Three kinds of chili and North Fork pizza. Mini-pies and homemade stew, enough for lunch as well.
I know it’s just a game/not just a game.
Having a hard time drawing up what it all means, how it all went down.
A week out, and it feels something like a swift version of grief stages only upside down and opposite–> like-see the bargain’s over and it’s still sinking in; it didn’t really happen.
But it did. To us.
Crave is just not strong enough a word for how much people wanted a championship up in here.
I know it’s just a game, but I know more. It’s fathers and sons, grandmas and good old friends. It’s 37 years of mostly Kingdome and mostly not. It’s this team, this place, this time. It’s the language and outlook and how its infused itself in homes and workplaces. It’s finally trusting the process. It’s the 12’s experience which I could never fully articulate, you know if you’ve felt it. Symbiotic now and the lore builds. It’s Montana and Alaska, mix some SeaTown and P-Town being on the same page for a moment. It’s playing “you be Marshawn I’ll be Russell” in the backyard, and a new princess born into royalty. It’s music and memories and the Immaculate Deflection. It’s hugging a stranger and a cop, sore throats and skipping work for a parade. There’s a hundred story lines I could write about this team and personality(s), it chokes me to think of the millions of story lines that Hawks’ fans and the NW just lived through.
Wherever the history books get stored, we’re in em’ for real now boss. For the most part it’s been a frickin’ pain carrying the memories of being a Seattle sports fan, at times I’ve felt like throwing it all away. Those pains–> can’t help but get-it, how much sweeter that makes this one taste.
What’s next- on 3.
Photo by Moonwater
I’ve barely ever smelt it,
today I can taste it.
And so I’m stepping out of my pickup, sun barely up, and this guy approaches me and asks where the best coffee around is. At first I didn’t get he wanted money, it’s difficult to be sure in this neck where the fashion of affluent and poor is kind of blurred, you have to look close at hands and faces to tell sometimes. And so I get excited to say “Avellino’s for sure, they have the best brew.” I start to add to my pitch as I reach for the door but he interrupts and says, “well, where can I get money for coffee?” And I try hard not to but in that moment cracked inside and got my firm on and was like like “hey man, you just wasted my time, and I worked for this coffee. Truth is I’m on my way to work for about 10 straight for a service agency to contribute a little cash to my home, then I’ll get off and have a moment with my family, we’ve a baby on the way, and tomorrow I’ll be taking care of my here kid for no cash.” And looking back on him he really had kind eyes he did, but I don’t like being tricked so I said with arrows “not today.”
And so I order my drip and biscuit (the biscuit a special treat you know, because I can afford it) and I get my change with him still in the background and we’re both thinkin’ as I put my silver coins in the tip jar. And as he says as I’m leaving “wish I had a job” I’m 100 feet high looking straight down at him in my mind. And it was ugly and gross and it’s the holidays I feel, and I sense I was part right + part tired + part wrong, yet I hang on to the wrong. But? would it change your/his/my mind to know I check in to Avellino’s as if it’s church. Anything softened? knowing I go to make up for the lost business of a passed friend who loved the place, and the day he stopped going is the day I started. Is anything gained? understanding that very same barista who can never quite place me came to his memorial to pay respect. That’s the kind of guy Kris was, people who poured his coffee were impacted by him. And can I give myself any grace knowing five years later I’m still working up the courage to interrupt her business and say how much that meant, to reach across the counter and touch her.
We’ve got to see each other y’all.
We(s) had a breakdown.
Photo by Evan Bridges
A disclaimer–> I don’t really like disclaimers, here’s a disclaimer:
My timing has never been great, and in many ways this next track seems misplaced, like those moments I’ve been caught bursting out with laughter when the room is stone-faced, or vice versa. Here’s the thing, this incident happened a few weeks back and I jotted it down. It struck me some, and would have made a nice segment on its own, something about staying true to the Christmas spirit and such, but would have left far out of sight the story(s) behind the story. I tend to do that. For reasons, I decided not to leave so much film on the cutting room floor with this one. Still I hesitated to press send and it sat while we had a baby and the universe shifted. Misplaced now right, so I hesitate again. Several influences, some comfortable, some un, keep nudging me to share it instead of letting it digitally die in my draft outbox. My lady is a big one, she helped me and saw in it what I/we saw in it. Another influence I must acknowledge is some corresponding going on with the Rockwell side of my family. They gone deep, what cuffs me? In my sort of way I guess this is a nod in their direction. Track 27 is also a bit late, against what I’ve set as a personal trend of “logging” what’s been going on in my life or mind during a given week or so in time. Yet, today somehow it fits.
At a glance it’s a bit darker, so avoid for now or altogether if your belly isn’t right for it. These things show up on smartphones and work PCs, I get that. That all said, this track is redemptive on some level, and darn good I’ll say it. Much goings on in it, I guess like me.
Your time, thanks for it.
Wes
Swear to GP this simultaneously just happened–>
I’m in garage hole listening to Macklemore working out the punch-bag,
wife is listening to Enya doing a puzzle &
the daughter is hunkered down under the dining room table calling the cops because the flood just hit.
We’re having a baby soon y’all &
I suppose dealing with it each in our own way(s).
See ya 2013. Bring it on 2014.
Big game(s) today. I found out even the Seahawks are meditating. A culture of mental and spiritual self care in the NFL? —> What’s my excuse lately?
Photo by Peter Yang
It’s hard to follow it happens sofast. So much going on it can be easy to miss or misplace.
Might not be forever, but for the past few it’s been a tradition to take T on the Lake Whatcom Railway Santa Train. I think it’s actually taking me since I get to wear my Grandpa’s Stetson, meet dressed up ticket takers who still tell stories, ride an ancient passenger car and imagine my self/family in another time. I really dig old things that are still functional. T usually plays hard to get with Santa, but always digs Banjo-Man and the Engineer. She was especially fond of the kiddo elf this year.
Fast from there we drove to find our very own tree. Cocoa and timber and my ladies, it was awesome. After a bit of warm up and tree maintenance at home, we went on a family sushi date. Sushi can be fickle, but was exceptionally agreeable this day.
After laydown, Moon and I played Scrabble (I lost) and had time for a conversation. We reflected on a lovely day, understanding our Santa Trains and Tree Trimmings would never be quite the same. Thing 2 might not want to be a train driver when she grows up, and that’s OK.
Happenssofast you can barely read/track it.
I try.
Thought it before, but was reminded over the Thanksgiving holiday how blessed Tayen is to have/know four grandparents and even a great-grandparent. What a gift to have in this time/culture.
Wesley Withrow Tracks 