I almost posted a picture of my Asian face on Instagram, with a caption reading something like, “I was once the face of Visit Edmonds,” as in, See? Not every mover and shaker and writer at this seaside Washington tourist spot is a privileged, youth-demo-friendly white Gen Xer!
But I couldn’t find a photo I hadn’t already used (I hate repeating myself, even though I do it a lot more pushing 60). So, fuck it.
The other platform I wrote for, Welcome Magazine, came out with its new spring/summer issue. My writer/editor friend Ellen has a bunch of articles under the theme of “When the Tide is Out…the Table is Set” theme.
One article focuses on the people and marine life that benefit from the NW sea. Harvest of the World type shit.
“I remember vividly the pungent smells of shrimp, bagged up in a non-descript paper sack, and my twin daughters loudly sucking the juices from their exoskeletons with the delight only a Filipina can muster. Their heritage shines brightly when they return today as adults with grown children of their own, stopping, as is tradition, at the Shrimp Shack near Deception Pass.”
— “…The Table is Set,” Welcome Magazine Spring/Summer 2024
The other, a rave list of places to go that sources its key ingredients from the sea.
The circle of life.
Neat, huh?
I went ahead and shared three of her articles, making a NW dig at those who couldn’t wait to replace her over at a tourism website, with the comment, “Nobody covers Edmonds…Snohomish better.”
Nobody does.
Her writing is a cozy, unpretentious, yet savvy mix of information, art, and humanity — what Seattle used to be before the Grunge phase disintegrated into a tech free-for-all.
“At Bothell’s core is an urban energy with a sense of community, a bit of nostalgia and a clear taste for the finer things in life. Skirted by I-405 with convenient options for the traveler, the City of Bothell is easily found, and yet, somehow, easily missed…”
— “Bothell Built for Gathering,” Welcome Magazine, Spring/Summer 2024
The real Seattle beneath the Freeze.
Somehow, Ellen manages to welcome every kind of people, without the show-offy, virtue-signaling, white privilege elitist politics of who came here first.
I mean…
“As the tide pulls the foamy crests of waves away from rocky shores, a sensory smorgasbord is unveiled… Briney air is filled with scents of seaweed; tiny, sporadic fountains in the sand announce the hiding places of geoducks and clams; beyond the shores, glittery sunshine sparkles on bobbing markers of crab pots, dropped for sport and for survival.”
— “When the Tide is Out…,” Welcome Magazine, Spring/Summer 2024
“…for sport and for survival…” Just…Wow.
I first fell in love with her word-scapes, a natural by-product of her reporter upbringing and marketing acumen, back when I myself was seized with deep, profound writer insecurity after a job rejection…before I began to write for Welcome Magazine back in the summer of 2019.
I noticed a few typos in the online version of the new issue, so, of course, I had to chime in. When she has time, she’ll go fix them. I was tempted to offer my services, but, we’ve already ridden that rail, and besides, I no longer have anything to prove.
By the time we arrived at Pet Wants in downtown Twin Falls Saturday for their one-year anniversary celebration, most of the PAWS Rescue pets up for adoption were scooped up by interested visitors and foster parents.
I quickly gave Bungee a puppucino, and looked for Banjo, 3, a brown Curr/Ridgeback rescue I’d been scrolling on PAWS’ IG for weeks, as well as an American Staffy Terrier named Bagel (not in attendance).
Banjo was inside, patiently standing beside his foster mom, on high alert, but pretending to be cool with the slow-growing, incoming crowds of strangers. He looked like Bungee three years ago, when my son’s friends drove him over from Washington state.
Overwhelmed, standoffish.
When I bent over to pet Bungee, he barely gave my hand a sniff before walking by. It wasn’t until he was at my realtor’s house 30 minutes later, running around with their black lab Duke that Bungee relaxed enough to let me pick him up off the couch (big no-no) and back on the floor.
I knew I was Bungee’s person several months later, when nobody would or could take charge after he’d gotten hold of a dead porcupine in the hills of Bliss, ID. I heard him cry when we tried to pull one quill out, and that was it, he was mine.
Same with Banjo.
But I have Bungee to think about. Banjo, I was told, didn’t get along with intact male dogs, and on the PAWS IG, it says he likes female dogs. Bungee will get snip-snipped tomorrow, so we’ll see.
As I dropped on “shiny things” yesterday, I was able to see the real Banjo for a split-second, peering out the Pet Wants window. That’s when I fell in love with him, and felt that stray dog courage, a whirling spectrum of loneliness and hope captured in an indie documentary called, “Stray.”
I am a person that shelters and rescue orgs routinely dismiss out of hand, ignore, and turn down, for no reason. I’ve seen them let random teenagers adopt puppies on the spot, or families that drop in and then drop off the next day, families that will think nothing of leaving their loyal, furry friend behind during a move or because the dog has outgrown their children’s idea of cute.
But, for all my faults — past to present — I am a dog lover through and through. In my most private of dreams, I am home to all strays. They come and go as they please. We share meals and a warm bed. We roam the empty planet together, I watch them run free like wild horses — the greatest gift they could give me.
I am one of them.
If I could, I would adopt only the dogs nobody else wants, I was never much for competition. Not the cute puppies or the designer-label doodles. But the elderly dogs, dogs missing limbs, blind and deaf dogs, dogs with finite expiration dates, dogs passed over because they weren’t Labrador enough.
That’s what shelters and rescues don’t know about me.
I don’t want Banjo if he doesn’t want me. Definitely not if he doesn’t get along with Bungee. I will not bring that poor dog into our home if it’s not a calm, quiet escape from the pain and fear he’s known.
After Bungee gets neutered tomorrow, I’ll give it a few weeks, and maybe ask to foster dogs for PAWS Rescue. Then, we’ll see what happens.
If a stray happens to wander on my doorstep, well, that’s another story…
After the Pet Wants/PAWS Rescue celebration, we drove around looking for a new bakery our neighbor friend Christina recommended. We only knew that it was on Main Street and the building was black.
At first glance, Mia’s Bakery & Mexican Restaurant didn’t seem to be much of either.
The black building is huge, almost like a warehouse, and stood mostly empty up front.
There weren’t that many baked goods on the display shelves, just a few churros, rolled, twisted white things coated with sugar, and something that vaguely passed for a Danish.
The friendly staff behind the counter were looking at us hopefully, so I grabbed a plastic bag and began filling it with caramel and strawberry twisty things and the Danish.
I noticed home-made tortillas of every size, including ones for gigantic burritos bigger than my head.
When we got to the counter, the intoxicating chile, garlicky smell from the kitchen coerced me to order lunch. I only made it to the front of the menu.
“I’ll have the four quesabirrias tacos.”
My husband got the street tacos. We shared.
OMG, the Consomé…the birria stew meat…such depth of flavor, with a warming tang, the feel of grandma slaving away on the stove, as scuffled feet make their way inside.
Home.
Next time, we’ll order food from the back of the menu. They have birria ramen and tortas!
Btw, those pastries were amazing, flakey with juicy sweet filling.
I hear they make empanadas and tamales too.