Something amazing happened last week that I neglected to mention in my previous post. It was one of those moments that shook me for more than a day. I’m still processing it, in fact, and I feel compelled to write about it here.

I subscribe to a daily news digest e-mail service from Crosscut.com, a site based in Seattle that features “News of the Great Nearby.” The stories consist of a mix of original reporting and news and opinion from other sources, such as The New York Times and Wall Street Journal. I always enjoy the Sounders FC-related articles written by Peter Miller and some of the political pieces.

Last Wednesday, one of the headlines in the digest caught my eye: “Come together: Lennon’s death, radio, and us.” As we’ve discussed before on this blog, Lori and I were both college students when John Lennon was shot and we were devastated when the news broke, just like so many other people were. We were involved in our little college radio station at the time, so I was immediately interested in the Crosscut article.

The premise of the article is an interesting one. The author, Feliks Banel, suggests that when Lennon died, radio had the ability to help us mourn together, in public, in real time. There were live on-air DJs who were standing by to take phone calls and could put them on the air without tape delays. Real conversations could happen in which people could connect, react honestly, and commiserate together, offering up memories and comfort. Banel contrasts that with Michael Jackson’s recent death, which people were more likely to mourn via Facebook or Twitter, for example.

As I began reading the article, though, I started having a physical reaction, kind of like a rush of adrenaline and nausea at the same time because it was so familiar. If you were also a teenager living in the Seattle area in 1980, you had to be familiar with the specific DJ the author writes about — Steve Slaton, one of the DJs on KISW (“Seattle’s Best ROCK!”). Banel mentions that Slaton was on the air when the news of Lennon’s murder broke, taking phone calls from listeners. I’ll quote from the article here:

The most gripping moment comes when Slaton speaks with a caller named Bruce. Bruce is a big Lennon fan, and is angry about the shooting of a musician whose latest single is called ‘Starting Over.’ Slaton begins to speak of the Beatles’ status as the ‘most potent force in music,’ and then acknowledges his love of AC/DC, Led Zeppelin and The Who. Slaton tries to complete the thought, but then hesitates, audibly overcome with emotion, as he breaks down into heavy sobs. As heard in this complete recording of the call, the articulate Bruce deftly steps in to fill the wordless space. Bruce tries to comfort the deejay with supportive language as Slaton at least partially regains his composure.

Okay, stay with me here, because I’m crying as I type this, but the “caller named Bruce” has been one of my closest, dearest friends for the past 31 years. That’s my Bruce mentioned in the article. And, not only is he mentioned in the article, but Banel actually has a recording of the phone call and has posted it on the web. He made the recording on “a cheap Sanyo portable cassette deck held near the speaker.”

When I listened to that phone call last week, I wept. It is unbelievable, really. Here’s my beautiful friend Bruce, at the age of 18, his first year at the UW, calling Steve Slaton and comforting him on the air 29 years ago. AND IT’S ON THE WEB. What are the chances of this?

Bruce and his wife live in London now, so I e-mailed him immediately and asked him if he had seen the article. He was stunned. Like me, he could not believe that a recording of that phone call existed and would be available for everyone to hear 29 years later. He and I re-lived that night, via e-mail, which wore us out. The events of that night had such amazing significance for him, in ways that are too personal for me to divulge here, but suffice it to say, they helped shape him into the man he is today.

And, I cannot overstate how much Bruce shaped me into the person I am today. I met Bruce at the beginning of my senior year of high school. He and his family had just moved to our town and he was a year younger than me. He joined our school newspaper staff. I was the editor and it quickly became clear that Bruce would be editor the following year. He could write circles around all of us. He was so much smarter and faster than all of us. Plus, he loved rock and roll.

I was a huge music fan (thanks to having parents with remarkably cool musical taste) before I met Bruce, but Bruce really schooled me. He had such an intense personal connection with bands like The Who, the Kinks, the Beatles, and the Rolling Stones. He made me mix tapes. Many of them. And they were all accompanied by long (LONG) descriptions of each song and its significance. He was my personal rock and roll tutor and I was his eager student.

No single person outside of my family (and Lori, of course) has played a bigger role in making me the person I am than Bruce. To hear his young, 18-year-old voice again, when I wasn’t expecting it in the least, has been the most wonderful, humbling, and powerful gift ever. Thank you, world wide web, for blowing my mind yet again.

I just took an on-line quiz to see what type of holiday pie I am and am now sitting here frowning, brows hunkered low over my eyes, my mouth bunched together to one side in disappointment.  Turns out I’m an Old-Fashioned Apple Pie – yawn, yawn, yawn! Not even with cheddar cheese on it or anything!  I think I’m really more likely some type of tart…Or perhaps a Mock Apple Pie.

In my search for a handy picture to borrow, Google turned up 3,110,000 images for apple pie.  I got a little side-tracked by looking at the recipe for Apple Bacon Pie, (insert a yum or a yuck here, depending on your carnivorous leanings) and then stopped my quest after the second page where there was a PhotoShopped version of a head made of apple pie, because it was freaking me out – I just couldn’t look away – apparently as it was meant to, since the website was called Freakin News.

I know, I should be doing Christmas stuff, like productive ole Hannah down there, but there’s not really that much to do right now.  Our Christmas cards are not ready to print yet, so all that has to wait.  I was going to mail the one package I need to send to my niece in Korea, but have to wait for those cards, and well, get her another gift, because we did have this cool necklace for her with these amber colored beads on a black-wrapped cord all ready to be wrapped and I made the mistake of trying it on and looking in the mirror.  I realized then that it was really meant for me and no one else.  One more notch on my irresponsible pole of self-perceived badness.

My mom’s birthday was a couple days ago, so like thinking up gift-ideas for your mom for Christmas isn’t bad enough, I’ve got birthday gift pressure in December, as well!  We drove up through the snow (massive karma points) to surprise her at home, only to find no one home but my gimpy brother-in-law in front of the TV with a basket of painkillers who just had knee surgery and is recovering at my folks’ house (long story here on the-strange-and-funky-living-arrangements-of-my sister-and-her-husband, but I will spare you and you can be thankful), but it was good to visit him and I’ve been astounded the last couple of days by the knowledge that he now has 28 pounds of steel in his knee!  Twenty-eight pounds?!? He’s a very large man, but still ¬– that’s like dragging a kindergartener around on your knee! Forever!  I suppose he’ll be walking like Herman Munster from now on.  But, okay, sidetracked once again. Turns out what my mom wanted for her birthday was to get out of the house, take a break from being nurse-mom (in-law) and escape to the local tribal casino.  So, we hopped in the car, and drove back the way we’d come and really surprised her by finding her in the casino. Nice visit, rich lunch (crab cake BLT, oh my!) and more snow.  The topper of the afternoon though, was when my dad showed us their new car – a Buick man from way back – and he proudly displayed the arm rest in the front seat he customized with an old striped seat cushion from a lawn chair and a bungy cord for their little Shih-Tzu dog, Peaches, so she wouldn’t slide around on rides. Then he popped open the trunk, we thought to show us how clean and roomy it is, but he leaned over to a little flat compartmentalized box neatly holding his pipe and assorted pipe paraphernalia for a little alone time after we scampered through the snow to our car.

Anyway, apple pie. Sheesh!

Yes, the holidays are upon us, and I’m creating endless lists of gifts to buy and cards to mail, but the lists I prefer to obsess over are:  1) year-end “best of” lists and 2) awards show nominations, such as the Golden Globes and Grammys. Also, some bonus list distractions:  the 2010 FIFA World Cup draw and yesterday’s announcement of new Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductees (go Stooges!).

Naturally, I love the lists of best books of the year. Did you see the Time Magazine list of Top Ten Fiction Books? #2 is Jess Walter’s latest novel, The Financial Lives of the Poets. I loved that book and I also loved seeing the author in person last week at Third Place Books in Lake Forest Park. He read the entire first chapter out loud and Joe, Lori, and I busted our guts laughing, I swear. That first chapter is perfection. Hearing the author read it out loud was so much better than the voice in my head when I read it the first time. Plus, Mr. Walter was just all-around great at talking about his book, answering audience questions, and signing books. He and Sherman Alexie did an author event together in Spokane a couple of weekends ago. Why wasn’t I in Spokane THAT weekend?!

Some of the lists are “best of the decade” lists, covering 2000 thru 2009. Like this one, 100 Best Albums of the Decade, according to Rolling Stone. Yes, that’s Yankee Hotel Foxtrot by Wilco in spot #3! And another favorite of mine, Elephant, by the White Stripes, is at #5. Here’s Paste magazine’s list of the 50 Best Albums of the Decade. Well, look at that. Wilco comes in at #2 on this one and the White Stripes are at #6. Since the Paste list was published first, I think Rolling Stone COPIED AND CHEATED!

It is the holiday season, of course, and I have been one busy holiday elf. I took last week off of work so I could do a bunch of shopping, wrapping, and mailing and it was awesome. I beat the crowds and didn’t even have to wait in line at the post office. I have just one box left to mail, which is waiting by the back door right this minute. I will also be mailing the rest of my Christmas cards today. Whew.

We splurged and bought a gorgeous Noble Fir Christmas tree last weekend, from the Boy Scouts who sell their trees near Ballard Market every year. If you want super helpful and attentive service from the Boy Scouts when you’re shopping for Christmas trees, it helps to have a beautiful 12-year-old girl with you, let me tell you! If you are one of our Seattle friends, neighbors, or relatives, please feel free to stop by any time and check out our tree. I plan to do some baking next week, so we’ll happily stuff you full of cookies, too. So, really. Stop on by!

Where have I been the last couple of weeks?!?  What if Google Maps was smart enough to find people…

Thanksgiving:  The GoogleCam in the sky swooshes down to my street, materializing into the GoogleLegoManCam and pops its Lego head into our steamy front window, to see me at the stove surrounded by bubbling pots, pies cooling on the kitchen island.  Nathan stokes the fire, Joe helps me chop, and I dubiously baste the turkey breast that turns out to look like the screaming death-head of a goat, but I’ve propped it up with stuffing and as it browns with the help of the suntan oil of cooked fowl, butter, it looks more like the entirely harmless, limbless bird it is. With Thanksgiving I try to keep the menu traditional, but with a couple experimental variations.  This year it was with the pumpkin pie.  I found a fabulous recipe on Martha Stewart’s site on a whim (and I say this shamelessly, because the woman and her staff know their sh…tuff), for chocolate pumpkin tart.  I don’t have the generic “pumpkin pie spice” her recipe calls for, so used cinnamon, cloves, fresh ground nutmeg and a pinch of fresh ground cardamom that gave it a slightly exotic aftertaste. yummmm!

Teatro Zinzanni:  GoogleCam finds me at Joe’s company holiday party –my first time meeting Joe’s co-workers/employer and I’m in a velvet, feathered cocktail hat of my own creation, a little black dress so tight I worry about zipper integrity with every deep breath and smile, shoulder-length black gloves and my white glow fur.  I’m sure I’ll seem positively frumpy next time they see me after this over-the-top first impression!  The ever-roaming cast members of the show sought me out to pet me (I obligingly purred and glowed), no doubt sensing one of their kind. 

Teatro Zinzanni stars, Caswell and Beaumont, framing Joe and Lori

I was so taken by the boutique they have in the lobby (“I want my bedroom to look like this!”) that Joe and I came back the next week to purchase a stunning long velvet, beaded and fringed evening jacket that looks like it came out of some Thirties movie star’s closet. (Early Christmas gift—I love my man!) The show, the food, the talent and costumes were equally stunning, and I highly recommend it as a special treat; smiles guaranteed.  The contortionist with the hula hoops was mind-blowing!

The Bat Phone and Lady Gaga:   In the old days at work we had to have a phone hooked up to our fax machine, but when we updated it wasn’t necessary so I adopted it into the House of Funk. We always called it the Bat Phone because it’s an old classic rotary Lucite block phone in bright red, like the direct line to the President or, well, Bat Man….Anyway, last week Big Brother Google caught us at home talking on this phone and the cordless to an old friend on the East Coast who told us that basically, last year his wife found another guy (who lays tile. It was the only real description he was given, and I don’t know why this struck me as funny, but it did), they’ve divorced, she married Tile Guy, and he’s gone back to guys as well. They all live in a gated golf course community, and the two kids ride back and forth between the two homes in golf carts, and are just one big extended happy family.  Joe and I were facing each other during this conversation, and after about 20 seconds of eyebrow-raising, eye-popping, mouth-dropping, guilty yet delighted at what must be the best friend-gossip of the year, we realized none of it was that surprising at all, and it was all good. He could have told us he decided he was meant to be a priest, and we wouldn’t have been shocked in the least.  He’d be a really hip priest, actually, if a bit cynical… Best of all, our friend turned us on to Lady Gaga, whom he said was the new Cher.  We watched one of her videos on You Tube and Joe’s first reaction was “Let’s watch another one!” while I was left wondering if a tin can bra would hurt.

John Irving:  That stalker GoogleLegoManCam is back on my street looking in at me in the Cozy Chair nose deep in John Irving’s latest Last Night at Twisted River.  Hannah told me the reviews weren’t all that great, so I purposely didn’t seek them out.  We went to a reading of his last month,

Hulk Hogan was there that same night! Small world, big man.

 to hear him speak and bask in his sexy handsome author aura, (at least this time I didn’t try to fix Joe’s hair to look like my last sexy handsome author viewing, Garth Stein) and I’m sure he saw me and made eye contact when he turned to see who was laughing so loud: Hannah, next to me. 

GoogleShots:  Snuggled on the love seat with Joe, staring for a solid hour at the lava lamp we got for the Seventies Halloween party, rattling off the different formations the lava takes – ship’s figurehead, Michelangelo’s David, creepy big-headed gnome, radioactive hum bow – wondering why we’ve never had one until now. 

Me, feeling excessively tired from a long-lasting cold, not wanting to get out of bed, I want the sleep to linger on me to comfort me throughout the day, so I don’t take a shower, and only do a cursory cleanup, wear something cozy that will wrap its arms around and cuddle me, which seems to be working until I realize I’m just a big grumpy ball of static.

Back to Joe and I staring at the disco ball ornament that’s hanging from the top/bottom of the upside-down Christmas tree we have suspended from the ceiling that has a deal you hook into where one of the lights is and it spins the ball with three little spot lights on it, causing little white spots to swirl around the living room like snow when you’re driving and it just keeps coming at your windshield, mesmerizing, mesmerizing, mesmerizing. 

One last shot of us on a blissfully sunny day raking the blanket of willow leaves covering the yard, and I dig up a few surprise fingerling potatoes I planted in the spring.  It’s going to be hard to eat this one…

When did I turn into such a movie loser? I used to be nuts about seeing films, but I see so few now, and almost never in a theater. I ran into an old friend a while ago, whom I hadn’t seen in more than 15 years. He started talking to me about movies and I just drew a blank. He said that one of the things he remembered the most about me was that I saw so many movies, especially independent and foreign films. Really. He was talking about me. Weird.

The National Board of Review of Motion Pictures just announced its awards for the top films of 2009. I have seen exactly ZERO of these films. None. Not one of the Top Ten Films, not one of the Top Independent Films, not even one of the Top Five Documentaries. Not in a theater. Not on DVD.

You know what I have seen, though? The second Twilight movie, New Moon. And it was AWFUL. I am officially on record (on Goodreads) as not enjoying the book. Only one person in our household enjoys that series of books, and I’ll give you a hint. It’s not me or my pre-teen daughter. So, Lily had a friend over this weekend and we thought, what the heck, let’s go see the vampire movie. Here’s the only reason to see it. 

Lily and Andy are now on Team Jacob, but I can’t resist the pasty white skin and red lips on Edward. I hope I just saved you $10. And, yes, I’m aware that body airbrushing might be involved in that photo above. So, go see one of the movies on the NBR list instead.

Many years ago, my friend Cindy gave me a soup recipe that I’ve used almost every year since then at Thanksgiving. I’m sharing it here with you because I love it and I think some of you might, too. I made it again this year, at my mother-in-law’s house in Spokane, and it was as yummy as ever.

Curried Butternut Squash and Apple Soup

1 tablespoon unsalted butter

3 cups chicken or vegetable broth

2 cups chopped onion

1 and 1/2 tablespoons curry powder

2 medium butternut squash

2 Granny Smith apples — peeled, cored, chopped

1 cup apple juice

salt & fresh ground pepper to taste

Peel squash (use a potato peeler), scrape out seeds and strings, chop coarsely (you can do this a day in advance and refrigerate).

Melt butter in medium soup pot. Add 1/4 cup broth, chopped onions, curry powder. Stir together well. Cook 5 minutes covered over low heat.

When onions are tender, add remaining broth, squash, and apples. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer, partially covered, until squash and apples are tender — about 30 minutes (could take longer).

Remove from heat. Pour approximately half the soup solids into blender and process until smooth. Return puree to soup pot. You can process more soup solids for a smoother soup, or less for a hearty, chunky soup.

Add apple juice and salt and pepper to taste.

Add more than 1 cup apple juice if squash has bitter flavor — to taste. (Squash is usually sweet enough, but just in case…)

Feeds army. Freezes well for a few weeks.

Joe and I joined some friends for a show Saturday at the iconic Seattle tavern, the Blue Moon.  Sometimes, of course, iconic is a nice way of saying they just can’t seem to let it go…  We got there around 9:30 and upon stepping inside the door we were immediately assaulted, choking and gagging, hair follicles retracting in fear, by the overpowering smell of bleach.  A huge wet area blocked our way towards the stage, and we were soon informed this was the result of bleach being doused onto the floor where one of the more overzealous, apparently ramen-eating,  patrons puked right before we arrived.  We have the distinct look about us as we walk our wrinkly noses over to the ATM for cash because the bar doesn’t do debit cards, that we’re only here to see the band, okay?  With some trepidation we made our way tippy-toeing  to our friends who are in one of the three bands playing, The Eloquent Liars.  Our friend John, who plays bass in our little get-together-for-fun band,  also plays with these guys, though he’s not pictured here, possibly for Sesame Street logic “One of these things is not like the other, one of these things doesn’t belong…”  John jokes that he’s nine years younger than the total of these three 21-year-olds combined. Then again, maybe it’s just an old picture before John was playing with them.

The opening band was great, Starving Art Family, a good alternative sound from Austin, complete with banjo and trumpet.  The Eloquent Liars were fantastic, (I know I’m a bit biased, but really they were; energetic, talented with an edge, a likeable indie-alt band doing all originals, but one) especially considering Blake there in the middle, was in a car accident just two weeks ago, just had a catheter removed the day before and has a couple of broken ribs right now, and for their only cover at the end, a very loud, passionate song by the Vines, (of course, I forget the name), he sang full-on, falling-to-your-knees kind of not holding back, then jumped off the stage immediately afterward to sit with his mom, who was soon to be hocking their debut CD, bless her heart. The last band we (our group in the late 40’s, every one of us figuring it had been at least 25 years since we were last at the Blue Moon)  decided should have been the opener–long hair covering their faces only to let us occasionally catch a glimpse of their very pale fragile sexy-cheekboned beauty underneath–a guitar army with skinny jeans and too much aloof attitude for my taste.  Though I’ll take the skinny jeans any day.  I was silently wishing I too could be 21 again, and okay, maybe a boy, or a rebellious girl, with skinny purple jeans belted 5 inches below my belly button on my suggestion of hips, playing an electric guitar with purpose, singing with angst.  At my age though I’m happy to still get away with wearing my Converse All Stars and be carded at the door.

On our way out, (Joe helping with the equipment after John tells us when he was younger he dreamed of having groupies, and now he dreams of having roadies) leaving our empty pint glasses on the crude patron-gouged tables, bumping our wide hips past more skinny jeans across the damp floor, craning our necks to check out the posters on the ceiling that look to have been there decades–back when smoking was still allowed, buttoning our coats before facing the rain, rain, when-will-it-ever-stop, rain, the broody leader of the guitar army band swivels around slowly on his bar stool, black duster billowing behind, locks eyes with me and I get chills.  In a blush I reassess my former opinion, and pardoning this one’s aloofness, I newly bestow him with intense sexy vampire-like qualities, and revise my wish to be 21 again as definitely a girl.   (Of course, the whole vampire-vibe could have been because earlier when I was forced to go to the mall and was attracted to a delicious green party dress in this shop only to be breathlessly told by the wide-eyed girl working there that it was the same dress a character from the new Twilight movie wears, thus dashing my hopes of purchase, because who wants to be a 48-year-old wearing a dress that everyone knows is some teenager’s from the trendy vampire movie?)

I have become a lunch lady. Not a lady who serves lunch, but a lady who often goes out to lunch, with other ladies. My current work schedule provides me with two days off in the middle of each week and they are mine to fill with all sorts of activities. I tend to be a hardcore “get stuff done” list maker, without much relaxing built into my schedule, so I largely spend those two days “being effective,” as we call it here. Or, rather, I am effective during the time that Lily is in school on those days. Lately, though, I have had the immense pleasure of going to lunch with various friends on those days and enjoying both their good company and some really good food. My lady friends amaze me with their intelligence, humor, and kindness, and I am indeed grateful for them.

Sometimes I spend those days off in the middle of the week trying to catch up on sleep while Lily is at school. As I’ve mentioned way too many times before (sorry), I rarely get enough sleep and there are lots of boring reasons for this that go way back. One current reason is our dog Happy. I don’t think I’ve written about her much here, but she is a huge presence in our lives and a beloved member of the family. She is also EXTREMELY needy and works my last nerve.

"Uh oh, do I hear a noise?"

Poor Happy is afraid of loud noises, especially fireworks, thunder, wind, and rain. If you live in this area, then you know that the past couple of weeks have been all about wind and rain in large amounts all the time never ending. Loud wind. Loud rain. Occasional thunder. Poor Happy has very little ability to deal with this scary, scary weather. She yips and barks and pants and trembles and drools and freaks out for hours. We have resorted to giving her anti-anxiety medication on occasion, prescribed by her vet, because she can’t calm down and she is basically destroying our house with all of her fretting. And, as you can guess, preventing us from sleeping. It breaks my heart to see her so upset and I don’t want to drug her all the time. So, we leave the radio on most of the time, quite loudly, to cover up the noise that the weather makes, which helps, and try to keep her company as much as possible. If Happy is on one floor of our little house and I go to another floor, she often starts pacing and barking. So, those naps I try to take while Lily is in school almost never work.

It’s all very exhausting and unfortunate. Happy loved our almost rain-free summer. This fall, though, is wearing all of us out. Good thing Happy is such a sweet and loving dog, despite her neuroses. We probably would have found her another home long ago, otherwise. (Sorry, Lily. I know it’s horrible to admit that, but you know how I am about that honesty stuff.)

Other than lunching out and coping with my sad Happy dog, I’ve been cooking and baking some wonderful fall food (recipes to come), reading Chronic City by Jonathan Lethem (which is taking me a long time, but is worth it), hosting a brief visit by my mother-in-law (who kindly came here to attend Grandparents Day at Lily’s school), making arrangements for my family to get a variety of flu shots (which is much harder and time consuming than I ever could have imagined — I’ve never felt as victorious as I did when Lily finally got both an H1N1 flu shot and a seasonal flu shot), attending Jonathan Irving’s reading at Third Place Books with Joe and Lori (we should write about that, he was fascinating), and going to that awesome Raphael Saadiq show that I mentioned a couple of posts ago. Plus, you know, working and parenting and stuff.

Now, though, because I don’t have a lunch date to attend, I’d better go be effective.

The kid in this video news clip from CNN is my new hero.

I cannot possibly describe how smokin’ the Raphael Saadiq show at the Showbox was last night, so I’ll let Spin magazine do it for me.

More from me soon, friends.

Love and kisses,

Hannah