Progress Report

At the boatyard, we have an 8-10 page report that's prepared daily, to track the progress of the various boats we're working on. We call it a progress report. Updating this report, preferably in real time, is a major function of Crista, the office manager, and John, the production manager. If we were in the the printing business, this essential document would be called the production schedule--outlining the work that has to be done during that day. I like the terminology "progress report" better. It seems more, well, progressive.

I guess we could do a progress report on my first 3+ weeks in the marine repair business. There were times in the first week when I thought I was absolutely crazy for being there and desperately wanted to walk out. I didn't know what I was doing, I didn't know the terminology, I didn't know the names of the other employees and I just felt completely lost and frustrated. But I survived, and week two was a little bit better. It still seemed somewhat overwhelming, but I wasn't dreading waking up every morning, as I had been earlier.

The blue collar atmosphere at first shocked me. It was such a contrast with the some of the high-profile accounts I had been working with all my professional life, that I didn't quite know what to make of it. The smokers, the dopers, the drinkers, the get me through until payday mentality, it was just too much. But you know what? In time, one can get quite used to anything and now I rather like the people. Several, in particular, are quite intelligent, charming and stimulating. Others, alas, are just challenging, but even they have a certain appeal.

Would I be there if my brother wasn't a partner in the business? Probably not. Wouldn't have been hired, wouldn't have stayed. He's a calming influence. But everybody in management has been really cool, from Scott, the other partner to every one of the office workers. There's been a lot of patience going on and I appreciate that very much.

Every day brings new challenges. Irritating and demanding customers, employees who are almost whimsical in their commitment to showing up every morning, sudden rainstorms that complicate job completions, equipment breakdowns, perverse and maddening accounting procedures, the constant barrage of changes, adaptations, complaints, scheduling issues and the relentless ringing of the phone. Yes, I realize these are all typical office-type situations, but for someone like me who has been used to a much more sedate environment, it is really weird. In fact, when answering the phone, I've had to bite my tongue several times not to blurt out "The Rosenthal Group" which was the last real office I worked in so many years ago. Funny how that is still in the memory banks.

And perhaps the most challenging thing is the pay. While I'm probably getting paid more than I'm worth right now. it has been a huge adjustment compared to what I've been averaging over the past decade with my own business. What I used to earn with just a few phone calls now takes me two weeks of solid work. Wow! But I'm actually not complaining. The situation is what it is and it's all for the good. Discipline, a challenging environment, learning new skills and interacting with a diverse group of people is worth more than money and is probably just what I need right now to build up my confidence and hopefully inspire me to greater things. Who knows what the future may bring.

Onward and ....

Warning: Stream of Consciousness ahead--has not been edited for content.

For those of you able to add 2 + 2, it will probably come as no great surprise that I have been working at my brother's boatyard for the last couple weeks, sort of trying it out. It was set up to be a part-time job, with hours from 730am to 1230pm, four days a week (Fridays off). My brother Tim and his partner Scott, were kind enough to offer me the gig, as it has become apparent that the prized printing position I've been seeking for more than six months is simply not going to materialize. At the boatyard, or so the theory went, I would at least have a real job with regular paychecks, and because, ostensibly, it was only about twenty hours or so a week, I would have plenty of time to pursue the invigoration of my print brokerage business (see previous post).

Well, the invigoration of my own business is not going so well, and because the boatyard is so busy, or simply because it requires so much attention right now, I've been putting in longer hours than expected. Which is fine, as Lord knows I could use the money.

What do I do at CSR Marine, the name of my brother's company? Well, the last 8 days have pretty much been a straight-up learning curve for me, trying to get a feel for the company and helping the office manager in any little way that I can. Just learning the names of the 15 or so employees has been tough, as has been adapting to all the intricacies of the boat-repair industry. Terminology. New computer systems. Payroll. Dealing with blue-collar employees and blue-blooded customers. Trying to massage a billing system that makes what we had 25 years ago seem like state of the art.

But I think that's probably part of the reason they brought me in--to help get their technology a little more up to date. Right now I'm in the "paying your dues" stage, where even the greenest employee probably knows more about the boatyard's operation than I do, and where the veterans are muttering under their breath, "Well, if he wasn't Tim's brother...." But no matter, I do what I do, which is mostly try to help with the phones, help with the billing and payroll, do a little scheduling of the boats coming and going and try my best to sweep up the pieces when something goes wrong. I thought production management in the printing business was a lousy, though lucrative, way to make a living. As I watch other people running a boatyard, I keep seeing a runaway locomotive, with the engineer desperately trying to keep it under control. For a newcomer, at least, it is totally crazy, all the time. Give me printing, which is at least in my comfort zone. But then again, printing is dying away, and "custom marine fabrication" (as it's called) is booming. Tough choice.

But there are good parts. Some of the people I'm working with are really excellent, with great personalities--some even have a sense of humor, which I crave. The whole atmosphere of the boatyard I find personally challenging. It's probably the toughest thing I've had to do in more than ten years, which tells you what a comfort zone I've been in. Just the whole work thing, punching in and punching out, has been an incredible adjustment, and believe me, I've had to check my ego at the door. I guess I used to think I was on an even footing with most people, but the past six or seven months have completely disabused me of that notion. I've come to realize that I'm just another schmuck, slithering through life, in possession of few real-world skills and with no more motivation than would fill a pinky thimble. It would be easier of my brother were around more, but he's needed at the main yard--where I'm at is one of their auxilliary operations. It's probably best, for now, that I'm just one of the pawns and don't have him around to bail me out.

What has happened, where exactly have I gone wrong, or has it all been just meant to be? That has been my trump card to despair for so long: things will work out, things will get better, this is just how it has to be for now. Well, the ripcord on that philosophy has finally been pulled and I just hope the parachute opens before I hit solid ground at about 200 miles per hour.

Unbelievably, even after writing that last paragraph, I do believe that everything's going to be OK. Am I completely stupid? Or am I so prideful that I can't admit to any failings? Will Frank Ryan Ink be anything beyond a cute logo? Will I grow to love the boat repair business, or will I sink into a sea of frustration at the inability to work as someone's "employee" after being self-employed for so long? I don't know--I guess my real character will come out now, for better or worse. Either I make the very best of the current situation, or I let it depress and frustrate me into the abyss, ever deeper.

Play-time

It's nice having a blood relative in the theatre business. That's because she can me free tickets. And everybody knows how the theatre was my first love.

The only hitch in this scenario is that to get the free tickets, I usually have to with my sister Sue and her husband Greg. That's not quite as bad as it seems--they're actually very good company and often help me understand the plot of the play.

A couple weeks ago we saw a play that the undergraduates in the UW's Drama Department (where Sue works) put on. It was the rock-opera "Tommy" and what a rousing production it was. I enjoyed every minute of the musical and was very impressed with the play's professional production values and the skill level of the players.

Two nights ago (Sunday), the three of us went downtown to the Intiman Theatre at the Seattle Center to see "Rounding Third," a two-man, one-set play depicting a season in the life of two Little League coaches, ala Felix and Oscar in the "Odd Couple." The team's veteran manager, who lives to coach baseball, acquiring the fleeting perks of his delusional importance along the way, is joined by a naieve, first-time coach from the neighboring city, who's the father of the team's most incompetent player ("Frank"). Along the way, each coach gives into his personal demons, and the actual team, once so important, takes its rightful place as just a diversion. It's an inspiration little comedy and I enjoyed it very much.

Ten and One

Going into the last week of the regular season, the Little League team that I've been helping to coach, if you can call it that, has a record of 10 wins and just one loss. Although my memory of the game is fading, the one loss occurred about a month ago against just an average Queen Anne team and was rather inexplicable in many ways. We could tell almost from the first pitch that it just wasn't our night. It was cold, the kids weren't into it, the pitching was shaky and we just could not string together any hits. The baserunning was lousy, as was the defense. I guess that's just my way of saying that we should be undefeated (which would have been sweet!).

My nephew Sam is one of the better players on the team and has just been a really, really solid part of the team with his good hitting and excellent play at first base. He has also had some overpowering appearances at pitcher. At over 6 feet tall and with his long, brown hair, he cuts quite the striking figure on the field.

Sam's dad, Don, is the real star of the team. The commitment of this man is amazing. He has made it to every practice and every game, oftentimes having to arrive an hour early with all the team equipment, and usually not leaving the dugout until everyone else is long gone. How he's able to keep up with the demands of the team, as well as the demands of his high-powered job with USBank is a total mystery. I have enough trouble making it to most games and by the end of the seventh inning, I am more than willing to go home and eat dinner. His patience with the kids (and the other coaches) and his deep knowledge of the game has been a real inspiration and a learning tool I can use with my softball team.

I'll post some pictures later.

Speaking of Branding

I mentioned in the previous post, that my new-ish Fuji road bike is heavily branded, with twelve logos all told, appearing on it's frame and fork. In another shameless attempt at brand-leveraging, I've changed the name of my flailing print brokerage to Frank Ryan Ink. The old name (Trailhead Grafix) had a lot of meaning to me when I started the business more than ten years ago, but it never seemed to click with my clients. Maybe I needed new clients. Anyway, afte being asked dozens of times about the genesis of the name, I just started explaining it away by telling people that all the good names had been taken.

I've been around the printing business long enough though that most vendors and all customers can at least relate to my name, hence the change. A designer friend of mine did the logo and another buddy is printing up some new stationery. I think it looks pretty sharp, though I haven't had time to create a good web version yet (the one you see is still a little blurry). Anyway, it will give me a chance to reconnect with some old clients and possibly eke out a few more orders while I'm waiting for that truck driving position to open up.

I've even run a couple newspaper ads and finally, after all these years, have a company website. It's not the best, but since I created it in less than 90 minutes from to finish, I'm reasonably happy with it. My free trial web-authoring software expired shortly after I uploaded the site, so don't expect much in the way of improvements. You guessed it--FrankRyanInk.com.

Logo-mania

I was just out in the garage working on my bikes. In so doing, I noticed my ten year-old Trek 1000 has two Trek logos. Conversely, I counted twelve logos on my two year-old Fuji. I guess they call that "branding."

Where Have I Been?

I can't believe it's been since April 24th that I made my last post. Lots of personal things have lately damped my enthusiasm for writing. I need to try harder to keep this blog going--and I will. I have lots of things I can discuss, including my nephew's terrific Little League team, the beginning of softball season for my kids, a couple plays I've gone to and some work I've been doing at my brother's boatyard. All that (and more) to come!

Clever Title to Come

Sitting on a nice, warm car with the sun at your back, munching on some Red Hot Cheetos, with a commanding view up the street, waiting for your friends to come by.

Car is Found

My wife's car, which was stolen from in front of our house ten days ago, was found yesterday (Sunday) morning. Tuuli saw the car as she was driving to the Petco pet store to do some shopping. It was neatly parked on the street in front of a non-descript white house, about ten blocks north of our own house, and just one block away from the street we drive every morning when taking the kids to school.

There was absolutely no damage. The car was locked and there was still some gas in the tank. The interior had been ransacked but nothing was missing. The license plates were still on the car, the tab still on the license plate and the ignition had not been punched. According to my wife, the vehicle had been driven about 200 miles, so we're wondering how long it had actually been at that location.

Needless to say, we're very grateful. We got the car home, cleaned it out real good and installed one of those Club steering wheel bars, as obviously someone out there has a key. Would it have been nice if the police had found it earlier or if they had taken more of an interest in the details of the recovery? Sure, but evidently stolen cars are a low priority for them. So low, in fact, that they basically take the approach that the car will turn up on its own parked sideways on somebody's planting strip, or be involved in a crash or be pulled over for a traffic infraction. Or the owners might recover it themselves, less than a mile from where it was stolen. In any event, the car usually finds the police--the police dont' find the car, and they can still brag that they have a near-90% recovery rate.

Vancouver BC

Spent Easter weekend up in Vancouver, where I think the snow level was somewhere around the 25th floor of most downtown hotels. Since we were staying on the third floor of an apartment/hotel in the West End, all we got was cold rain, much of which was coming at us sideways.

But that's totally typical for this city in mid-April. It's pretty much typical in mid-June, as well, though the snow level is probably somewhat higher. I don't know if I've ever been to Vancouver when it wasn't windy and wet, but that's largely because I usually go in the low season when hotels are cheap and you're only competing with the locals for a table at the latest Indian or Greek restaurant (I recommend the Olympia on Denman).

Even at this time of year, however, you can find plenty of tourists at the border crossings, which are almost bad enough to make the whole idea of traveling to Canada unpalatable. The trip up from Seattle was bad enough. Because of Tuuli's work, we couldn't leave until 3:30. That's the Friday afternoon of Easter Weekend. It was not good. It took us nearly two hours just to get up to Marysville. There was stop and go traffic in Bellingham. We waited at the border for over an hour. We finally limped into Vancouver at about 8:45--over five hours after we left. Mapquest said it should take two hours and 38 minutes. The wait at the border coming back was even worse: an hour and twenty minutes.

We stayed in a small apartment building (the Oceanside) which had been converted to a hotel a few years ago. It was right across from the famous Sylvia Hotel, so was convenient to the water and Stanley Park. Our hotel selections were limited because we had the dog with us, but this place turned out just fine. It was quiet, adjacent to Denman Street, which was great for eating and people-watching and near Stanley Park, with it's Seawall Walk and 22 miles of hiking trails. The hotel was very modest, with simple but clean rooms. There was no pool. Parking, though free, was very limited and there is virtually no street parking in this area. The four-story hotel has no view rooms, so during the worst rain squalls when were stuck in the room, we amused ourselves with the constant parade of scavengers going through the dozens of dumpsters immediate vicinity. There was a notice in the lobby that all rooms had free wireless Internet access. It would have been nice if they had made mention of that on their website. Having my laptop would have made it much easier to research things to do and would have been a boon for the kids.

After arriving late Friday, I took a long walk in the rain to the other end of Denman where there is a large marina. Saturday was spent just screwing around (mostly involving the one thing the kids are interested in--eating) and Sunday we went to the Aquarium. We got home around 5. I immediately threw a big ham (pre-cooked) into the oven and we had our Easter dinner at about 7:30.

One disappointment: I had wanted to pickup a bottle of Absinthe (see earlier post) in Vancouver, where it is supposedly legal. The first liquor store I checked didn't have any, but it was pretty small and I thought the bigger one by the hotel would surely stock it. After not finding it on the shelf, I asked a clerk. He had never heard of it. That depressed me even more than the weather. I'm learning that some things are just not meant to be.

Case #99-234665

Yesterday (Wednesday) morning we awoke to find that Tuuli's car was missing from the its accustomed place in front of our house. Apparently, it had been stolen.

The car, a 1995 Subaru AWD Legacy wagon, was no beauty. With trim pieces missing here and there, a faded paint job and worn-out tires, it's the kind of vehicle you could leave unlocked, with the keys in the ignition, and the bad guys would just keep walking until they came to the next Honda Civic or Toyota Corolla, the two most-stolen cars in the Seattle area.

For some reason, however, they wanted this car. There was nothing of personal value inside. The interior was filthy, with dog hair, mud and other junk related to my wife's pet-sitting business. Nobody was taking this car to a chop-shop. We're not going to find it somewhere on cinder-blocks with its wheels and tires missing. I wouldn't give you 50 cents for the stereo.

So yes, one does wonder why it was this car that was stolen. The simple answer is that it was just a crime of opportunity, probably done by some local kids. Walking down the street in the middle of the night, checking every car on the street for unlocked doors. Looking for something in the glove compartment or the back seat that they could grab. Maybe someone had experience with a similar car and knew how to get it started. Or maybe someone put a little more thought into it and decided that a ten-year old Subaru wagon was the perfect low-profile, non-descript sort of car with which to commit other crimes. Chances are we'll never know.

But the really unfortunate part is what a pinch this puts us in logistically. Like most families, we simply need two cars. And because money is tight right now, the idea of renting a car for $50 or $60 a day is not too palatable (our insurance reimbursement for rentals tops out at $20 a day). And when the car is found (almost 90% of cars stolen in Seattle are recovered), it undoubtedly will have some damage. It may have been crashed into another car and thus be totalled, or it could just have had its ignition punched. The former scenario will get us a couple thousand from the insurance company, the latter a few days in the shop and the cost of our deductible. If it turns out that we need to buy a replacement vehicle, that is going to be a huge hit.

I'm not really mad that the car was stolen. That happens all the time and we just have to deal with it. But nothing, and especially nothing bad, ever occurs in a vacuum and this has just been a tough week, for a lot of reasons. This was just the topping on the cake, as they say.

A Different Kind of Post

This is what posting means in Cle Elum.

Went over to our cabin Tuesday night and spent all day Wednesday working in a new garden I'm putting in. I actually started the garden last fall when I cleared an area at the bottom of our front yard of a hodgepodge of brush, small trees, an old firepit and miscellaneous garbage that had been left there by the home's previous owners. Once cleared, I gave it a good tilling and let it sit for the winter.

Yesterday, I pulled the tiller out of storage and worked the ground again for a couple hours, mixing in much of the organic debris that had collected over the winter (mostly old leaves and twigs) until I had a nice, rich composty loam to a depth of about ten inches.

Because our yard is a magnet for deer, elk, rabbits and skunks, I felt that a fence was a necessity to ensure a viable garden. To support the fence, I dug 11 post holes to a depth of 18 inches, put in the posts and set them with concrete. In the next couple weeks I'll string some chicken wire and complete the job.

The garden has a dead south exposure and will get plenty of sun, even though there are two or three tall pines that will give some shade. The plot is also on a mild slope, which should not only help get everything some extra sun, but should also provide good drainage. At some point before the weather gets really hot, I'll have to install some kind of automatic irrigation system that will water the garden when I'm not around.

Now the only question is what to plant. The growing season in Cle Elum is quite short, with freezing temperatures expected from the first of October until the end of April. Most local gardeners do their planting in late April or early May, so that precludes the possibility of many vegetables that might be available in a milder climate.

Other possibilities would be something like grapes and berries. I put in some grapes about ten years ago in a small garden closer to the house and they have done quite well, with virtually no supplemental water and very little care. The only problem is that as they are still maturing toward the end of September, if you get an early freeze, the fruit is killed immediately.

Another thing you have to plan for, besides the short growing season, is minimum temperature tolerance. Although the winters have been relatively warm lately, there's never been a December or January when the temperature doesn't get close to 0 degrees and I remember several times when it got down to -10 or -15, which is low enough to kill many perennials, including a lot of popular grape varieties.

Therefore, I'm also looking closely at berries, some of which, such as blueberries, should do quite well in Cle Elum's climate. Another possibility would be a mini-orchard. The space is big enough (being about 500 square feet) where I could probably put in three or four dward fruit trees.

I'd love to put in some corn, peas, potatoes and tomatoes, but for reasons already mentioned, I don't know if that's going to work. Vegetables are extra tough because they require more frequent care and I just don't know if I'll be over there enough this summer to do all the weeding, etc that's necessary for their survival. I'll let you know in a couple weeks what I've decided!

Spring Reign 2006

"Spring Reign" is what they call it, but this year "Winter Deluge" might have been more appropriate. This is the world's ultimate Ultimate Frisbee tournament, attracting teams from as far away as Alberta, Canada, Northern California and Billings, Montana, 56 of them to be exact, in a 2-day feast of food, fun and coping with fickle Northwest weather..

Younger daughter Savanna and I arrived at the incredibly expansive Burlington site next to the Skagit River early Saturday morning. It was raining. It was blowing. The temperature was in the low 40s. It was good weather for soccer, but very bad weather for throwing a 175 gram disc. After checking in at the official headquarters, we plotted a course for our field. Unfortunately, we forgot to bring our GPS plotter and field glasses, but after what seemed to be some kind of vision quest, we did hook up with our teammates, who were huddled under a white and red awning, resisting the coach's plea to take the field and start warming up.

At 10am sharp, the first of the three Saturday games began and despite the inclement conditions, the game went well, with the good guys (the Whitman Wildcats) winning 13-0. The second and third games went a little less-well, with one blowout to a team that included some high school players and a close loss to a very good private school from Tacoma. The kids played great for all three games and seemed to be enjoying themselves despite the near-impossibility of staying warm or dry.

After the game Savi and I checked into our motel, where she hooked up with some of her teammates. A bunch of us went out for dinner and when we returned to the room at about 8, we were so tired that we just watched TV for a couple hours and went to bed at 10.

Thanks goodness the rain stopped sometime during the night and Sunday morning found the conditions much better. We got to the fields at about 9:30 and again started our first game promptly at 10. Because of the results from yesterday's games we got into a difficult bracket, but the kids held on to a win a very tight match. The second and third games were also very close, but both resulted in tough losses against very good teams.

With the exception of one game, there were five matchups that were very close, with the average margin of victory being somewhere between two and three points. The games were exciting and fun to watch and they all lasted close to the 90-minute time limit. I think most of the kids had a great time, especially on Sunday. The tournament was very well organized with lots of food, and the weekend just sort of flew by. In the spirit of Ultimate Frisbee, where good sportsmanship is part of the culture and co-ed play is mandated (each team must have three girls and four guys), a lot of friends no doubt were made.

Savanna, as usual, was one of the star players and made several spectacular sliding catches and was the top scorer for the Whitman team. Along the sideline, she earned the nickname "The Claw" for her uncanny ability to make difficult one-handed snags. She also won two "Spirit Disks" which the opposing team awards to players who show exceptional sportsmanship and enthusiasm.

Rue Are You??

It's not often we're able to use the quaint little word "rue." You know what I'm talking about, as in: 'I rue the day my sister was born," or "I rue the fact that my sister won't join me in an absinthe-tasting party." In common usage, I think most of us use "rue" as a shortcut for regret, or to imply disappointment.

The primary dictionary definition of rue is to "bitterly regret," such as "I bitterly regret that my sister is being such a jerk about this." Remember the part about bitterly, as that's going to be important in a minute or two.

I love learning about the origin and development of words, or their "etymology" as it is technically called. Do you know what the etymology of etymology is? Like most English words, it comes from a Greek root, in this case "etumos" which means true or truth. Therefore, the study of a word's origin leads us to the truth of its original meaning, which in many cases leads to a better understanding of its current usage, or at the very least, is just plain interesting in the sense of how words can change their meaning over time.

Getting back to rue. While doing my research on absinthe (see previous post), I ran across wormwood, which is a type of herb, the oil of which is often regarded as the second-most bitter substance out there. I can hear you asking, "Well, if wormwood is the second-most bitter substance, what is the most bitter?" I'm glad you asked me that, because that's what this whole posting is about!

According to my highly suspect sources (the Internet), the most bitter natural substance on earth comes from a perennial plant called Ruta graveolens, also known as the common rue, which is an ancient medicinal herb from the citrus family, still valued today for its uniquely bitter properties (often used as a natural insect repellant). The actual word rue (in both its noun and verb forms) goes back through old English, Latin and even Greek, where its basic meanings have remained similar--bitterness, in all its forms.

Somewhere in the early years of Old English's development, the bitterness of the herb came to be applied to people's feelings of regret or disappointment and hence its modern usage as a verb. So now you know that if you want to use the non-noun form of the word "rue" in its traditional sense, your meaning must include an element of bitterness or recrimination, such as "She'll rue the day she decided not to share a goblet of absinthe with me." Have I made my point yet???

Finally, you might also be asking: "Well, Frank, that's all very interesting, but what about the French word rue, which we often hear, and which means street or boulevard. Surely that must come from the same root, but I don't get the connection between a bitter herb and a Parisian street. How do you explain that?" OK, I don't have quite enough time to delve into that, but I'm sure that if I did, it would have something to do with my sister being narrow-minded and petty, so we'll just have to leave it there for now.

Absinthe Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

It was sometime in college, or possibly a little thereafter, that I first heard about absinthe. All I remember is a friend telling me that it tasted like mouthwash. Well, I liked mouthwash then and I still like it today. The only thing is, now I don't drink it.

Absinthe has been technically illegal in the United States since about 1910, so I never did get a chance to try what is affectionately known as "The Green Fairy," or, if you happen to be anywhere near the Balkans where an inferior version is distilled, "The Green Death."

What is absinthe? Well, you could call it a liqueur, or spirits, or bitters or an apertif. Predominantly produced and consumed in Europe (where the EU has recently legalized it), the best brands are French and Swiss. It is known for its high alcohol content, which often exceeds 150 proof, and for its unique distillation process, which involves the use of several bitter herbs and oils, not the least of which is wormwood, and its primary active ingredient, thujone.

Thujone, as it turns out, has an infamous history. As a component of wormwood oil, one of the bitterest natural substances known to exist, it plays a key part in the absinthe folklore. It is also the main reason that the FDA has banned the distillation (though not the possession) of absinthe in the United States. It seems that thujone is at once somewhat psychoactive, as well as quite poisonous, in large enough quantities. As my sister Sue has said, there are plenty of other foul-tasting alcoholic products on the market, so I guess this was an easy one for Western nations to ban. The fact that wormwood oil was known to cause seizures in epileptics didn't help.

Even in Switzerland and especially France, where absinthe had sort of a cult following with the artistic underground, its possession became illegal after the turn of the 20th century due to fears that it caused insanity, apathy (which was a big deal in the years leading up to the first World War), lessening of sexual inhibitions and last but possibly not least, death.

Still, afficionados found a way to get their fix and distilleries started popping up in Eastern Europe, catering to niche absinthe markets on the Continent as well as a strong following in New Orleans, which often honors the French tradition. Speaking of tradition, absinthe is often consumed, even today, in the time-honored manner where one pours a certain amount of the beverage into a glass goblet, which is then diluted with an equal part of water, poured over a cube of sugar, supported on the rim of the glass by an ornate spoon. This process of dilution produces what's called the "louche," which is a swirling-up of the absinthe's essential oils, intensifying the the drink's green color and producing, it is said, an almost hypnotic state in some observers.

From the little research I've done, it appears that absinthe can be ordered over the Internet from European retailers for legal delivery to the United States. Its cost is about $40-$75 (+ shipping) per half litre bottle. It is also available in parts of Canada, including British Columbia, where the thujone content is strictly controlled. I understand that it is allowable to bring it across the border.

I may be going up to Vancouver in the next couple weeks and I have every intention of bringing back some absinthe. I'm only discouraged by the knowledge that my dear sister Sue has preemptively declared her lack of interest in the requisite absinthe party. She has done her own research and calls the liquor "Vile, contemptible, dangerous and illicit," or words to that effect. And yet she still doesn't want to try it. She did admit, however, that it would probably make an excellent rat poison.

Well, all is know is that if it tastes anything like mouthwash, that's good enough for me. And I hear it doesn't have that minty methyl-alcohol aftertaste, either. I'll give you a full and objective report in a couple weeks. In the meantime, for more information on absinthe, just google it.

Restaurant Review

Just got back from the latest star in Seattle's dining scene, Tutta Bella's Neapolitan Pizzeria in Upper Fremont.

Ironically (for me at least), the massive space this veritable pizza factory occupies is a former print shop, one in which I actually worked. I half-expected the miasma of printer's ink and solvent as I walked up the familiar front steps, but even though it was early evening, the kitchen was humming and the only smell was a delightful one wafting out from the massive twin brick ovens.

Make no mistake, this is a big, open restaurant with minimalist wall treatments, few dividers and little adornment. It's meant to be a loud, family-style bistro, with plain wood tables and unfinished ceilings. Though we were shuffled off to a far corner of the restaurant, the service was excellent. The girls' sodas (bibite) were quickly refilled and our salads arrived within ten minutes of ordering. The Caesar was wonderfully fresh with a spicy dressing. The small easily fed two, while the large, as I was told, would serve 4.

Of course, most people are coming to Tutta Bella's for the impossibly thin-crusted Neapolitan style pizzas. With the fresh tomato sauce and the excellent organic toppings, the eleven inch pizzas are just right for one person. Even my youngest daughter finished hers with no problem. The pizzas matched the decor--tasteful, understated, even Spartan.

Prices for pizza ranged from $7.95 to $10.95. The Caesar was $5.50 for the small or $8.50 for the large. Finish up with the ever-changing gelata specials or the incomparable bucket of tiramisu, big enough to serve three or four, but just right for two. Get a dessert, and a single-shot of Antibassi espresso is complementary.

Other Seattle restaurants have tried to make their fortune in the thin-crust pizza game, but have had to compromise along the way, usually be offering non-pizza options. Tutta Bella succeeds in making the pizza joint a restaurant destination and a special event. Get there early and even then plan on parking on the street, as the parking lot will probably be full. A second Tutta Bella location is in the resurgent Columbia City neighborhood, on Rainier Avenue South. There will probably be more--look for one on the Eastside soon.

Fashion Illustration

I've been after my 14-year old daughter Tiana to take a fashion illustration course since last September. I still can vividly remember some fashion design sketches she drew several years that just blew me away. She hasn't done much drawing since then, but I know she has talent and definitely has an interest in fashion. The New York Fashion Academy, which is located in Old Ballard (not far from our house) each quarter offers a full range of fashion-related courses and though the overall focus of the school is more in the vocational realm, I talked to the teachers and we all felt that Tiana would do just fine with the introductory course.

I had sort of given up hope that Tiana would ever agree to take the class, especially if none of her friends could take it with her. And besides, she is playing softball 2-3 times a week now and has just joined up with the local cheerleading squad, so she is reasonably busy. I was very pleased, however, and quite surprised, when she told me a couple weeks ago that she would take the course.

Last night was her first class. They'll meet every Monday for 2-1/2 hours for the next month and then she can go on to more advanced classes, if she wants. She said last night went fine, even though she was the youngest in the class by about ten years. I'm looking forward to seeing how her interest and talents evolve in the next four weeks. The accompanying pic is a scan of some sketches she made last night, which we can sort of use for a baseline. I'll try to post something that she has drawn after every class.

Table Returns

The table that mysteriously disappeared from my driveway earlier today has magically returned--whence, I know not.

Table Has Legs, Walks Away

This is unbelievable!

I've been meaning to refinish our kitchen table, so when today's weather looked sunny and reasonably warm, I hauled it outside and set it up in the driveway, by the garage.

I totally sanded off the old finish and put on three coats of a water-based gloss finish, waiting about an hour between coats. The sun was shining and the garage/driveway gets a clear south exposure, so the finish was setting up and drying nicely. I'd easily have it done in time for the kids coming home from school.

The mail come early and because I had something that needed to get out, I walked down to the corner mail box to drop off a letter. When I came back, the table was gone!

Because the table was fairly close to the sidewalk (although still clearly on my private driveway), someone must have thought I was giving it away and they just took it. For God's sake, the finish was probably still wet! There was sandpaper, rags and a can of varnish right next to it. Can you freakin' believe that?? I am so upset....

Well, I talked to the neighbors and nobody saw anything. I also put up a sign stating that the table was not free and that it would be nice if whomever took it, brought it back.

Anyway, it's probably gone for good. It was a nice table and looked really sharp after refinishing. Just disappointing that someone would take it.

Hill Climbing in Seattle, Cycle-style

My brother-in-law (Greg) and I met at his Fremont home yesterday (Sunday) morning at 8:45 for a quick two hour tour of some of the city's hills. As I've done more and more riding the last couple years, I've found it increasingly difficult to get a goodcardiovascular workout without going for very long rides, often in the 4-6 hour range. It became really tough to fit in that much time, especially in the standard time months, where daylight hours are at a premium.

Last fall, I started doing some hill-climbs--running style--and found that was a great workout. In 30-40 minutes I could get the heart-rate way up and after a steady diet of that for 6 months, I feel really fit. But running up and down the same hill four or five times a week got a bit tiresome, so I guess it was time to get out on the bike.

The weather yesterday morning was blustery and cool, with a solid 15 mph wind blowing out of the south. The two miles to Greg's place involves a couple little hills and halfway there I already felt like this was going to be a long morning. It's a funny thing about cycling--it can take an incredibly long time to get warmed up. Especially with the wind blowing and the cool temps, I was just dragging. It's a psychological thing you have to get over. Just like riding up a big hill, things always get better on the other side.

We did have a nice break as we rode down Fremont Ave to the bridge. Then it was over the Ship Canal, up a moderate incline (Dexter), until we came to the cutoff that led to the Aurora Avenue underpass, going past Canlis Restaurant. Then another incline as we worked out way up the northside of Queen Anne hill, with a very steep section going up 4th Avenue N.

We made our way to the very top of QA (watertower) and worked our way down the south face to the bottom. Just for fun, we climbed up the west side of the hill and soon found oursevles on the top once again. We rode to the north side of the hill, found Dravus and sped west toward Magnolia. As it goes up the Magnolia hill, Dravus becomes very steep (unrideable?), so we just made it up as far as we could and took a left, heading south. After a few blocks, we found a very steep, but more manageable way up and soon were at Bayview Park, a fairly obscure, but very nice city park with a wonderful view of the Port Area and the north end of Queen Anne.

We made it to the top of Magnolia's east ridge, slid down and headed up the west ridge, toward the watertower. Again the way was very steep and quite long and though we both powered up, it was the most challenging part of the ride and definitely one of the more challenging hill climbs I've ever done.

We headed north to Discovery Park, worked our way through the old parade grounds with its wide open view of Puget Sound, and snuck down toward the locks, following an old road loaded with downed trees, shady and slippery with a winter's growth of moss. We were soon walking through the Government locks, picked a newly-completed section of the Burke Gilman trail that took us to Shilshole Bay and biked north to Golden Garden Park, where we took a winding, unshouldered road up the hill to the top of 32nd Ave NW. Then it was just a short ride home for me (Greg still had to go to Fremont) with the overall time of the ride being about 100 minutes.