William H Taft without the weight?
Today I tried to walk the narrow line appeasing both parties and aggravating none. Teddy Roosevelt could do such a thing but William Taft could not. Some people have the knack while others have situations blow up in their face despite the best of intentions. Today's event certainly did not involve international intrigue. The results could have been better though.
My brother is in the process of finishing a wooden kayak Gayle had started a few years ago. For lack of storage it was perched on top of the dirty red van in the carport. Cats fought over who had rule of this lofty object. Since my brother has not been able to land a job he has decided to exercise and build things. After the STP he has decided to do three races next month. And then there's the kayak, certainly more interesting than rebuilding the sagging fence my mother wants done every year.
Completing the kayak, dubbed by Gayle as the Sassy Lady, required certain items that my brother tracked down online to Pygmy Kayak Supply in Port Townsend. Why not carpool up there and he would ride back on his bike while my mother and I took the materials in the vehicle? My mother fumed at this, suggesting that this was a ploy to exclude her from any sort of fun. My (cough) father was able to convince her that it would work out.
We headed out later than we would have liked for the Lavender Festival in Sequim. Ciscoe Morris, a master gardener and Tee Vee personality, conducted the opening ceremonies but as I mentioned we left late so we did not get to see it. This resulted in frustration for my mother as we instead waited outside a warehouse building along the Port Townsend Marina. My brother grew hungry. At Subway he vented his disdain for my sandwich order and my mother's frequent use of the bathroom facilities. Traffic irritated him as well, too many cops, people standing in the middle of the road, etc. It was my time to drive.
I navigated the vehicle to the street festival in Sequim. My mother felt that this would suffice in lieu of the lavender farm tours at $10 per person. Three of us last year managed to see seven of the eight participating farms. The weather, which had continued to drizzle once we crossed the Hood Canal, decided to open up. We huddled under a tree bemoaning "summer" in the northwest. My mother seemed to have had her share of "negatives" however true they were. She suggested we patronize a winery for a bit and then return to pick her up. My brother dislikes wine or to be more precise alcohol in general since he is an athlete who must stay in top shape. It would be interesting.
Lost Mountain remained where we left it last. Two dollars to taste or ten and receive a nifty purple glass and get other fees elsewhere waived. I just decide to do the minimum but in the middle of the sequence from Pinot Gris to Dago Red I upgrade. Thus the ten-dollar bill I found recently is spent. If I get all six spots on the card stamped I will be entered in a drawing for a lavender gift basket. Hmm? Who could use such a thing? But I will likely not get picked. Still hungry my brother downs some cake and crackers. I get the Dago Red to add to the collection. My brother notes that some wineries go overboard showering apparent big spenders with attention when they if fact don't get anything when lowly us has several cases.
Time flies and it's time to pick up mother. I have plotted out a possible course to a FREE lavender farm from the back pages of the festival guide. Unfortunately in the course of getting to there, I run afoul of county-city numbering schemes. In one instance the roads have addresses that gain heading west but two blocks north they increase heading east? Once that is sorted out I pull into Graysmarsh Farms at the end of Woodcock Road. Great names for roads out there, Woodcock of course runs across Kitchen Dick at some point.
Have I subconsciously planned it all out though like clockwork? My mother gets to cut her own bundle for $4. Pre-cut ones are $5. A Hispanic farm worker shows her how to make the cuts. My brother takes shots of the fields with his digital camera. Once this is accomplished he notices picked berries for sale. Where's the berries? Over there? He gets a bucket to put raspberries in. Later he discovers a strawberry patch. My brother and I pick up the missed berries from last week, small and remarkably sweet. My mother grabs some large ones past their prime. Raspberries cost us $1.25 a pound, so we pay $2.50. Strawberries she lets us have for free. My mother is amazed. Of course I have been here before.
My brother wishes to head back to Bremerton to bike a bit. My mother spying the colorful glass thinks wineries. This leads to hostility down the line. My brother ends up without beloved mileage to maintain his shape and worse has some wine he does not really want. Silver Lake is the Mecca not these boutique places. My mother picks up a spiffy glass of her own and a half bottle of a Late Harvest Riesling before leaving Olympic Cellars. Getting there from Graysmarsh of course I mainly used back roads, one that went past the lavender farm that was missed last year, Angel.
With daylight fading and clouds continuing to swirl around I headed for home while everyone nodded off. Leftover pizza constituted the bulk of dinner. My father wondered how the day went and I had to clue him in before he annoyed my mother or incurred the wrath of my brother. I basically said what has been put down here. It could have been better, but maybe I am being too harsh on myself.
With the wine glasses it means that some of us will be back in the area tomorrow. I will try to swing by other FREE lavender farms, Olivers, Blue Moon, or Nelson's.
The Rainiers lost 8 to 4. My father gave his pastor our tickets. I "trumped" him by giving the ceremonial first pitch incentive I earned. I wonder what he thought about the experience.
My brother is in the process of finishing a wooden kayak Gayle had started a few years ago. For lack of storage it was perched on top of the dirty red van in the carport. Cats fought over who had rule of this lofty object. Since my brother has not been able to land a job he has decided to exercise and build things. After the STP he has decided to do three races next month. And then there's the kayak, certainly more interesting than rebuilding the sagging fence my mother wants done every year.
Completing the kayak, dubbed by Gayle as the Sassy Lady, required certain items that my brother tracked down online to Pygmy Kayak Supply in Port Townsend. Why not carpool up there and he would ride back on his bike while my mother and I took the materials in the vehicle? My mother fumed at this, suggesting that this was a ploy to exclude her from any sort of fun. My (cough) father was able to convince her that it would work out.
We headed out later than we would have liked for the Lavender Festival in Sequim. Ciscoe Morris, a master gardener and Tee Vee personality, conducted the opening ceremonies but as I mentioned we left late so we did not get to see it. This resulted in frustration for my mother as we instead waited outside a warehouse building along the Port Townsend Marina. My brother grew hungry. At Subway he vented his disdain for my sandwich order and my mother's frequent use of the bathroom facilities. Traffic irritated him as well, too many cops, people standing in the middle of the road, etc. It was my time to drive.
I navigated the vehicle to the street festival in Sequim. My mother felt that this would suffice in lieu of the lavender farm tours at $10 per person. Three of us last year managed to see seven of the eight participating farms. The weather, which had continued to drizzle once we crossed the Hood Canal, decided to open up. We huddled under a tree bemoaning "summer" in the northwest. My mother seemed to have had her share of "negatives" however true they were. She suggested we patronize a winery for a bit and then return to pick her up. My brother dislikes wine or to be more precise alcohol in general since he is an athlete who must stay in top shape. It would be interesting.
Lost Mountain remained where we left it last. Two dollars to taste or ten and receive a nifty purple glass and get other fees elsewhere waived. I just decide to do the minimum but in the middle of the sequence from Pinot Gris to Dago Red I upgrade. Thus the ten-dollar bill I found recently is spent. If I get all six spots on the card stamped I will be entered in a drawing for a lavender gift basket. Hmm? Who could use such a thing? But I will likely not get picked. Still hungry my brother downs some cake and crackers. I get the Dago Red to add to the collection. My brother notes that some wineries go overboard showering apparent big spenders with attention when they if fact don't get anything when lowly us has several cases.
Time flies and it's time to pick up mother. I have plotted out a possible course to a FREE lavender farm from the back pages of the festival guide. Unfortunately in the course of getting to there, I run afoul of county-city numbering schemes. In one instance the roads have addresses that gain heading west but two blocks north they increase heading east? Once that is sorted out I pull into Graysmarsh Farms at the end of Woodcock Road. Great names for roads out there, Woodcock of course runs across Kitchen Dick at some point.
Have I subconsciously planned it all out though like clockwork? My mother gets to cut her own bundle for $4. Pre-cut ones are $5. A Hispanic farm worker shows her how to make the cuts. My brother takes shots of the fields with his digital camera. Once this is accomplished he notices picked berries for sale. Where's the berries? Over there? He gets a bucket to put raspberries in. Later he discovers a strawberry patch. My brother and I pick up the missed berries from last week, small and remarkably sweet. My mother grabs some large ones past their prime. Raspberries cost us $1.25 a pound, so we pay $2.50. Strawberries she lets us have for free. My mother is amazed. Of course I have been here before.
My brother wishes to head back to Bremerton to bike a bit. My mother spying the colorful glass thinks wineries. This leads to hostility down the line. My brother ends up without beloved mileage to maintain his shape and worse has some wine he does not really want. Silver Lake is the Mecca not these boutique places. My mother picks up a spiffy glass of her own and a half bottle of a Late Harvest Riesling before leaving Olympic Cellars. Getting there from Graysmarsh of course I mainly used back roads, one that went past the lavender farm that was missed last year, Angel.
With daylight fading and clouds continuing to swirl around I headed for home while everyone nodded off. Leftover pizza constituted the bulk of dinner. My father wondered how the day went and I had to clue him in before he annoyed my mother or incurred the wrath of my brother. I basically said what has been put down here. It could have been better, but maybe I am being too harsh on myself.
With the wine glasses it means that some of us will be back in the area tomorrow. I will try to swing by other FREE lavender farms, Olivers, Blue Moon, or Nelson's.
The Rainiers lost 8 to 4. My father gave his pastor our tickets. I "trumped" him by giving the ceremonial first pitch incentive I earned. I wonder what he thought about the experience.