Sleep. I begrudgingly should begin getting to bed at a fairly regular time, I suppose. There’s just too much I wanna see, do, and be a part of that even if I’m tired, I push through it until a second burst of energy comes. A total night owl, I am. Working into the wee hours of the morning at various jobs over the years has done much to ingrain this little pattern, and nothing seems to be enough motivation to alter it! Work is currently flexible so no rush to be up and about too early. And I love to see the sunrise, but as a finish to the night versus the beginning of the morning. I have the most comfortable bed in the world, too, it deserves more attention, really. It comes complete with the proverbial frog prince. The other night owls that once populated my life have cycled out and I’m awaiting new ones! Where are you, fellow night owls? Are you out there? I need some company.
This weekend I finally went to the new Olympic Sculpture Park down at the Seattle waterfront. On the way there, we drove by the Lusty Lady which features wonderfully naughty headlines on their marquee. As we drove by, I read “Welcome Back, Sam” and was not getting the expected double entendre. Then I glanced to my right where the Seattle Art Museum resides. SAM, duh. It’s the opening weekend of the newly renovated museum! There were swarms of people, masses, spilling off the sidewalk into the street, up and around both sides of the block! Thrilled to see the public embracing the return of the museum! I remember standing on the sidewalk nearly two years ago looking at the tall partition covering the beginnings of the renovation and thinking how far away the reopening in spring of 2007 seemed. Now it’s here and I can’t wait to go! The last I’d checked no reopening date was posted and now I find that I could have put my night owlness to use- the museum stayed open through the night on into the next morning where there was said to be all manner of music and dancing. Major kicking of self here! They have the grandest of staircases in white marble with shallow steps and several plateaus perfect for lingering in the wee hours of the morning. Poo. Well, on to the park we went and it’s quite wonderful, I must say, a smaller scale than I imagined, but with an air of European design, the sparse clean look of Sweden to be exact, with a handful of varying sculptures, hence the park’s name. The sculpture of choice was unanimous, a large pop art item, an oversized typewriter eraser. Nothing to be interpreted in the piece as in the other pieces, but there was something so fun in its placement and frozen state of movement, a repurposed identity for a formerly obsolete object. (What is the word for those who shun technology, ending in “yte”? Maybe there’s still a run on typewriter erasers with them, I don’t know.)
Meet Sophie. My mom’s Schnoodle. She’s a pill! She loves my face. I could do without the rambunctous licking, though. From Sophie, that is. ;) She’s breathed life back into my mom’s fairly uneventful life. A companion for everything from baking cookies to trips to the park. My mom swears that Sophie is the smartest creature on earth, though, has yet to provide sufficient proof. Take the other day when we stood on a ledge overlooking the bay and Sophie decided to step off the ledge and just dangled there by her leash as the water crashed on the rocks below. Swing little doggie, swing!
A recent phone call with less than thrilling news on the line has left me really wanting a hug about now, but the closest one is miles and miles away. As I write, there’s a little girl who’s just walked under my window down below and she’s singing that song that goes “You made me love you, I didn’t want to do it, I didn’t want to do it” and that’s nearly as good as a hug as that song is reserved for the likes of Sinatra and Holiday fans and to think that she knows it and chooses to sing it at her young age puts a smile on my face. ♦