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Doughnuts.

In recent years my mom's childhood friend has invited us to stay in her parents' beautiful beachfront house on Maury Island, west of Seattle. Her father made his fortune designing and manufacturing doughnut machines, and one of my mom's first jobs was working his doughnut booth at the Seattle World's Fair.

So thank you to Mary for the hospitality and the fridgeful of delicious food, thank you to Mary's parents for letting us stay in their house, and thank you to America for trading your dough for doughnuts. Y'all got happy tastebuds, and we got a lovely vacation. Everybody wins!

Here is the view from the deck of the beachhouse.

Here is the view from one of my bedroom windows.

And here's the view from my other bedroom window.

Are you jealous yet?

Here is the spider who hung out on the deck the whole time we were there. I called him Irving. He looks less creepy when you call him Irving.

The inhabitants of Maury Island (and its sister island, Vashon) have their own angle on life and sense of humor. The island's mom and pop thrift shop won't take unwanted exercise machines and the mainland is only accessible by ferry, so the residents have started a waterfront gym with their castoff hamster wheels, for any crazies who would rather run in place than explore the beautiful island.



The first night I stayed in Bellevue with my wonderful cousin Jen. We went to a funky Seattle costume shop in search of her Halloween getup.

Satan needs a hug!

Murderous warthogs make fun pets.

Does your boyfriend have a weird thing for Hermione Granger? Then here's the costume for you-ewwwww. (On second thought, just dump him -- he sounds like a sicko.)

Sign o' the times, I'm tellin' ya. Sign o' the times.

Formal accessories: for that final touch of upper class sleaze.

Wynne's blog had a link to a page where you can buy these neat haunted portraits. It was fun to see one for myself. (They seem to be super good holograms.)

And on the way home: the spooky Fremont Troll, lurking beneath an overpass.

We spent an afternoon at the Museum of Glass in Tacoma, and got to watch the Venetian artist Lino Tagliapietra work his magic in fire and ice.

Is he really the "greatest living glass blower," as billed? I don't know, but he was fascinating all the same.

And with a name like that, you know he has to be the greatest living something.

Outside the museum, on a bridge over the freeway, are permanent installations of Dale Chihuly's glass work: one of his glass ceilings and a wall showcasing some of his funky vases.

Now let's play a quick round of "Spot the Chihuly Transparent Hermaphroditic Cherub Being Eaten By a Sea Creature"!

This one's harder -- can you see it??

Pike Place had all its regular charms, and a few new ones. Or at least new to me. This is the first street pianist I've ever encountered. I wish I'd asked him where he keeps that thing at night. Does he wheel it up the steep steep hills to his apartment? Or just bike lock it to the street sign?

If there's anything funnier than French people, it's American people who reeeeally want to be French people.

We discovered a Russian bakery, Piroshky Piroshky, that was so so yummy. The others got dinner pastries and I got a whole apple baked in pastry and piped with fresh whipped cream. Might as well crawl back into the womb. Who knew Russian food was edible -- let alone delicious?

We even spotted one of those blessed doughnut machines, spitting out hot little spudnuts for the Market crowd.

Yummy sugar.

Yummy vacation.

All in all, a splendid little trip. I could definitely be a Washingtonian.

'Cause when it rains, I look up, not down.

And when the fish hits the fan, I open my mouth.