So I heard about this funny sounding event last year in the
Wall Street Journal that takes place annually in Boulder, Colorado called the Naked Pumpkin Run. I thought last year that I would love to see that just for the pure fun of it. What better way to witness silly and fun at the same time than see folks running naked with pumpkins on their heads? I could certainly think of none!
So with a ticket ready to fly to Phoenix back to again ride F.G. Superman on Saturday, I mentally redirected the flight to Denver (closest major airport to Boulder). But alas, I saw an online article that indicated Seattle had TWO of these Naked Pumpkin Runs! BONUS. One at noon on Halloween and one in the evening.
With a plane ticket in hand intended for Denver, I hopped on a train to take me to the airport to catch a flight to Seattle! Now it had been quite some time since I took the train to the airport and I had no idea the train's penultimate station was now a required transfer location for the airport destined train.
I missed my flight. Finally, I ended up at the airport at the Delta counter and advised the ticket agent of my desire to head to Seattle. With ticket in hand I skipped gleefully to the security gate for my
fondling screening. Hold the phone, I had no intention of heading to Mormonville (not that there is anything wrong with that location) but I wanted Seattle, Miss Ticket Agent, not Salt Lake City. After a less jubilant visit to the ticket counter with a pleading confession by Miss Ticket Agent indicating she meant to give me a Seattle ticket, I headed back gleefully for my
fondling screening.
A quick hop was needed to Atlanta from Baltimore to get to Seattle. When I landed in Atlanta, my brain went on overdrive. With a mind like a steel
tarp trap, I thought about a friend whom I believed still lived in Seattle (and not the friend who lived in Seattle who my wife told me was deciding to have an affair. Wow, that was quite an admission.). My friend was a long ago, far away friend from college. One of the most wonderful people I have ever met in my life was not available when I called her. But I did get to speak to the rather delightful and polite 12 year old daughter of hers.
After a short time, I was able to contact the dear Lawrie. We arranged to have breakfast at Hi Spot Cafe in the Madrona section of Seattle on Sunday AM (Lawrie was a hint cranky that she had to miss the opportunity to sleep in on the only day of the week she has an opportunity to do so. But for an old friend, she sacrificed a couple of hours of sleep. How very benevolent - just like I remembered her to be.)
On the flight from Atlanta to Seattle, I somehow became a target for every yummer cart, backpack and buttock - and not just wide body buttocks! Every hipsway that attempted to bypass me did so only after hitting my triceps brachii or elbow, thwarting my ability to concentrate on n
onsensical websurfing available on my Delta flight. By the way, still trying to figure out why we can use the internet on a plane when they charge us, but I can't use my internet access...I smell the corporate “man” trying to keep me repressed from knowledge while in flight without paying for it.
So, I find my way to the hotel after claiming my luggage, my car (a pretty sweet Subaru Forester, by the way). As was my anticipation of the Pacific Northwest, it was raining.
Now the section below in bold is a dream sequence, This is purely a silly, absurd mind play. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living, dead, living dead, undead or reborn, is purely coincidental.
Once I arrived at the hotel and prepared for a snooze, I received some really remarkable news. My wife had a baby. How very sweet. Her bastard child, sired by her Aussie lover, was born recently. What a precious gift!
I was totally surprised by this 3rd live birth, presumably squeezed, and not cut from my wife (she did drop a dud egg between the birth of our daughter and son). The Aussie lover advised me he would surely wrap his rascal to assure she wouldn't get pregnant. So you can see where my surprise would certainly lie. Hmm, makes me wonder if MY health insurance paid for the little bastard in my dream sequence.
So wait a minute. I just did some simple math. If she did in fact have a child at the end of October and the bastard 'twas a full term baby, conception would have had to take place in late January or early February. Now, that encourages some minor mental gymnastics (kind of like a basic cartwheel, without the round off flair to it). I do recall a discussion that occurred in May of this year involving a gentleman, my wife and me. In this conversation, my wife advised she never met the Aussie, whom I understand be the father of the little squirt, in person before. Well perhaps, the Aussie was not the father, but rather a blind, black-belted kung fu masseur or a turkey baster. Who knows? Wow, what a dream. There
couldn't possibly be any truth to this dream sequence.
Now, as a refresher, the section above in bold is a dream sequence, This is purely a silly, absurd mind play. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living, dead, living dead, undead or reborn, is purely coincidental.
I snapped to full consciousness and realized I had no change of clothing with me for Sunday's breakfast...a hand washing of my clothing in the hotel sink was necessary. Yes, my dear reader, I did do it because in fact it was necessary and I generally hate my own body odor except - well no exceptions. I have some class, not much, but some.
Snoozing occurred only intermittently through the night thanks to a persistently indiscriminate interval of a leaking toilet and some drunk knuckleheads in a room down the hallway.
With a delightful wakeup call, I was able to meet the delightful Lawrie for breakfast at 8:00 AM. She hasn't changed her disposition – still the most optimistic, sincere and happy person I have ever met. After a truly scrumptious omelette that included marinated baby portabella mushrooms, we sought out a pumpkin for an event I wanted to watch, the Naked Pumpkin Run, I got a brief, albeit delightful tour of a couple gorgeous neighborhoods of Seattle. Lawrie did a "stop short," ala Frank Costanza, but let me hit the dashboard, to alert me to an incredibly important landmark. It was the park immediately next to Kurt Cobain's former residence. In the park, was an affectionately graffitied, slatted wooden bench. At the bench stood a mourner. Lawrie reminded me of the somber tenor of the site and to respect the dude's private mourning at the site. I exited the car. I walked up and looked at the bench along with the other mourner. I took some photos that included some of my favorite Nirvana song quotes on the bench.
After looking in detail at the various quotes and the decaying floral offerings at the bench, I walked happily back to the car, opened the door and stated something to the effect of the following to Lawrie. "That was really cool, but that dude at the bench was a chick."
Oh well, we were just about to depart when I blurted out that I must take a photo of the home in which Kurt lived and sadly killed himself. I know me and would later really regret not photographing the former residence of a musical genius. The homestead is shown below.
We got back to the location where I left my car and proceeded to Volunteer Park. En route, a Bernese mountain dog was dashing down the center of the street right before the entrance of the park. Well, as a dog lover (not in the carnal sense), I made it my mission to find its owner. I garnered the pup's attention with a whistle and a high pitched voice I can make, not unlike a 12 year old girl. With a shutter, the dog stopped. I hopped out of the car and befriended the fluffball. Just at this time, a panting shoeless man crested the hill, from whence the wolf descendant came.
Lava, as he was known, was being pursued by his new owner John. John had mercifully adopted Lava from an abusive household. I asked John if he could use a ride to his home with Lava. He was very appreciative but reluctant to accept the ride because the car was so new looking and the dog was a bit dirty. Even if it were my car, I wouldn't care in the least. It just made the decision very easy for him when I told him it was a rental car. With a pat on the back seat of the car Lava leaped into the Subaru Forester. Nice! Lawrie stood watching curiously as I drove off with the pair to a location just a few blocks - to John's house and they hopped out. But before I could let them go, I insisted on a photo with my new buddies. I only wish Lava would have given a thumbs up like the other two in the photo! I settled for tongue extruded.
With a sincere offer and a thank you, John offered me the opportunity to stay with him and his family in their home. I declined because a basement didn't seem adventurous enough. With a smile, handshake and a lick (from the dog to me - just in case there was any question of the who was lapping whom), I parted ways with John and lovely Lava.
I rejoined Lawrie for a quick stop in Volunteer Park. We climbed an observation tower (like a bonehead, I forgot to photograph it), chatted about family, friends and each other in an effort to recount our past 19 years of life since we last saw each other. (A confession: A bit of poetic cheating here because we have spoken infrequently during our 19 year separation.) Photos follow as captured by my Sony camera from atop the tower.
After descending the circular staircase, we wandered toward the Black Sun sculpture and "invited" a woman to take our photo together to commemorate the time Lawrie and I spent together. We chatted briefly with the woman who asked to be "anonymous" for this blog. Our "Dorothea Lange" for the photo shoot was a professor of Asian art and will be referred to as Prof. E from Greece. She insisted on taking multiple photos from various vantage points.
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| It looks as though I have some severe gastric distress and need Gas-X. |
We left the park and I followed Lawrie to the Troll under the bridge.
After the Troll/Tim photo shoot, we hugged, wished each other well and she lead me with her first generation Toyota Prius to the locale where I wished to witness the Naked Pumpkin Run. She chose to promptly speed away after pointing disdainfully at the location where the supposed event was to take place. I could see a glimmer of a smile, or perhaps a smirk in her rear view mirror.
One of the silliest days of my life ensued and will be shared in a later entry.
