I’m not
going to tell you about the fate of the Dreyer’s S’mores ice cream, but I will
say that I hand-delivered the Tillamook Marionberry ice cream to my brother’s
freezer.
Our Kentucky
relatives did not bring sunshine and heat.
Instead, they experienced the rainy “June-uary” weather that gives
Seattle a bad name in some circles.
Thursday, at
least, was sunny, perfect for our rendezvous downtown. Following a three-hour adventure on public
transportation—bus, ferry, bus, bus, bus—my brother John and I had just walked
across the skywalk to the front of the building where he works when we spotted
Bob in a rental SUV. He waved, John
started hollering directions, and the next thing I knew, Bob was turning and we
were running into the mercifully empty street and jumping into the vehicle just
like in the movies. That, perhaps, is
one of the crazier things I have done recently.
Was it
Anthony’s where we ate? At any rate, it was a fancy, schmanzy
restaurant, and we sat outside at a patio table in the perfect sunshine of the
day. My order, named something like
grilled salmon salad with strawberry sauce, was delicious. I don’t remember what everyone else had, but
it all looked delicious, too.
Properly
fed, we were ready to take on the city.
Some of you may not know who “we” is, but the first hint is that we all
share the Lussmyer name and that I am the oldest surviving sibling. Bob, the older of my two younger brothers, is
the family entreprenuer. He and his
family live in Union, Kentucky, just across the river from Cincinnati. With him were his two delightful
teenagers, Richard (16) and Robin
(14). His wife, Lisa, was back in Union
holding down the fort telecommuting for her Chicago job. (I personally don’t know anyone else who
lives in Kentucky and works in Illinois.)
John, of course, is my youngest brother, the computer programmer with an
electric truck and four cougars.
And, just to
let you know, I honestly mean it when I say that Bob’s kids are delightful . . . and
they have far more energy than I ever possessed. Richard runs track and participates in speech
and debate. Robin plays soccer and believes that math is easy.
So now the
stage is set for this abbreviated account of our adventures. We wandered through Pike Place and over to
Pioneer Square, ending up at the truly wonderful chocolate shop where we succeeded
in consuming lots of chocolate calories.
Before that was the Nike Store shopping experience and the various
clothing stores. We hung around downtown
until after five p.m. and caught part of rush hour on the drive back to the
island. After dinner at the Freeland
Cafe, for which no one was truly hungry (probably due to the soft serve ice
cream at Iver’s in Mukilteo), we headed on home to hungry cougars and lonely
kitty cat.
Our
itinerary Friday started with picking up Mom from Home Place. She was thrilled to see the whole crew. Despite the rather cold morning, we spent a
little time out at Deception Pass State Park so Richard could do his annual
rock climbing down on the beach. From
there we headed toward Anacortes to visit John’s friend Dave, who has an
impressive collection of wildlife:
everything from peacocks and horned owl to cougars, wolves, and
alligators.
The weather
deteriorated quickly, and we found our way to Island Café in Anacortes in the
steady rain. Mom was pretty worn out
from the morning’s activities (though she would never in a million years admit
it), so we headed back to Oak Harbor and got her home just in time for some
polka music. From there we went to the
Senior Thrift Store in Freeland (where I snatched up a hot pink kitchen trash
can) and walked out on the tidal flats at Double Bluff in the drizzling
rain. It was a great low-tide
experience. Finally, we buzzed over to
Langley, where we window shopped until we dropped. After we swung by Payless to pick up some
ingredients, Bob prepared one of his “simple” gourmet meals for dinner. It’s nice to have a chef in the family. We went over to John’s to watch the old
family home videos on his big screen TV with Talina loudly grooming herself in
her cage behind the couch.
We spent the
overcast Saturday morning with Mom, stopping at Windjammer Park and then taking
a leisurely drive to Coupeville and the farmer’s market where we bought some of
the coveted Brett’s Bread. (Richard
claimed the white loaf for their trip back, and we ate part of the whole wheat
loaf the next morning.) We had lunch at
what I call the old Miriam’s since I never remember its new name--Coupeville
Bistro?—and rediscovered that chicken nuggets and Mom do not a happy pair
make. She got pretty stressed with how “tough”
the nuggets were and how crisp the fries.
Finally, I realized an intervention was needed, so I bought her a
brownie, and in seconds she was a happy camper again.
We drove
back to Oak Harbor via Libbey Road and West Beach, took a little stroll with
Mom in the courtyard at Home Place, and exchanged lots of hugs before we headed back to Coupeville. Because of the clearing weather, we foolishly
left our umbrellas behind in the car: the rain
started about the time the ferry to Port Townsend did and never stopped, so we
walked through downtown long enough to get completely soaked. On the ferry ride back, we listened to
Richard’s speech and debate piece he is working on for the fall. He promised to send a copy via email for me
to proofread and critique.
It felt good
to just sit for a while at my house and dry out before heading for dinner at
China City. We went to Double Bluff to
see it at high tide, and then headed home.
The party broke up by 9 p.m.
And Sunday
morning, the Kentucky clan took off for SeaTac and the long flight home. I left for the pre-church flute warm-up, and
John headed out still later to take Mom for lunch. Since Sunday, besides eating a whole lot of S’mores
ice cream (oops! I wasn’t going to tell
you!) I’ve mostly taken naps and worked on getting ready for my
Friday flight to Pittsburgh.
Postscript: Inadvertently, I left out a few important details. Richard bought red jeans. Robin sort of learned how to wink. Bob provided a great title for a book: 48
Hours to Winking. John proved
himself again the master of punning (well, Mom bested him once with her “dirty necks”). I’m not sure what I did. I’ll have to sleep on that.
