Christmas Flow

     As I write this, there’s a steady rumbling hum coming from the street in front of my house. It’s the wrap up of some neighborhood excitement that has nothing to do with the holidays other than sprinkling a little more stress on them.  

     I spent most of Monday wrapping presents and stuffing packages to be mailed on the post office’s busiest day of the year. After hours spent wrestling with packing tape, foam peanuts, my computer and printer to print mailing labels, I came up for air and was finally loading the packages into my car to chase our mailman who usually comes around 4:00. That’s when I heard a soft, tentative knock on the front door.

     I barely cracked the front door to keep our pets inside. A city worker told me that there had been a major water main break on my street so they had closed the road in front of my house and turned off the water.

 

    When I fully opened the door, I saw the whole ugly panoramic picture—debris that made the street look like a dried riverbed, buckled asphalt, blinking workhorses blocking off two ends of our street, a sinkhole big enough to comfortably swallow a car, and yikes, Sarah’s car parked directly across the street, mere feet away, from the sinkhole!

Buckling road

     

Sinkhole when it was still small.

I fished her car keys out of our bowlful of keys and hustled out there to move her car into the safety of our driveway. When I asked one of the workers if he knew who called it in, he said that he didn’t know. He giggled a little and said it was like a geyser going off when they got there. I felt kind of stupid that something so big was going on right outside my door and I was totally unaware of it caught up in my package wrapping flurry.

     I abandoned my Christmas package mailing plans and shifted gears to “survival mode.” We had two cases of water bottles on hand for earthquake preparedness. Check! I squeaked my car out of the garage past Sarah’s car and followed the workers’ advice—hugged the curb on our side of the street because it was hollow under the other side, to park up the hill outside of the “danger zone.” Check! Then I texted John and Sarah the news and told them to plan around it. Check!

     It’s always a little shocking to realize how dependent we are on things we take for granted—like clean running water for drinking, cooking, cleaning and showering. It made me thankful that our electricity and gas were still up and running.

     That night, John and I went out for dinner to celebrate our 35^th anniversary, and then dropped the packages off at the post office. Afterwards, we parked up the hill just in front of the Road Closed sign and walked home past houses twinkling with Christmas lights.

   On the way, we saw the workers draining water from a fire hydrant and I asked them if that meant the water would be coming back on soon. They said it would be back on in the morning. The city would have to test the water to make sure it wasn’t contaminated with bacteria. We’d have to boil any water that we were going to consume until the tests came back on Wednesday.

    Back hoes, dump trucks and other massive equipment dug and moved asphalt and dirt around under intense lights so bright it looked like daytime. Men stood inside the sinkhole that was so deep we couldn’t see the tops of their hard hats. They worked until 11:00 that night. 

     Tuesday morning all was quiet except for the kids walking and gawking on their way to and from school.  The sinkhole was roughly filled in along with a second one that had caved in at our neighbors’ driveway across the street. The road right in front of our house had some deep ruts grooved into it from the dump trucks. Even though only six houses were directly affected, our street is a through street so it usually gets a fair amount of traffic. The quiet of the road being closed was kind of nice and it was entertaining watching a Fed Ex truck getting around the barricade.

     Yesterday, Wednesday, a cheer went up in our house when we got the notice that the water was safe to drink again. Hurray! No more brushing teeth with bottled water! Tap water never glistened so beautifully!

      This morning, Thursday, I was just going to take a sip of my tea made with filtered tap water when the rumbling and backup beeps of heavy equipment cracked the morning quiet. I threw on a pair of jeans and a jacket, and ran outside to wave down one of the construction workers who was wearing a UW sweatshirt, “Can I move my car out of here real quick before you get started?”

This is where Sarah's car is usually parked.

     He was really nice for a Husky (probably because he doesn’t know that I’m a WSU Coug) and said, “Sure!” Then he halted a massive asphalt melting machine hooked onto a 

dump truck and helped direct me backing up around it.

Road building in front of our driveway.

     My car’s parked around the corner now so I can get out of here if I need to, although there’s plenty of Christmas preparation work to do here at home.

    Mr. U-dub told me that it would probably take a few hours to get the job done. He lied. Friday we were hauling our garbage cans around the corner to be picked up and carefully weaving our way around the blinking work horses to get in and out of our driveway.

Obstacle course.

 

   Looks like that will be the routine at least until Monday. It’s going to look great and return our lives to normalcy when they’re finished. I can tell that they really have a sense of pride in what they’re doing. It’s an unexpected gift from the City of Puyallup.

Laura Keolanui Stark is looking for excuses to NOT do the things she SHOULD be doing for Christmas. She can be reached at stark.laura.k@gmail.

Portland Road Trip

          My husband John was going on a business trip to Portland, Oregon on Monday and I tagged along. When we arrived in Portland we stopped for a dim sum lunch at House of Louie in Chinatown. It was recommended to us years ago by a guy pumping gas into our car. Afterwards, we checked into our motel where I picked up a brochure about Fabric Depot, and then dropped John off.

While he was at a scientific conference, I discovered and explored one of the largest fabric stores in the US. Over the years, I had visited Fabric Depot’s booth at the Sewing & Stitchery Expo in Puyallup. This was my chance to see their actual store. It was “meant to be” since Fabric Depot is located at the corner of SE 122^nd Ave. and SE Stark Street. My I-phone navigated me to the right spot.

I wasn’t prepared for the full impact of this store when I walked through the doors. For the first time in my life, I was overwhelmed by a fabric store. One and a half acres of fabrics stretched as far as my eyes could see and beyond: 11,000 quilting cottons, 2,000 home decorator fabrics, fashion and bridal fabrics, notions, crafts, and yarn! There was a huge sale going, 20% off of most of the fabric! Where is a girl to start?

       Three rows in, I started loading bolts of batiks into my basket. A lady walking by on one of the main aisles glanced over at me and said, “I’ll take one of each.”

       "Exactly!” I agreed.

       “But I don’t know where I’d put them all.”

        I laughed and said, “I’ll think of something later.”

        She asked if it was the first time I’d been to the store. I guess that was obvious. I told her that I am from Puyallup, and to clarify added, near Tacoma, Washington. She needed no clarification. She knew Puyallup because she’d been to the Sewing Expo. My instant friend interviewed me on the spot. Was I a beginner quilter? How long had I been quilting? Do I belong to a guild?  I guess I gave the right answers because then she gave me a quick tour of the store.

         She taught me a quick lesson that she’d learned recently at a seminar showing me a non-slip 2” ruler and telling me to sort scraps into lights and darks as you go so they’re ready for future quilts. Then she pointed me to a window to sign up for Fabric Depot’s email. That way they’d notify me of even bigger sales—40% off, send coupons, and of course I could always shop online. She apologized to me because she’d already used her 35% off coupon or she would’ve given it to me and then she left me to my own devices.

         

I had truly hit the mother lode! When my basket teetered at its top capacity, I carefully pulled up to the cutting table. The lady cutting my fabric was also helpful and while she measured out the yards of gorgeous, name brand fabric we chatted about many things. One of the topics we covered was a detailed debate about the usefulness of a Kindle. She just about had me convinced to abandon paper books and go digital.

         At the checkout I watched the discounts come off. There was an additional hidden sweet discount---Oregon has no sales tax, compared to 9.5% in Tacoma. My bags fit in the trunk of my car with room to spare.

         I turned right around and went back in to their Outdoor sale. My tour guide friend had advised me not to miss the bargains out there—50-60% off—especially if I was looking for fabric for quilt backing. My basket wasn’t overflowing for round two, but I did get some goodies. One was a fabric that my quilting buddy, Carol, and I have been looking for everywhere. I texted Carol, who said she’d only been able to find it online in Canada. That bolt got an honored place in the basket.

Mystery fabric found!

          At the cut table, that gal told me that celebrity quilters from other countries shop at their store on a regular basis, buying up massive amounts. I could see why. She told me to come back in a couple of weeks for the 40% off sale. I think I’ve got enough fabric to hold me for quite some time, but I can see a yearly pilgrimage in my future.

           My phone rang breaking the spell. It was John asking where I was. I had told him I was going to Fabric Depot and then Powell’s bookstore. I had totally lost track of time. I think I was in a fabric bliss time warp for three or four hours!

           The rest of the trip paled compared to my Fabric Depot field trip, but for those of you who aren’t fabric addicts, here are other highlights of our trip to Portland. Following the fabric frenzy, I met John at Lloyd Center, a mall near our hotel. There’s an ice skating rink in the center of it. We watched three young ladies wind up and land lutz’s, toe loops, and other jumps. They made it look easy. I wouldn’t be surprised to see them in the Olympics. Olympian Tonya Harding learned to skate on that rink.

The next morning we headed toward Powell’s City of books, looking for breakfast along the way. We were early enough to find street parking and lucky enough to find Blue Star Donuts on the corner just steps away.

The inside was all white, sleek and contemporary. The counters were filled with customers, eating donuts and sipping coffee. There was enough of a line for us to have time to make up our minds. I asked for a Key Lime/Lemon filled donut and John got a Blackberry filled donut covered with peanuts. Mine was as light as a cloud. It was perfection.

After reading their huge chalkboard sign about the purity of their ingredients, it was easy to understand why their donuts rated at the top of my donut list. I’m a bit of a donut connoisseur.

         After our breakfast of champions, we set out for Powell’s City of Books. We’ve been there many times before and it’s just not a complete trip to Portland without stopping at Powell’s. 

     They aren’t kidding when they call it a city. It takes up an entire city block with over a million volumes on their shelves. We were two of the 6000 people who stop in each day to buy or browse for a book. What is it with Portland having these massive book and fabric stores? Seems more Texan to me.

Skimming the titles stacked up to the ceiling is one of the major reasons I’m still balking at getting a Kindle. It’s hard to teach an old book shopper, new tricks. I’m notorious for getting lost in time in bookstores and libraries, but there was another place I wanted to visit before we headed home.

        We lugged our Powell’s book bag back to the car and made it back with minutes to spare before our 90 minutes parking expired. The shop right in front of our car was named Cacao Drink Chocolate. I’m always up for chocolate. This shop had chocolate from around the world, including the best premium solid chocolate bars from only small producers, as well as select chocolate from the best local chocolatiers and North American makers. They also had house-made drinking chocolate.

        The “barista” helped us order. I was going to get a medium sized drink, but she said that most people just get a shot because it’s very rich. I chose a Traditional Cacao Premium Cinnamon Drinking Chocolate, and John got a shot of Cacao 5-Spice Premium Drinking Chocolate. As I opened the car door I finished the thick, almost pudding-like shot and told John that I needed another one.

         I walked back into Cacao Drink Chocolate, ordered another shot and asked the lady what I needed to buy to reproduce that Cinnamon Drinking Chocolate at home. She set me up, and also told me how to get to the Rose Garden, our next Portland destination.

         The International Test Rose Garden is not far from downtown. It sits high up on a hill above the City of Roses with Mt. Hood in the distance framed by skyscrapers and roses.

   

       The garden is the oldest testing ground for new roses and was started in 1917. More than 10,000 different varieties of roses cover 4.5 acres. It was peaceful and serene strolling through the grounds.

It seemed that each rose we saw was more beautiful than the last.

         It was time to start the two and a half hour drive home. I’d looked at the map and the route to I-5 seemed straightforward—go over the Burnside Bridge and then hang a right onto north I-5. John’s I-phone didn’t think it was that simple. It kept re-calculating us in circles. I was trying to get my I-phone’s GPS going. We were frustrated. John veered onto a side road looking for a place to pull over and study the map to get us back on track.  

         That’s when I looked up, cue weird music, and saw a pink building sporting a sign that said Voodoo Doughnut. “Pull over here! Voodoo Doughnut is famous! I can’t believe we found it by accident!”

It was a hot Tuesday afternoon and the bakery was almost empty, amazing because we could see how they had bike racks set up to weave long lines of customers through, past the poster of Johnny Cash that said “Cash only.” So, there we were, ordering doughnuts for the second time in one day.  We left with a dozen, including Portland cream doughnuts, toasted coconut cake doughnuts, bacon maple bars, and the weirdest one a Mexican hot chocolate doughnut that was really spicy.

We did finally find I-5, but I felt much better knowing that if we didn’t, we wouldn’t starve with that pink Voodoo Doughnut box safely stowed on the back seat.

People make fun of Portland for being a throwback, hippie kind of town that’s hyper environmentally conscious. In fact, there’s a show on IFC named Portlandia that is dedicated to poking fun at Portland, and I’ve been guilty of taking a few jabs myself, but . . . truthfully, I really liked it there. Everybody was genuinely friendly and I felt comfortable with the Portlandians. Recycling is second nature to me. Besides, what more could I ask for? Possibly the largest fabric store AND book store in the US, no sales tax, a chocolate boutique, rose gardens, Mt. Hood, and doughnuts, Portland sounds good to me!

Laura Keolanui Stark is settling down with a good book from Powell’s and a cup of premium hot cinnamon chocolate. The doughnuts are long gone! She can be reached at stark.laura.k@gmail.com.

Northwestern University Graduation and A Short Tour of Chicago

     Like millions of other proud parents, we listened to Pomp and Circumstance playing as we watched our daughter Sarah graduate. This was her second college degree, so it was fitting that there were two graduation ceremonies for her Master of Music (in Musicology) from Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois.

Andy Romanick and Sarah Stark marching into graduation.

      The first ceremony, on June 20^th, was held for all of the approximately 4,500 graduates of 2014. More than 13,000 packed Ryan Field Stadium under skies that switched between blazing sun and threatening rain clouds. Cloris Leachman and Stevie Wonder were awarded honorary doctorates.

Stevie Wonder accepting his honorary doctorate degree.

Ryan Field Stadium, Northwestern Univerisity.

Riccardo Muti was the commencement speaker. He is the conductor of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and his message was that the world needs to learn to communicate---that with all of the different methods of communication available today, “people still don’t seem to understand each other.”

He noted that as dialogue disappears in an increasingly developed world, music remains a method of communication that transcends boundaries. “Music is not something that belongs only to the elite, because it is one of the few things that can bring this terrible world together… Music speaks to the heart of people,” he said. “It doesn’t know the differences between peoples. There is no need to show a passport to join an orchestra or to experience music.”

Andy and Sarah with their leis from Hawaii.

The smaller ceremony for graduates from the Bienen School of Music is where Sarah actually walked across the stage to get her diploma. Jonathan Biss, a world renowned American pianist who is widely regarded for his artistry, musical intelligence and deeply felt interpretations was the commencement speaker. 
Like Muti, he talked about the importance of music, and how the role of the musician has changed since he graduated in 2001. “Today, rarely do five minutes go by without someone saying that musicians not only can, but should, must, be entrepreneurial.” 
He thinks it is more important for musicians to ask themselves why they make music. He urged them to have the courage to face the risk of failure, to be curious because curiosity grows the imagination, and to accept life unconditionally. His advice was valuable not just to musicians, but to anyone pursuing excellence. 

      After the ceremonies, Sarah and her boyfriend Andy who also graduated with a Master of Music (in Piano Performance) gave us a tour of the campus since it was the first time we visited. The music library was massive and the sunken garden beside it reminded me of the Secret Garden after it was restored.

     

Laura, Sarah, and John Stark on the banks of Lake Michigan.

Standing on the banks of Lake Michigan was on my Chicago to-do list. Looking out over that endless water horizon, it was hard to believe that I was looking at a lake, not an ocean.

Sampling Chicago's famous foods was also on my to-do list.  Sarah, Andy, and their friend Talar made sure we had a Chicago style pizza ready and waiting for us when we pulled in from the airport, even though it was close to 11 at night. The deep dish pizza had a 3" high crust around the edge holding in chunky tomato sauce, heaped with mozzarella cheese, pepperoni, and Italian sausage. That was worth a BIG satisfying check mark off my list.
We ate at some of their favorite Evanston restaurants while we were there. John proclaimed that Bat 17 Deli and Pub's Lucky Dawg Two was best hot dog he has ever eaten in his life. It's a 1/4 pound all beef Black Angus hot dog with Applewood smoked bacon, and Vermont white cheddar cheese barely held together on a brioche bun.

At Bennison’s bakery we had a tough time choosing pastries and especially the Parisienne macarons from the glass cases.

Made of egg whites, almond powder, icing sugar and sugar, traditional French macarons date back nearly 400 years. Filled with creams or ganache, macarons were originally made for King Louis XIV of France. The flavors ranged from classic chocolate, to raspberry, strawberry, vanilla, caramel, mocha and pistachio. So of course we solved that problem, by having them box up way too many of the goodies.

At a graduation party in nearby Wilmette, we commiserated with other parents about how all now knew what the meteorological term "polar vortex" meant.
The unrelenting, bitter winter of 2013-14 was one of the harshest in the history of Chicago and our Northwestern U. kids all survived 26 days in a row with temperatures at or below 0. Sarah had called us one January day and said that she was thrilled that the temperature was going to warm up to 20 degrees.
After the party, we visited the only Baha’i House of Worship on this continent. Its soaring, ornate architecture was impressive as were the surrounding gardens which were filled with newlyweds taking their wedding pictures.

        On our last day in Evanston, Talar helped us pack Sarah and Andy up. She drove them to Goodwill to donate what was left in their apartment and to the post office to mail some of it home to Washington. She was a life saver.

After they were “officially” moved out, the five of us caught the Purple Line of Chicago’s ‘L’ rapid transit system into Chicago. It’s no coincidence that the Evanston to Chicago route is called the Purple Line since Northwestern University’s official school color is purple. We saw Wrigley Field through the train windows and continued into the heart of the city.

We walked to the Art Institute of Chicago and arrived an hour before closing, so in true Stark fashion, with the museum map in hand, we storm troopered through. There wasn’t much time to stop and savor some of the world’s greatest paintings by Monet, Degas, Seurat, Matisse, Renoir, Dali, and Picasso, but we still enjoyed their astounding collection of art.

Water Lily Pond, by Claude Monet.

The Star, by Edgar Degas

A Sunday on Le Grande Jatte, by Georges Seurat

Night Hawks, by Edward Hopper

Afterwards we strolled through Millenium Park along the lakefront.

Talar, Andy, Sarah, and John in Millenium Park.

 

Chicago skyline from the Chicago Art Institute.

That's where we scarfed down Chi-Town’s famous hot dogs complete with neon green relish (on my checklist). At a bar/restaurant nextdoor, US World Cup fans roared while watching the US-Portugal match on big screen TVs.

We marveled at the shiny Cloud Gate sculpture nicknamed The Bean. It reflects the city skyline, and you as you take a picture of it.

We walked past the Trump Tower and stopped to admire the Chicago News Tribune Tower.

Correspondents for the Chicago Tribune brought back rocks and bricks from historically important sites throughout the world including the Taj Mahal, the Parthenon, petrified wood from the Redwood National and State Parks, the Great Pyramid, The Alamo, Notre Dame de Paris, and the Great Wall of China among others. They are implanted in the walls of the tower.

On our way back to the ‘L’ we paused to look at a bullet hole in the side of Holy Name Cathedral Church, left by mobsters. The Purple Line took us back to Evanston.

 

I wish that we could’ve heard some live Chicago blues while we were there, but with only three full days in Illinois, we ran out of time. 
The rest of Sarah’s life at Northwestern University was crammed into six bursting at the seams, checked suitcases, and the biggest carry-ons we could get away with.  We were all tired as we flew out of O’Hare airport before the sun had a chance to rise. It was a happy landing for us back home at SeaTac Airport in Washington.

Laura Keolanui Stark can be reached at stark.laura.k@gmail.com wherever she may be traveling this summer.