I"ll Be Wearing Rainboots When I'm 54.

Rainboots. Who lives in Seattle without them?

Well, me, for the last 7 years or so. Dodging water, soaked socks. Not good.
Until 2 days ago when I stepped into Lambs Ear in Fremont.

It was one of those moments. You see the item in the window. You look again. You want to say yes.

You walk in, take a look, and the sales lady says: "I just marked those down this morning."

Done and done.
(photo compliments of webury.com)

Aigle Boots. 150 years of happy, dry, toes.
Rubber that scuba divers use to stay dry.

Boots with a 25 year warranty. Seriously? Seriously. I'll be 54 by the time I have to give these up to wear & tear.

10 minutes later I was walking out of the store with my old shoes in the new box.
New rainboots on, ready for some deep, dark, Northwest puddles.



I threw a quarter in my pocket and stepped out for a walk.

The quarter is for the handful of Mike & Ikes I'll find at either Utrecht or in the Value Village on 11th. (I'll admit that I hold a bit more trust in the cleanliness of the candy machine at Utrecht, but coin-candy-machine users can't be picky, can we?)

Up on 10th I happened to see that Flora & Henri is having a closing sale, and almost decided to buy a full wardrobe of imported linen for my future child. The saleswoman told me not to fear, they are not leaving but are simply focusing online - they'll retain a by-appointment-only space downtown.

A peacock front-button dress on sale at Flora&Henri.

I walked up to 14th just to peek in the lace curtains at Spinasse and happened upon a little boutique I've never been in before: Spun. Teeny and warm, I was happy to take off my mittens for a minute and peruse the goods. Conscientious artist collective: jewelry makers, beauty products, and fashion designers all offering organic goods with simple design.

Photo compliment of Seattlest

Some of the jewelry was gorgeous, although I admit I was not taken with many of the 100% organic clothes.

I was struck, however, by 2 things:

1: The absolutely gorgeous wood & iron furniture pieces around the shop. The cheery-cheeked woman who was managing the shop said everything was for sale, was completely affordable, and could be custom fit to your house. The designers name is Mike, at MM Builders, and the furniture is made under his concept "Marian Built." Using cast iron wheels and reclaimed wood, he does what Restoration Hardware is doing but at a much-better price point. I want to see more of his work: especially old rolling doors.

Photo compliment of Seattlest

2: No nonsense cards from "the Raven & the Writing Desk."

I'm always impressed by the creativity birthed on this hill between two waters.


Ice Cube & the Eames

The snow in Seattle. To some, it's a nuisance. For other's, it's a wonderland.

Ice Cube said it most eloquently:

One man's eyesore
is another man's paradise

Go ahead and watch this video.

I wonder if the largest eyesore in Seattle - the downtown Westin Hotel - is someone's paradise?


Plumbing, Sushi and Maple Trees

Up on 12th Avenue, near Pine, there used to be this plumbing shop.
A polished, latrine hardware store, of sorts. It was housed in one of my favorite buildings on my hill: a historic white dove of a building with wide, sparkling windows nestled between taller and more modern sorts. It looked confident it it's skin; she had aged well.

The old Dawson Plumbing building.

Quite a few months ago I saw the Dawson Plumbing sign had been taken down, and fresh construction spastically commenced. I almost cried because somewhere in me I always thought I might open something in that precious pale spot someday. The building was emptied, gutted, cleansed, and birthed a most unlikely child named Momiji, a sushi restaurant. The owner is Steven Han, the same entrepreneur who started a few belltown sushi spots.

I ate at Momiji (Japanese for "maple trees") for the first time last night, ready to not be impressed. Maybe it was the fact that my dining companions were bubbling newlyweds, or because I was famished and the rolls were massive and unabashedly odd.
Maybe I was charmed seeing they replaced the rear parking lot with a glass-walled Kyoto garden,

or because Yuri Kinoshita's woven paper lighting installations hugged and curved along the wall and made me feel like I was floating in a basket.

Maybe it was the translucent white salmon that melted away like butter under a black sunspray of tobiko.

Whatever it was, I had arrived mourning the copper pipes of the plumbing co. and left content and praising a meal worth having again. soon.