Guest Post: Seattle, toddlers, and voting, oh my!
This morning’s blog post comes courtesy of a friend of mine, Hafidha Sofia, a 30-something mother of one, who writes about her takes on Seattle after living here for a few months. Please give her a warm welcome.
Honeymoon Interrupted
I’ll just say it: I love Seattle. Maybe the love won’t last – maybe it’s all too new and its flaws are not so glaring to me yet – but for now it’s true, and I’m not ashamed to say it: I love Seattle.
What first attracted me to the city were its money and looks. Hubster was offered a job here, and after three years of being un(der)employed and broke, the promise of not having to borrow money to pay the rent was a big draw. We arrived in June to spend several weeks in corporate housing downtown. Our first day here we sat in patio chairs wearing short sleeves and drinking pink lemonade; we watched the ferries crisscross the Sound under a blue sky; and we felt like the luckiest people on the planet living in Paradise. Read More…
After our Indian cooking class a couple of weeks ago, Susanne and I headed out to Uwajimaya, the Asian grocery, to stock up on ingredients. After all, I’d either made a dish (palak paneer) or watched other people prepare sides and entrees, so surely I was past Square One for Asian Cookery. To be honest, I wasn’t really that overconfident, but I did think I’d be able to pull off something like a coconut soup. Sure, it wasn’t on our list of items to create in the class I attended, but Thai soup and Indian curried broth for poaching fish aren’t exactly total opposites, either. 
As a fan of popular culture and politics, I find political rallies intriguing. They’re another instance of storytelling, albeit with an interest of some measurable outcome, the citizen’s vote. Living in DC for more than a decade I learned to eschew most political gatherings—I could have been at an event 24/7 if I’d wanted such a thing—save for the occasional march for a cause, or a major event like an inauguration. But the closest I ever got to the Capitol was to have my engagement photo session on its grounds, and to take a tour with my soon-to-be inlaws who came to town for the wedding. We sat in the public gallery for the House, which was empty at the time, and had to imagine the posturing, bickering, and dealmaking that went on at the bottom of the chamber. 
We drove down into Walla Walla on Monday morning, Susanne napping in the passenger seat and me maneuvering through the Snoqualmie Pass in the Cascades. I set my barometer for driving endurance in college, where my parents’ house and the university were roughly four and a half hours apart. The corners of Washington State are about the same distance, so it doesn’t feel like too bad a stretch to get from point A to point B. Anything shorter than this is a breeze, anything longer and I start to feel like looking at asphalt is itself an exhausting prospect. 
Susanne and I ventured a few blocks from our apartment last night to take part in a cooking class on Indian cuisine with 
In Walla Walla, people have a habit of parking opposite to traffic when they leave their cars curbside. In Walla Walla, a resident fond of chainsaw sculpture has set something like 20-odd statues around his Alder Street lawn. In Walla Walla, people construct chicken coops in their back yards, or leave crumbing old cars on the street while they take years to get around to restoring them, and nobody bats an eye. One of the effects, perhaps, of living in the land of the libertarian is a stubborn inattentiveness to city code. So when the owner of the Inland Octopus, an old-fashioned toy store, moved a few blocks west on Main Street and commissioned a mural be painted on his store front, I would hazard a guess that he never thought anyone would come after him over anything as esoteric as ordinances. 
Susanne and I had ourselves a blast at the Mobile Chowdown V last Friday, in the parking lot of Qwest Field. Romantic setting, I know, but we were there to explore the engine-inclusive side of cuisine, not make out in public. We lucked out and found a parking spot 1.5 blocks away, albeit only after accidentally making our way to the garage for the last home game of the Mariners. Fifteen dollars for parking is $15 less we’d have had for all of the fare at the event! 
When we moved to Seattle, we calculated that we did not need a land line for telephone service. After all, we’re only here for 6.5 months. That’s just enough time to get around to giving out a new number and then telling people it’s not our number anymore. When I’d done the initial walkthrough I’d called Susanne, so I knew our phones—which are the same model, only in different colors, and no, I don’t need any jokes about having the same phone, thanks—would work in this space. Hence no need for a land line.
Trans/plant/portation 