I didn’t realize until about halfway through this morning’s walk that it was raining. Partly due to the years that I have lived in Seattle - the defiant, blissful ignorance of the weather - and partly due to the mishmash of absorbing thoughts running around my brain. I didn’t have a chance to weld them together. In the past, I’ve decided that this walk is over when the thoughts are coherent, but today it was just too wet. At a certain point, I decided that aimess wandering in the rain is overrated.

So on to the mishmash.

Stubbed out cigarettes on the sidewalk make me think of all my friends who smoke cigarretes and i wish they didn’t. And how unfair is it that people on the job can take smoke breaks whenever they like, and non-smokers get no excuse? Not to mention the smoke break conversations which often end up leaving the non-smokers feeling left out. High school politics triumph again.

I never know when to believe a friend who says that he or she is okay to drive home. The obvious times are when that person has had, say, four dinks, because that’s a fair amount of alcohol for anyone. The more difficult times are when a person has had less than it would take for me to be over the limit, because why should my own tolerance be a rule? For most people, it seems like their thoughts of safety arrive the morning after, and are of the I probably shouldn’t have driven last night variety. That’s not the right time to have those thoughts.

Still thinking about the dream i just woke up from. Isn’t it the strangest feeling in dreams how situations that are clearly not your reality are so completely accepted as reality within the dream? There’s an uncanny understanding going on, because while you’re dreaming, you know it’s not real, but everthing about it feels as if it is real. The ultimate game of Pretend. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if we had that attitude in real life. Either we would all quite literally accomplish our dreams, or we’d all be wandering aimless in the rain.

So, smoking, drinking, dreaming. Take your pick.

Through the frosty morning windows of neighborhood establishments, I spy an unusual amount of beautiful artwork. Unusual, meaning here “of consistently high quality,” given that a larger percentage of independent artists’ work is bound to be a letdown [plain logic]; usual though, in this town.

Well, you are here with us because you are a RIVET reader, and as a RIVET reader you must already know at least a small amount about how much beautiful art there is to find in Seattle. Not all, but a generous proportion of the artwok in our mag comes from Seattle-based operations. See RIVET Art Auction for more details.

So, community art support from a locally-based art magazine? Makes sense. Local bars and coffeeshops? Makes a little less sense. I have grown used to the art gallery wallspace at my local dingy watering hole, but I am still thrown off by viewers at the coffeeshop who approach my table only to lean over me and inspect the mixed media that hangs above my head.

Everyone’s favorite local blog had an idea. Which leads me to think that I am not the only person who sometimes walks into a room for one thing - a coffee and a donut, for instance - and leaves thinking, “That was better than the Asian Art Museum!” 

This indie art sometimes even falls in the range of “affordable,” which really means “I actually have more than that in my bank account this month, so maybe possibly i could think about buying it, someday.” A caffeine buzz will bring out the optimist in people. A beer buzz may even bring out the buyer.

But I always find myself wondering if the art would look as great in my apartment. There is something unique about an art show - it’s like looking at a whole box full of puppies. One pup is adorable, sure, but the whole bunch is stunning. When the art is in a series, it impresses, it inspires, it is a vision. Sometimes I do feel that individually, the work is not strong. Strength in numbers is great for the bar - it gussies up their walls - and for the artist who will get exposure and sales. And yet I feel a bit misled by the power of repetition. 

If it was a different universe than this one, and I was a person with money and wall space to go around, I would sometimes buy this art. Would I buy one piece, the piece that steals my soul away for a breath and returns it in refeshing shape? Would I buy three or four or five and recreate the strength of the crowd?

And then, since I’m still on this Monday walk, I’m seeing all the spring flowers rising up fom the dirt, and I see that they are always planted in a row. Why is there never the lone daffodil? And would a lone daffodil be just as pretty to look at?

Walking down the street this morning my eyes were especially focused on the windshields. Little pink and white slips everywhere today. Something must have been in the air last night, drawing out the reckless parker in this neighborhoods’s residents. So much illegal parking behavior - a traffic cop had a field day.  The main infarctions fall under three basic categories.

1. Fire Hydrants: What is the legal amount of space one is supposed to leave? 30 feet, right? I’ve never been a good judge of distances, but I can sure tell a distance that is as long as me [5 feet] versus one that is much much longer. Just lie down on the curb if you are skeptical.

2. Blocking the Sidewalks: I once got a ticket for this, though I didn’t understand why. I saw a cop ticket a car the next day in the same spot that I had been in and I asked her to explain. She helped me visualize how hard it is for cars to make turns onto the street with the illegal parking job - the closer the car is to the intersection, the harder it is to see if cars are coming. It didn’t take long for me to understand - I have this problem all the time in Seattle’s residential ‘hoods. I thanked her for her time and paid my ticket accordingly.

3. Blocking a Driveway: Need I explain more? This is just dumb.

I was home free this morning, me and my legal tendencies. However, I am grateful for the experience I had this past weekend, which involved a Portland parking garage, a misused parking permit, and a “courtesy” ticket with a $0 fine. I now see the error of my ways. But there are bound to be a lot of frustrated neighbors this morning.

I hope you’re not hungry. Because I was hungry when I arrived at the doorstep of a perfect little cafe, only to find it closed on this unlikely morning. I’m not even sure what I wanted, since it was a dinner menu I was reading that made my tummy grumble. At this early hour, it’s strange that braised short ribs and polenta sounded so good. Maybe I should not have gone to bed last night without dinner, and my food brain was a little confused.

Should I go home and eat cereal? I don’t know if that will help. Should I go home and cook an extravagant dinner? Breakfast for dinner is sometimes a fun thing, but dinner for breakfast? Hmm. Unless it’s cold pizza, I am skeptical. Weird thoughts.

This Monday is a weird Monday. Things are a little out of balance. Maybe it was the idea of comfort food that was so appetizing. Did you hear about the pillowfight at Pike Place Market this weekend? That’s bizarre. And how about snow in late March? How about the super-weirdness of Hillary Clinton exposed in a foreign policy lie by none other than Sinbad? What’s with you today? What’s with today today?

On some of the quietest streets of the neighborhood this morning, I ambled down the spring melody lanes that I can no longer escape. Was it a particularly slow morning as part of an Easter weekend hangover? No cars, no people, no runners, no dog-walkers, no nothing. But I could not hear my own footsteps.

You see, at night, walking these streets, the silence gives way to the impertinence of my own feet. It doesnt matter either, if i’m wearing boots or sneakers, and it doesn’t matter if it’s wet or dry. The distinct echo of my feet on the pavement bounces off the brick walls all around me. Not a soul around, except all these replications of my own tired self.

I’m wondering this morning, now, if the echoing footsteps are imaginary. Why would they be so prominent at night and nonexistent in the day? It doesn’t make sense.

Or they may not be imaginary, per se, but merely the residue of a night or a week that has been lived. They are the voices of the friends around the table that was just cleared, or the heartbeat of the anxious thought that will keep me awake for a few hours yet. And therefore, a Monday morning is a clean slate. On this day we start all over. We see what we are seeing but we do not hear the rest.

Pschologically speaking, it does a person much good to believe that they have a new sheet of paper on which to scribble. No matter that this explanation leaves a little too much wiggle room for the literal translation, because if any of us were actually hearing voices then I would say it’s time to stop and think about that in a different manner. But then again, we are actually hearing voices. And calling them footsteps.

Nevermind that it was the first night in months that I had to turn on the heat. Nevermind that it’s the first time in weeks that I’ve needed a scarf. Nevermind that despite daylight savings it’s still not quite sunrise at this time. The birds are hungry, the crocuses are gone, and blooms are popping up everywhere. The spring palette alights on every corner, in every measly shrub. Somehow in the midst of this mess it became March, and the flowers are arriving to prove it. You can’t say that doesn’t feel good.

I am still noticing the things that are missing, like the cherry trees that were cut down on the corner of those streets, and a lot of street art that has been recently painted over. But these things grow back, like a bad haircut. But then I remember about the tree they cut down in Volunteer Park a few years ago - it was dead, but beautiful - and then in the wake of a shrine that arose at the stump, a young sapling was planted. And so eventually it too will grow back and I will again be able to take shade under its branches on a hot summer day, painting watercolors to send in the mail.

And the end of my walk my eyes landed on a Guinness sign, and I realized I am to have a day of pinching to look forward to, because alas, I have no green on my person.

On this morning’s walk, all I could do is think about yesterday’s constitutionals. I learned that word this week: Constitutional. It’s a noun, defined in Merriam-Webster as “a walk taken for one’s health.” It’s a word for what I’ve been doing all along, so I’ve latched onto it pretty quickly.

Yesterday’s constitutionals were both morning and evening events, full of laughter and storytelling. At sunrise there was the telling scenery of the Seattle coastline, the snow-covered Olympics and the silver cloud-colored water. At dark, there were two cats - first one pure white and then another pure black, both deciding to join us for a period of walking. In the morn, coffee, and at night, tea.

In comparison, this morning is a bit of a letdown. Daylight savings happened but it was not any lighter. Also I ran out of coffee grind, so a lack of caffeine makes things just a bit duller. But we perservere, we do. Why? Because it’s good for our health. Because I say so.

Two questions today, totally unrelated except for the fact that they both occurred on this morning’s walk.

1. What’s the best kind of rain? The kind that is so light that you stay dry and don’t need a raincoat? The kind that is so wet that no amount of water protection has an effect? The “wintry mix” kind that makes you need, like, really need, hot chocolate and whipped cream? My favorite, I think, after all this wandering and pondering, is the kind that seems to be falling from a cloudless sky. Other people have probably seen this. The clouds have moved on, the sun is out, and - what? - it’s still raining? What’s up with that? It’s kind of cool.

2. Who goes shopping at 7 in the morning? I’ll tell ya, not a whole lot of people. It’s nice to be in the store because the bright lights and the refrigerating hum obliterates all sense of time. It makes you forget that it’s early and that it’s dark out and that you havent had your coffee yet. For a brief moment in time, you feel equalized. If more people knew this, then they would shop before work. I guarantee it.

I will leave you with some words of wisdom to begin your week. Please remember that you always have a choice. This is a condition people forget or psych themselves out of [the human condition?], but it’s true. Always.

This morning there was an uncomfortable-looking man stumbling down the street in the classic seven-dwarvian manner with one of those new green bags from Whole Foods. Hi-ho, hi-ho, it’s off to food shop we go? It’s possible that he was using the bag for non-food-related contents, just a conveniently sized tote. Or maybe he is a person that plans ahead, realizing that he was going to get some food shopping done after work so he may as well bring the bag along, lest he get suckered into snagging another one for 99 cents.

99 cents ain’t bad, though. I’ll admit that I bought one the other day. I’ll also say that those flimsy things hold a lot more weight than you’d expect. But it made me wonder about a lot of things at the store. For instance, it’s a nice thing to eliminate the plastic shopping bags at the checkout, but how much good are you really doing when your “green” bag is packed with numerous other plastic bags full of vegetables and granola and beans?

I’ve been saying for awhile that I think Starbucks should stop serving to-go cups. It looks like WF beat them to the media punch, but not in such a big way either. The coffee giants certainly could use the good publicity and maybe the chance to revolutionize the design of the mugs they sell. Not that it would get me into their stores - not in Seattle, anyway.

Kudos to Whole Foods for making a small step. Hi-ho, hi-ho, it’s a green way they go - or maybe.

Serious business thoughts for a Monday morning. That poor guy just looked so disconsolate.

Mmmmm, coffee.

No, wait, I’m supposed to be outside, walking, at 7AM. And I was, not to worry. I would not fail you, fellow blog-readers, at least I have not yet.

Nevertheless, I just love my Vivace coffee and I wanted you to know.

Virginia is humid today. If I thought there were so many birds out last Monday morning (and I did) - well, it was just a prelude. Today was a symphony. And it’s not even spring yet. And, checking in on those daffodils, I found them waiting in the soft dirt with yellowing tips. I think they will be able to hold out until March, which is a safe time to bloom.

But the branches, the barren, twisted branches still show absolutely no sign of life.

Has this become our fate? To lie in wait for a season that will elude us for weeks to come? Lately I’ve been keeping tabs on other people’s conversation topics, and I’ve been around a lot of other people, all over the country, so I think its probably true to say this: People are obsessed with weather conditions. Obsessed!

Firstly I think it’s about natural disasters - the rubbernecking impulse. And not even disasters, but any kind of extreme weather will do the trick. Secondly, it’s a conventional ice breaker, for when parents and grandparents call to see how you’re doing, or when you find yourself awkwardly placed at a dinner party. Thirdly, it’s a way for people to project their emotions:
“How’s it going?”
“It’s okay, but it’s been raining all week, so, you know…”
Typical for a Seattle-ite pretty much all the time.

Think about the word, weather. It’s a verb too, in the sense that we weather the weather, we stick it out, we persevere. Often it is said that we must “weather the storm,” but do we ever get to “weather this glorious summer day?” Of course not. Weather is by it’s very definition a thing that we suffer.

But soon, if it hasn’t happened already, another conventional national obsession is about to emerge - Election 2008. We don’t quite know yet what the tone of this summer’s campaign is going to be. There’s a chance it may be hopeful, glittering with a future that not very many people even thought possible a few months ago. There’s also the possibility of some serious and damaging domestic warfare. If we are not careful, our friends could become our enemies by the end of a serious conversation about foreign policy or government-sponsored health care.

Maybe we are all better off just sticking to the weather.