Tuesday, August 01, 2006

The Boy Goes To Oz

When I was eleven or twelve years old, my parents and I went on vacation to Seattle, Washington. It was my first trip to a "big city," and I was dazzled. Mom and Dad had travelled there before, long before I was born, for the 1962 World's Fair, and knew I would love the Seattle Center (the old Fairgrounds). We rode the Monorail. I played around on a Commodore P.E.T., a very early "personal computer." We went up in the Space Needle, the scariest elevator ride I'd ever experienced; but when we got to the top, I announced to my mother, "When I grow up, I want to live here." Mom assumed I meant Seattle. I corrected her: "No, I want to live here." Meaning the Space Needle. It became one of her favorite stories to embarass me with in the future.

Over the years I returned to Seattle as often as I could for weekend getaways, fleeing my redneck roots in Lewiston, Idaho. As I entered the outlying area, before hitting downtown, I would cue Peter Gabriel's song, "Big Time," to play me into the city.

The place where I come from
Is a small town...

It was exactly thirteen years ago today--August 1st, 1993, that I moved all my unearthly belongings to Seattle, after living for 27 years and two months in Idaho. Unfortunately the Needle was still unavailable for occupancy, so I settled for a studio apartment in the Capitol Hill neighborhood, where I live to this day.

Here's a shot I took several years ago when I was walking home from a play.


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