It couldn't have been a more beautiful day. I took the ferry out to Bainbridge Island, where my grandparents lived and are interred.
Half way across I started wondering about the propriety of wearing jeans and flip flops to their grave. It seemed, actually, like the kind of thing my grandmother might have had strong feelings about. But I went anyway.
I walked and I walked and I walked. I got to St. Barnabas church pretty easily. Then I decided to keep going to their old house. The sun was shining, and as I say, it could not have been a more beautiful day. It's probably a five mile walk from the ferry terminal to their old house. By the time I got there I was dead on my feet. I saw it, recognized it, although there's always, in my mind, the possibility that I may have misremembered, may be wasting my gooey sentimentality on the wrong object.
Then I started the walk back. It's a funny thing. Walking is grand for a certain distance -- your brain clears and your feelings even out. But after a certain point it's all crabbiness. On the way back I walked a duck and her (his?) ducklings. A dog, two dogs, started chasing the mother duck. She fled, then returned, quacking all the time.
I don't know. I saw some things and got tired and talked to the people I talk to on the cellphone. I felt hungry and adrift. In the next motel room over one guy said to the other, "This is fucking disgusting."
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As one wise young person once commented to me: "low blug sugar." Pike Place Market has great stuff, incl. fruits and veggies. Hope you check in there, as well as the Great Stamp Store. It's amusing. There's a fine second-hand bookstore about 10 blocks south of there, too, I forget the name, but it's like Powell's, in Portland.
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