Sleep has been hard to come by during the last few days. We’ve sacrificed it in order to cram in as much Pacific Northwest as we can, because one never knows if the stars will re-align. We’ve gone to Pike’s Place Market to watch them throw fish. We’ve gone to the Pinball Museum, where we discovered that the Diva has a knack for the game. We’ve eaten exotic (and deeply satisfying) Chinese noodles in the International District. We’ve driven to Tacoma to visit the Museum of Glass, which is lovely but a shadow of what’s in Corning.
Still on the docket is a hike up and around Mount Ranier, whose presence has been a staple of the view. People here talk about the mountain like it’s a gopher. “Ranier’s out today,” they say. Or, “Ranier’s in.”
Given that we planned to be here during one of the few times during the year that there isn’t a perma-drizzle, Ranier has been out most of the time. The weather has been glorious, especially down by Puget Sound or Lake Washington, where my husband and I quickly squeezed in a vacation run, which is one of my favorite types of runs because the scenery is new.
We’ve been darn lucky with it all. And then today.
No one woke up bright-eyed or bushy-tailed. We almost missed our intended ferry to Bainbridge Island because of a forgotten phone (and the name of the forgetter will remain cloaked in mystery). The Boy wanted nothing to do with standing on deck out in the open and pitched a fit. A gloom settled in, despite the bright day.
The kids kept antagonizing each other; then bickering over who started it. We tromped around the Suquamish Museum and paid our respects at Chief Seattle’s grave. No one’s heart seemed in it. We took them to an awesome playground, where they just sat on a concrete whale’s tale and refused to romp.