wendy house

three leftys on the lawn, sinister!

• Hear no evil. Partially obscure vision for good measure

• Speak no evil. Put a thumb in it

• Let me at it.  No frill-laden panties will stop me enjoying Halloween,  I can still crawl…

Poem inspired by Halloween,  or Harlow-in as the US locals say, and an old family photograph,  can you spot the wendy?

See above title for details.

*  written using somnambulistic poetic license

The giving and receiving of a tea pot as a gift is a complex,  controversial, activity with plenty of room for getting it wrong and causing offense.  I hope this little post will help you avoid any unsightly teapot gifting disasters. 

Before buying a person a teapot find out:

• what teas they like to drink and serve.  Buy the right pot for their prefered tea type.
• what pots they already have.  Do not duplicate what they have if they have sufficient.
• their favourite pot and why.  Personalise the gift by finding what makes a pot special to them and seeking this out.  Maybe colour is important,  maybe matching it to an existing set is important,  maybe size is important,  maybe not having pictures of roses all over it is important….  
• what they think they are lacking.  Try to fill a self-percieved gap in their teapot collection.

Verify that it pours well by testing it. Experienced tea pot users can ’see’ a good pouring pot by looking at the shape and size of the pot, lid, and spout.  Click on the picture of my Le Creuset pot pouring below to see a pouring sequence of 4 pictures  from a good pot: 

1. showing now:  full pot accurately angled for good pour.
2. full pot inaccurately angled (or over-filled) producing embarresing spillage.
3. half empty pot accurately tilted for pouring
4. almost empty pot, getting the last drip

My experience suggests that lovers definitely give the best teapots closely followed by Mumzie. 

Paul Simon played at the Key Arena Sept 29th.  Backed by the Jerry Douglas band playing what sounded to me like a mix of Blue grass and country music.  Twangy diddly-dee music.

Mumzie has virtually all Paul Simon’s Albums,  I grew up listening to Simon and Garfunkel.  It was an opportunity I couldn’t miss.  I was unsure how much I would enjoy it,  if he focused the concert on post ‘Gracelands’ music it would be good,  but not as fundamentally enjoyable as pulling music from his whole career.

A wonderful evening

Ratings explained

I recognized all but 3 or 4 of the songs,  in the opening set he played ’slip sliding away’,  “Me and julio down by the school yard” and “50 ways to leave your lover”.  The musical arrangements were all clearly deliberate variations on the Album tracks.  This was fun.  Mrs Robinson was effectively rocked-up. A fabulous archipello introduction and finale to “Diamonds on the soles of her shoes“.  The band obviously enjoyed playing together and Paul would wave his arms and wrists around in a manner not dissimilar to Morrissey.  Bouncing around in his baseball cap and tight fitting t-shirt,  without prior knowledge, I would never have guessed that he was 65.  He looked more like a sprightly fit 40 year old.  My, but he’s short in real life, the other members of the band dwarfed him!  The wonderful mix of instruments (accordion,  saxophones, 2 drum kits, washboard, multiple guitars and voices) used variously gave each song a highly unique sound.  From Surprise (New Album) he played “Outrageous” and “How can you live in the Northeast“. The crowd was much more boisterously appreciative than many US audiences I’ve joined.  This was doubly surprising given the high proportion of the audience wearing blue rinses,  or no hair at all.  They closed the well constructed set with two tracks from Bridge over Troubled waters “the only living boy in New York” and “Cecilia“.  I used to dance around the front room singing these familiar songs as a pre-teen.  I feel like I’ve grown up with Paul Simon playing the accompanying track. 

The first encore was “still crazy after all these years“,  “just call me Al” and “the boxer“. 

Top that! 

They did with a second encore ….”wartime prayers” then “Bridge over troubled water” …..   

“digital poetry” is a phrase that is not,  I repeat NOT, refering to the use of your fingers in an emotionally stimulating manner.  Dr. Wendy says that, in 93.14159% of cases*, use of digital poetry will not make you go blind,  stain your bed linen, or embaress you if your mother walks in while you’re indulging.

* numbers created with the support of poetic pi(e) licence ©.

Third in a Tea-liscious Thursday tiffin series initially covering the taking tiffin with (black) tea in the NW USA.

Thursday Tiffin #3: bag bound

Last week we discovered that many NW US Americans do not own an electric Kettle (with internal filament) and that I have some exceptional friends.  This week we discover another utensil in the tea making process may also be absent.  As Andy pointed out in a comment on last Thursday’s post,  Teapots are not a ubiquitous household item.  I have been in several homes without teapots. 

It appears that Tea, infusions included,  in the NW US culture is much more ‘bag-bound’ than my experience of the UK.  An American (Thomas Sullivan 1908) is attributed with having invented the Teabag.  The core value of the tea bag is in the ability to easily remove the tea from the water before the infusion begins to release too much tannin.  Too much tannin produces a harsh, bitter, flavour.   

There is a potential flavour quality issue with the use of bags.  Allowing the tea leaves to circulate freely within the hot-water does something positive to the infusion process.  I’m not too sure exactly what.  Consequently, loose leaves that are allowed to circulate throughout the hot water, the whole teapot, provide a superior flavour to teas restricted within a bag or small infusion ball.  There are also rumours that smaller size of the leaves in tea bags increases their surface area and therefore rate of tannin-release.  The phrase I’ve heard used in Britain to show disdain for teabags is to say that they contain the ‘floor sweepings’.

The bottom line is that in the NW USA you should anticipate tea-bags and the lack of a tea pot.  This experience extends to tea served in cafes and diners. 

Expect your tea to be packaged in individual bags. 

fourteenth post in a Wednesday series of the shocking truth about “why wendy’s single“.  

Reason # 14:  Fiddlers fix-it list didn’t (fix it)

I followed the Fiddlers fix-it list. It normally works.  It didn’t work this time.  Actually threatening boys with screwdrivers seems to have the opposite of the desired effect. The wiggling and squeezing stage appears to be fairly well recieved,  if the screwdriver hasn’t already scared them out of the building. 

I’ll try and keep my screwdriver well and truely under wraps on subsequent dates. 

As you can see,  I’m more than adequately supplied with pots.  

Five of my six current pots are stoneware which is well suited to the black tea’s that I prefer,  with the exception of Darjeeling which is best brewed in a porcelain pot.  There’s my favourite Blue Le Creuset everyday pot (Tea-cosey’d).  When one pot isn’t sufficient to quench the thirst of enthusiastic tea drinkers in the Wendy House I bring in the second sizable pot (thanks mum). The Blue Willow pattern porcelain pot is used on special occassions because it matches a set of cups (thanks mum). The pot with the Ivy design matches a set of mugs (thanks K) and is used informally when the Wendy House has one guest.  The last two pots are rarely used because they only make a single cup.  Even when there’s just me in the house I need more tea brewing than one cup at a time.  

wendy: I think I *ucked it up a little bit on that one

I’m a bit animated and lively because

• I’m in the middle of being passionate about something.  
• I had wanted to do a perfect job and didn’t quite manage it.

I don’t normally swear. I noticed what I thought was a look of shock on my client’s face,  realised I’d sworn and emitted a little embarressed giggle.

Client:  it is soooooo good to hear you say that!

WHAT?   You mean my accent is so cute that hearing Anglo Saxon naughty words is a treat?  Client spontaneously hugs me. Wah! That just doesn’t happen at work.  She’s opened herself up to the possibility of a sexual harrasment lawsuit.  Hooray!  That was plucky.  I like a large dose of pluckiness with hugs all round.  She recognizes that I’m not sure why she is so pleased and explains

Client:  it is good to know you noticed it went wrong.

* f

It troubles me to view

in the gutter a sole shoe,

the last surviving remnant 

of a motor car accident.

The poem title is a play on the double meaning of the American word for Autumn, because it is Autumn now.  

The poem was inspired by Wendyhome blog searchers’ interest in footwear, the single shoe I recently saw in the verge and the many single shoes I’ve seen litter the roadside verges and gutters over the years. 

How did they get there?  What happened to the other shoe,  to the owner?  Is there a Wendy mother that looks after the lost shoes (rather than lost boys)?  The word ’sole’ is deliberately used to reference it’s phonological equivalent ’soul’,  as if these shoes refer to the souls of their owners.

When I see these lost shoe’s my tearducts start insisting on hyperactivity.  Not knowing how they got there, or what has happened to thier original owner causes sadness.  Lost souls leads to sadness…..

My ::The Wendy House:: statistics provide lists of the phrases that were typed into the snoop boxy.  They also list the search phrases typed into real search engines that bought people to ::The Wendy House::  There is virtually no overlap between the searches that bought people here and the within-blog snoop boxy search since July 2006:

BOOTS really did need to be in all capital letters didn’t it?  for all 38 searches…

BIG BOOTS

Do I suspect all 38 snoops were from one snooper?  Yes I do!  I certainly wasn’t one of them.  

The novelty of being an adult hasn’t yet worn off. 

Adulthood;  hoods with more than 18 years of life experience that start a new career in hooding,  or adulting,  or both. 

Novel adulty things include finding new bus routes,  getting on buses and paying the conductor then getting off the bus at (approximately) the right place, at least, in the right city.  I can also drive a car (this is debatable), fall asleep at the symphony, pay for a meal in a restaurant.  I’ve got a credit card,  just the one because outbursts of scattiness might interfere with my balance balancing if I have too many different lists of money-leaving-me. 

I go to work everyday and hang out in an office with a window.  Note to European readers,  the US law doesn’t require office workers to have direct sunlight in their place of work.  Some people here work in what looks strikingly like a big broom cupboard.  It’s as if they are naughty children that have been told to go and sit in the cupboard under the stairs.  Luckily my biddies (parents) didn’t use this technique on me.  At least these office workers never fall out of their window. 

People ask me things,  as-if I might know a good answer.  Even better than that,  I quite often do know a reasonably good answer,  or I can find out how to find out a good or better answer.  If I’m feeling particulalrly sneaky I change the question on the questioners behalf. 

No dead mice sharing my home or that of nearby friends, I can’t vouch for my friends homes further afield.  My parent’s visit me and I get to take care of them,  the role reversal borders on poignant.  In them I see my ways of being, their gifts to me, more clearly now.

I didn’t get any of this when I was a child.

Second in a thumping-good Thursday tiffin series exploring taking tiffin with (black) tea in the NW USA

Thursday Tiffin #2: where’s the kettle?

Last week we established that asking an American if they have any Black tea is a good way of getting a shared focus on what English people generally consider as tea rather than,  for example, an infusion.  Having found the tea the American host then has to ‘make’ it. Let’s pick up the story where we left it last week:

My host American pulls out a saucepan from the cupboard, fills it with water, puts the lid on, and places it on the electric hob hotplate.  The American has to keep an eye on the water to find out when it has,  or is nearly boiling.  The American stands by the hob while we talk and intermittently checks the panned water. 

People do own stove-top kettles,  buts its not unusual for the home-owner not to own a kettle at all.  I don’t think I know any American’s with an electric Kettle in their home. The few Americans that have noticed my electric kettle in action are impressed by the economy of having the filament in the water and the clever way the automatic off-switch lets you know when it’s boiled (noisey ‘click).  But realistically, they don’t need one.  What does this mean for visiting UK style Tea drinkers?

When in a NW American’s home it is reasonable to start with the assumption that

your American host will use a stove hot-plate to boil the tea water, possibly with a saucepan

unlucky thirteenth episode in Wednesday a highly scientific series establsihing exactly “why wendy’s single“.  

Reason # 13:  Excel said so. Pluto is unsure.

I decided to consult Excel about the ‘why’ of my singleness.  We put some numbers together and massaged them into many wonderful tables and charts.  Excel said there are too many Independent variables reasons involved.  The likelihood of these many independent variables multi-dimensions aligning like planets* to produce result in an appropriate boyfriend nearby decreases exponentially with each identified singleness reason, independent variable, dimension predictor.  These exponential distrubtions align with Excel’s earlier observation that potential boyfriends are so scattered they are all, but one, scattered off the plot.  

Eventually Excel told me that it was ‘the way of the world’ that a Wendy should be single. The Pluto world.  Pluto rules my astrological sign.  Pluto has recently been demoted from planetary status.  Pluto’s probably in therapy to deal with the psychological impact of demotion rather than wasting time effecting change in my life. 

Excel concluded by saying it’s not my fault and I should consider an insurance policy to protect myself from things that are not my fault. 

* Syzygy is apparantly the shortest word including three ys in the English language.  It’s a new word for my scrabble playing repetoire.

Which really means:

8 reasons why Wendy didn’t read a blog

together, these reasons have prevented me reading blogs that may have outstanding content… …but I’ll never know:

1. poor publicity:  I don’t know that the blog exists,  its contents never show up in any of my internet searches,  there are no links to it in other stuff that I read, none of my friends told me about it.
2. foriegn language:  I know it exists but I can’t read it because the language is too foriegn. For example,  German,  Instant Message or phone-text message style abbreviations like “u shud cuz u r kewl“. 
3. personally irrelevant: I know it exists, I can read the language, but the blog content does not provide anything clearly relevant to my life. For example,  a blog on standard poodles.
4. offensive message:   I know it exists, I can read the language, the content is relevant to my life but the message is fundamentally offensive. 
5. squinting required:  either the text is so small that I have to squint to read, there is a low contrast between the text and the background,  the spacing between the text lines is so small it’s difficult to visually follow one line.  I can’t read it without changing my preferred browser text-size that works for most other web pages.
6. witless: If a blog lacks wit, I stop reading it. I like to learn something or laugh,  ideally both at the same time.  Double whammy!
7. lacking illustrative pictures:  Too much text can make my head spin,  then I fall over. Breaking the stream of text, regularly, with pictures that illustrate the message helps prevent me falling over.  It’s not essential,  but it helps.
8. scrolling required*:  I’m too attentionally challenged to regularly read blog posts that are long enough to require scrolling the window,  especially if they don’t include pictures.  Again,  not essential,  but it helps keep my reading regular..

Apart from including an illustrative picture, what have I missed that is important to you?

* I write scrollable blog posts. My excuse is that I’m endearingly waffly rather than perfectly precise.   

Even Wikipedia cites this euphemism to describe constipation.  The packaging on US shop sold products is phrased in terms of obtaining regularity.  No mention of softening stools, relieving cramps, or other symptoms associated with constipation. 

I’ve always been a bit of a regular softy

World traveller called to tell me the Truck has finally shuffled of this mortal coil.  Let’s take 2 minutes silence to respect the daring do’s of the red truck:

• Being shiny and new (1974)
• Costing $450.00 and driving from Oregon to Ellensburgh (2005)
• Carrying the contents of World traveller’s home 3,000 miles from Ellensburgh to New York, with only one little hiccup (Aug. 2006)

UK Poet laureate,  the official poet of the United Kingdoms of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.  I’m not clear on the job description with this particular position.  The published income is a token 5,000 stlg per annum for 10yrs, a substantial increase on the prior poet’s stipend of 100 stlg with a vat of wine per annum for life. 

Here in North America there has been some controversey over the indistinct job description and creative activities of some US City poet laureates.  It’s a tricky job, in 2003, the Canadian poet Laurete accused American poets of producing “poems of mass destruction“, promoting fear. Poems of mass destruction, like killer jokes (first broadcast in Canada) should not be laughed at. Ottowa is currently advertising, ‘wanted’, for the next Canadian poet Laureate (a 2 yr post).

I wonder whether other large corporations,  other than Nations,  States and Cities, recruit poet laureates?  If Microsoft had a position for a corporate poet laureate what might the job description include?  Perhaps producing virus destroying,  secure , patched and automatically updated poems. 

This signpost confused me.  We stopped,  I took a photograph,  was taking a photograph tantamount to loitering? 

First post in a Thursday series that details the tiffin experience starting with a focus on Tea.

Thursday Tiffin #1: do you have any black teas?  

A week after arriving in Seattle I was still tired from the shere physical and emotional practicalities of emigration.  Tired from my first day in a job with too many names,  places and projects to remember.  The offer of ‘hanging out’ with someone in their home after work seem like a really good relaxing end to the day.  I gladly accepted the invite to a real American person’s home after work.  The American asked me if I’d like something to drink.  Without a second thought,  flying on Englishness auto-pilot:

Wendy:  I’d love a cup of tea please

American: what type of tea?

Wendy: Just ordinary tea,  any regular type 

Here I’m trying not to cite any common UK brand names, Tetley, PG tips, etc incase my host doesn’t have any.  I’m trying to be vague enough that they will likely have something that fits the bill.  Though obviously I do have a more specific opinion….

American: I’ve got… 

American produces a long list of what sound like herbal and plant infusions rather than teas, strawberry, peppermint,  apple etc.  Given the specificity and long list of tea infusions mentioned I suspect my host really likes tea infusions and may have some decent stuff in the house. I decide to risk citing a few regular tea types, but not brands incase brands are UK specific.

Wendy: Ceylon,  Assam or Darjeeling would be great…  …or anything of that ilk really,  don’t put yourself out

American: do you mean black tea?

Wendy: I think so

at this stage I was unaware that tea came in a range of colours and that I was refering to what American’s generally explicitly classify as Black teas and don’t necessarily recognise the regions of the ex-colonies as tea providers.  Seems obvious now,  with hind sight…

American: How about Early Grey?

Wendy:  Oh yes,  that would be a luxury,  thankyou 

Great. Earl Grey is normally made from a blend of Assam, Darjeeling and Celon tea so my American host actually offered me all the types I’d asked for in one cup!  I watch the American dig deep into the back of his pantry,  boxes are taken out to make space for him as he climbs in, hunting for the Earl Grey.  Wow even the pantries are BIG out here.  I feel bad for making something as simple as sharing a drink together into a major pantry deep-dive excavation exercise

Tea found.  The next, not insubstantial, obstacle is making the cup of tea.  We’ll cover making the tea in a later post.  Let’s say,  from this experience I learned that when offered a drink in America I should remember to say

“do you have any black tea’s?“  

twelfth in a Wednesday series detailing Wendy’s opinion on “why wendy’s single“.  

Reason # 12:  Opinionated

I have an opinion on everything, even when the opinion is “I don’t know what I’m talking about,  please ignore me” or “I don’t mind“.   It has been tactfully pointed out that having an opinion is not necessarily a good thing in a relationship context.  

Follow this well-tested fiddlers-fix-it list whenever an appliance starts playing up, being darn rude, or completely refuses to play at all:

1. wiggling.  try wiggling all the cables,  if this doesn’t work
2. off-on.  turn it off,  wait 30 seconds,  turn it on again. Repeat this process up to 3 times.  If it still doesn’t work then
3. off-plug-on. turn it off,  unplug all the cables,  plug them back in, then turn it on again.  If it’s still being finnicky then try
4. off-ignore-on. turn it off and leave it for 24 hours to see if it recovers on it’s own, turn it on again.  If it’s still having a strop…
5. threaten.  threaten it with a screwdirver.  If that doesn’t get a rise,  a whirrr, or even a phut then try…
6. squeeze, wiggle & twist.  turn it off,  put on rubber-soled shoes, marigold gloves, and unscrew bits then squeeze and wiggle every squeezable and wiggle-able part.  If some parts can turn around then gently encourage them to turn with your hand (be careful).  Put everything back together, turn it on.  Avoid crying,  this can cause untold damage to exposed electic parts.  If it is still behaving in a highly objectionable manner,  even igonoring you then… 
7. phone a friend. phone a friend or two and interview them about their experiences with equivalent mechanisms.  Try to avoid crying because youe friend may have difficulty understanding you.  If friends are perplexed by the whole situation then try…  
8. consult professionals. First, improvise living without it,  work out how much a replacement costs then find a repair service and get some repair cost quotes.  Don’t book them,  wait 24hrs for the shock of the potential cost to wear off and work out if you really can live without the mardy malfunctioning thingy.  Is it really worth the cost?  Excel can provide powerful insights at this point.
9. Fix it. Finally either live without it,  get it repaired, or replace it.

Hope that helps.  Feedback and suggestions for refining this list welcomed.

This public broadcast service has been bought to you by Dr. Wendy and copious cups of black tea (with milk).  Dr. Wendy cannot be held responsible for any injuries sustained as a result of following this advice or the moodiness of your appliances.

a quick peek at the Wendy Home blog statistics suggests that my readership levels are higher on Wednesday than any other day.  Could it be that you

• all want to know why I think that I’m single? 
• like the predictability of a series?
• appreciate regularity?

Certainly the ‘Cheesey dreams’ series and Player characteristics series, though irregular, proved popular.  I will introduce a Thursday series called “Thursday Tiffin“.  This series will focus on the cultural experience of ceromonies around tiffin starting by focusing on tea,  it will then delve down into specific brews and beyond tea.  I’m hoping this series will remove the Thursday page-request ’dip’ shown on the graph below.

novice adults,  as one,  separate,  stretch their legs during the interlude 

are beautiful,  unique,  uniformed,  wearing the dress and hair styles of trend

chatting away, are now, our future, I wonder if they like my new hat?

These notes added in later edits (21st Oct 2006).  The poem can be read as vertical sections indicated by commas,  for example “novice adults, are beautiful, chatting away” and “as one, unique, are now” aswell as in the normal line structure.  The other deliberate inclusion is a play on the phonoloigcal similarity of ‘are’ and ‘our’ in the last line.  With a theme on the time-based value of style,  my hat, thier clothes.

you in your best vest

me in my plastic pants

you’ll knock me up

to hang out

downtown

A poem written primarily for None-USA English speakers.  Inspired by multiple miner difficulties at various stages in my enculturation to the USA such as attempting to find a quality waistcoat (vest) to wear with my tail jacket,  being told I was wearing nice pants (trousers),  being told I would be knocked-up (called for) in the morning and being invited to hang out (come out to play).  Not to mention a funnier, clever, poem about a vest by a professional poet,  so I wont mention it. 

a not-Wendy person once said to me: 

“it should be ok to cry at work“

After I’d picked myself up off the floor and tended to my pending bruises (I’m prone to falling over).  I considered that I’m also prone to blubbing. 

I cried when they shot JR even though Dallas wasn’t a believable TV series,  the acting was atrocious, and I didn’t even like JR.  I can often be heard sniffling my way through a film (The Hours, Capote).

But crying at work,  because of work related thingies?  With some notable exceptions, for example Hospice work,   

I’d really rather it didn’t happen

Examples of why crying at work does not get the (wet) blanket, or wet hankerchief, Wendy seal of approval:

• the wetness can ruin the key-connections on your keyboard and make typing coherent sentences virtually impossible.
• crying and talking is a bit of a challenge.  This means other people can’t understand a word you say while you are crying. 
• the vast majority of work situations should not prompt tears.  No-one, or situation, should have the right or the power to prompt crying at work.

Behind closed doors, in car parks, and sometimes in bars after work I’ve listened to people cry about work situations.  Normally the crier is female and describes what I consider to be bullying or in my more cynical moments, out-and-out sexism. 

Naturally,  an opinionated Wendy believes that the answer isn’t to legitimise the symptoms of bullying (victim crying),  it is to remove the cause (behaviour experienced as bullying).  The person who feels like crying has the responsibility of identifying the cause and confronting the cause directly or using appropriate ‘personnel’ services to seek advice. 

Asking an opinionated Wendy really isn’t a good idea because the crying might just get all contageious,  twice the short-circuited keyboards and twice the unintelligable conversations, twice the tea consumption level.  Really,  that just wont do, now, will it?

Lets cut the reasons for crying at work  

You’re talking to yourself

a friendly wendyhome blog reader points out when passing me in the corridor at work.  Lucky person may have picked up a gem of wisdom.  Then he tactfully gave me a gem of wisdom, while slowly stepping backward. He gave me a potential reason for my being single.  Wonderful!  Don’t you just wish you’d been there too?  Instead, you’ll have to wait until next Wednesday to find out….

eleventh in a trivial, and yet not, Wednesday series of “why wendy’s single“.  

Reason # 11:  intense

I have been called intense.  I don’t really know what ‘intense’ means.  It has a striking, appealing, phonological similarity to “in tents” but the similarity ends there .  Unless you are camping.  Being intense in tents sounds rather like having a lot of fun.  My 2 person tent sits in the cupboard,  in my rucksack, awaiting in tent city. 

I contemplated asking someone what being ‘intense’ means then realised that the very act of asking them was probably an excellent example of intenseness.  Apparantly some people experience intenseness as a challenge to maintaining positive intimate relationships. 

it’s like ‘nude spoon euphoria’ only replacing the spoon with a hat.  It looks something like this:

Teatro Zinzanni, a show called ‘dinner and dreams’.  After a poor start to the evening the performance was colourful and fun,  the food was interesting and tasty.  A very good evening.

Ratings explained

Apparantly they were expecting us the week before we turned up.  They didn’t have our reservations.  I had a confrimation number and when I subsequently checked their confirmation email had not cited the day of the performance.  I was sure I’d stated the right night when booking,  they were sure I’d stated a week before my parents arrived.

Mum looked upset,  dad looked anxious, the tent looked dark and sumptuous.

I asked if they could fit us in.  They waited until all the expected guests had turned up and then found 3 places for us.  It took the shine off the beginning of the evening.  That they were able to let us see the performance despite this misunderstanding was very much appreciated.  That there was room for this misunderstanding was not good.  Mum and Dad laughed through the evening of bawdy jokes and Vaudevillian sketches. 

Mum really liked the original theatre tent with bevelled glass windows.  Both parents had trouble reading the menu in the very dim candle light or hearing the waiters above the general noise of the tent.  The wine supplied with the meal was outrageously expensive and the corkage fee (if you bring your own wine) was less, but still, outrageous ($30). 

Nonetheless, the whole experience of the evening is worth paying for,  once.

A thoroughly enjoyable evening. The musical evening was only marred by my feeling short changed on by the unexplained program change that effectively downgraded the promised experience 

Ratings explained

Starting with Desert

Plum, apricot and ginger pie in Earth and Ocean.  The first 3 desert wines we requested from the menu were not in stock.  After these 3 attempts at ordering via the waitress the wine waiter came over.  I suggested that he take the trouble to inform the waitresses which of the menu items were unavailable.  Spot the spikiness.  I tried to smile while making this suggestion.  The wine waiter spontaneously offered several reasons for not having the listed wines in stock.  I wasn’t really interested in disruptions to his business processes,  he should tell the waitresses what is not available.  Sensing the depth of passion behind the Wendy Paddington Bear stare the wine waiter recovered ground by suggesting that he pick on our behalf and charge us the price of our original choice (the cheapest on the list). 

• Good deal. 
• We gladly accepted. 
• Excellent food. 
• Friendly staff. 
• Decently small portions.

Seattle symphony selection of Gershwin compositions

The conductor, Rudi Schlegel, provided a semi-formal verbal introduction for each piece to compensate for the lack of performance program notes.   He announced that ”I got rythm” had been replaced in the program and the audience simultaneously groaned.  We were never told why they pulled this obvious audience pleaser.  

We started with a plucky rumba, the Cuban overture, inspired by Gershwin’s stay in Havanna.  Good stuff.  The ‘Porgy and Bess’ symphonic picture appeared to be a patchwork of sections from different tunes within the Opera of that name.  I prefer being guided gently through a single composition than listening to compilation of musical highlights.  Not my taste.  

The highlight of the evening was undoubtedly Stewart Goodyear’s interpretation of a Rhapsody in Blue. Vibrant,  then gentle,  fast then slow,  Stewart’s face and whole body flowing with the music.  Captivating.  I didn’t want it to end.  After 3 applause-prompted curtain calls Stewart played an encore.  Twinkling notes of a soft Embracable you.  After the interval,  the replacement for ”I got rythm’ was a short,  sweet ‘promenade’ performed without Stewart Goodyear.  Urgh.  More like a weak apology than a replacement.

Benaroya Hall

The actual Orchestra on stage are not steeply tiered.  This makes it virtually impossible for the people in the first 8 rows of seating in the stalls to see the brass sections,  percussion,  reeds and Banjo.  Actually we could see the Banjo by twisting our necks to look underneath the Piano. The stalls seats after about row f are steeply staggered,  this enables attendees to see more of the orchestra.  For this reason I’d recommend seats towards the back of the stalls or in the gods.  This photograph is taken from row ‘f’ looking back towards the gods: