I didn’t really grow up with beaches.

In Chino Valley (Arizona) we knew a woman named Molly, who had a large swimming hole in her backyard. We called it Molly’s Pond, and a trip there was a real treat in the summer. The water was green and deep and cool, and it had a diving board. Conversely, there were also trips to the loud, bright and likely urine-filled YMCA pool.

While I loved all of that as a kid, I missed out on the whole beach experience. My friend Lisa, on the other hand, is an old pro at it.

So when we went to Madison Park Beach last week, she had all the essentials – beach towel, bikini and a blue two-wheeled Coleman cooler. (Dear Reader, I had none of these things.)

I went all starry-eyed with ideas about what a day-at-the-beach should consist of: beer, sandwiches, socializing and maybe a little sunburn. Well, I ended up with a LOT of sunburn, right in the middle of my back because I was too proud to ask for help putting on sunscreen. (You’d think a fair-skinned Arizona girl would know how to avoid a bad burn…)

But everything else we did and saw that day made the sunburn OK. Lisa enjoyed the people watching, with lots of insight into the Seattle-specific beach culture: including (but not limited to) facial hair, tattoos and pale skin.

The lifeguards (in Baywatch red!) went around saying “I don’t know what’s in your paper bag, but just so you know there’s no alcohol allowed on the beach.”

I thought I was being discreet sipping spiked limeade out of an emptied club soda can, but Lisa was nervous because we were the only ones there with a cooler (which also contained ham-and-cheese sandwiches and grapes, ahem.)  Alas, the red-trunked lifeguard passed us over for two guys with a bottle of somethin’.

I made a Beach playlist for us and by the time Livin’ on a Prayer came around again, we decided we’d had enough sun. It was almost 6 by then, and on our way out we passed Madison Park Conservatory, a restaurant we’ve both been wanting to try. A chalkboard out front informed us we had barely missed their oyster happy hour.

“Oh man, I could totally go for some oysters right now!” Lisa said. We instantly began planning our next trip to the beach, with improvements.

Instead of oysters, we went for trendy/handcrafted/really damn good ice cream at Molly Moon’s. My ginger ice cream was super soft and tried to melt sideways off the cone before I even paid. But it was soooo good – creamy, with chunks of fresh ginger.

I don’t think it’s officially summer until you’ve made at least one trip (on foot, preferably) to get ice cream (with a friend, or lover, or little brother). And you are really going to have to get a sugar cone. I know they are messier, but they are also much more fun.

Earlier this month I made an entire dinner out of a handful of pistachios and half a cheese sandwich (on the heel of the bread, no less.) After half a beer, I was full.

I would’ve rather had almost anything else for dinner … in particular, I was thinking about a salt cod brandade, or pepperoni pizza. It’s been a month of frugality, stress and focus.

I’m moving to a new apartment and neighborhood tomorrow, and I’ve allowed myself to put my writing in the backseat while I focus on this one thing. (I’m sorry if this has caused you any distress!)

But it has just occurred to me that this is my last night ever in this apartment. It’s been home for two years, and a good one, too. If there were ever a time to stop and reflect, this is it.

Here are some of my favorite memories:

There was that fall dinner party I threw for nine (crush plus girlfriends plus family – whew!) The pasta was cold by the time I got it on the table, but this salad was a hit!

On my birthday this past year I made my guy-at-the-time pasta aglio y olio (this time for two) when we got home, drunk and hungry. He kissed me while the water boiled and I forgot about it until the smoke alarm went off.

Each fall, when the days got short, I got ambitious in the kitchen. My last roommate, Lisa, was a willing taste tester – for which I am quite grateful. One of my biggest projects was an herb-roasted chicken with pear gravy and skillet carrots. I was exhausted by the time we sat down to eat, but Lisa loved it. (And she even knew how dry the chicken was before I brined it … it looked like a giant, featherless crouton.)

I could go on and on. I’m finishing up tonight with another simple dinner: plain Greek yogurt, a slice of toast with almond butter and a Rhubarb Dry Soda – everything consumed out of the container or off a paper towel.

I could’ve gone out (sushi … mmmm.) But my stomach has been pretty nervy. I’m onto the next thing and I don’t know what’s in store. Toast was the right thing tonight. As for tomorrow … maybe this?

We’ll see!

As I was walking home tonight I got to thinking about how summer can mean different things. As a child in Arizona, summer meant melting popsicles and sweat and stickiness. We used the biggest, darkest sheets we had to drape every window in the house. It was necessary to keep out that harsh, pervasive sunlight.

But in Seattle, even July can’t guarantee sun.

I decided to walk home after two glasses of wine and a very satisfying steak dinner. It was overcast, but still light. I was shivering a bit. But at 9 p.m. twilight illuminated the streets, with leafy trees and bright flowers glowing. I’m starting to accept that this is the reality of summer in Seattle. And I’m also starting to like it.

(Beck helped me out with the soundtrack for my walk home, and the song Qué Onda Guero provided inspiration for the title.)

The word dating makes a lot of people cringe.

I hear people say “I hate dating!” all the time. That phrase makes me cringe, but to each her own, I guess.

“Dating” could easily be synonymous with “problems.” Not in a bad way. Dating is often more like a math problem. You’re just trying to figure it out and hope that you get the answer right so you can go on to the next question. (Like, “Do you want to make out?”)

Most romantic issues are really a matter of, Is this reasonable? Is it OK if I want the guy to pay? Is it reasonable if a guy wants a girl to smash cake in his face during sex? (That one is not a reference to my own life, but rather to that of sex advice columnist Dan Savage.)

My biggest conundrum lately has been, is it reasonable that I think it’s really annoying when a man sends emails without punctuation? It’s truly amazing how the lack of a question mark can change the whole meaning of a sentence.

Well, that guy is out of the picture. Now there’s someone else who is sending me texts that consist of two whole elegant sentences with proper punctuation and spelling. It’s pretty hot, and It also seems to prove my point. If he takes the time to end a sentence with a period, I’ll take him much more seriously.

OK, anal grammarian OUT.

A long way from home

I really, really wish I could spend the holiday weekend with my big brother. And the rest of my family, who are all in Arizona. I talked to my mom on Friday and she had familiar stories about crowds and music and a horse parade slowing traffic. My hometown goes all out for Fourth of July.

My brother called me this morning at 9:30, about four hours after I’d fallen asleep. So I texted him later, “Can I call you tomorrow?”

His response was “You can call me all the time, every time and anytime in between. Or even now.”

I miss these people.

So Happy Sunday and Happy Fourth of July! I’m going to a barbecue with another group of people I love – my Seattle family. I’ve been promised veggie dogs, salmon burgers and “dee-veld” eggs. (And what is more American than dee-veld eggs?)

Last night my friends Kristi and Lisa joined me at Delancey for a smart, delicious dinner. I’ll have to fill you in on that later, though.

Today, Kristi and I arrived (groggy but ready for adventure) in Vancouver, B.C. The city looks like it was scrubbed clean and then sprinkled with an interesting international population and just a few homeless people. I like it here. There are some beautiful mountains to the north and I’m told there is a grizzly bear sanctuary there. I’d love to go see some bears, but we probably won’t have time.

Right now we are recovering from our early morning and resting up for a night out.

My Lonely Planet Vancouver guide suggests the Granville Strip “where it’s all about partying hard and drinking enough to hit the dance floors.”

So that’s where we’re headed! Possibly with a stop at Hawksworth for a splendid cocktail. I’m not sure my high-heeled feet will make it through the night…

I’ve been entertaining an out-of-town guest this week. We leave at 6 a.m. (!) tomorrow for Vancouver, B.C. I hope this explains my absence. There are so many things to catch up on … meals, holidays, men and missed opportunities.

In the meantime … it is officially summer! What are you going to do/eat/wear??

P.S.

I think this might be my favorite season. Please do share your thoughts!

Twenty minutes ago I was at the grocery store; I had a bottle of Vinho Verde in my cart and no idea what I wanted for dinner.

Now I’m home, and I still don’t know what I’m going to make. But I’m starting with stinky cheese on bread, roasted pistachios and a few slices of white nectarine.

The wine is chilling in the freezer and I’m listening to Ingrid Michaelson. As for dinner, I’ll get around to it … eventually!

A day for oysters

For those of you who don’t live here, you should know that Seattle weather is wholly unreliable this time of year. We’ve had days that are so beautiful they could melt your heart – these ones are all sunshine and blue skies and emerald green patches of grass seducing you away from your responsibilities. And then there are days that give birth to the dreaded term, “June-uary.” On these days, the rain is merciless and I have to sleep in socks and a sweatshirt under two down comforters. In June.

But this story is not about one of those days, it’s about one of the heart-melting days. I woke up at 8:30 a.m. on a recent Sunday and as soon as I saw the sun, I knew I had to get outside.

It had been a long time since we had a day this nice in Seattle, so I had to celebrate. I met Kimberly for breakfast and coffee at Macrina. We sat outside, and the sun on my skin was just so welcome. 

Around Noon I was ready for the Event of the Day: Les Huitres Volantes at Lecosho. There were people all over downtown, and absolutely no parking. But I had my foxy sunglasses and this song and I persevered.

Lecosho was quiet when I got there and I felt that twinge of conspicuousness sitting at the bar by myself. But I had a dozen Deep Bay oysters in front of me and the handsome bartender is always nice to me. Soon, friends arrived. I joined them at a table and we downed glass after glass of Cava and shared a plate of gumbo and stories of the most oysters eaten at once. By then the room was bustling with restaurant industry people and oyster lovers.

There was a lot of laughing and smiling going on. It was hard to leave, but I had to go to work.

On my way out I bumped into two men in suits. We talked about wine and Canlis and I wondered when my life got so glamorous. The sun was rich and warm and the air so light and fresh. I took a quick walk down to the Waterfront to clear my head. Elliot Bay stretched out in front of me, and I felt almost overwhelmed by the view.

My day didn’t end there: I had to find my car, pay $20 for parking and then make my way back to Ballard for work.

But I left my perfect Sunday there on the water: wrapped up in blue and bright and the briny-sweet flavor of the oysters.