Book Review - The School of Essential Ingredients by Erica Bauermeister

A flyer at the Issaquah library announced an evening with local writer, Erica Bauermeister, author of a recent novel “The School of Essential Ingredients” but I noticed that it was an old notice, probably forgotten by the library staff. The description about the theme of the novel was intriguing enough for me to look it up and I was thrilled to find a used copy marked down at the Half-Price Bookstore in the next town. I read the novel slowly, over almost two weeks and like the decadent recipes described in it, the taste and fragrance of story lingers with me a week later.

The author brings to life, eight memorable characters, students of the cooking class organized by Lillian, the master chef/owner of a fancy restaurant which bears her name. Lillian is the teacher, an expert at not just creating epicurean delights, but at knowing the link between food and its connection to the core of individuals. Lillian’s anything but ordinary childhood is described in careful detail, the prose rich with imagery, almost like a poem, as it introduces the origin of an unusual fascination with food and its preparation that logically translates into a highly successful restaurant business.

Monday nights when the group of students of mixed heritage and age groups, replete with their present demons and haunting pasts, assembles for the cooking class, the mystery of each character unfolds like the fragrances and flavors of the dishes they prepare. The author is careful with detail but never gives away everything, you are free to visualize the connections between the instances that give insights into each character and perhaps, an indication of their reason for being in the class. As expected, some stories intertwine and progress during the intervening periods.

The book contains recipes embedded in the chapters and in the dialog but does not read like Laura Esquivels’ “Like water for chocolate”, another wonderful book with food as its central theme. As Lillian says early on “The first question people ask me is what are the essential ingredients. I might as well tell you, there isn’t a list and I’ve never had one. Nor do I hand out recipes.”

Through the movement of the characters as they use the medium of food, cooking, and camaraderie, they unveil parts of themselves, some forgotten, some hard to forget, in a leisurely pace, guided gently but surely by their teacher and reach new heights. The book is a great read, not just for the story but its sheer poetic beauty. Just a warning; don’t rush, read it slowly and relish it completely. Only then will the flavor of a classic linger on your palate.

Rain, rain, again - Days 5,6

Weather forecast said intermittent showers but we were not intimidated. Armed with an umbrella, we sat atop the bus that took us through the same streets again – Chinatown, Financial district, North Beach and Fisherman’s Wharf at Pier 39. It was cloudy and the view was not the same as the previous day but we had decided to use the time for souvenir shopping. And so we did. Checked out “I love SF” t-shirts, Alcatraz “prisoner style” nightshirts for babies, magnets, key chains and hats. Aparna bought a few pairs of earrings that were unique – Murano Arte Glass, said the roadside shop, green and blue starfish, purple ovals and orange circles enclosing within its translucent shell, intricate designs of nature. A different sketch artist sat in the same spot as the one we had seen the day before, this time his umbrella helped shield him from the drizzle.

Boudins, the famous bakery that has a display of artistically made sourdough bread, beckoned us with a promise of hot soup and sandwich (how wonderful to find vegetarian options for both). The breadmakers were hard at work, shaping the dough, loading the trays, lifting fresh baked bread into the baskets, creating edible masterpieces. The soup was served in a hollowed out bread shell and was delicious, just like the accompanying sandwich. We observed the constant activity in the large eating and serving area. Overhead baskets of bread moved on a conveyor to the bakery, the empty ones refilled with fresh baked baguettes and loaves as they moved from the serving area to the bakery. Truly a San Francisco treat.

We had to cut short our shopping expedition in order to find our way to Market Street for a business meeting at 3 p.m. The tour bus did not show up on time so we had the pleasure of taking another mode of transportation, the tram. The slow moving carriage that runs on a track took us past the other piers and through the Embarcadero.

That night we went rock climbing with Jeyanthi’s kids, or more accurately, we adults watched the girls as they climbed up steep rock faces in an indoor setting, using a harness and an automatic belay (the mechanism that lets a climber come down easily as the rope drops). Aparna was apprehensive at first but within a few minutes, with active support and coaching from Pallavi and Sruthi, she climbed several steep rock faces like a monkey. The reward for this hard work was a long awaited visit to In-N-Out Burger for a cheese sandwich (what a burger becomes when you remove the beef patty), fries and milkshakes. The girls gobbled down the goodies in no time and it was time to hit the sack.

I had committed the cardinal sin of combining business on this holiday and day 5 was devoted to back to back meetings with current and prospective clients. In the times that I was away, Aparna had a few other typical American experiences, like visiting Sruthi’s schools’ annual open house, bowling, watching the girls try out for the summer swim team. The highlight of the first-hand experiences was the opportunity to mow the lawn at home!

Book Review - Seeking Peace by Mary Pipher

When you pick up a book with a cover where the autho’sr name appears in a font size twice as large as the title, you know that the author MUST be famous. And so it was that I picked up Mary Pipher’s “Seeking Peace – Chronicles of the worst Buddhist in the world”. Following success of her earlier book titled “Reviving Ophelia – Saving the selves of adolescent girsl” first published in 1994, Mary Pipher’s quiet life in small town Nebraska gets into the fast lane. After years of book tours, speaking engagements, promotion for subsequent books, life as she knows it changes significantly. This book discusses her meltdown after achieving fame and recognition, which she terms “an avalanche of roses”, and her recovery thereafter.

The memoir describes Pipher’s early childhood experiences and traces her personal history as far back as the grandparents on each side of the family. As the eldest of four children, she talks about feeling responsible for the brood in the frequent periods where her parents were absent physically and/or emotionally. Her own adult life of escaping reality to find her true calling is candidly put forth. She finally finds equilibrium as a therapist in Lincoln, Nebraska with her husband and children until the fateful success of “Reviving Ophelia”.

Through her easy writing style, we see the author as a driven woman who excels in multi-tasking, revels in responsibility for all those under her care, fills every minute of her day with tasks but is also afraid to disappoint others. We watch her go under as she finds it exceedingly difficult to cope with the constant and mounting pressures in the eight years from her first success to meltdown. Mary Pipher comes across as a genuine person, not a whiny celebrity who cannot find sympathy among all the others out there who long for the kind of success she witnesses in her late forties/fifties.

Mary Pipher recovers from her depression and misery using many techniques that she has prescribed to patients but also learns new coping mechanisms. From being a whirling dervish, she tries to meditate and understand Buddhism, she goes to yoga class, experiences the healing nature of massage, eats comfort foods, learns to laugh once more and finds support from family, both present and past. She learns to notice and then treasure “moments” which she describes as “discrete time, complete in themselves and utterly distinct from the habit-bound wave time in which we all live much of our lives. While minutes are earthbound and can be measured, moments both merge with eternal time and exist outside time altogether.”

I was drawn to the book from the first pages of the prelude itself. I could see myself in the paragraphs where Pipher describes her personality and tendency to maximize every experience by continuously seeking more. “Being a seeker is both a gift and burden”, she muses. “But the gift of seeking is growth”. And certainly this book has the potential to be an instrument for growth for all among us who have been seekers.

A perfect day - Day 4

The major focus of the US trip for Aparna was this visit to San Francisco. I wanted the day to be perfect. And so it was. A day when the Sun smiled on the city of San Francisco. We took one of the many open top double decker tourist buses and took in the beauty of this unique city built upon a dream, the Gold Rush. The city is 7 miles long and 7 miles wide. A majestic confluence of cultures from China Town to North Beach and a history checkered with tragedy and triumph following devastating earthquakes and fires, with the 1989 big one, still fresh in the minds of most residents.

We rode the bus to the Golden Gate bridge and took in the sheer magnificence of the brick-red suspension bridge that is not quite golden. The last rivet was made of pure gold (a tidbit of information shared by the humorous tour guide cum bus driver), perhaps the reason for its name or more likely, the fact that the people thronged this region in their quest for gold. Even Levi Strauss came here to find his fortune but ended up selling jeans to the miners and hit a gold mine. The Bay area is a region that is surrounded by the ocean, the bay and mountains. Consequently, the weather is usually cold and often foggy. Being able to see the entire Golden Gate Bridge on the one day you visit, is equal to receiving the Nobel for a day’s work. And we were indeed thrilled with the honor. We could see all the way above the tips of the bridge and straight through the bridge from our lookout in Marin county. Alcatraz (a former prison on an island) and Angel Island were clearly visible. Little ships dotted the calm ocean. Birds and planes flew about serenely. And the wind blew the hats off the tourists on the upper level of the bus.

We decided to ditch the rest of the bus tour and got off at Van Ness and Lombard to climb three steep blocks to the top of Lombard Street – the part which is termed “Crooked Street”. We huffed and puffed our way to the top but the exertion was certainly worth the first hand view. Colorful plants dotted the sides and triangular islands formed by this downhill one way street with multiple switchbacks. We kept going downhill on Lombard and found our way to Fisherman’s Wharf. Crowded as always with souvenir shops, restaurants doing brisk business with the local favorite – clam chowder, the man completely painted in silver paint standing absolutely still, the wax museum and most interesting for us, artists willing to sketch your portrait. The gentle Chinese man painted a pretty good color sketch of Aparna in about 15 minutes. We collected the sketch, walked a few steps to study it and compare its accuracy. The curious couple who had watched us earlier, peered at the sheet and said “It looks just like you.”

We ate our peanut butter sandwiches and stopped at Ghirardelli’s for an icecream sundae. We decided to finish the large serving while waiting in line for a memorable ride on the historic San Francisco cable car. We took the Hyde-Powell cable car which does a commendable job of traversing the steepest streets at a speed of about 9 miles an hour. These historic cable cars celebrated a centennial of being in operation in 1973. The only other cable car system operates in Dunedin, New Zealand. These historical coaches are still used for local public transport within the city in the areas that it operates in.

By the end of the day, we found ourselves back in Union Square where we had boarded the bus earlier in the morning. We looked around at the famous department stores, Macy’s, Nordstrom, Saks Fifth Avenu and wisely decided to step into the BART back to Fremont, instead of going into the stores.

Museum for all seasons - Day 3

If there is one thing that tourists need, it is sunshine. How can you truly comprehend the magnificence of the city you are visiting if you can’t see through the incessant rain? On rainy days, tourists need museums. San Francisco disappointed us with its sheets of rain as we got off the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) at 16th Street Mission station. We had jackets with hoods but no umbrella. The plan was to take a cab directly to Golden Gate Park. But finding a cab required hovering at a street corner, flagging down every yellow taxi that drove by. Most were already full. We stood in a bus shelter for a few minutes. A homeless man with braided hair approached people for a cigarette and proceeded to spread some gospel in a loud, sing-song manner. We chose to escape into the rain and luckily got into the next cab.

We had our first view of the sloping streets of San Francisco, soaked and shiny in the rain. The cab driver proceeded to drive us in typical cabbie fashion, reminding us of our own drivers back home. A long line had piled up outside the California Academy of Sciences building in Golden Gate Park, obviously all tourists resorted to museums on such days (a fact confirmed the next day by a Canadian lady who rode the cable car with us and had pretty much taken the same route keeping the weather in mind). The building was full of interested visitors; school kids on a field trip, an old couple from Europe and many young families with little babies in strollers. I went in search of tickets for the planetarium and got tickets for the 2.30 p.m. show. The special exhibit from April to September was on “Extreme Mammals”.

The highlight of this newly restored museum (I am not sure it that is the right term since it also houses an aquarium, a planetarium, and a natural history museum) is the rainforest exhibit. Rising upto to 4 floors, it takes you through the various levels at which the dense forest provides a safe habitat for its residents, ranging from the multi-colored geckos, albino snakes, birds and trees. You start with Borneo on ground level and walk up the ramp to Madagascar and Costa Rica. With each step you see the plant and animal life that flourishes in that zone of the forest where the exact amount of sun, water and nutrients exist to enable these creatures to survive. You take an elevator down to the lowest level which depicts life in the flooded Amazon forest as you walk through an acrylic tunnel under the fish.

Many exhibits depicting the adaptation of mammals in the deserts have life-like mounted specimens encased in glass cases shaped with a curved backdrop which has been painted to look like dry brush. The Foucault pendulum swings gently but consistently providing proof the earth’s rotation. Expeditions of the Galapagos Island describe the efforts of the naturalists to study the variety of unique flora and fauna found there. The aquarium has a stunning display of fish with little information cards to help you identify coral reefs and the colorful tropical fish that zip by. Most exhibits either have informational panels or videos and the most interesting ones have hands-on activities which drive home the point.

The most unique part of the museum is its Living Roof. It is an experiment to design and operate a building that fits into the surroundings. Seven hills give an undulating topography to the roof that matches the surrounding areas. The hills are green, covered with plants that allow the building to remain cool unlike other city buildings. Solar panels generate some power to meet a portion of the needs of the building and the central courtyard gets natural light and ventilation with the unusual rooftop.

The planetarium provided a wonderful introduction to “Journey to the Stars” a 30 minute show narrated by Whoopi Goldberg. Our favorite resident of the museum was the albino turtle in the swamp exhibit whose face was pressed against the viewing glass. There he remained, mouth open and motionless, until Aparna took his picture. Then he blinked and moved his tongue – Yuck!

We had hoped the weather would clear up and allow us a few hours to explore other parts of the city. But by the time we did the rounds, it was almost 4 p.m. and the rain had started falling with renewed vigor. We ran into the solitary taxi standing outside the building, glad for the rain, which had allowed us to spend a day in this wonderful museum.

Down Memory Lane - Day 2

On the surface, everything looked the same. Sylvan Park, where I used to take Aparna as a toddler, dressed in comfortable clothes and safely buckled up in her stroller, still had the colorful play structure with the blue bouncy surface to minimize injuries. The tennis courts were empty on this windy Sunday. The apartment complex was still in the same place, but its name had changed, along with new bright colors that made the walls look younger. I am sure the kindly Claude and his wife are no longer the caretakers of the property. The store that sold bedsheets etc had closed down but the hair salon and Pizza Hut were in place. A new Indian grocery store had opened within walking distance, proudly displaying the tricolor.

Many storefronts had changed hands, some remained unopened. The traffic lights worked efficiently as ever. I wondered if the yoga class with strict instructor still met every Saturday at 7 a.m in the shopping center in Mountain View. The Thai restaurant and adjacent bowling alley had empty parking lots. “See’s candies” was closed. I was told that the hospital where Aparna was born no longer operates from the Kiely Bouelvard location in Santa Clara, they have brand new facilities in two new buildings in the area. The private school where she attended kindergarten has grown to multiple branches. Many of my friends with children of the same age as Aparna, have moved out of the bay area. Some of my former colleagues are now looking for jobs as they approach their last day at work, the Roche Palo Alto site where I had enjoyed working until 2003 was officially being shutdown in the next few weeks.

We drove around the beautiful site, land that belonged to Stanford and leased to a hopeful pharmaceutical company long time ago. The site had seen its share of ups and down in the last few decades. I had joined at one such turning point when it had been acquired by the large Swiss pharmaceutical major. We were a new group, hired for our skills and potential. We learnt on the job and off it - how to develop drugs; team work; leadership; motivation; support. I walked up steps that led to my corner office and peered through the blinds. The cafeteria was closed. The somber artwork still looked down upon us benevolently. The walking paths I had tread on, at lunch time or in a dull moment in the afternoon, looked inviting, as always. I thought of my yoga teacher and my aerobics class that was held weekdays at lunch time in the on-site gym. I reminisced about my bosses and colleagues. I smiled at the encouragement and environment which contributed to the enthusiasm with which I approached my work. I asked Aparna to take a picture besides the familiar sign, the blue hexagon with Roche embedded in it. It had stayed there long enough for me to say a final goodbye.

I feel sad to see all this go. There is finality to this visit. This was my first job – which taught me patiently, like a mother, and like a first love, I cannot forget the times I spent here, nor can I belittle its contribution to my growth as a pharma professional. Thank you.

As with the seasons, birth and decay happens with the consent of nature and this is but one stage as we move towards developing meaningful medicines for improving human health. I am privileged to be a part of this family.

Monterey Bay Aquarium - Day 1

Spring weather implies great variation in a short while as the earth wakes up from winter slumber to the warmth of summer sunshine. But in sunny California, popularized by TV shows, you expect bright skies and eternal warm weather at all times. Alas, northern California is not Bay Watch country. As Mark Twain put it aptly “The coldest winter I ever saw was the summer I spent in San Francisco”. So we carried ahead with our plans for a visit to Monterey Bay although the skies got duller as we approached the scenic highway 1, passing fields of artichokes and stalls selling early cherries, plump and juicy.

The normally blue ocean reflected the dull, dirty grey of the sky and a nasty wind blew across harshly. We entered the Monterey Bay Aquarium located on Cannery Row, a street made famous in this sleepy seaside town, by its Nobel laureate son, John Steinbeck when his novel by the same name was published. The aquarium itself is located in the Hovner Cannery, a flourishing business during the second world war when sardines were harvested in large numbers from the ocean, canned and shipped out to troops. However, as the war ended, so did the number of sardines, perhaps due to natural causes, or excessive fishing, and the twenty odd canneries on the street were forced to shut down. The building remained vacant for a long time before it was bought by the Packards (of the Hewlett-Packard group) through their foundation and ultimately used to build a center to study local marine life.

The aquarium is celebrating 25 years of education and conservation this year. While many exhibits have remained the same since I visited it last, there were “Hot, pink flamingoes” this time, along with “Seahorses”. We had the benefit of signing up for a behind the scenes tour where we literally were shown places that are normally barred to visitors, like the top of the Kelp forest and behind the shark tank. We looked at coral reefs that are not displayed, food that the fish ate and how the pipes are kept clean with “pigs”. Lookup www.montereybayaquarium.org for more information.

Watching the smooth, easy progression of the jellyfish as they effortlessly made their way across the glass chambers that displayed them authentically, I wished I could glide through life without hindrance from self-generated baggage. Each jelly was unique; egg-yolk jelly, lion’s mane jelly, moon jelly and the deadly black sea nettle with tentacles that can reach a length of 20 feet. The kelp forest reflected the microcosm of the universe with its varied inhabitants on their journeys; some swam in schools, like the silverfish, while others stubbornly kept to themselves, inherent loners. The penguins had it easy. Dressed formally in their black and white uniforms, some shedding their fur, they were tagged individually and hand-fed, too lazy sometimes to dive into the water and get their own food.

The best of the lot was one industrious little otter. He played a one-otter game of water polo, tossing and catching a green plastic ball until hunger pangs called. With a careless shrug, he let the ball drop and dived deep into the water, coming up to get some air and enjoy the tasty bite that had been planted in the water for him. Like a polite schoolboy, he would finish the morsel, pat his tummy and clean his whiskers. He repeated this act several times, enabling all the amused onlookers to get him on camera.

The tide-pool allowed access to docile starfish and sea cucumbers, who allowed themselves to be stroked and picked up by little hands. The water was freezing cold, same temperature as the ocean outside, we were assured. The aquarium has many employees but counts on the 1000 or so volunteers who spend their time here. The volunteers feed the fish, clean the tanks, rescue creatures, treat sick animals, interact with visitors and do all those unaccounted chores that go unnoticed.

There was one place in the aquarium where you step into a circular anteroom and as you look up, you feel enclosed in the glass cylinder above your head. Thousands of silverfish swim in unending circles, round and round, again and again, moving as one, but not really, since they are so many; unique but undistinguishable from one another as they swim, swim, swim. You feel dizzy as the scene flashes in a continuous roll of film and you blink to break the monotony of the view, trying to gauge your own position, although you have not moved, dazed and disoriented. Then you notice one fish moving against the tide, bullishly forcing its way amid the masses who move clockwise. But this one is focused, slowly but steadily, unaided by the momentum of his brethren, he swims alone, defiantly pushing forward, towards an unknown goal. Not knowing that the tank is cylindrical after all and he will reach the same destination as the rest. This does not seem to deter him, while he may reach the same place, his journey would be uniquely his. Brave little fish. I wish you all the best.

Seven Days in San Francisco - Getting there (Day 0)

We stood in the security line at Seattle Tacoma airport holding the boarding passes that I had printed earlier in the day. The agent guarding admission to the serpentine queue checked our photo ids. Before we could load our plump suitcases onto the ramp, we had to first undress – jacket and shoes, watches and belts, cell phones and laptops, chargers and cosmetics, all had to be laid out in full view of the staff for visual and X-ray inspection. The airline charges $25 for each checked-in bag. We choose to split our stuff into two smaller carry-ons which meant even the shampoo and moisturizer had to be pulled out. I thought of George Clooney in the recent movie “Up in the air” that I had watched on the British Airways flight to Seattle. In a few scenes, they show how an experienced traveler packs, the appropriate size bag, the right combination of clothes and most important, slip-on shoes, not the kind I was wearing, with hard to operate laces. Travel within the US underwent a sea change since 9/11 and with it, the joy of moving around freely in a free country. The next thing to go was airline service. First they started charging you for food, now for checked-in baggage. What will they charge for next? There are rumors about pay-per-use restrooms in the aircraft, charges for oxygen masks and even for aisle or window seats!

The San Francisco Bay Area was the last place where I had lived and worked, prior to moving back to India in 2003. It is one of the most blessed regions in the country with its pleasant weather, spectacular scenic beauty with cold, blue Pacific waters and mountains that rest side by side. It is also a place known for innovation, home of the famous Silicon Valley. I had enjoyed wonderful personal moments and professional successes in the 6+ years I lived there. I had become a mother, a boss, a teacher and a writer in this area which had previously been the birthplace of civil unrest and “hippies”. I had a bitter-sweet past buried in the freeways, offices, classrooms and apartments. I was going back there to show Aparna the places she had lived in during the first 6 years of her life. But I was also aware of my personal demons that waited for me there.

Our plane touched down ahead of time and I stepped out into the familiar terminal. See’s candies, sourdough bread, bookstores and coffee-shops. How many times had I boarded a flight here? I don’t remember. But I do remember being nine months pregnant, waiting to receive my mother who had travelled alone, all the way from Bombay to be with me for my big day. I thought of the customs agent in the international terminal who correctly identified me as an Indian and promptly asked if I had any spices in my bags. I calmly pointed out that I was flying in from a business trip to Switzerland and had plenty of chocolate, in case he wanted to look.

We waited outside the terminal for my long time friend Jeyanthi, look out for blue Highlander, she had said. Sleek black limos pulled up to the curb and whisked away privileged customers. I remembered the limo ride to my interview at Roche. People watching is always fun. We made up stories about the people who had travelled to San Francisco. Were they tourists? Or residents returning from a business trip? Or like us, tourists now but one-time Bay area residents.

We were finally found by our hosts, Dinakar, Jeyanthi’s husband escorted by teenage girls. Introductions were completed as we approached the parking garage, eager to get home and meet Jeyanthi. But where was the car? F31 said Pallavi, the older one. F28 said Sruthi. Dinakar said it was straight in front of the elevator. We looked all over with no luck. Ten minutes after the initial search began, we figured out why we could not see the car. It was on the wrong floor! F31 it was, but on the upper level. Eventually we made our way over the Bay bridge on a crowded Friday evening towards our home for the next week.

Coffee shop and bookstore

Every once in a while the question comes up – what do I want to do when I retire? It is not really a life-altering question (or a life-threatening one) but it does show up like an unwanted guest who drops in periodically. Sometimes the question is embedded in conversations with friends, at other times, it is a stray stand-alone thought. On most days I don’t know what I want to do while I am working, so the thought of planning for retirement is as far from reality as another galaxy.

Last weekend, I was at a place that brought me the answer to this long-standing question. It was a slow Saturday afternoon and we decided to visit the Future of Flight Museum in Everett, Washington, home to the company that makes mammoth aircrafts, Boeing. The viewing gallery held displays, informational videos and small aircraft. Across the runaway, we could see the world’s largest building by volume, the structure within which the Boeing 700 series planes are made. We didn’t make it in time for the Boeing tour which may have explained more so we spent some time in the museum store and left in search of a cup of coffee.

The tiny town of Mukilteo was down a quiet street named “Mukilteo Speedway” and we turned towards the water, looking for the famous lighthouse. A midget sized tower, ostensibly the lighthouse, provided relief with its red roof against the dark skies and chilly winds. We scanned the streets for Starbucks. We found Red Cup Café instead. A small coffee shop with a handmade sign and cheesy statues at the entrance was perched on the steep road. We stepped inside and were drowned in the essence of hot chocolate and coffee brewing in the kitchen. “Hot Sandwiches” announced the large blackboard with decorative borders and a daily menu hand-written with colored chalk. The walls bore cheerful watercolors by a local artist, featuring rhododendrons, the state flower, seascapes and still-life. The tables all had an ocean view through the large windows that overlooked an overflowing garden filled with spring blooms. The unfinished wood furniture, the wooden benches lining the windows with comfortably fluffed cushions created a homely atmosphere. A laminated newspaper clipping displayed an interview with the owner of Whidbey Coffee, a one-time aspiring lawyer who had tasted success with the coffee business.

We ordered coffees, hot chocolates and picked up chocolate biscotti for dipping. An older woman at the corner table was engrossed in her reading while occasionally sipping from her cup. A little girl ran around the garden, refusing to sit still long enough to let her father take a picture. The table in the center held several board games – Mastermind, Moods, Scattergories and old favorites like Scrabble and Pictionary. “Saturday is game night, feel free to play” said the waitress as she brought out our steaming cups. Wednesday evening was “Open Mike” night – anyone could show up to recite poetry, sing or perform a play. As I looked at the ceiling above the game table, I noticed another statue, of an upside down man almost falling out of the plaster with a coffee cup in his outstretched hand. Wow!

The store next door was a bookstore – not your usual chain store, but one that sold “better used books”. It was closed. It looked like a wonderful place to browse. The hour we spent in the coffee shop and its neighborhood seemed as if we had inhabited another time and place, an era of independent shops with character, a place where people were not in a rush to run to the next errand or experience, a life where you could decide the daily menu on a whim.

So this is what I can do when I retire, I thought. Recreate a gentler existence with things I love, with the skills I have – I can cook a little, read a lot, brew coffee and make small talk with my customers. What a wonderful life to look forward to!

Homes of the future

I looked at the sign that showed a map of the newly built neighborhood. At a time when real estate has taken a real beating along with the job market and general all-pervasive economic lethargy, it was amazing to see new construction happening in this area. In each street, there was at least one house on sale – Plateau realty, Cascade Realtors, Coldwell Banker, Windermere Real Estate; these are just a few of the real estate companies representing the sellers. I am sure most of the homes were selling at much lower prices than what had been paid for them a couple of years ago. However, the builder of new homes had not been deterred. He listed a variety of types of homes that had been constructed, for a variety of budgets and families. There were townhomes, carriage homes, single family homes, hillside cottages, garden cottages, suburban lofts, garden flats and condominiums. Space had been utilized judiciously such that these homes offering a range of square footage, garages for cars, front and back yards were juxtaposed to give a wholesome appearance of a connected community.

Of all these choices, I was intrigued by the concept of “live-work townhouses”. It is a smart idea. The compact 3-level townhouses which share adjacent walls with neighbors, face the street. Each has a separate entrance and space for a home office while keeping the rest of the house secluded. No commute, ideal for independent businesses and service providers. An accountant in the corner of the row had an understated but prominent sign which simply said “CPA” along with a telephone number. Another one housed a freelance photographer. There was “Shanti” offering European facials, while a real estate agent had her office-cum-home next door. Given the current climate of lay-offs, people moving into more compact accommodation and looking for other avenues of income, I thought the idea of offering you a home from where you could work without intrusion, was a timely one. I would love to have such an option in Hyderabad for my own work from home situation.

I wondered if the builder had done well with the other types of houses. The fact that something new was springing up at a time when there were gloom and doom predictions everywhere, showed faith in continuity and long term potential of a place. A few years back, prices in the Issaquah Highlands community had skyrocketed when word got around that Microsoft might expand towards this side. When that did not happen, the desirability of the community for other reasons, including a good elementary school allowed it to retain its premium status. Now the scene is quite discouraging in most parts of US. But there is always hope. A large hospital is coming up close by and will certainly lead to increased interest in housing around it. So everyone tries to stay put while some enterprising souls, like the builder, go ahead with a steady eye on the future.

Walking in the sun

I went walking after lunch today. With a different schedule this morning, Aparna finished her swim right after breakfast and we returned home for a quick homemade Mexican quesadilla lunch. The dazzling sun invited me outside. I stepped out with sunglasses and a cap. The slight chill outside the door made me take my jacket, an unnecessary appendage, as I realized after a few strides. I tied the offending garment around my waist like Ganesha and plodded uphill.

There was hardly a soul in sight as I reached the top of the steep incline. A few painters were hard at work, hoisted atop a hydraulic ladder of some kind, spray painting the outside surface of what seemed to be a perfect house already. Perhaps it was going up for sale, like the many others in the neighborhood. Several realtors and real estate agents had their boards outside the houses on sale, stocked with brochures containing with information about the interiors of the house, upgrades, warranties and the asking price. The maintenance guys were looking at the bushes along the road, picking up dried twigs, spraying insecticide in hard to reach areas. A few porches had a white box labeled “Smith Brothers” the milk delivery guys from the organic farm who deliver milk weekly to household looking for alternatives. Plastic boxes in fluorescent green and yellow marked with “a” were stacked neatly outside other houses, evidence of produce freshly delivered by “Amazon Fresh”, the new initiative of Amazon.com. And I thought they sold only books! Cars swooshed by silently; the tops of sporty red Audis and yellow VW Beetle convertibles pulled down in acknowledgement of the glorious weather.

A moving truck with Chinese lettering and a sign in English offering “professional moving services” was parked outside one of the townhouses. A man with a dangerous looking dog walked by, wishing me “Good Afternoon” as if apologizing for my stricken look at the panting canine. The sun was pleasant to begin with but now felt a little hot on my neck. I moved towards the other side of the road where the sloping rooftops of the houses cast triangular shadows on the sidewalk. I wished I had brought a bottle of water, like the group of women who walked by purposefully, a fitness routine while the kids were at school, I guessed.

The pizzeria at the top of the hill was empty. A sign said “Elvis, Sat May 15th at 8.30 p.m.”, hoping to drum up interest. The dog spa seemed busy as the guy delivering supplies pulled up in his large truck and unloaded a large pallet with shrink-wrapped boxes neatly arranged. The dentist’s office looked deserted, as was the ballet class. I heard a few shouts in the distance as a mother tried to control a runaway toddle while trying to keep a hold on the baby stroller at the intersection. The air was clear, the spaces wide and the view beautiful, as always. Green, green, green - as far as the eye can see.

I walked past Grand Ridge Elementary, the neighborhood school. Groups of children were playing outdoors. The children soaked up the sunshine under the watchful eye of the teacher. As the walkway sloped downwards, I passed another group of kids and heard something. I saw two boys resting against the fence, looking down towards me saying “Hello lady.” I waved back but continued walking. The speed limit sign displayed the speed of each passing car while reminding them of the limit of 30 mph.

I turned back towards home at the last intersection. The bees buzzed about happily outside the “purple beehive”, a bush entirely made up of purple flowers. I stepped away from a lazy slug making its way to towards the other end of the walkway. I picked up snail mail from the mailbox and entered the house. Glad to indoors after my 45 minutes of sun.

Mother's Day Marketing

The second Sunday of May is celebrated as Mother’s Day in America. It is easy to lose track of this day if you don’t live in America. But if you do, it is impossible to forget.

The annual ritual of honoring the mother in your life (be it your mother or your wife) intuitively seems a private event, something akin to a birthday perhaps, taking time to celebrate the life of a person who is important to you. Mother’s day however, is big business. It is not celebrating the person, but the role of “mother” in a woman’s life. The advertisements and reminders start weeks in advance. Newspaper supplements devoted to special sales for “Mom” with glossy photos seduce you into purchasing that piece of jewelry, that gadget, that item of clothing that she cannot live without. There are special offers for “Mother’s Day Brunch” at most restaurants. You can gift flowers, facials and fitness club memberships to Mom. I burst out laughing when I saw an ad from “Vasectomy Center”. I wondered what special they were offering when my sister-in-law helpfully replied that they ran a similar ad for Valentine’s Day.

Mother’s Day was setup to be a national day to emphasize the role of women in their families, passed as a resolution by the US congress in 1914. This was the culmination of a massive effort by Anna Jarvis, daughter of Ann Maria Reese Jarvis, a woman who is well-known as a humanitarian and revered for her work with women’s organizations. Ann Maria organized a series of Mother’s Day Work Clubs in the state of Virginia in the mid-1800s to raise awareness of health and sanitation issues among women. She was active in providing necessary support during the Civil War while mourning the death of her own children to disease. One of her daughters, Ann Jarvis took upon herself the cause of establishing a day, not just in the state of Virginia, but all over the US, as a tribute to her mother and to commemorate the hard work of mothers everywhere.

Today Mother’s Day is an important day mainly for greeting card companies, chocolate manufacturers and florists. For most others, expectations and disappointments abound. Not just on the part of mother’s who are not remembered but also by those who do. If it is difficult to please anyone, it is impossible to please your mother. This truth is universally known. However, each year, millions of people try this impossible feat. Little children have it easy. Every effort is appreciated, every mistake is ignored. Grown children are the ones who suffer. And if you are a mother yourself and have a mother to please, prepare for double surprises (or disappointments, as the case may be).

So this is a day that can be a joyous celebration of motherhood, for the lucky ones. They are the ones rewarded with breakfast in bed by little ones, the ones who get coupons from their teenage kids offering to clean the house (or at least their rooms), the ones in retirement homes who gets calls from their middle-aged offspring. Some families celebrate with a lunch or dinner gathering. Some fly thousands of miles to visit. Others watch the marketing blitz with a wistful look as they qualify for such excesses.

This year, all of Seattle was fortunate to receive the best gift for Mother’s Day from Mother Nature herself; a day of clear spring weather, showering all with the right ingredients for nurturing-warmth, light and love.

Happy Mother’s Day.

A lake, a ferry and many mountains

Lake Quinault is located in the Olympic National Forest in a region that hosts a temperate rainforest. The lake itself is carved by glaciers and the crystal clear waters reflect the myriad shades of green that cover the mountains around it. The Quinault Indian Reservation is located here and fishing permits are required for interested fishing enthusiasts. There is a boat tour that is popular during summer months and several hiking trails. About a mile from the lodge that is located on the water’s edge is the world’s largest Sitka Spruce tree. Every tree in the forest is huge. Some stretch up to the sun as far as the eye can see and others lie horizontal on the slopes, floored by frequent storms. The rainforest has a green carpet with every inch of space providing sustenance to all kinds and sizes of life forms. Around 120 to 167 inches of rain falls in this region annually.

We enjoyed dinner in the Roosevelt Room restaurant, named after the most famous visitor to the Lodge, President Franklin Roosevelt. Spectacular lake views are available from every table in the elegantly lit and furnished dining area. The walls feature regional history and information. In the main lobby warmed by the crackling fire in the brick fireplace adorned by the head of a deer (I think), someone tried their hand at the piano. A mother-son duo attempted the large wooden chess set placed on a high table. Aparna and I tried to make a meaningful contribution to the half-done 1000-piece puzzle on another table. Although the days are getting longer as summer approaches, even at 8.30 p.m. we could get a couple of photos of the lake in the receding light. As the clean air gently blown by the ornate four-bladed fan drifted around the room, we fell into deep restful sleep.

We hungrily gobbled down a delicious breakfast of sweet potato pancakes and fruit before hitting the 0.5 mile Quinault rainforest trail. The sun sliced through the thick foliage to light up the greenery. At regular intervals there were boards that explained the significance of the various players in the web of life in the rainforest. Dead trees that stand upright are called “snags” and serve as places for birds to build nests, for woodpeckers to bore holes and many microscopic creatures to flourish. The giants firs, felled by the mighty winds and storms, lie on the forest floor and serve as “nurse logs”, surfaces which serve to propagate other life forms, even after their death. A major storm that occurred in December 2007 caused considerable damage to the forest and the trails. Majority of the roads and trails have been restored now but the remnants still serve as reminders of nature’s fury.

Our plan for the day included a westward journey on US 101 which snakes around the peninsula, traversing many scenic miles including a breathtaking view of Lake Crescent, another lake much closer to the northern Strait of Juan de Fuca, the water body that separates Northwestern Washington from the province British Columbia in Canada. We drove through the nondescript town of Forks (population 3175), which is suddenly in the spotlight, thanks to the phenomenal success of the “Twilight” book (and movie) series, popular among teenagers in America (and India). Continuing west would have led us to the western-most tip of the continental US, a place called Neah Bay.

After a quick pizza lunch at Port Angeles, we took the 17-mile uphill scenic route to the heart of the mountains, ending at Hurricane Ridge Visitor Center. As we steadily climbed up, traces of snow could be seen lining the hillsides. Snow plows were parked at several places, indicating the normal type of precipitation in this region. The visitor center is locates at a height of about 5200 feet and offers magnificent views of snow-capped peaks. The tallest is Mount Olympus, at 7900 feet. We were blessed with a clear sunny day with no clouds obstructing the view all around. The kids (and adults too) had a great time playing in the pristine snow. The cold of the snowballs was offset by the warmth of the sun and the excitement of the snowball fight. At a scenic viewpoint on the drive downhill, we stopped to see peaks on the Canadian side of the strait, and the picturesque town of Victoria through binoculars.

We drove past Hood Canal towards the town of Kingston. Aparna was thrilled to witness the spectacle of cars driving onto the ferry which takes about 30 minutes to drop you off at Edmonds, a few miles north of Seattle. The ferry is huge (an understatement) and carries passengers, with and without their cars, with and without pets. The enclosed deck has spacious seating with wide tables to enable commuters to work. The sundeck on the top level allows you to step out into the bracing fresh air. Several dogs on leash walked around with their masters. Aparna could not have asked for a better treat. Mount Rainier could be seen in the distance and a cruise ship passed really close. A train chugged along the railroad with colorful carriages loaded with containers. As the ferry docked, the cars and people streamed out in order, heading home, after a lovely Sunday.

To Olympia and beyond

Seattle is bookended by two mountain ranges – the Cascade and Olympic mountains. The Olympic Peninsula which marks the northwest region of the continental United States represents the collision of two continental plates. These mountains, although situated over 100 miles away from Seattle are clearly visible from many locations and make for ideal weekend getaways, particularly during spring and summer months.

For this weekend since the weather forecast predicted two brilliantly clear and warm days, we planned a trip to the Olympic Peninsula. We made bookings at the Lake Quinault Lodge, located on the Washington Coastal corridor, US route 101. We left Saturday morning and took interstate highway 90 East which leads eastwards all the way to Boston, if you choose to stay on it. We then picked up interstate 5 South, another large artery which goes southwards all the way to sunny Southern California, to San Diego. The road to Quinault passed through Tacoma, a big city, mainly centered around the port of Tacoma. Next notable town was the military base of Fort Lewis.

The weather was indeed gorgeous, blue skies generously laced with basketfuls of whipped cream style white clouds. We reached the capital of Washington state, Olympia a little after noon. Olympia seemed to be a typical university town, at least the area where we wandered though. The impressive campus of the state legislature beckoned us. We entered the state capitol building just as a group of school kids were coming out, impeccably dressed in formal clothes. They all wore important looking name tags. I peered closer to one of them and noticed “Senator” on it, another said “Lobbyist”. It then struck me that they were here in the numerous YMCA buses that were parked outside, to have a session of “mock government”. What an exciting way to teach about the legislative system, bringing the students to the state capital, Olympia, to simulate a real-life session.

The Olympic Mountains are at the heart of peninsula and home to some of the most majestic mountains. They are home to a large variety of plants and trees, notable among the evergreens – the gigantic and long-lived Western Hemlock, Douglar Firs, Red Cedars and Sitka Spruce trees. The Olympic National Forest area preserves these natural treasures. We reached Lake Quinault at 4 p.m. and had our first breathtaking view of this fresh-water lake tucked into the mountains. The water was as cold as expected and we walked towards a hiking trail just outside the Quinault Lodge property. We chose to take the Quinault Loop trail, a 1.6 miles path into the greenery that took us to Cascade Falls. We saw interesting flora, most commonly a blanket of clovers, large trees that had fallen down and were now home to fungi-species like mushrooms, and ferns. Fauna included butterflies, slugs and other creepy-crawlies. The sound of the falls could be heard long before we could see the Cascade Falls. Gurgling brooks dotted our path as we enjoyed the natural beauty in the perfect sunshine.

Pleasantly energized by the trek, we headed to our rooms. The kids changed into swimsuits and made full use of the heated pool. Aparna learnt to “cannonball” (i.e. jump with knees folded) into the deep end of the pool. Our room actually was a “pool-view” room, which meant that through one window we could see the enclosure which housed the pool.

The room, as the lodge, was built with wood, had a radiator heater and ceiling fans. The bathroom was newly remodeled, but the washbasin was inside the room, not inside the bathroom. No TV, no modern gadgets and charging station, except for a single-cup coffee maker. Through the other window, we had a spectacular view of the lake. The lodge was built in 1925 and with the enthusiasm of a couple of visionaries, completed construction in ten weeks at a cost of $90,000. With the visit of President Roosevelt in 1937, the lodge itself became famous, and a significant part of the Olympic National Park in 1938.