Seattle

Seattle, Washington.

Another town that conjures memories of bright days and dark times for me.

The first time I came here was May of 1993. When I got off that bus in Eugene to discover that my boyfriend had disappeared and I had to find a way to Alaska on my own. I got back on the bus and got off in Seattle.

I found my way to the waterfront and found a Youth Hostel near Pike Place Market. I stayed there for a night and when they no longer had room available, I went to a Hostel on Vashon Island. I still remember it like it was yesterday. I would come across on the ferry each day to check the bulletin board at that first Hostel to see if anyone had a ticket to Alaska for sale. (back then, a one-way to Anchorage was $400, but round trip was $200 so lots of people would buy the round trip and sell the return portion.. ah, the good old days of relaxed airline rules) Fortunately, one man did. His name was Cecil. As I was buying his ticket from him, he saw the picture of my dad in my wallet. It turns out that Cecil was from Vegas and had actually worked with my dad at Caesars Palace. In fact, he said that he owed that job to my dad and ended up giving me the ticket instead of taking my $100 from me. He was sorry to hear that my father had passed away, but was grateful for the opportunity to repay "such a fine man" by helping me along on my way.

The next time I was in Seattle was at the end of that very same Summer. That time I was on my way back to Alaska from Okeechobee, Florida with my daughter's father. We had been kicked out of where we were staying in FL and were trying to get back to Girdwood. We were broke, but I remembered the Vashon Island Hostel and went there to talk to the owner. She agreed to let us sleep under a tarp tent on the lawn and stay for free as long as we served breakfast each morning and washed the van. We would spend afternoons selling jewelry and panhandling at Pike Place Market so that we could eat while we figured out how to get to Alaska.

After a week of this, I found a newly-opened Travel Agency called Plane Tickets. It was a one-woman operation and I went in to beg my case. I told her that I had enough money for one ticket to Anchorage and if she would agree to give me the second ticket, I would be sure to send her the money for it when I returned to my job at the Mercantile in Girdwood. She called my boss to confirm that I had a job waiting and then she printed the tickets for us. I told her she was an angel, wished her much success, and off we went to the airport.

(Side Note: 3 weeks later, I did send the rest of the money to her at the same time that I discovered that I was pregnant and a few years after that I learned that her business had become so successful that she hired an entire staff of agents and was usually off on some exotic excursion of her own. I lost touch with her shortly after.....).

In the last decade, I have returned to Seattle several times to visit my dear friend, Marie, and her family. They always make me feel welcome and it has been amazing to watch her boys grow from little things to the fine young men they are now. Her older son, Eldon, has just begun his LDS mission in Londrina, Brazil and her youngest, Jason, is 16, beginning his Junior year in high school, and spends all of his time on the computer with Heavy Metal music pouring out from his room.

On this visit, Marie and I wandered down to the Seattle Waterfront to ride the Great Wheel and stroll through Pike Place Market. I still feel a pang of memory from 1993 when I see lost kids wandering around there now. I see the fear and hunger in their eyes, remember how that feels, and hope that they find their angels and home, like I did.