REMEMBERING SEATTLE

By Janene Kraft

I'm remembering Seattle. It’s not unusual for my mind to make its way to the long days on Lake Washington’s crystal coast. In the beginning I lost my mind there. That first night desperately seeking sky and stars through clouds as thick as tears. Gradually, I lost my heart there. Like seedlings fighting their way toward light my spirit broke the surface and roots grew with surprising vigor.

Fleece was my number one enemy.
And North Face was most definitely not my friend—a bit of chill should never separate a woman from her fashion. Despite retaining my singular sense of style I was anonymous. Being anonymous isn’t so bad really. My ‘reputation’ disappeared like a shadow hungry for the sun. But I learned to relish being weighed and measured in the moment. Who I am. Now. I discovered that people know who you are, the essence of you, if you do.

The women in Seattle are fabulous. They are at once guarding their territory and longing for real connection. Like the bundles they wear to ward off the cold, there are layers to be shed. It took awhile to let me in. At first, discretion yielded to superficial companionship. But over time the ones with the breathtaking hearts came out to play. Loneliness and grey gave way to a disposition of light reflected in the faces of those who agreed, along with me, to trust.

There are some “don’ts” in Seattle—

Hosing off your deck in winter is ill-advised. Particularly barefoot. That surprising moment of clarity which comes from remembering where you are can be exhilarating even when face-planting on the walkway. Speaking in elevators is frowned upon. For heaven’s sake don’t use an umbrella when it’s raining. Don’t stare at the naked cyclists stripping off the mud from their ride through Bastyr. Never go too blonde. Pulling up ‘dead things’ in December leads to bare spots in the spring. And bulbs are not just something you hang on your Christmas tree. Never park uphill in a snowstorm. Oh, and never, ever wander into salmon spawning territory.

There is nothing like a Seattle neighborhood. Kirkland to Freemont, Capitol Hill to Madison Park each has its own vibe that immediately draws you in. Walk to your favorite “Cheers” and the cold gives way to intimate spaces electric with Husky madness and Microsoft gossip. There are the Saturday markets and meandering parks all with a relationship to water—on the water, view of the water, walking in water—you get the picture. But by far it is the architecture that defines the mood. Belltown hip, Capitol Hill austere, Freemont quirky, Montlake old world charm, Holmes Point contemporary, Madison Park chic—I wanted to live in every one and gave it my best try.

My list of “loves” in this City I adore makes one understand why it is the most-filmed place in the country, why writers go there seeking inspiration, why despite the rain families move there in droves—much to the contention of the long-timers and home-towners. I understand their frustration; you can always spot a newbee when she exclaims, “I’m going to Pikes this weekend!”--one must never desecrate the Market. Driving on the floating bridge is sacred. Not once did the Yukon travel over this concrete sanctuary without honoring a moment of silence to take in the majesty. On a clear day, Rainier would take my breath away. Once on the other side Gabriel and I would stroll through U Village and pay hommage to the flagship Anthro store. Montlake’s floating footbridges let me walk on water while skipping through the rain. I threw the wedding of a lifetime in Clise Mansion, rebuilt the 100-year-old White House and created my beloved Bella Luna. Gabe and I ran through the snow at midnight in Waverly Park. I kayaked off Vashon. On Saturdays I gathered flowers at Pike. The ferry boats awed me. And gliding in a float plane over the islands to Victoria was the most fun in a small space that I’ve ever had. Except for the Bella Luna pantry. Madison Park homes and cafes. Quiet coffee chats. Wine with heart friends looking out at the Space Needle. The one-and-only Molbaks. Weight training at the Y. Christmas Ships and cocoa. Martinis at Cactus. The view of the Aurora Bridge. Pacific Galleries and my store called, "Whim." Dinner at the Pink Door. Two-am wakeups to gaze at the stars.

My son went to the University of Washington and brought back a girl. Even before she moved to San Diego Erin knew how to peel off the layers. She’s girlie yet strong, nurturing and loving in a childlike way. Like me, Erin misses her Seattle. The chill of the place and the sincerity of the people. Make no mistake, the warmth doesn’t come easy. But as with a tiny ember, just the right amount of coaxing can create a radiant fire.