Husband and I are on vacation at the moment, and since we try and visit a different section of the country or the world whenever we can, this time we decided to hit the Pacific Northwest. It’s an area that’s always held a certain allure, and vice presidential candidate Sarah Palin recently made her famous remark about Alaska’s proximity to the former Soviet Union providing her with foreign policy experience so it seemed a timely visit all around.
Making vacation plans is something Husband loves to do, and I’m happy to go along with his arrangements since he knows what pleases us both. Sometimes I don’t even have the full itinerary until we leave because I’m buried in final exams up to the moment we depart. For this trip, he booked us on a flight to Chicago and then an Amtrak train to Seattle traversing the northern states over the span of two days. It promised to be an adventure.
The two days in Chicago had us enjoying a theatre performance of Jersey Boys which I had been wanting to see. In case you’ve been in a coma since 2006, Jersey Boys is the story of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons and it’s unforgettable and thrilling, especially if you happened to live through their music when it was actually exploding.
After the matinee, we had dinner at a lovely downtown café and as we were leaving, a local news affiliate was setting up for their man-on-the-street segment to provide public reflection on the passing that day of screen legend Paul Newman. They approached us and Husband spoke eloquently about the actor’s career, marriage and public philanthropy, while I gushed about his blue eyes.
The station obviously identified my blathering as the babble it was since they only aired Husband’s comments on the news that evening with me looking at him adoringly. Husband was very pleased. The morning after the broadcast, he brought coffee back to our room and I asked if anyone recognized him at Starbucks. He assured me he refused to give autographs.
The train trek to Seattle was way more rustic than we had anticipated, even with the deluxe sleeper car accommodations Husband arranged. We were thinking Silver Streak or Murder on the Orient Express. In actuality, it was a 46-hour train ride in a room the size of an aborted thought. When I heard we’d have our own shower, I foolishly began thinking romance. There is very little romantic about spraying yourself with a handheld shower nozzle while sitting on a toilet seat.
But it was dinner that first night on the train that provided the watershed moment for all vacation memories to come. As we chatted amiably with the two women from Oregon with whom we were seated, the waiter approached our table with a tray filled with their signature steak and mashed potato dinners. For whatever reason, be it train movement or alignment of the stars, at the very moment he reached our table, the tray tilted and its entire contents spilled over me.
Pepper-crusted steaks rained onto and then slid down my dry clean only black jacket while gravy dribbled into my pockets. No one else was touched. Not so much as a carrot hit Husband or the Oregon ladies. It almost defied the laws of probability. The waiter kept repeating over and over that this was the first time in 25 years this had ever happened. Other servers appeared next to him echoing the same assertion. Then Husband’s resonant voice intoned, “I’m sure you have an exemplary record of service. Now would you please GET THE MASHED POTATOES OFF MY WIFE.”
The next morning at breakfast, several passengers asked if I wanted them to stand guard at our table as the French toast was being delivered. We told them we had it covered. Then in the observation car later on, I walked past a couple and distinctly overheard them whisper, “That’s the mashed potato woman.” Fame can be hard to handle but Husband says I wear it well.
Daughter’s Featured Fotos take us back to the Magic of chashama Art Studio
q-tips and forks unite
splat
am i going in the right direction?
JEM!!
Note: Other works from chashama, such as the leadoff picture in Fourth and Goal, were not credited at the time of entry. With my apology to the artists, full credit for all images can be found at Daughter’s FotoSite on the sidebar panel.
