sunshine__comes__quietly crOwl we loaded our cumbersome gear into a waiting taxi and asked the ecuadorian driver to take us to the ace hotel, on first street in belltown, our home for the next two days. when he pulled into the adjoining street to unload and we got out it was at the top of a hill overlooking elliot bay and bainbridge island with a vantage point that absolutely took my breath away. i had an image in my mind what it would look like but the actual view was copiously transcendent. we dragged our luggage up the long staircase and up to the posh lobby of the hotel where two twenty-something boho staffers greeted us warmly. off to the left was a sunken art gallery with a metal/leather couch and a glass case with some trendy trinkets for sale, including jewlery, sampler mix cds, and books. card key in hand, we were off to the room. 060402 ... eatingstars he (whispered) this into her ear as she screamed (inside and out) and she didn't believe him them but soon enough the sunshine came peeking slowly around the corners of time and her entire existance smiled and she said thankyou thankyou thankyou over and over again 060402 ... crOwl once inside, we found the room to be quite narrow, with a ultra comfy all white king-size bed against a white- painted brick wall. on the night stand was a white cd player which we would play our new califone record on. the bathroom was huge with a glorious walk-in shower that ten people could comfortably use at once. the wall, one side all mirror, functioned as the door, slickly rotating all the way around from the center. (how fun was that?!)at the other end of the room was a door that led to a small, cozy wooden deck with a simple wooden table and two chairs that served as a central, outdoor connecting point of several other rooms. the design was ingenuous and fascinating. we were totally digging it. once we settled in, we headed out, first discussing possibilities with the youthful conscierge. on foot, we proceeded to downtown, taking first street all the way to pioneer square. we found the zeitgeist coffee shoppe, which was recommended from crowl's_going_to_seattle or something like that and sat down amongst an eclectic sprinkling of people for some excellent fare. the baristas were elusive, distant, and potentially erudite but sometimes that's better. the place was part art gallery/ part industrial cafe with its huge blackboard, wood and metal decor. i loved the large window tables that peered out to the rain slickened streets. it was just so good to be there and relax after so much drama on the train. to munch on a muffin and know the next week was like wrapped presents for us to open. beth was all salad and red pepper. we strolled about the square, dipping into a gem and mineral shoppe. i'm always on the look-out for fascinating elements to add to my clown/mini-circus act and i scored big time with a pair of polished hematites. the dude at the counter was throwing them up in the air and since they were super charged and magnetically attracted to each other when they came together they made a click-clack, paddy-whack, insect buzzing noise that was absolutely irresistable. kaching! they were mine. (recently in use at the ski school clown shows they were a huge hit. i could barely get them back from those who begged to try them.) beth bought a pair of stone di and then at the army surplus shoppe she found a red star shoulder bag she has always wanted. when i see it, i always think of REM. we stumbled upon pike market and saw the fish getting thrown around. however, the tourism aspect was disheartening for some reason. maybe we were just tired. 060403 ... crOwl i don't know if it was a blessing or a curse, but right next to the ace hotel was a bar/cafe called cyclops, characterized by a single neon eye that became would become our beacon to lead us home after dark. as beth and kathy readied themselves for dinner, i walked downstairs and entered, and since it was fairly early found myself to be the lone patron. the female bartender, nicky, tattooed and pony-tailed in the vein of the suicide girls, recommended a local island draft called verchon. we chatted it up and since i told her we were going to the flying fish for dinner and i had my journal and she knew one of the waitresses that worked there, she offered to draw claire's picture, insisting that i tell her hello. about that time, with one glass drained and another local draft called manny's before me, a belltown regular dude named charlie came in with his fedora, hip specs, and a relaxed penchant for conversation. when i drink, i get amazingly direct and personal and somehow i pull it off or i simply fool myself into thinking i do because we proceeded to share some common blood and introspective dialogue about all things charlie; how he's recently traveled to portland, nyc, melbourne and berlin, and that he plays in a band called the western shore (which you can listen to at myspace). 060404 ... crOwl i probably shouldn't write this because kathy has been reading the daily updates of sunshine_comes_quietly, but what happened on our brisk walk to the flying fish cannot go unmentioned because it is one of those memories that depicts her completely out of character, for she is graceful as a ballerina and always in control. and so, we were heading over, myself somewhat stumbling from the two beers at the cyclops and all of a sudden, kathy trips on a portion of the sidewalk partially uplifted by a tree root and the impetus sends her crashing to the ground. i turned and saw it happen and thought she would stop herself, but she kept going down, down, down! too fast for beth or me to do anything. we were just so stunned. she was ok except for a scrape, and we all laughed so hard, and still do when it comes up because if anyone should have tripped and fell it was my drunk ass. we had reservations, but the place was packed and we were a bit early. i asked the hostess if nicky's claire was working and she was but since it was so busy having her wait on us would be hit or miss, so we went to the lively bar and stood until our table was available. dale, the bartender, a local, who snowboarded in the cascades and mt. baker, chatted it up with us. i proudly proclaimed to him about our youngest daughter's recent first place victory in a rail competition. he was all, "right on!" he had lived in southern claifornia for a while and we also shared surfing stories. with a third beer fueling my brash vociferousness and a confident sense that we had reached an acceptable place in our brief friendship, i told him i had a secret to tell. if you remember, the pittsburgh steelers played the seattle seahawks in the super bowl this year and of course, the steelers won. so, i whispered, "go steelers!" in his ear. he had kathy's wine in one hand and beth's manny's in another and when he heard me say that he jokingly threatened to refuse to serve us. we comically proceeded to perform some kind of guerilla theatre for the small crowd gathered around us. he went to great lengths to staunchly support his hapless team, blaming the loss on the referees, but when our table was ready we had a new friend. it was how my dad used to do it. "people just want to be loved," he always said. we had to have fried oysters. one each. i ordered a hot pot, which was various goodies from the sea over rice and eaten with chopstix. the hostess must have told claire we were looking for her because she came over to our table, introduced herself, explained her tie with nicky and kindly entered our little circle for a bit. stuffed, we shared a delicate piece of green tea cheesecake. before we left, i went back to the bar and gave dale one of my cards. the night's plan was for kathy and me to go on to the jewel box theatre, a club on second st. beth was tired and opted for a luxurious shower at the hotel. it was an easy walk and we arrived early for the herzog show, a kinski side project band with the spider trio opening. seattle, of course is a major city for music, and we had many choices that night of places to go and bands to see. kinski is a favorite of ours and while we waited, the setting was intimate enough to meet a few of the band members as they were preparing. the ticket man, who appeared to be anyone's uncle turned out to be the awesome sax player! finally, when the music started, so did kathy's sore throat and she endured the pain for me. we met an architect named chris from dallas who was way into experimental music and was totally digging herzog's jazz fusion. he bought me a manny's(my fourth of the night). needless to say, after we got back to the hotel, i took a glorious shower and collapsed exhaustedly into the whiteness. 060405 ... crOwl march o5 sunday kathy woke first, as usual. her throat was feeling better so she was ready to go out for a walk near the water. we left beth behind to sleep, sweet, little face in a cloud of white. it was misty raining as we set out and we were treated to the views of the skyline. a stunning sight as the buildings seem to crawl right into the sound. we had our coffee at le picher, a small french cafe on first street. i love how the parisians do breakfast...baguettes with orange marmalade...yogurt with honey and walnuts. our waitress was a quaint, quiet girl from montana, which seems to be the trend; the youth leave the big sky to come to the big water. on the way back to the hotel, we stopped to get beth a coffee and a glory morning muffin at macrina's, a small but delightful goodiehouse right across the street in belltown. the immediate plan for the new day was to take a taxi across town to have brunch at a place called the five spot, which my california brother's friends suggested. the experience, they said, was more than just the food and atmosphere. it also involved the whole process of having to put your name in and wait, which included a walk to nearby kerry park to take in the jaw dropping view of seattle made famous on the popular tv show, grey's anatomy. our taxi driver, who i couldn't discern was male or female, agreed with our choice, saying to stay away from the space needle because the food sucked and was way too expensive. although we saw the infamous monument many times, we had no desire to be tourists, even though we couldn't help but be one. still, we always tried to blur our edges and attempt to play the part of a pacific northwesterner. turned out that everything my brother told me was just as he said. we walked past the long line of people waiting for a table, put our name down, and after receiving directions to kerry park, strolled over and subsequently picked our jaws off the ground. there was a little girl, about six, wearing a tye-dye shirt who was standing near the railing at the overlook with a small paper doll in her hands, lifting it up so her father could get dv footage of the both of them. seems they were making a travel log film and this was the paper doll's opportunity to show her classmates she had been to seattle. while we gazed out, a lady approached kathy and asked for directions to ballard. hey, i thought, for the sake of appearances, we aren't tourists. the food was killer. i ordered the pancakes which featured a huge cup of melted butter i soon had them swimming in, plus a guava-strawberry compote. kathy had a salmon scramble which included some spectacular potatoes which i traded for. i enjoyed the wait-staff simply because each one was dressed individually. somehow it was the best description for this unique place. we bought t-shirts, just five white dots on a black background. 060406 ... crOwl we were so stuffed when we finally shoved all the food off our squeaky clean plates that the only thing that sounded good was to walk it off. the sky was breaking up with bits of sun peeking through, perfect light to behold the seattle spring as it was appearing all around us. as we gazed out to elliot bay, trees were in delicate bloom, daffodils were trumpeting their greetings, squirrels were jerky, crows were lurking, and the grass was greener on our side. we had no idea where we were going. we could see the space needle looming from several miles away, so we headed towards it, figuring along the way life would, as it usually does, extend a hand and take us along. sure enough, we bumped into easy street records. OH MY GAWD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! was i dreaming? were there the hugest posters wooden-framed on every wall? was there a giant air brush painting of the gorillaz? were there the coolest wooden shelves stocked with millions of cds and dvds? were there racks upon racks of t-shirts? were there hundreds of free postcards from new indie band releases? were there shelves and shelves of super rad mags? HELL YEAH! plus, easy street is famous for its in store FREE performances. check out their schedule of incredibly amazing, something-for-everyone bands and solo artists online. beth was thrilled to discover mudhoney was playing during the time we would be in seatlle and we vowed to return. kathy always falls in love with the music that's being played in record stores and ended up buying califone's new disc. i spent most of my time with the magazines. we failed at finding a taxi and ended up trudging all the way back to the hotel. we left beth behind because we still had to walk on to eighth and pike, another couple miles to rent our vehicle since tomorrows plans involved a two hour drive to mt. ranier. 060407 ... crOwl the last time we rented a car was a toyota camry in southern california when we stayed with my brother for a week. this time we figured it was wise to rent an suv, since we saw copious amounts of snow in the cascades from the train windows. all wheel drive is so nice on snowy hills. the man at the hertz desk was little more than a boy, much more interested in telling us about the divergent music scene in seattle than granting us wheels. after straight out refusing the extra fee hook for comprehensive insurance, we drove away in a sweet blue nissan front runner with oregon plates. i drove through the seattle streets much like i did through manhattan. slow and cautious. actually the rainswept streets reminded me of ventura, but somehow seattle is more reposed. a city that is at rest. i dropped kathy off in front of the ace and then parked off street, which was free until monday morning at eight. our hotel provided its own private parking lot, but like homer simpson, i never inquired. i went back inside our cozy room, played with the rotating mirror wall door, visited the outdoor deck, and then took kathy and bethany on a trip to fremont st. in ballard. immedately we discovered an outdoor market, featuring a kaleidoscopic mix of artisans, mini-farmers, antique dealers, flea marketers, and caterers. free enterprise at its american finest. beth found a handmade/sewn rabibit she planned on giving to charlotte, the 2 year-old girl fathered by her ex-boyfriend with a earlier girlfriend. later, she would change her mind, the ear would fall off, (which she would sew back on herself) and she would give it instead to her best friend becky's newborn daughter, natalie. i wanted to buy a small, 194o's children's table, with circus graphics. it would fit perfect in my clown show to set my goofy phone and chimes on. but, there was no way i could take it on the train! i'll just have to build my own. my dad and i once built the stuff i use now, which i spent one winter, two years ago completly repainting, in shades of blue and purple. before we went back to the hotel, we drove to green lake, a woodland park nearby. as soon as i parked, a man driving a new saab asked me if i would give him a jump because his battery was dead. my initial response was no because it was not my vehicle, but then kathy was all, "sure!" then i thought why not, go ahead. he did it all by himself. it worked and kathy rubbed my back, saying, "you did your good deed for the day." we walked around the water for no apparent reason than to say we did it. kathy wasn't impressed. we are market junkies, and spend most saturday mornings in the summer at our quaint one in ligonier, pennsylvania. we buy raspberry pies from sand hill and ornamental grasses from don witt. she was quietly looking, asking a few questions, mainly about jeweley. there was a booth with billions of beads, which i love. the little wooden buddah beads are the coolest to me. i have five of them hanging from my pick-up truck mirror. we ate at costas, a greek cafe on fremont st. beth loves mediterranean food and so we dished down their delectable hummus and tapenade, tangy olives, melt-in-your-mouth pitas, and fresh spinach with olive oil, feta, and dripping tomatoes. all that was missing was yogurt. 060408 ... crOwl sorry...to correct the chronological order of things, the paragaph that begins with "before we went back to the hotel..." should go after the lunch at costas. sometimes i'm so airheaded. 060408 ... crOwl back at the ace, while kathy and bethany played cards on the vast white ocean of our king size bed, i saw the crafty devil peeking through the door, index finger curled and pointy goatee quivering, urging me to follow him downstairs, for a return trip to the adjacent and convenient bar, cyclops. beth promised to meet me later, since we hadn't yet made any definitive plans for dinner. it was somewhat rowdy inside, and there was a different bartendar, a young man whose attention was hogged up by a swanky group of locals. as i threw back a vachon and scribbled in my journal, beth came to the rescue. we both had a manny's. a woman came in that had recognized us at the ace and there was also a man from new orleans in seattle on business, who told us his property had been ravaged from katrina. he said the tragic thing that's getting out of control is how shanty towns are developing with homeless from all over the country coming to reside, not just the people who lost their homes from the hurricane. i should have never drank that third beer. usually i can and that's always my limit but coupled with the earlier exhaustion from our massive, uphill walk to get the rental car, i was nearly incapacitated. i managed to slither like a snail back up the hotel steps with respectability, but once i sat on the luscious bed, it was all over. i was slam drunk and useless. i couldn't even focus my eyes on anything. at least i didn't puke. oh, i'm so proud! i don't even remember what i did while kathy and bethany went across the street for pizza. i guess i snoozed and losed. note to self: sip, don't gulp. 060409 ... crOwl march o6 monday i woke feeling completely restored and somewhat embarrassed, sheepishly listening to beth and kathy going on and on about what an incredibly, delicious pizza i missed while i was passed out wasted. go ahead, i thought. i deserve the shame. we started the day at macrina's across the street, entering the line that was going out the door. easy to see why with james beard award winning pastries displayed temptingly behind a glass case, stacked to perfection and bursting with organic goodness. we scored one of the few tables next to a generous window that welcomed a glimpse of the rare sun. i observed a grupper family with their delicate children bathed in the morning glow, golden illumination that is the ideal setting to capture the perfect symmetry of sweetness and innocence, of light and shadow, of color and stillness. the oldest sister, 5, was eating a crumbling muffin and sipping bright, glittering orange juice. the son, 4, was softly embraced in his dad's arms. the baby, learning to stand, was holding on to his mother's legs. i wanted to set my coffee down, wrestle my canon rebel out of the camera bag and sneak a furtive shot, but beth gave me a stern flash of her serious hawk eyes. "dad, don't!" she urged. i relunctantly relented. i guess there are some photos that can only be hung on the walls of memory. when we left and slowly walked past them i couldn't resist and the words just leapt out of my mouth. "you're children are beautiful," i told the mother. "she thanked me. "they grow up fast," she said. there are certain places that make us fall in love when we travel and macrina's is surely one of them. it WAS seattle to us and because of it we would want to live there. everything about it; the beautiful staff, the complementary background music, the delectable fragrance of baking, the infusion of sunlight, the chromatic dispersion, the brick and wood, the overall sense of community. it breathes life and when you enter, stay, and leave, you feel like you are ready for what your world is about to present. for us, it was peeling ourselves away from the ace hotel. we made the conscierge jealous when we asked for dirctions to highway 5 south. he asked where we were going and we told him to stay the night in a treehouse. we went back to the room one last time to fetch our bags and swing the great mirror wall just once more, and then checked out back at the lobby. in our temporary absence he had looked up the cedarcreek treehouse online. "wow!" he said. "i'm going to have to take my girlfriend there." 060410 ... bsc paragraph 3: it's your, not you're. 060410 ... crOwl all the way into the cascades, from 5 south to 7 south, through elbe and into ashferd, washington we listened to 9o.3 kexp, an unbelievable, public-supported radio station, that played a killer list of indie tunes, one after the other. though the music was interrupted by breaks for their annual pledge drive, even the banter was sagaciously cool. "whoa! was that a giraffe?" beth suddenly asked. we had driven by a barn-like structure with several large iron sculptures in the spacious front yard. figuring we'd see it on our way back, we drove on, looking for a place to have lunch and discovered the copper creek inn, just minutes from the entrance to mt. ranier state park. the pungent scent of cedar was strong as we stepped into the misty rain. the place was built in the 192o's and served as a brothel and now exists as a get away/art gallery/cafe. our waitress, who reminded me of the girl in the film, spitfire griil, brought us french press coffee and their famous blackberry pie and when i asked her about the treehouse, she told us that amanda and cedar, the children of bill compher(who built the treehouse) used to work at the inn. she seemed to have a respect and admiration for them, but when we asked her if she had been to seattle, she gave us this look like, "if i live at mt. ranier, why would i want to go to the freakin' city?" we also asked about the unexpected giraffe we saw and she encouraged us to return and visit the place, famous in this area for attracting an international contigent of fascinated spectators. since we had a few hours before our check in time at the treehouse, we took her advice and wheeled back on over, curiously pulling in to the parking lot in the pouring rain, noticing we had arrived at perhaps one of the most unique art museums we've ever laid eyes on. 060411 ... crOwl it was still raining when we stepped out of the car, a light drizzle that didn't dampen our sense of curiousity as we approached the entrance gate. there was so much to see that our heads were spinning. the four acre sculpture garden, sequesterd at the base of mt. rainier is called, "ex-nihilo," which is latin for something made out of nothing. at first, we toured the front which featured items like the giraffe and other animals, but there were other fascinating, intricately detailed works, all of them made out of old, recycled metal and truck parts; a skeleton riding a motorcycle, an indian shaman, a horse made out of horseshoes with an embryo inside. seeing no one around, we decided to leave a donation in the available box and leave, but attempted at least a knock on the door of the gallery/barn/studio with its huge american flag emblazoned on the front and was surprised when the artist himself arrived a few minutes later. his name is daniel klennert (check out his website). he was wearing a cowboy hat and with his moustache and soft-spoken, mountain drawl he seemed to appear forth from the days when his antique resource materials may have been employed in their former use. there was also a gentle, peacefulness surrounding him which surely was honed from the many solitary hours he commits to his work. he was once a mechanic and welder but always an artist, beginning his sculptue work in 1972. this sane madman told us he gets his inspiration from the shapes and spirits contained in the old metal and driftwood he gets form the nesqually river. "i see a vision in my mind's eye," he says in his brouchere, "as to what this certain shape wants to be, then i use music to put me deep into my imagination to create the vision. i like to think i am recycling the spirit of the piece and giving it new life." he led us through the gallery and into his spacious studio, with its high ceiling and natural light. where he was currently working on a 15 foot high sasquatch made entirely from driftwood, with perfect bends in the pieces that made it look like it was ready to come alive and walk away. there were piles of various materials stacked here and there, large nuts and bolts, old tractor seats hanging on nails, shelves with what's this and compartments of what's that. he had little signs on the walls and over doors he made with quotes and positive statements. as we looked around, he was always talking, treating us with personal attention as if we were the first people to ever see his work. once he brought over an old clutch pedal from a former pick-up truck. he turned it over, "see," he said, "it can be a man running." he led us out the back door to where a vast yard of all manner of larger pieces of metal sat, leaning up against the fence and stacked on top of each other. "look at all the deer, rabbits, and cows just waiting to be made." we made our way outside again, this time with his red and white umbrella to visit the back portion where there were several driftwood cows, fish, a t rex, a punk rocker playing a guitar, a trumpeter, and some touching memorials he had made to people and animals that he had lost. there was even a metal jesus on a cross. i loved the way he crafted the gnarly, determined fingers, as if you could actually see the life draining out of his selfless death. those alone must have taken days on end to form. before we left, we returned to the gallery and purchased a couple of smaller items, said hello to his cat, and signed his guestbook which featured visitors from all over the world. he showed us a framed rejection letter from the seattle museum of art that politely informed him they couldn't accept his work because it was too, "whimsical." needless to say, we were significantly moved by the experience and equally inspired to keep walking the artistic path we ourselves are on. 060412 ... crOwl it was beth's hope to one day sleep in a fire tower, just like in jack kerouac's book, desolation angels, that opened us up to the treehouse idea. we were at a borders bookstore one night and stumbled upon a book called hip hotels, which contained not only the ace hotel in seattle, but the cedar creek treehouse as well. one thing led to another and the owner, bill compher, after reciving our credit card info, sent us a secret map to find his treehouse. the directions were easy to follow and included a swing-gate entrance that i fumbled to open and needed beth to help me figure out. she just came over, lifted up the pin and presto. if it was up to me, we would have been calling bill, "um, excuse me, but how do you open your gate?" we figured we arrived when we found a sign cut out from a piece of plywood to look like a guitar and said, "honk and i'll come and get you." bill is originally from tennesee and went to art school in florida, and then became a folk singer who once lived in our current home city of pittsburgh and unbeknownst to us played at one of our all time favorite restaurants in shadyside, called pasta piatta. in the summers at elbe, a railroad town nearby, he dresses in a period costume and sings historical ditties for the tourists on one of the cabooses. we honked and waited beside bill's car, with its go green and anti-war stickers, looking around all starry-eyed at the temperate rain forest that had just swallowed us with bright green moss hugging the alders and the cedars, several varieties of ferns filling the understory. just the perfect setting for meeting a gnome. instead, bill the friendly old hippie appeared, long gray hair tucked under his hat, leading us across our first suspension bridge in his clogs. "see those scratches on the bark of that old cedar," he said pointing. "we've had a cougar coming around here during the night. that's the way they mark their territory." kathy shot me a look of bemused panic that bill quickly noticed. he smiled. "don't worry, they stay away from people." across the bridge, the property opened up to a clearing, revealing the 5o foot red cedar where bill built the treehouse twenty years ago for his wife and him to live in. every single piece of lumber was hoisted up by a primitive pulley system and the only way to reach the house was by a ladder which had its rungs pounded right into the trunk of the tree. once when his mother-in-law was visiting and she got thirty feet up and freaked out and froze, needing to be rescued, he realized it was time to build a platformed stairway. and then when his children were born, their safety became another issue and he decided to build a main house on the ground and use the treehouse as a secondary income, opening it up to guests. "come on," he said. "let's go up." 060413 ... crOwl we followed him to the first landing where a hammock hung in a windowe, porch-like enclosure. bill told us the treehouse will accomodate eight people max, with some of the guests using that particular spot to sleep in. we continued up to the house portion and entered. dominating the interior is the cedar tree itself, running stalwart, straight through the middle, a constant, powerful reminder of our actual, unique whereabouts. its smooth bark is so inviting to touch and is characterized by whirling knots like elephant eyes swirling around the feminine forms. i found one litttle cedar sprig emerging and kathy wanted to pick it as a souvenier. "don't," i urged her. good thing she didn't because bill later told me that it's been growing there for thirty years! he carefully pointed out ammenities to us and how to use them, like the propane heater, the portable boat toilet in its cozy, little bathroom (which beth later said was the best view she ever had taking a pee) the "kitchen" sink which had a 10 gallon water source, and the solar-powered lighting. a ladder with a sign saying, "walk down facing tree" leads to the bedroom containing two futons and skylights. on all the walls are newspaper clippings and photographs that feature the treehouse in many major publications, both national and international, featuring it as one of the ten most interesting places to stay in the world. one provocative article concerned irritating helicopter fly-overs by a local army base which bill had to insistently fight bureacracy to resolve. there was also creative artwork left behind on the walls made by various visitors, as well as poetry, books, and games. satisfied that he properly explained the foundational aspects of living in the treehouse, bill wished us well and promised to meet us at noon the next day to take us up into the 1oo foot observation tower that he built with his son in another tree about fifty yards away, visible from a window of the treehouse with lofty mt. rainier looming in the backgound. 060414 ... crOwl after bill advised us where to go for a local jaunt and left us to ourselves, we sighed forth our uncontainable happiness, continuously gazing out at the stunning views and took a hike into the quiet rain forest, full of ever-so-greens, birch, alder, and dripping, wispy, bethany-adored moss hanging everywhere. the nisqually river cut through along one side of mt. rainier national park, its deep banks jagged with huge boulders and storm strewn piles of driftwood. we stood along the black silt, making our own footprints next to those of black bear, gazing out to the majestic, fog shrouded, snow-capped mountains, contemplating our own fragile existence up against such primordial wonder. it was a true breath of real fresh air for one third of our family. (with our other two daughters were back at robin_hill taking care of things). there is something undefinable about nature in its untamed ruggedness. surging water like pumping blood, fallen branches like bleached bones, the endless cycle of life and death. we slowly returned, our voices mingling with the sporatic call of unseen birds and crossed the little suspension bridge and climbed back into the treehouse as the sun was disappearing behind skies threatening to snow. we removed our shoes (one of bill's must-dos), cozied up next to the propane heater with a dinner of gouda, brie, a baguette, and a bottle of gnarley head syrah. for dessert, we yummied the likes of apricot rugiletta and of course, dark chocolate. for electricity-less evening entertainment, i played camera obscura, elbow, and the submarines on my i-pod at full volume, using the headfones as speakers. kathy got the cards out for solitaire, and beth and i wanted to write to friends, but i found i had left my postcards back in the suv, which meant it would require a trek into the enveloping, peeper-punctuated darkness where a cougar could possivbly be lurking. 060415 ... crOwl so i put my ski jacket on and nordic hat, tied up the fire-red pumas and checked the battery power in the flashlight. off i went down the steps, ears twitching for the growls of bobcats. when i descended the tree and stepped upon the leaf-slickened path through the forest back to the suv, it was pitch black so i switched on the flashlight. it worked, thank god, but, what's this? why is the light quivering? is it going out? are the batteries dying? i switched it off to save power and walked nervously forward, my heart in my throat, my racing heartbeat actually a pounding drum. OUCH! what was that? i almost hit the ground face first. stupid root. i switched it back on. the light was weak. i hurried up, fearing for more roots. the coast across the suspesion bridge was clear and cougarless. i switched it back off and reached the front runner. i opened the door, found the postcards and switched it back on. nothing. the flashlight was dead! oh my GAWD!!!... i closed the door and looked ahead to the see the single light of our treehouse like a mother moon guiding me home. i followed, feeling a sense of safety and protection. when i reached the bridge tere was a glimmer of light on the railing like a mother's whisper of encouragement. come on, she says, you can always come home to me. 060416 ... crOwl so i put my ski jacket on and nordic hat, tied up the fire-red pumas and checked the battery power in the flashlight. off i went down the steps, ears twitching for the growls of bobcats. when i descended the tree and stepped upon the leaf-slickened path through the forest back to the suv, it was pitch black so i switched on the flashlight. it worked, thank god, but, what's this? why is the light quivering? is it going out? are the batteries dying? i switched it off to save power and walked nervously forward, my heart in my throat, my racing heartbeat actually a pounding drum. OUCH! what was that? i almost hit the ground face first. stupid root. i switched it back on. the light was weak. i hurried up, fearing for more roots. the coast across the suspesion bridge was clear and cougarless. i switched it back off and reached the front runner. i opened the door, found the postcards and switched it back on. nothing. the flashlight was dead! oh my GAWD!!!... i closed the door and looked ahead to the see the single light of our treehouse like a mother moon guiding me home. i followed, feeling a sense of safety and protection. when i reached the bridge there was a glimmer of light on the railing like a mother's whisper of encouragement. come on, she says, you can always come home to me. 060416 ... crOwl THANK GOD! I DID NOT GET ATTACKED BY A MOUNTAIN LION! kathy and beth were relieved to have me back home in one piece, although we were grumbling about the compromising flashlight quality. serves us right for shopping at wal-mart. i got ready for bed and crawled up the ladder to cozy up with them on the twin futons. kathy was already laying down to sleep, so beth and i wrote a bit and then i massaged her to sleep while the black heart procession softly played on my broken headfones. march o7 tuesday now, in the new day, the rain which first turned to paper torn flakes of snow was rain again, which we hoped wouldstop because we wanted to return to the river. here is some writing from the treehouse walls for you to read: de un arbol est ara inmerso UNOHTUMATON UNIPUU VAIN SUIHKU PUUTTUU we made tea and coffee and read and waited for the rain to stop. beth and i left while kathy washed the dishes. she joined us soon after and later i felt bad for abandoning her to walk by herself in the mountain lion lurking forest. i'm a selfish, foolish man. we thought we'd use the little time we had left to make something for the treehouse to leave behind. beth's idea was to make a mobile of materials she found. i looked for a perfect sized dalmation rock to write something on. 060417 ... crOwl around and spinning in our time, kathy arrived, a solitary figure against the background of a washington temperate rain forest. she appeared as if intricately cut out of one world and glued upon another. we clapped, not sure if she would come or not. i was proud of her for risking a mountain lion attack, although we saw nothing but birds. not even a dog. she did make it and i felt like i let her down. it felt warmer, as if spring was waiting for us back in belltown. we walked along the river and thought about the gifts we were going to make for bill. back at the treehouse we worked as cat power played, while waiting for our 1:oo appointment with bill at the observation tree. with a black shaprie pen i wrote on my dalmation rock: "SUNSHINE COMES QUIETLY" beth originally created the term to describe the way sunlight enters a train as you ride from the penetrating darkness of night to the soft glow of dawn. but then, i think the term is organic and therfore alive to the moment. it also meant the way sunlight comes to seattle. or, the way kathy enters a room. on the back of the rock i transcribed: ZOZULA(our last name which translated from the ukrainian means cuckoo bird) with the date, and a small drawing of the view of mt. rainier from the window. beth's mobile consisted of three small, multi-colored river stones delicately tied with string from a bracelet tim gave her and balanced to a gangly piece of driftwood, probably alder. it symbolized and represented the three lives that were inspired by the overnight stay and enlivened into the next chapter of the non-fictional lives they are stumbling through. 060418 ... crOwl i placed the inscribed nisqually river rock on the window sill in the corner by the tea shelves and drawings of the treehouse hung on the wooden wall by one who stayed before us. i also quickly scribbled a welcome note to the next resident on a piece of notebook paper and placed it on a step where it could become a found paper treasure for someone to discover. we said goodbye to our recent, unique domicile and carried on with the next step of our journey of a thousand days, and walked down the tree to bill's house nearby for our appointment to climb the observation tower. he came out when we approached. woodsmoke snaked out of his chimney and disappeared into the misty clouds hovering over mt. rainier. he led us over to the 1oo foot tree that houses a glass observation-lookout tower. it is reached by ascending a spiral ladder that bill's teen-age son cedar built which took him a complete summer to construct. it is a work of sure genius. sturdy enough to hold at least four people at once. bill is a really good man. he was very friendly and patient. he made us feel like we were the first visitors and also the last. he listened to every one of our many questions and answered every one leaving us smarter, brimming over with an armful of knowledge. he led us to the top of the first tree, yet sad to say, kathy backed down the steps after climbing about fifteen feet. she has a mild, respective fear of heights. she won't fly on an airplane. not since one plane landing in tampa, almost nose-dived during a rain storm into the bay. we yelled down to her and she was relieved to be on the ground again, wishing us well. we reached the top to where a rainbow colored suspension bridge, made from completely recycled materials, stretched about twenty feet long to the cedar tree possessing the tower. again, we marveled at the construction expertise, following bill's orders of allowing him to cross alone, then he bid beth and me, one at a time. he had us crawl up inside the tight confines of the tower, which was still under partial construction. the view was powerful, much like that of a hawk or owl at the top of a tree surveying the windswept world. we sat under mt. rainier like a child at his father's feet. he reaches downat pats our head. "good job today," he says. it was a nice time of conversation for the three of us, chatting it up about life and observation and doing the work of your dreams. gaining the reasons for your existence and realizing that we do not have to conform soulessly to society. we are what makes the society redefine its self and organically evolve. we are the artists representing god when he sleeps. suddenly we heard kathy's voice calling across the wonder of the treetops. she had journied back to the treehouse, climbed its stairway, and then pulled open the bedroom window to shout a hearty hello to us. she looked so cozy in there and free, as if she, in that moment, was a star. bill let beth and me stand together on the bridge for an awesome foto and then we climbed back down. but before we reached the ground, bill stopped us and cheerfully announced it was time for us to play a game. 060419 ... crOwl BETHANY WINS THE TREEHOUSE GAME bill had a contest he played with those who climbed the observation tower, or as in kathy's case, those who attempt to ascend it. bill and cedar had attached to the railing of the spiral staircase a tube running the complete length to where he clips on a tin can at the end and inserts a small ball bearing at the beginning of the tube. the game is to guess how many seconds it takes to reach the bottom and pop inside the can. CLUNK! our guesses: me=15 beth=12 kathy=5 he placed it inside and i could hear it swishing downwards. i watched him listening for the clunk. when it came he was very excited to announce that our BETH! was only the third person ever to get it exactly right. we followed him over to his house to collect her prize. we waited outside while he went in to retrieve it, three beautiful postcards of mt. rainier. it was hard leaving bill and his quaint, but artfully challenging treehouse adventure world. he was a very cool, earth-loving individual who has used his skills to serve his fellow man. we joked about all the mole-hole damges to his yard. he laughed and said he planned on planting squash seeds in the pre-made mounds of topsoil. if you ever can, visit this man. it will change your life. i swear. 060420 ... crOwl we drove back to seattle, arriving at the height of rush hour and made our bumper to bumper way to the edgewater hotel, our final resting place for our final day. it's a fancy pants place, a little out of our league, but interesting none the less with its 3rd floor room smack up against elliot bay and unique vantage point of the ferry going back and forth to bainbridge island. i can open the window and feed the pesky seagulls. i guess the beatles did a photo shoot at the edgewater for one of their records. and franz zappa made a famous song, called mudshark, and is the story of led zeppelin's notorious connection with it and some groupies. a man from haiti brought our bags up for us and he chatted warmly so i gave him a nice tip. there is a cozy, gas fireplace in our room and a bear ottoman that beth wants to take home. kathy already bought the edgewater rubber duckie with his raincoat on. the tv is a huge flatscreen. i fell asleep when i tried to watch a history of violence. a_film_you_should_see(a film i need to see again.) beth and i had a becks and wrote. kathy did business on the laptop. we listened to sufjan stevens and the screeching of gulls until it was time to go back to easy street records and see mudhoney perform free. the show was excellent with songs from the new record... and i saw billy crudup. for dinner, we went back to the flying fish. dale came over to our table when he was leaving. he was on his way to mt. hood. we chatted it up a bit and bid farewell. 060421 ... crOwl the edgewater valets were always bringing our suv up for us to access. on the final morning we drove it up the hill into belltown for breakfast at macrina's, our favorite spot, for a bite of leslie mackie's delicious baked goods. from presentation to server affability, table view, and eclectic clientele, this genuine, real deal rocks the joint. i was digging every moment of bliss. we bought my mom a bag of assorted delectables, as is becominng tradition. first there was the witherspoon bakery in princeton. then balthazzar in soHo, nyc. now macrina's in seattle. beth wanted to spend the chilly, rainy morning writing in the posh hotel lobby by the fire so we dropped her off and drove the slickened streets to pike market. we walked around a bit past the various crafts, arts, and food, sniffing caramel popcorn and salty peanuts, ducked into nominal shoppes, and with an unavoidable sense of melancholy, browsed. i bought a stick of beeswax, which weeks later i would sculpt the face of boccadesse, which means donkey mouth from the italian. he will be rillianson's crowl in an upcoming episode of vier_seizoenen. kate felt the magnetic drawl of one particular artist named julie starling. viewing her art i could easily see why. 060422 ... crOwl she made journals from recycled materials in a exemplary style that bordered on the mundanely simple, and yet she pulled it off with starving artist precision. she would rip notebook paper out and plug it back into a book she made from cardboard and covered with materials and foils and glitter and jewels, which she then painted with stories of what appeared to be the holocaust of the soul. kathy wanted to buy a jounal for each of our three girls and julie starling loved that. she was all into us and we couldn't help but feel an affinity towrds her since hilary, our middle daughter sells handmade t-shirts at the city market in pittsburgh every saturday. (by the way if you interested in one, she can draw you anything you want. email her:cerebralscrub@yahoo.com) julie starling's husband was with her at the table. his name is attila morpheus and this is the quote that is transcribed on their unique, plus sized business card: "we are the unavoidable flood of the future opening the eys of the world." julie had a tear drawn on her face and attila looked like crispin glover's little brother. their creations encompass spoken word poetry, painting, drawing, photography, collage, book-making, performance art, sound structuring, carving, and time traveling. all of their works focus on love, self-awareness, evolution, eco-consciousness, and magic. we ended leaving without anything because we had to hit the atm up for some of our dwindling cash flow. we came back and spent a little less than we hoped, getting beth a journal and ourselves a print of a story about tired people trudging through the molasses of acceptance, instead of transformation. in other specilaty shoppes on the edge of pike market, where we saw the orignal starbucks, we bought some items for the train trip back home. along with a bottle of syrah and some fine guitard chocolate, we purchased one questionable item: cowgirl creamery brie. how long would it last without refrigeration? 060423 ... crOwl our rental suv was due to be returned at 13o and wouldn't you know it, i forgot to fill it with gas, so to escape paying the five dollars a gallon penalty, i left kathy with the luggage, took the vehicle back out into the rainy city and had a panicky time finding a station. when i returned, we dragged our luggage into a waiting taxi to rejoin beth for a while at the edgewater hotel lobby watching rain pockmark the bay, then put it all in another taxi for the final ride back to the train station. kathy was content to hang out with the bags, so beth and i walked out into the rain and wind searching for a bar, finally finding a small sports bar in the shadow of the seahawks stadium. it was empty except for two customers and the bartendar, a 3o something, very friendly and accomodating woman who gave me a comp bottle of a blonde ale. we also drank our last chance for a manny's, relishing the floral finish. we had to be back by 415 to board the train and when beth put coins in the jukebox, it was already after 4oo, so we let her have our music and scurried back to the station, splashing through the puddles and made it by 412, according to what beth called, "a moment of grace." kathy spent the time we were away chatting it up with a couple from alaska who live on a houseboat. we grabbed the luggage and stepped back on to our new home for the two and a half day journey back home. 060424 ... crOwl sunshine_comes_quietly_ 060425 what's it to you? who go blather from