday, I was less eager to be at work than usual. I still like my job, but rather I loved my weekend. Perhaps my six minute walk to work from the condo didn't allow me to get in the proper mindset.

Condo Weekend and the City Mouse

This weekend, Jack took the Boy skiing in Canada while I spent the weekend at the condo. Two friends came to visit. It was fun to entertain and they seemed to enjoy my urban oasis. Or at least the novelty of it.

This is the longest time I've spent down here, and it is kind of weird. Maybe it is odd because I've spent a decent amount of time down here by myself as opposed to with other people in my family. I don't know. Nevertheless, it feels like vacation, but a homey vacation instead of a stressful vacation where you have to be places at certain times. For some reason, many of my past vacations came with a tight schedule instead of just chilling.

Friday night before Jack and the Boy went to Canada, Jack and I went to World Market and bought plates for the condo. Previously, we were using Jack's plates from his bachelor days. He had a set of four dinner plates, four salad plates and four bowls. While this was fine for a while, it wasn't enough to have people over for dinner. Even if there are four people over, sometimes you need an extra plate for the raw fish before it is cooked. And then you are cooking and cleaning at the same time, which is, as the Boys says, no bueno.

So now we have twelve dinner plates, twelve salad plates, and a slew of bowls in different sizes. Hurrah. Saturday, I bought an iron, an ironing board, extra sheets (more of a want than need) and three alarm clocks. I feel like we have hit a major milestone with stocking the basics. As far as stuff we need for the condo, we are nearly there for being functional. We still need internet installed, but the rest of the stuff we need is decorative: rugs, lamps and art of the walls. I was at a restaurant and saw really cool blown glass light coverings that would look awesome in my kitchen.

Now that we have nearly everything we need down here, I feel like the tide is turning for how we use the condo. Now we are using it more for fun and relaxation instead of trying to fix it up.

This morning, I went to Top Pot donuts for breakfast and got a mocha and a double-trouble. (Sure, there is a nice Top Pot in Wedgwood. A great one, in fact.) As I was walking home, I remembered how when I visited Seattle years ago and saw apartments near Pike Place Market that overlooked Puget Sound. I remember thinking I wanted to live there someday, and now I do.

As I unlocked the door to the courtyard, I wondered. After going through the hassle of finding a place, buying it, furnishing it, etc, was it worth it? It is as cool as I thought it would be?

Yes. Yes it is.

So my two friends visited. Katie and I walked along Elliott Bay and through the sculpture garden, which was nice. But I did something else this weekend, something both bad and good: I shopped and ate, the whole purpose of living downtown. I am not a big shopper. The guys in my office probably think I am thrifty because I pack my lunch every day. I pack my lunch because I don't want to decide every day where to eat. I have other hobbies besides being a consumer, but when the boys are having a weekend and I was left home alone, I cut loose. Steelhead Diner for dinner Saturday, lunch at Etta's with Ella today.

The Foxee Dog cocktail. Of course, I had to get it.

Ella and I were out and about, and she asked if I had ever been in Isadora's, an antique jewelry store. It is one of those shops where they have to buzz you in. It took the sales women less than two seconds to open the door for us. I didn't buy anything, but I left with a wish list. (Here is something fabulous...)

I walked to Lush and Sephora for soap and make-up. I stopped in the "Made in Washington" store because it had a sale sign in the window and bought chocolate and tea just because. I stopped in a clothing store called Beyond Threads and bought a sweater.

After dinner tonight, I walked Fox, which aside from hanging out with my friends, was the highlight of the weekend. If I didn't have a dog, I'd be some random woman walking the streets at 8:30 at night when most things are closed. But no one looks at you strangely when you have a dog on a leash. I walked through the closed Market. I looked at the closed Highway 99. I saw the stars and the super moon, all against the lights of the city--the ferris wheel, the lights of the West Seattle harbor, and the tall buildings behind me. Tomorrow, I'll have a six minute walk to work.

I like being a city mouse, in case you couldn't tell. So does Fox(ee) Dog.

Condo Dog, or as the the Boy calls him, CORNdo Dog.

Ant v Grasshopper, or Negative Savings

When I was a little kid, my mom got me a Aesop’s fable book. It came with a record so I could listen to the words I couldn’t yet read. One of the stories I remember the most was the Ant and the Grasshopper. (And one about a vain crown who sings and drops his cheese and then a mouse eats it.)

By my basic nature, I am an ant. I toil and save and prepare. I am ready for a financial nuclear winter.

Then a bunch of shit happened and I said fuck it. Why am I saving all of this money? So if I die of cancer in the next three years my husband's next wife can drive a Telsa from the money I scrapped and saved?

No.

I went total grasshopper. "There is no winter coming!" I said to myself.

Until this week when I looked at my famous banking spreadsheet where I track all of the money we earn, save and spend.

For the first time in as long as I can remember, we had negative savings. Which means we spent more than we earned. And that is not including the downpayment for the condo.

Ouch.

The good news is we had saved a bunch of money for years and years for a year like 2018. We had a massive tax bill, college tuition, a new car and furniture for the condo, plus a vacation to London, tickets to Hamilton twice, new ski equipment and a trampoline.

The best thing about the pain of looking at my spreadsheet was the pain of looking at the spreadsheet.  If I hadn't kept track of all of it, I wouldn't have known. If I could go back, would I do things differently? Not really. The spreadsheet helped us keep track of reality. If we didn't have the spreadsheet, we might have bought new furniture instead of Jack toiling for hours finding gems off of Craigs List. Would I have given up a trip with my daughter before she left for college? Never. And now I know so I can roll back my expenses for 2019.

The ant is back. Granted, I'm sitting my very nice condo, with my dog curled up next to me. Is it easier to be an ant when I am comfortable? I don't know. I'll find out. Hopefully, I'll spend more time with friends and family in 2019 instead of spending money. Maybe I need a spreadsheet for that.

Ode to a Blank Page

Damn you, blank page
for I am supposed to write
for my make-it-yourself book club
where we write the books we want to read.

Betty
my main character
doesn't have enough emotional depth.

What to do?

By design
she is both shallow
and deep
and therein lies her struggle.

Do I attack this challenge?

Instead, I scroll through Facebook
cyberstalking friends old and new
eating Moose Munch from Harry & David
that I bought on clearance at World Market
last week.

Damn you, blank page.