July 4th Party

Frost loves the 4th of July.  The 4th and Halloween are close favorites - he says that the one he prefers "depends on the situation", how much candy is available vs the quantity of Fireworks.

This year we had a party starting at 5pm with BBQ and pies, and fireworks on the basketball court.  The fireworks at home were the small ones, however thanks to Fred and his friend Arlo, the boys had a large arsenal of fireworks from Boom City - the huge fireworks market on an Indian Reservation north of town.

In Seattle, it is illegal to sell fireworks but there are many for sale in neighboring counties where it is legal to set them off.  Frost and Alex bought more 'big ones' this year - not necessarily big in size but in effect - rather than the many small fountains and sparklers which tend to become repetitious over time.

During the afternoon we drank mohitos and ate sausages and salmon with Fred's excellent potato salad.  Some of the guys watched a Sounders Game.

"Seaaaatle, Soundeeerrrrs"  0-0 and Josh says that is an okay outcome.

Later we enjoyed two pies and icecream along with my infamous 14 egg flourless chocolate cake into which we inserted a homemade beeswax candle which (the drunk women) said looked like a big dick.  It did not.  It looked like a candle!

The 14-egg flourless chocolate cake.

I was very proud of it.

Frost was laughing too much to focus on the big candle but
his friends forced him to turn and BLOW IT OUT!

Frost cuts the cake (don't let the knife touch the bottom
or you don't get your wish!) Frost said it didn't matter
if he touched because his wish was for cake and he was
certainly going to get some! (with Nelson and Wren. Photo credit
to Lauren B).

At dusk, around 9pm, we went to an area where fireworks are allowed and let of the two large boxes of them.  Frost and Alex had an order set up but as things emerged they were running around with lighters yelling at everyone.   Another family arrived at the same time with a similar quantity and some older teenagers were set up on the skate rink.

Enemy Suppression!!!!  It shoots
sideways without warning!
Photo:  Tara's dumb phone takes good pictures!!

KA-BOOM (photo credit to Tara K!)

The boys set off fireworks like War Chest, Big Dinger, Main Squeeze, Enemy Suppression, CHAOS, Festival Balls.  Josh's favorite was Enemy Suppression while Frost enjoyed the misfires - when Nelson inserted a mortar ball upside down into the Festival Ball tube and it exploded IN the tube and the roman candles which ricocheted off the fence.  I loved the HUGE box of smoking colored parachutes (19 shots!) which we did in daylight.   All the children ran to catch the red parachutes as they emerged from enemy fire.

Wren (in yellow) runs away once the fuse is lit!!!

Jack and Frost made a Creeper out of boxes and paint and inserted a roman candle in its head.  When it was let off the creeper fell over and everyone yelled and raised their hands - "SUCCESS!"

Frost says it is more fun to set off your own fireworks.

Parachutists open in a puff of colored smoke
as kids run to catch them.  "Look how many
I caught!" said Wren, with a handful of muddled
chutes and string.

Josh is still sniffing from the smoke and I smell like Sulphur.  

Frost said "it was the best 4th of July since the first FOURTH of July."

Wren said "I am very tired and I must go to sleep now."  It was 11pm so he did.  I can still hear the pop and thud of fireworks in the distance.

I am from the UFO

The red, white and blue foil balloons are aloft in Safeway and the girl behind the deli counter is frosting cupcakes to look like hamburgers.  She’s deft with the pastry bag, her hibiscus-tattooed arms hold the bag of red frosting steady as she draws short squiggles of ‘ketchup’ on the chocolate patty.  Wren stands enraptured as she repeats it with yellow ‘mustard’ and then, donning plastic gloves, shakes on the green coconut lettuce as a topping.

“How do you make the lettuce?” he wonders.

“I put green food coloring in the coconut” she explains in a whisper.

"Of course!"  I think.  Friends, be warned, this is my new plan  – pour green frosting on the shaved coconut and make little burger-cupcakes for desert.

Wren turns around and notices the balloons with U.S.A on them. 

“What does that say?”  He asks, trying to make sense of the letters.

“It says USA” I explain.  “America – its for the 4^th of July holiday.”

“WHAT!” he looks shocked.  “I thought USA was the name for a flying saucer!”

“Nope, that’s a UFO.”

“Oh” he says, confused about his nationality.

This is the same kid who was concerned about the ZA on my car earlier.  I explained I had a ZA sticker on my car because I am a South African, a Zuid Afrikan.    He objected:

“But I am NOT a South African and I am in your car.”

“You ARE a South African a bit,” I tested (not yet fully resigned to having American children.)

“I am NOT!  I am AMERICAN” he insisted, watching my face carefully.  “Did you not KNOW that?”

“I did” I said.

“Were you just TEASING?”

I can’t explain it to him. I am not teasing.  It seems a ridiculous thing to have American children.  When I married an American man it was like trying a flavor of icecream I was a bit sceptical of – say rhubarb chocolate mint.  I didn’t think ahead to spawning rhubarb choc-mint kids.  I keep trying to garnish them with foreigness – making sure to register them as Australian’s born overseas, informing them of their South African genealogy and talking about family overseas.

Sadly, my mixed-nationalism is not working.

A few months ago I learned that Frost had told his teacher that I was born in Australia (or perhaps England?).  She invited me to class to talk about the history of the UK and Ireland.  I had to put her off gently and tell her that I was South African and happy to talk about Africa.

A few weeks ago, Frost was learning the geography of Africa (with which I am hopeless beyond the borders of old Apartheid South Africa) and I noticed that Lesotho and Swaziland were mixed up.  I corrected the map but Frost still got it wrong on the test!

Traitor!

Anyway, for those of you not in the USA I should explain the reason for the theme of nationalism.  We are entering the onramp for the next national holiday – 4^th of July or INDEPENDENCE DAY.    Its the day when the television shows us people waving flags, everyone braais (BBQs, barbies) and its supposed to be SUMMER.   I am considering celebrating the Queens Jubilee that Day or calling it UFO Day but regardless,we are having a party.

Frost is planning it with his friend Jack.  He is calling it “Frost’s birthday, July 4^th, beginning of summer party!”  He has asked permission to construct a  big creeper out of cardboard and to blow up its head with fireworks.

He has also asked me to buy a big bag of toy soldiers to melt and destroy with fireworks and to get a few "old barbies and ken guys".

I like the creativity of this plan but since Seattle City Ordinances prohibit fireworks, I am tentative in my support.  How can we have a party and then leave the city limits to let off our “Coconuts and Chrysanthenums” or “Bad Monkeys”.   How can we make a barbie inferno at home without drawing attention to ourselves?

For now, I am going along with it, dreaming of hamburger cupcakes and icy margheritas while the rain of Junuary pours outside and the old daffodils keel over and die.  I shall enjoy the practice of the holiday - if not the colonizing imperative - and plan on August in Australia as a time to ply the kids with Lamingtons and wallabies, parrots and pavlova, and set things to rights in my multi-national world view.

But #!@$!, I forgot, I am supposed to be South African?

Josh recently had his DNA tested with 23andMe and found that his paternal DNA is a long string that is definitively irish.  It has him pegged, right down to his earwax and tendency to freckle.  His maternal DNA is Western European.  I think that explains why he has just bought such a cool car.

In the absence of any information about my DNA (to heal my cultural anomy), I am considering going along with Wren's line and being from "out there" the Unidentified Foreign Object - certainly borne out by recent genealogical research.  We shall have Happy UFO day on July 4th and let Frost wave flags of his own devising as he wages war against plasticity and Minecraft threats.   And I shall be as choc-mint rhubarb as a I can with a pie and cupcakes and some margaritas to smooth it along.  

Queen of Burlesque, Brunch

Imogen, the flamingo from Australia is the new Reigning Queen of Burlesque aka Miss Exotic World 2012.  The flamingos at Seattle Zoo are a stinky lot but Miss Kelly redeemed them for me with all her lovely pink feathers, puppets and elegant disrobing.

I stayed up late.  It was already light.

I remembered to drink lots of water.

I find Vegas messes with my inner clock.  I ate breakfast at midday yesterday and nothing else all day.  There wasn't the sense that it was now time to eat.  Inside its always dark.  Outside is light a hellavu lot of the time.  Very bright.  Very hot.

I am going to try and do better today that means going out and seeking brunch of an inferior quality to yesterday.

The Donut Bar at the Verandah, Four Seasons

My 3rd course at lunch at the Four Seasons

The Tippy Tops of Tall Buildings

Ten am and ninety two degrees in Vegas this morning but I haven't been out of the ambient 74 of the hotel.

I am sitting on the monogrammed carpet of my room leaning back against the king sized bed I had all to myself.  Through the open blinds the pinacles of a faux New York skyline (the New York Hotel) glint in the yellow sky that blushes up to the faintest blue in outer space.   Helicopters circle like small flies over The Strip.

I managed to make a cup of drip coffee in my room - its one of those coffee makers where you stick a coffee 'teabag' into a slot and water drips over it into your cup.  In this case, the only cup offered was one of those white foam ones wrapped in a cup-condom so I stole a cup from yesterday's room service.  Its completely seedy.

So I am now thinking about brunch.

According to my expert advisors, brunch is a big thing in this city.  I am not sure whether my friends are up for a trip to find somewhere but I am quite taken by one that makes donuts to order for you.  Donuts no less.  The alternative is the diner in this hotel which has lots of blue formica and I am not going to vouch for on Urbanspoon.  If I don't get out for my brunch today I am going to have to come back here with Josh and do it.  Even he could be persuaded to get up by 11 for custom donuts, right?

The girlfriends are MIA after last night although I recall Natasha was going to have an 8.30am massage with bamboo sticks or rolling rocks or something else equally ..... er... specialized.


I have been reading in bed and realizing I need a flower in my hair for tonight.  Burlesque girls all wear sequins, figure hugging 40s style dresses no matter how large they are (and some girls are mighty mighty curvy), and hair fascinators.  Burlesque chickies are the fascinator heartland.

Being here, regaining equilibrium without children, has revealed that if I have no responsibilities I like the following:

1. Staying up late
2. wearing high heals
3. being very hot in the sun
4. swimming pools
5. cocktails without bottled cocktail mix
6. 1c slot machines (not 25c ones)
7. reading books in bed with the blinds open
8. having smudged eyeliner all day
9. reading badly written but thoroughly entertaining books that my English Major friends recommend in one lying in.

There are now about eight helicopters out there.

I need a bookshop.

The Tournament of Tease finals are on tonight!   I am already a fan of the Screaming Chicken Theatrical Society - I sat next to one of the performers last night - a girl from Vancouver.  Super excited.  Apparently one of the fans wore (nipple) pasties to the bowling alley so we were warned to dress appropriately.  I have found my skirt from last night but its still smoky.

Vegas Has Me In Its Grip

Its after midnight and I have been up for 21 hours without sleep.  I am sure this is why I lost $6 at the 1c slot machines and I smell like an ashtray.

Seriously, they should stop people smoking in here.  Maybe some people want to smoke and play but other people do NOT want to smoke and the people who don't want to smoke get so they can't breathe.

Its a thick pall out there and I feel like I need to use one of those indian nose teapots to get the smell out of my sinuses.  Even my non-smoking room smells vaguely smoky, probably from the non-smoking refugees being forced to hole up here with their smoke-stenched clothes.

I am going to hang out at the Luxor again tomorrow.  I had the greatest sushi rolls for dinner.  They were from a restaurant called RICE & COMPANY.  The mango and avocado roll was sufficiently good that I want to go back there tomorrow.

Oh, I saw the first burlesque performance tonight.  It was the Legends Night - meaning women who performed burlesque in the 50s, 60s and 70s performed.  Their abilities at this point varied widely but the spirit and the skill they brought entranced the audience and most received standing (and hooting) ovations.

Some are celebrities in alternative culture - one performer *Haji* had been in Faster Pussycat, Kill Kill and other Russ Meyer movies.  All had been fabled performers in the history of burlesque and the world of 'exotic' dance.

106 (Fahrenheit)

This afternoon I went down to the strip.   It was so hot outside that the soles of my shoes became tacky on the asphalt.   When I smiled, my teeth became so dry that my lips stuck to them.

It was so hot outside that my hair, which was wet from the shower, was dry before I had walked 3 blocks.

It was so hot that just one side of me became sunburned waiting for the bus.

It was so hot outside that the plastic frames of my sunglasses burned my face and made a rim of sweat across the bridge of my nose.

It was so hot that I could have burned my finger on the big silver WALK button at the intersection.

It was so hot that the guy a the refreshment stand was selling everyone TWO bottles of water instead of one.

It was great.

The cabbie was Sarajevo said it was the first really hot day of the year.

At the Luxor

That intersection

Its all about the pool

I know we are very Seattle people now, Josh embodies the NW idiom of wearing fleece all year or going out in a t-shirt in winter, but jolly geez, heat is good for the bones.

I think we might have to retire to Florida, or South Africa or Australia.... someplace with a pool and blue skies and helicopters buzzing overhead and slushy margaritas that come in a 24oz cup shaped like a beach babe with a straw out of her head.

I know there's a lot to do in Vegas but I am having trouble leaving the pool.  Seriously, I didn't even NAP despite my early start.  The pool at the Orleans is particularly lovely today, being populated by many burlesque performers and fans.  Tropical tattoos, boys with lovely ginger sideburns, girls with fake flower sin their hair and waists synched into 1940s dresses with thin belts, glossy high heels by the pool (even I!) and a particularly voluptuous girls in a blue sequenced skirt-kini make the pool culture culturally diverse.

I tried one slot machine with one dollar but it whirred and at my money. Natasha and I were a bit disappointed and have vowed to try the 1c machines next.

Kellie has gone out on the Hoover Dam in a boat with alcohol and friends.   If she returns I shall see her tonight.

See if you can make out the lettering on the lifeguard seat

I am now going to catch a city bus to the Luxor to explore and see the Titanic Exhibition.  Apparently, I can touch a piece of the Titanic.

Vegas, Old Lady!

I did a writing course years ago and the only thing I can remember from it is that every good story follows the cycle of conflict, crisis and resolution.  So, here's my crisis:

Its 3.30am and I am heading off to Vegas for the first time.  I don't think I am a Vegas person.  I am sure there will be a chorus of disapproval and I am open to persuasion, but really?   Vegas?  I'm plump, in my 40s, am not a bachelorette or a bridesmaid, don't gamble, don't have a single pair of non-yoga shorts and it cost me about $50 to get a bikini and underarm wax (I know, TMI).

I'm not even convinced I'm really going to get on the plane.  I have a ticket, but its not like the old days when you travelled with a leather folder containing tickets in triplicate.  My ticket is a crummy printout of a confirmation number with color separation from my old printer.  It doesn't feel official.  Even the boarding pass lacks the credibility of cardboard.  Its like an important receipt that I keep misplacing.  I might blow my nose on it by mistake.

I caught the Airporter Express to the aiport.  It wasn't very express.  They picked me up at 3.30am and after collecting Michael and Richard (I know their full names and home addresses since they were illuminated on the dashboard for the whole trip (beneath mine, creepy) we arrived shortly before 4.30am.  Michael and Richard weren't chatty but the driver enjoyed telling me about his lifestyle working the 3am-1pm shift.  He likes gardening.  He naps when he gets home then stays up till 7.30pm.  I imagined stories in which serial killers locate victims by riding the Airporter and remembering...

Michael and Richard huffed quietly in the row behind me.

I spent the trip staring out the window at things, noticing how the darkness makes interiors bright while daylight hides them.  The rental car wash depot looked like a machine with its gizzards torn out, pipes and lines bursting bright in the artificial light and a huge plane drifted silently over the interstate to land at Boeing field.

Now its 5am and the concourse coffee places are opening and the noise levels .  We board in half an hour.  Announcements have started.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our morning service to Las Vegas.  The flights is completely full so if you do not need your handluggage during the flight, we are offering courtesy consignment. We guarantee it will be at the baggage claim within twenty minutes of arrival.

The lights are coming on in Hudson News.  Out of sight, Bloomberg News is alternating between soothing ads and aggressive market news.

Nobody cares.

I have yet to find a crisis beyond the fact that I am going to bash the guy sitting next to me if he doesn't stop his ipad chiming belligerently with a noise like a metal spoon hitting glass.  CHING!!!  CHING!!!

I am going to consign my bag.

Canoeing in the Family by Granny Anne

Mervyn (Shannon's Grandfather) canoeing in France in 1938

Today, in Seattle, we went canoeing: Shannon steering at the back and Frost and Wren in the middle with Beezle dog wandering around or sleeping in the laundry basket. Our route was down the Sammamish River from McRedmond River Park to Woodenville, a distance of about 10 miles taking us about 2.5 hours. The river drainsLake Sammamish into Lake Washington.

On lake Washington 

Paddling downriver from Redmond (note Beezle in basket)

Snackbreak (canoeing is hungry work) 

 The Sammamish is named after the native people that lived along its shores. It is not a wide river and flows at about 3-4 knots. Shannon's Old Town canoe is very stable and none of the kids’ wriggling around worried us. It was an adventure and Wren commented that it was 'heaven'. Frost helped with paddling but enjoyed relaxing with Beezle snuggled on his lap. The 'padkos'  (food for the journey) was an important feature of the trip and even Beezle had his bag of padkos. There was a lot to see: birds, including some spring goslings, fish, a muskrat swimming, turtles and peoples' backyards. We were the only canoeists on the river.  Josh collected Shannon at the end to ferry her back to the car. It was a most successful expedition and it finished with delicious cookies from the Hillcrest Bakery in Woodenville.

The canoeing reminded me of family stories of canoe trips. Since Shannon and I have been researching family history I shall tell them here.

In 1938 my father, at the age of 27 travelled round the world ending up in Europe. He and a friend decided to canoe down the Rhine. They bought a wood and canvas canoe in London and set off for Kehl in Germany. It was the time of increasing tension between France and Germany and Dad recalled the Heil Hitler salutes that greeted you at every German Pub or wine 'stahl'. Dad would tell stories of that trip with great happiness. It was not without danger as the Rhine was full of boats and his friend could not swim.

“We were not fully aware of the developing conflict. They said that there would never be another war. At one of the places we stopped for the night we went up to a Rhinecastle. We met a lot of Spanish refugees, these were attractive girls. They had to escape from Spain, from Franco’s Civil war where the Nazis were fighting. And the other side was helped by the Soviet Union and the International Brigade. So we spent some time with them. We were like gypsies and we took what came, at that age one does not have the same fear of what tomorrow brings.

We should have been drowned a hundred times. On one occasion we were going like anything on the river and there was a great big bridge ahead with pillars down into the water. I was in the front and Fergie was in the back. I noticed that we are going to hit one of these pillars sideways.

I shouted at him, ‘Steer it round, steer it round!!’ expecting him to use the rudder.

He says, ‘No! No! I threw it away!’

We are going down the Rhine without a rudder! Imagine it! I paddled like hell on the one side to get it round. We just got it round past the pillars.”

I remember our canoe and kayak journeys in the wilds of Africa: down the Zambezi and Orange Rivers. In the 1980s Mervyn and I loved to do these trips. Now I look back on them with more sense of the dangers that surrounded us. The Zambezi is a kilometre wide. The birdlife, animals on the shores and in the river were a stunning spectacle. At night we camped on the shores and told stories of Africa round the campfire. Some days we lunched on a shallow sandbank in the middle of theZambezi. The Camp chairs were in the clear water and we could watch hippo pods in the river and elephants coming down to drink.  

Mervyn and Freddie beside the Rhine

Canoeing the Zambezi, note the hippos in the background

Canoeing in the Okavango Delta in a wooden "makoro"

Okavango crocodile

Notes from my visit

What struck me when I arrived in Seattle was how much Wren and Frost have grown. Several times during the first day Wren held up his five fingers and said, 'I am FIVE'. frost at ten is on the cusp of being a young man. Very determined, very literate. 

Frost tries out the keyboard on a visit to Google

Sizing up the snow on Hurricane Ridge (see below)

The spring in Seattle is glorious. Gardens don't typically have a front fence so generally much effort goes into the presentation of these areas. Azeleas, bluebells, daffodils, magnolias, rhododendrons, lavenders are in full bloom. I love the architecture of the homes here. Wren is very happy to come on a walk, actually he scoots and I walk with the reluctant Beezle dog.

I have been here for two weeks and Shannon has been diverted from her normal busy routine.

Shannon has not been diverted from her vegetarianism despite
repeated servings of salmon

We started with three days on the Olympic Peninsula which is a story in itself. I love the way Seattle is surrounded by mountains. They are still snow covered and one stream running into the sea that we had to cross was bitterly cold. Birds are everywhere at the moment and Wren is becoming a spotter. In his new diary I had to write, 'i saw a hawk' and while reading to him he spotted a yellow warbler out the window. He notes the Stellar's Jay as we walk our road. From little interests like this kids can build a life long interest. wren is a highly imaginative child. He loves the backyard basketball court and plays imaginative battles there quite on his own. On the wild Olympic beaches, the driftwood took on many shapes to him, mostly of them forms of battle weapons.

Wren tries out a driftwood "rhino gun" on a long beach walk 

I have started reading to him from Geraldine Elliots books of African stories, The Long Grass Whispers and the Singing Chameleon. The former was my childhood book of 1952 and I remembered them all my life. Fisi, the hyaena is the villain and Kalulu, the rabbit is the clever survivor. At first Wren complained about the lack of pictures, but that did not last long.

Fisi the Hyena who is always causing trouble

My (Anne's) original copy of the Singing Chameleon from 1952 (she was 5 years old too!)

Each day has new excitement. Yesterday Shannon and I took out their new Indian style canoe on lake Washington. Wren came, sitting in the middle. It was a perfect warm calm day and all the birds were busy. Wren spent his time catching water lilies, counting the great blue herons we paddled past and enjoying his 'padkos'. He even tried to help paddle but was confused as to how to actually help without depositing scoopfuls of water on my lap.

Wren on Lake Washington in the canoe

Wren called the trip "the 13 great blue herons" because we saw so many