Bone weary from a trip to Phoenix, then Mesa, and finally on my way home, snugged in 28A by two seat mates, I took the opportunity to stare out the window at the beauty of the night sky, Over the loudspeaker, the pilot announced that Rainier was out.
And so it was, right in front of me.
I was lucky enough to snag two seats
at the divine Moore Theatre–a place where you feel that little-kid excitement at being there, knowing that an amazing experience is on the threshold
And last night was no exception. This time around he is recording a new film called “The Primary Instinct,” so we as the crowd had to set the sound levels by clapping softly and then more loudly, then doing the same by laughing on command.
Then he began to talk to us, to tell his stories. And what he tried to get at was the theme of “Why we tell stories,” by first exploring about what a story is.
To be in the company of a master storyteller is the most divine thing. He’s got a few backstage pics on his facebook page.
Here’s an NPR review of The Tobolowsky files. Enjoy.
There are such mundane tasks as walking to the store to return a Red Box video, or heading off to the pharmacy when a neighborhood walk is in order. As I wander through the neighborhoods, I’ll perhaps notice the fences, the lawns, and to my occasional delight I’ll spy a cat curled near the window, seemingly relaxing but watching my travels carefully.
My favorites are the cats who come to greet me. It’s as if the fireworks begin–these tiny lions will jump off the doorsteps and trot quickly down the front walkways. The utter joy and expectation in their entire bodies is infectious, their faces, like eager sunflowers, looking up at me.
“Hello, “ they say, “Thank you for coming.” Some rub their fluffy bodies against my legs, bashing their furry foreheads against my shins, and others hurl themselves at my feet, bellies up. To me, it is personal and unique and I greet them with equal enthusiasm. “I have been waiting exactly for you,” we communicate telepathically to one another. Many tummy rubs, and fingers massaging behind the ears ensue. Most times, I can’t even get a look at their name tags because they are squirming about so.
Then I am on my way. My journey continues. Some kitties turn back to their homes, others follow me for a bit, stopping at some invisible property boundary. And then the brief affair has run its course almost as soon as it’s begun.
Until next time, my love.
Invariably, when at Pike Place Market, shopping and crowd fatigued, I find myself flagging and end up at the Sound View Cafe, which is pitched high above Elliot Bay. Some people don’t come here for the food, but rather for the incredible view.
If I’m lucky, I sneak back into the skinny nook area behind the kitchen where there is barely room for a table, the view is amazing and you can hide from the world at the same time. From here you can view Puget Sound, listen to the sounds of food preparation, and grab a bite.
Listen to the sound:
Sound View Cafe | Pike Place Market
Of sleep, that is. I spent this past weekend lounging with my nose in Dreamland: Adventures in the Strange Science of Sleep, and catching up on an out-of-control sleep debt I had heard the interview with the author, David K. Randall, on NPR and became intrigued with his challenge. He had written the book in part to address his own sleep disturbances.
As I read, I reflected on my own tenuous relationship with sleep. It had always seemed like something to be endured and to get out of the way. Late party nights, graduate school, early morning meetings at work—as Randall says “sleep continues to be forgotten, overlooked, and postponed”. And that pretty much targets how I’ve felt about it.