Turning51

It was the day before our anniversary and John had just finished purchasing a card for me at the local postal shop, hoping I didn’t notice while I stood right next to him and addressed an envelope for a bill. (I noticed.)

Yep, 18 years, and how do you keep it from getting boring? Sewing machines wouldn’t be the first thing to come to mind.

Next door to the postal shop is a thrift store. We were just hanging out on a fine morning in an impossibly small town, so we decided to check it out. I walked in, had a vague impression of racks of clothing before my attention was riveted to this.

For those of you who know me, I’ve never shown the slightest bit of interest in antiques. Most of the stuff that is called antique nowadays just looks to me like crap from back when I was too poor to own anything that wasn’t splintering apart and mildewy.

So why this sewing machine called to me is anyone’s guess. Even more surprising, it appeared to be calling to John also. We circled it, touched it, started poking around. It was amazing somehow. John was intrigued by the mechanics while I wondered about its age and what kind of furniture styles would blend with something so…dramatic.

No question but that it would go in the Garden City house. The Tucson house is clearly the wrong style. Our Tucson furniture and decor is an eclectic mix of Mexican and Santa Fe style, and global tribal art. Nowhere in there would fit a mid-century black and gold sewing machine nested in it’s very own cabinet.

The machine was not only unexpectedly beautiful, but it actually worked. In this photo it’s not threaded, but in the store it was, and you could test it on the (also vintage) fabric.

And came with a multitude of attachments and even the original owners manual.

We were sold.

The curved wooden carrying case is actually nowadays more valuable than the machine. The shop had insisted they be sold together, or it would have been sold already.

We took it all back to the cottage and did some more research. Apparently it’s a very capable machine, able to handle very heavy fabrics and offering a variety of stitches. We can totally use it to sew! We both sew a little. I often alter my clothes and John sometimes does things like mend camping equipment or boat sails. Practical, working, useable art!

From the serial number we were able to determine it was probably made somewhere between 1948 and 1951, possibly up to 1954. So it’s actually similar in age to our Tucson house, but like I said, it doesn’t look remotely like anything we have in Tucson. The Garden City house is newer, but the architecture is somewhat reminiscent of the 1930’s craftsman style. Which also doesn’t seem to fit this sewing machine.

Neither house seems like the perfect spot for an antique sewing machine, but the Garden City house has one big advantage: the living room in is currently an empty blank slate. All I’ve purchased for the living room so far is a little raku pottery house that I bought at an art show with my friend Michelle,

…and a large metal heron that I will probably put upstairs anyway.

I had meant to buy a couch by now. I have spent so many hours trying to find a couch I like! I have a great spot in the middle of my living room for a small couch or two loveseats, or maybe a loveseat and a chair or two. It remains a very empty great spot, despite many hours spent online and in-person, searching for a simple, small leather couch.

I recently dragged a twin sized bed into the living room so at least there’s somewhere to sit other than the floor. Just temporarily! It belongs in the front bedroom. I have it pushed back against the side of the staircase, with pillows all along the back edge, almost imitating a daybed (but not quite).

How hard could it be to buy a couch? Turns out I don’t, apparently, like couches. I don’t know why not. I love shoes. What’s the difference between a fine leather couch and a fine leather pair of shoes? They are both practical items with a design element. But every time I walk into a furniture store, my eyes glaze over. (That’s not what happens to me in a shoe store, as John can readily attest.)

Will this sewing machine solve my couch problem? Or will it make it ten times harder? I do not envision myself buying some sort of stuffy antique sofa to match an antique sewing machine. Maybe I could go art deco? Uh, probably not. I don’t really do glam either. And I certainly don’t do victorian revival!

Most of the new couches in the stores right now are exceedingly boring.

So maybe I will find success if I haunt the local consignment shop, which seems like quite a good one, and is only a few blocks from my house in Garden City. But the minute you try to do something not boring, it quickly becomes regrettable.

I mean, somebody actually designed that. And built that. Then somebody else actually bought it. And now the consignment shop thinks they can sell it all over again. It’s almost kind of beautiful – in a very overwhelming and not-my-style kind of way. I wonder what vintage that even is?

Maybe someday I’ll find a couch I like. Meanwhile, I will work on starting the new bold trend of twin beds instead of couches!

I guess the title says it all, I don’t even need to write anymore, lol.

Here’s John getting the boat in the water. The public dock is on the far side of this little inlet, so he had to do a bit of shuffling around with his Jeep, boat and kayak. First he towed our kayak to the mooring ball with Ali’s kayak, tied our kayak to the mooring ball, and paddled back to shore. Then he trailered his boat to the dock about a mile away on the other side of the inlet and launched the boat. He motored the boat across the inlet to his mooring, and kayaked back to shore on our side. Then he walked the mile back to the dock to retrieve his Jeep and trailer.

He also could have kayaked to the dock (further to kayak) and strapped the kayak to the boat trailer rather than walking to get the Jeep and trailer. I could also have driven him with the van, but John loves to go on walks, and it’s very scenic around this inlet.

Here’s some excellent photos John took of otters on our dock one morning.

And a video:

The weather had been cool and windy, but then it got still and hot. The lore when I was growing up in western Oregon was to go to the beach on the first hot day, because later in a hot streak the beach tended to be foggy and windy, but the first nice day was probably nice on the beach. I think this has something to do with the inland heating up more than the ocean heats up, pulling the onshore winds and bringing fog off the ocean.

Meanwhile the smoke had been brought in by the northeast winds and was now just sitting around making our eyes water. It was definitely time to go to the beach!

The City of Aberdeen, which is generally considered a dump of a town, had dozens and dozens (hundreds?) of these pink flower arrangements lining the main streets.

They were everywhere! They were so numerous and all of them were so perfect that at first John refused to believe they were real. But they are real!

We had smoke for a couple more days before it cleared.

Ironically, my migraines started getting better around the time we got inundated with wildfire smoke. There’s a good example of “correlation does not equal causation”.

Boise is still pretty bad. Northeastern Washington is just awful, particularly the north Cascades. We are feeling lucky here in Vaughn.

John decided to go to Seafair on a Friday, when there would be less people, even though the main events were on Saturday. He had a great time watching the preparations and trial runs.

This is the VIP section

The mountain is out! This one is Mt. Baker, and in a different direction you could also see Mt. Rainier.

In addition to some nice pictures, he was able to get a good video. It was challenging because he was zoomed in and the boats were moving very fast.

It turned out it was very lucky he went on Friday because the weather was perfect. By Saturday the wind had picked up too much and the Blue Angels couldn’t perform. He was glad he was able to see them on Friday.

We had also bought weekend tickets to the Kitsap Blues Festival in Bremerton and planned to go on Saturday and Sunday. But I didn’t feel well on Saturday, plus it was windy, so we decided to just stay home. On Sunday morning John didn’t feel well, so for awhile there it looked like a bust for the festival. At least he enjoyed Seafair on Friday!

But late in the afternoon on Sunday we decided we were up for going to the tail end of the Kitsap festival. It’s about 45 minutes drive north of us, and we got up there in time for the last two bands of the weekend.

We were surprised by the small size of the festival. Last year it was large, in a different part of the fairground. But at the last minute, a few days before the festival started, we got notice that it was moved to this cement bleacher area – after we had already bought our tickets. It felt a little bit like a bait and switch and we were disappointed.

But after we got there, we heard that they had lost their main sponsor and volunteers cobbled it together the best they could. After I heard that, I was grateful they did what they could to salvage the festival. Hopefully next year they will have a dependable sponsor. I guess we didn’t miss as much as I was imagining.

This band is called Kevin Burt & Big Machine, but the guitarist on the left that I was zooming in on is a guest artist we had missed the day before. His name is Larry Mitchell, and I would be interested in hearing more of his music.

Joanne Shaw Taylor was the final act. She is British, and an excellent singer and songwriter as well as guitarist. She is on tour, and is going to be performing in Tucson on November 1. We are thinking of going camping Utah that weekend though, so we’ll have to see.

There wasn’t even any space to dance in front of the stage. I just danced in the back.

You can see in that last photo that it was getting hazy by evening. The wind was no longer coming from offshore like it usually does. It was coming from the north and east, bringing smoke from the wildfires in the Cascades and Canada.

We had enjoyed hearing Nick Vigarino Band on Friday night at the coffeehouse in Gig Harbor, where we learned that he was going to be the opening act at a small festival on Anderson Island the next evening. Ali in particular loved him. And Saturday was Ali’s birthday! What better way to celebrate a birthday than a fun little blues fest on an island? (Well, turns out maybe a fun little blues fest not on an island, actually). There’s no bridge to Anderson Island, but we were determined to go to the festival. That meant navigating the ferry.

Taking the ferries can be fun if you have lots of time and nowhere you need to be anytime soon. They are a cheap and beautiful boat ride. But the ferry schedules can be very limiting if you are trying to get somewhere and back in a reasonable amount of time. Plus, if you’re driving your car onto the ferry, you never know if there will be room for you. Everyone lines up in their cars as they arrive at the terminal, and once the ferry arrives, the lines of cars are loaded in order until the ferry is full. Any cars left over will be near the front of the line for the next ferry – often not for another hour or two.

The terminal to Anderson Island is down in Steilacoom, nearly an hours drive from Vaughn, depending on traffic. We left early, just after 3:00 that afternoon, in plenty of time for the 4:35 ferry, which would get us there well before the music started at 5:30. In fact, we got to the terminal early, just as they were loading the 3:55 ferry. There were far too many cars ahead of us for us to make it onto the 3:55 ferry, which was fine. We were in good position for the 4:35 ferry, 40 minuets later. We turned off the engine and waited. And waited.

4:35 came and went. Nothing happened. After awhile Ali and I walked down to the terminal to use the bathroom. I didn’t see anyone around to ask what happened to the 4:35 ferry. When it comes to ferries, you just put your car in line and hope.

Finally we started loading shortly after 5:00. They had skipped the 4:35 ferry altogether for whatever reason. The 5:15 ferry still got us to the festival not too long after the music started, but geez, what a nuisance.

The festival was at a pretty little spot, with a quaint museum and a community garden.

Here’s Ali hamming it up for the camera. That was in a break between songs, otherwise there were people out dancing for most of the concert, which is great.

It was not a large crowd, just the right size. And the weather was cloudy and cool, perfect for dancing.

At one point in time Nick came down and started using objects from the crowd to slide on his guitar. He used my fan for a hot moment. Then he saw Ali’s non-alcoholic champagne bottle and knew the bottle would not only work well, but photograph well.

In the foreground of this next one, Ali holding out the playbill and his CDs she bought.

We got a video too:

Here’s a few videos of Ali and I dancing that John took.

There were a number of children dancing. The little ones danced without inhibition but the young teens were hesitant and self conscious. We all tried to encourage them. Ali in particular was very encouraging, dancing with the teen girls and showing them simple moves.

I forget the name of the guy Ali is dancing with in this photo. He’s not really a friend of ours but we’ve seen him around. The dancing community is small and we start recognizing each other. I recognized a few people from last year, even though we were only here for a month.

One time he came up to me and tried to figure out what my feet were doing and mimic it. This is not uncommon on the dance floor. I’ve had people do that before, and I guess it’s a complement. But I’m not a trained dancer, so who the heck knows what my feet were doing, or whether it is even a repeatable pattern or not. I have a good sense of rhythm, but I don’t know how to do anything choreographed. I just try to change things up every couple of beats, so I don’t look like a robot.

After the music finished, we packed up and headed down to the terminal. When we got there, we were the only ones there. We parked at the front of of the lane marked “1”, and turned off the motor. It was eerie in the silence and approaching dusk, without any other cars or people there at all. It was absolutely deserted. Now what do we do? Was there going to be a ferry or not? We had visions of sleeping in the car all night – all three of us in one little Jeep.

We walked to the terminal to see what was up. It was unlocked and a light was on, but no one was there. I figured if we had to spend the night on the ferry dock, at least the bathrooms were unlocked!

It was also beautiful.

By the time we got back to the car, there were a few more cars lined up behind us. Whew! So we weren’t wrong after all. There really will be a ferry. Sometime.

The music had finished around 8:30, but the next ferry wasn’t until 9:50. Someone had told us (wrongly) there was a 8:50 ferry, but we double checked the schedule and there wasn’t a ferry scheduled between 7:00 and 9:50. Darn. We were very happy when a ferry finally showed up.

Here we are, the first ones on the ferry.

Yep there’s nothing but black water on the other side of the orange net. Inches from the orange net! Ok maybe a couple of feet. But that flimsy netting is the only railing between our car and the depths of the sound.

It was beautiful up on the deck, but it was cold and windy, so after chatting with a few other festival goers for a couple of minutes and snapping these quick photos, we retreated back into the Jeep.

All told, the little island festival was a fun adventure! But I can see how waiting for a ferry could become quite tedious. By the time we got home around 11:30, our dogs were very relieved to see us.