West Seattle Walking

Walking on the beach in West Seattle on Saturday, the Non-Scotsman and I saw a bald eagle swoop down and catch a fish. It ran off to it's nest in a nearby tree, a flock of black crows jealously screeching behind him.

What if Cleopatra Had a Wedding Videographer?

What if some of the greatest loves of the past had video technology.

Imagine watching the wedding films of Cleopatra & Mark Antony, Odysseus & Penelope, or the wedding feast of the Bible where Jesus turned water into wine. I'd like to see the dance party of that video.

Imagine even just watching your grandparents say their cherished vows and eat a good ol' fashioned wedding mint.

Well, they may not have been able to capture those milestones, but now we can.

Let me introduce you to:

The Ranch Studios Wedding Films.

Remember the way Grandpa smiled.

Remember the words of a somewhat-funny, but certainly precious, toast.

Remember the heart-thumping moment of saying your vows.

Remember the music that played as you danced.

I am so impressed with the The Non-Scotsman these days, and specifically with this new growth. He not only takes generous care of his current clients, but continues to grow his repertoire of services. Check out his beautiful new website specific for the bride & groom who want to remember.

Alicia + Vini Highlight from The Ranch Studios | Danny Lund on Vimeo.

Hell Has Frozen Over: My Local Garden

(Image compliments of boys life)

This is something I wrote a few months ago as I watched two men garden in the little pea patch that sprouted up this year a block from my house. I read it this morning and felt hope that spring is really only a (baker's) dozen weeks away.

Men in glasses
Orange and black
Soothe their snapping peas, question infestations
Soak up the energy of their sun-spotted soil
Salvage strawberry starts

Men in khakis
Bleached and crisp
Head to bed early just wake at six a.m. to coax
Walla walla sweets into crackling brown bags
Laid gently, forever, to rest

“Organic?”
“Flowering?”
“Can I look?”
Wired minds burrowing into nature
Like pastors into Big-Booked doctrine
Ready to fry ‘em up in bacon grease
As hell cools and freezes over.

The "Good Enough" Gift

I'm not a seeker of perfection. I used to be, and it didn't work out so well. Perfection requires no true courage, or hope, or raw and vulnerable connection. The psychologist, D. W. Winnicott, wrote that a mother does not need to be perfect, she just needs to be "good enough."

For me, giving a wonderful gift usually seems to meet 2 criteria:

1. It is something intentional and personal for a specific person (in other words, they are delighted by the gift, but equally as happy that you know them so well).

2. It is something I enjoyed shopping for or creating (in other words, the process of giving was a gift to me as well).

I had this "good enough" gift experience yesterday when I found a present for a dear friend at Sugarpill on 10th & Pine.

A modern day apothecary, walls are lined with salts, herbs, teas, and tinctures customized for customers. An old-world remedy shop with a modern aesthetic.

(Photo compliments of Only in Seattle)

I was standing at this salt wall, thinking of the fact that my friend is Italian and an avid foodie. She'd like salt, wouldn't she?

The stores nurturing owner, Karyn Schwartz, came and asked if she could help. As I described my foodie friend - an Italian who used to live in Seattle but does not any more - she directed me to two items that fit the bill beautifully.

1. A flaky, translucent Italian sea salt. A taste of my friend's heritage.

2. A blackish salt that smoked over 7 Northwest wood planks for 2 weeks, leaving them smelling like a smoky Seattle bonfire. A taste of my friend's old home.

I left thrilled that this, indeed, was a good enough gift.