Big Bertha

"Bertha" is the world's largest tunnel grinding machine, built in Japan over the past two years and shipped in pieces to Seattle where it was reassembled. Bertha is 326 feet long and weighs 7,000 tons. Seattle's controversial big dig was officially underway yesterday, as the drill started slowly moving under the Seattle waterfront, boring out a tunnel 57 feet in diameter for a stacked, four-lane highway 2 miles long. It will be the widest single bore tunnel ever built. The 3.1 billion (and counting) project will eventually replace the Alaska Way viaduct.

Sometime in October, the machine will go under the old Alaskan Way Viaduct, considered the most sensitive part of the path, running only 30 feet below viaduct pilings and past historic Pioneer Square buildings. Monitoring devices will check for ground movements of a fraction of an inch, throughout downtown.

The machine’s mouth, called the cutter head, slowly chips away at the earth, advancing about 35 feet per day. It operates like a worm, “swallowing” the dirt and passing it back to a conveyer belt that leads out of the tunnel and onto a waiting barge in Elliott Bay.  

As the “worm” wiggles its way through the earth, 206 feet below downtown at the deepest, it sloughs off concrete rings that line the tunnel. The tunnel will ultimately consist of 1,427 such rings made from more than 244,000 tons of concrete.  Not everyone appreciates the tunnel, especially Seattle environmentalists who oppose spending $3.1 billion to serve automobiles.

Closet cleaning

I was in a big snit last week trying to find something I'd stashed away in a "safe" place and then forgot where that place was.  How can this be, in such a small house? To give you an idea of just how small, I can vacuum the entire upstairs without even unplugging the machine.  Still, things go missing all the time.

Well, despite the lack of real, useful closets, there are nooks and crannies and other odd places to stash things in an old house.  Over the years all the excess stuff has filtered down to the basement, so it tuned into quite a search. Anyway, a long story short, this set off a cleaning jag and I filled four big bags for the Goodwill.  Does a person really need thirty vases? And so on. Of course I still didn't find the little thing I was looking for in the first place...

When I told John, he said, "since we're getting rid of stuff we don't use anymore, who not dump the electric ice cream maker you bought me back in the 1990's?"  That was a heavy hint to bring the thing upstairs after a decade of gathering dust, and finally make him some real homemade ice cream. After all, it's summer-- and one of the nicest ones ever in Seattle.

Being a helpful person, he quickly printed out a New York Times recipe:

Strawberry Ice Cream

1 1/4 cup strawberries, mashed
2 cups heavy cream (!)
1/3 cup sugar
pinch salt
2 tbs. vodka (I don't know why)

The instructions were simple because this recipe doesn't include eggs that have to be carefully cooked. You just bring the cream, salt and sugar to a simmer, stirring until the sugar dissolves.  Then add the vodka and chill thoroughly.  When cold, pour the mixture into the machine and add the berries, then churn according to "manufacturer's directions."  Which by some miracle, I didn't put away in a "safe" place never to be found again. 

Yum. In about 20 minutes it looked like this and tasted like Dairy Queen on steroids. This isn't some no-guilt sorbet.  But that little recipe turned into a surprising volume of ice cream, and I've been doling it out for dessert out all week.

S'mores

Thanks, Amanda for the wonderful pictures.  I love this one of Nova (although I photo-shopped some of the chocolate off her chin :-)

It sounds like a fun time in the tent trailer Friday night, just up the Twisp River Road.  Hey, why drive across the entire state to camp, when you have a gorgeous wilderness right on the doorstep?

Instead of spending the weekend in the car, you have time to relax at home.

And make s'mores for the first time in your own backyard...

"Continuous partial attention"

Photo by Singe Vilstrup

That phrase describes how "information overload and the distraction of technology disconnects us from our own living experience and the people around us."  (Mindful Magazine.) So along those lines, I'm giving full, mindful attention to running up the water bill this morning. The flowers are gasping for a drink. Have a good weekend!

Clear skies

Chiaroscuro (English pronunciation: /kiˌɑːrəˈskjʊəroʊ/; Italian: [kjarosˈkuːro]; Italian for light-dark. In art is the use of strong contrast between light and dark, usually bold contrasts affecting a whole composition.

The light was beautiful on my favorite dahlias the other evening, for a few seconds turning them into a Dutch still life.

Today marks the 28th consecutive day with no measurable rain in Seattle. The all-time record for a dry streak here was 51 days, set in August 1951. It's one of the nicest summers ever.

I've had time this week to enjoy quiet mornings hanging around the house waiting for Mr. Sunny Lee's garden service to show up.  He promised to come on Monday (no show) then he said Tuesday (no show) then he said Wednesday at 8:00 am. (For sure!)  I asked him to please call if he would be late, but noon passed and no word. Three strikes, he's out. I left a message on his phone, firing him before he even got started. He said he wanted to be my gardener "forever" but made a pretty bad first impression.

I've been stood up by gardeners before, so I'm thick-skinned about it. But I keep hoping when the next one comes along. Mr. Lee seemed like an energetic and personable guy, a real go-getter, but he was more big talk than action, and someone who always has an excuse for not delivering. I've dealt with that type before. Anyway, I'm still looking out the window at a very shaggy hedge, and back to square one.

Who is that, trip-tramping?

A garden bridge showed up on the porch last week in a big box. Thanks, Dad for the surprise! John had it put together in about an hour.

We hauled it outside and stained it with wood preservative. We fondly call it "The Bridge to Nowhere."

The bridge was kiddo tested and dog approved this weekend.  Little feet ran back and forth many times, and it did not fall apart. Nana talked about the "Three Billy Goat Gruffs" story:

The air was crisp and cool. The sky was an endless blue. The green meadow grass swayed in a gentle breeze. And Big Billy Goat Gruff was bored. "I am tired of eating in the same old field every day," he told his brothers. "I want to eat in the meadow on the far side of the stream."

"Ohhh no, Big Billy Goat," said little brother. "We cannot walk through the stream for it is too deep and too fast. We would be swept away!"

"And we cannot walk over the bridge," said middle brother, "because there is a big troll under the bridge who will gobble us up if we try to cross it." 

"I am not afraid of the troll," said Big Billy Goat Gruff, tossing his bold head with the huge round horns. He stamped the ground - once, twice, thrice - with his big hooves. "Let him try to eat me! We shall see who wins the fight!"

The three billy goats put their heads together and whispered for a long time. Finally they broke the huddle and all three of them trotted across the wide meadow to the narrow bridge. Trip-trap, trip-trap. His little hooves made the bridge spring up and down as they moved carefully forward.

 A pair of huge round eyes peered out from the darkness under the bridge. "Who's that trip-trapping over my bridge?" rumbled the troll. A big hairy arm reached out from the darkness and huge fingers gripped the rail beside Little Billy Goat Gruff. 

And so on...

The little girls went home, and the bridge found a new place in a very crowded yard.

 

For now, I think it's perfect in this corner by the front door.  And the troll can settle in to wait for the return of the billy goats.

A wonderous place

When I get discouraged practicing my ukulele, I look at this amazing "harp guitar" and realize how easy I have it, with just four little plinking strings tuned up to My-Dog-Has-Fleas.  This mind boggling guitar is on display at Dusty Strings music store, a wondrous cavern down some steep stairs in the heart of Fremont.

Hundreds of beautiful acoustical string instruments cover the walls.  Including ukuleles that cost over $1000! Envy reared its ugly head.

If you are a very picky person looking for exactly the right harp, this is your place.  So I gawked around, thinking about how my little ukulele opened the door to an amazing new world of music.  I bought myself an extra set of stings (just because) and then browsed through four shelves of ukulele music books.

John had mentioned that I really couldn't call myself a ukulele player until I knew Kum-Bah-Yah, and I found it in Jumpin' Jim's Camp Ukulele easy song book.  Along with one of my favorite melodies, the old Shaker hymn Simple Gifts.  This picture of Jumpin' Jim confirms my belief that sweet-natured, nice people (and of course, easy-going Hawaiians) enjoy playing the uke.

In 48 hours of summer

Just how much can happen?

When Amanda, Nova and Maya come to town in a party mood, plenty!

A bit of outdoor relaxing...

Then ready for the West Seattle parade with Uncle Dave and Mommy.

Keeping an eye out for the Seafair pirates with grandpa. 

The Chinese girl drill team, always a highlight of the HiYu parade...

But it's hard to top a personal photo with your biggest hero, Buzz Light Year!

Yes, that is a little scratch on Maya's forehead.  She fell headfirst into a toy basket-- life is good. 

Mystery solved

"If I could remember the names of all these particles, I'd be a botanist."

Enrico Fermi

My smart, botanically gifted sister-in-law Becky has identified the mystery plant as Elecampane inula helenium. Common names include Elfwort, Elf Dock, Velvet dock, Scabwort, Horseheal, and Horse elder. It has numerous healing properties.  Here's a excerpt from the Purple Sage Medicinal Herbs website.:

The name Inula comes from Helen of Troy, from whose tears it is said to have sprung. The Greeks and Romans regarded elecampane as a cure-all for ailments as diverse as dropsy, digestive upsets, menstrual disorders and sciatica. The Anglo-Saxons used the herb as a tonic and as a treatment for skin disease and leprosy. By the 19th century it was being used to treat skin disease, neuralgia, liver problems and coughs. Inulin was first isolated from elecampane in 1804 and took its name from the herb. Chinese research has demonstrated mild antibacterial properties as well as a stimulant effect on the nervous system, digestion and adrenal cortex. Elecampane is also used to flavour digestive liqueurs and vermouths and is candied and used in confectionery. It is often added to proprietary cough medicine, pastilles and pills. 

Mystery plant

"A weed is a flower growing in the wrong place."

George Washington Carver

This week I downloaded a nifty new iPhone app called Garden Compass. It allows you to send a photo of a plant (or plant disease) to a panel of experts somewhere, and they get back to you in a day or so with an identification.  All for free.  How cool is that?

But the very first photo I sent stumped them completely.  This tall yellow flower is growing in a friend's yard on Mercer Island and he has no idea how it got there.  Plant Compass claims they couldn't find it in any of their weed or flower sources!  What?  Every plant in a major metropolitan area has a name, unless it blew in from Mars.

If you have any ideas let me know.  Dan, maybe you could show it to Becky?  I know she's an expert on "things that grow in the wild."

Dry spell

Relaxation

Wi Quan Li

There's no shame in asking for help, and Mr. Sunny Lee's garden service is stopping by this morning to give me an estimate on some of the rougher chores around here, like edging the sidewalks, a nasty job we have neither the tools nor the desire to do.  I'd like to look like the lady above, instead of the old garden hag I've become.  Maybe when Mr. Sunny Lee gets here?

Mr. Lee sounds like an eager beaver on the phone, but I've had so many "interesting" experiences with gardeners over the years, it became less trouble to just do it myself.  My heart was broken when Saint Geraldo of the Hedge went back to Mexico, and no one can ever fill his shoes.  But everything (including me) is looking a bit ragged so it's time to cast the net for another garden service.  (I think I mixed about five metaphors in that last paragraph.)

Anyway, it's been so long since it rained, we're forgetting what precipitation looks like in Seattle.  The daily watering is an enormous chore, mostly because I forget from summer to summer just how much work dozens of pots are, and add a few more each year.  While I love the bonsai plants, they're as demanding as babies when it gets hot.

Weathermen are teasing us with the possibility of a little shower this morning, but it doesn't look too promising.

Down Router Road

I woke up in the middle of the night feeling overwhelmed thinking about everything I need to do these beautiful (but long and tiring) summer days. Of course that isn't a good way for a busy person to waste an hour of sleep, but try telling your whirling mind to shut off when it decides to torment you at 2 am.  I should have jumped out of bed and practiced Ode to Joy. Some lucky people I know have no problem shrugging off the day and the one to come, rolling over, and going back to sleep. 

But one thing I don't worry about is home technology.  You might have the idea that I'm some sort of technical expert, but actually I'm a fake. I was a good fake when I worked at Microsoft, too.  I'm just lucky to have an IT service department and a personal support person on call.  It is John who keeps our fragile and complicated raft of technology afloat.  Without him, I'd be headed over to McDonald's with my laptop to hook up for free WiFi, and sitting there with talkative senior citizens nursing 99 cent coffee, trying to write my blog. 

Our humble Internet provider is a company called Clear.  I think it basically works like a cell phone signal. I'm really not interested in how these things work unless they stop working, and then I start whining. As you probably know, we don't have cable TV or Direct anything coming in this house.  Clear arrives through thin air in a magic blinking modem on top of a bookshelf in the basement. It looks funky like something you would see on Starship Enterprise in 1966. When the gadget is pointing the right direction, things work pretty well.   For $40 or so a month, we conduct our considerable Internet activities on four computers, an iPhone, and even stream Netflix movies on the television, if the Clear gods are favorable.

Lately our Internet service started drifting on and off and slowed down to exasperating speeds that reminded me of our telephone modem days. We usually like to blame Clear when this happens, but in this case John decided to finally upgrade the old router, and ordered a fancy one from a gizmo company he uses in New York.  A sleek, white tower arrived in the mail. Apple, of course-- we are slowly becoming a Mac shop here. 

There is a special circle in hell reserved for sinners who must install home routers for all eternity.  You plug it in, and of course nothing works.  Then some things work, and others don't. Then everything works, but the next morning the printer decides not to.  This goes on for about 48 hours, but like I say, John is good! I stayed out of the way and supported him with regular meals.  He said at one point he grabbed the Clear modem off the shelf and gave it a good shake, which apparently re-booted it the old fashioned way. 

So it goes...I got out of bed an hour late this morning, poured a strong cup of coffee and shuffled to my computer, which connected to the Internet in the blink of an eye.  No trip to McDonald's today.  Oh, the things we take for granted.

Short but sweet visit

Our busy family stopped by this morning on their way home from a camping trip at Deception Pass State Park. Many changes in just a few weeks! Two little bottom teeth for Maya, and suddenly she's crawling everywhere. It didn't take long to discover her very own toy basket. Nana and grandpa's house is turning out to be a pretty good place, after all.

Of course Nova already knows that...

Well, Nova's old baby toys are still in there, but who cares? The second sister gets plenty of "slightly used." Everything looks new to Maya.

The blue squishy ball is still very popular...

And a short tugging match ensues...

Maya has NO trouble saying exactly how she feels about sharing that ball!

But a minute later, sunshine is back in the room, and the sisters are rolling on the floor laughing.

Adrift

The San Francisco area is notoriously foggy, and summers can be chilly and dreary.  But it has its own special beauty. Photographer Simon Christen just released this mesmerizing time lapse video of fog in the Bay area. Enjoy!

Finger-picking

"The ukulele has this advantage: not even a trained musician could tell if you were really playing it or just monkeying around with it."

Will Rogers

Those old uke uncles on YouTube aren't a bit embarrassed to loudly accompany themselves singing corny songs, but as I told my instructor yesterday, no one wants to hear me sing, including myself.  Well, maybe Maya and Nova wouldn't mind singing along to You Are My Sunshine.

So anyway, my simple (ha! that word is always associated with ukuleles) goal is to play pleasing melodies along with the chords.  Remember the beautiful Ode to Joy?  Like that. As Matt said, "it will sound like you really know what you're doing." That's what I want.  Even if I don't know what I'm doing, I want to fool people. He picked up his cheap studio ukulele and demonstrated how easy it was to make Aura Lee and Oh Susanna sound absolutely beautiful. 

The best hobbies give us pleasure and purpose, so that's the latest from uke land-- this week's practice is devoted to the first lines of Ode to Joy. Not just the famous melody in little plinks, but with the accompanying chords.  Don't look for me on YouTube anytime soon.

"Make the trip on pocket money"

Here's a sweet old magazine advertisement for a romantic winter vacation.  I just read that the Greyhound bus station in downtown Seattle closed, and the building will be demolished to make room for a fancy 43-story hotel. For over 80 years, tourists, workers, sailors, soldiers, lovers, job-seekers and assorted down-and-outers passed through that station.  There was an attempt to save it as a historic landmark, but the original building had been "renovated" so many times it lost whatever architectural interest it once had. In short, it was ugly.  The last time I was there to pick someone up was years ago, and it reminded me of a penitentiary waiting room. 

Before we had buses flying us across the sky, cross-country travel on Greyhound or Continental Lines was exciting and fairly luxurious. People smoked in their seats, relaxed, talked, read or slept and enjoyed the smooth ride.  My mother once told us about the bus trip she took from Philadelphia to Florida (alone!) on a Greyhound bus (to visit a boyfriend!) when she was about 18.  Right through the deep south in about 1940. Imagine that?  Then the exotic first sight of real, live palm trees. That thrill she must have felt stepping off the bus into a warm, humid Miami night.

So, all that's left of the downtown Greyhound terminal is the memories and pictures. Thank goodness for MOHAI.  Here's a few from their photo archive, taken in 1944: