But how can we get the children to eat their lentils?

For the past 20 years, the Lentil has been the heroic legume of the Palouse.

Wax the Beemer, Suzie, it's time to lead the parade to celebrate this culinary wonder. Fresh from Le Cordon Bleu, Mr. Lentil is ready to put the "wow" in this cr-wow-d.

Oh, and Peg, would you mind removing yourself from that Steely Dan song and strapping yourself to a pole in order to flip-flop for about 30 minutes in honor of this thing? We promise we'll have a nice vat of lentil chili ready for you after it's over, because, after all, you'll do anything for lentils, right?

"Not quite sure how I ended up in this gosh-dern parade, but I reckon enough folks enjoy seeing me do this, and heck! This might be the only shot I have at showing the youngfolk how things used to be done."

Crystal's all like, "Okay, okay, I get it, trombones." They're doing it for you, Crystal, they're doing it for you. And for the lentils.

Lentil Festival 2009. Like I would miss this thing.

Points of Defiance

Warm and welcoming trails in the woods.

Tiny daisies, whiter than white, waiting for an Alice in Wonderland to fashion into a chain.

Thoughtful chomps.

Someone's job, not mine.

Lazy, rust-colored streams.

Inferiority complexes.

Your standard western Washington foxglove onslaught.

Shadowed inspirational phrases not engraved in Papyrus typeface.

The slow collection of a 4th of July feast.

Nothing defiant about any of these things, really. Just nice to find them all in one place.

Historic landmarks

The site of the Ustick Merc is a childhood icon. I knew it for most of my life as a gas station, about a mile away from my house. Long before then, it had been an actual mercantile for the city of Ustick, which at the time was 5 miles outside of the Boise city limits before Boise eventually swallowed it all up. Over the last 15 years or so, the gas pumps have been removed and a bunch of people have tried to turn this old landmark into a salsa shed, pizza parlor, Russian market, and other things that I lost track of. Every time I came to visit, it had been turned into something different, and always I would look at it skeptically, knowing that it probably was best left a gas station.

Here it is as it is currently, apparently to the shagrin of some, but the delight of others who, like me, stop in disbelief to take pictures. 

It's a burger joint now. Boobie is the name of the owner's dog, but also a clever term to slather all over the menu. My parents told me that before the reader board said the above, it said, "It takes two hands to eat a double boobie." If you go there for breakfast, you can order a Rolled Over Boobie Burrito, or order anything and top it with Boobie Secret Chili. 

When I was taking pictures, the owner came out to get in the shot. I'm sure this is happening on a regular basis. He was excited to see my Washington plates and gave me a couple of bumper stickers ("Honk if you heart Boobies") and a mini-menu to aid me in spreading the Boobie gospel throughout Eastern Washington. Next time, I hope to see Boobie.

Walks through downtown Boise

Many years, it's been, since I spent a May day in Boise. On Thursday, I drove downtown to see what I could see before meeting up with a lovely long-time friend.

Tulips! Blowing sideways.

And that grand old landmark, the Idanha.

The scene of one leg of said lovely long-time friend's 21-run : the Cactus Bar. Long may it reside in that special place in my heart saved for memories of my youth when I had a fondness for candy-sweet drinks.

Saturday morning I returned with parents in tow for the City Market down 8th Street. I never get tired of thoughfully displayed and locally grown fruits and veggies.

This is what Wall-E might look like if he were playing Elizabeth Taylor playing Cleopatra.

Sweet harmonica guy.

And my sweet mom, proving that these are the times to bring out the ol' fanny pack!  You just can't go wrong. 

6 hours and 44 minutes

Somewhere between Spokane and Boise, I dangerously attempted some road photography.

The kind that inspire lyrics from America songs, or, for that matter, the song "America" by Simon and Garfunkel.

In elementary school, my class took a field trip to Baker City, Oregon, to visit the Oregon Trail Museum. I loved anything that made me feel more akin to the Ingalls girls (even though they never hit the Oregon Trail...I don't think) with their gingham dresses and bonnets and hills to tumble down. The museum, as I recall, had a fair assortment of covered wagons and things you might put in them (and later throw out as you crossed treacherous territory, or however that game worked). Not quite Little House, but close enough. These days, though, I seem to be more enamored with signs like these, that place semi trucks in the Baker City sky.

This is always a magical moment when you reach the point when you must lose an hour of your life to continue on this lovely open highway. Just look at that blue sky.

Driving through the Palouse in March

(not to be confused with Fishing on the Susquehanna in July)

A few weekends ago, we drove to Pullman to visit friends and play games.

We followed the smell of snow all the way there and, I might mention, stopped at the oldest rest stop in the state of Washington. We also saw a sign that indicated the number of miles to Albion, and like the play-on-word-dorks we apparently are, I said "Albion my way!" while Joel simultaneously said, "Albionest..." Get it? I know. Them's the Palouse driving highlights.

What more could you ask for when you arrive in a quaint college town than a nice roasted chicken dinner prepared by Crystal and Patches and accompanied by a big bottle o' wine? Or a nice slide down the hill afterward to Rico's?

Rico's is a nice little joint in Pullman, and I could rave here for awhile about their popcorn and how they perfected the oil-to-salt ratio, but the highlight here was really the pool table unavailability. But the boys challenged a party of 3 to a game in order to just get a table, then narrowly lost (as I recall), which ended up being okay, because said party was amenable to another game with all of us. The best part is that right below your feet is a quartet playing jazzy numbers (just try not to jump around because it could be quite unnerving for those musicians).

 

How late, oh, how late did we stay up playing Rock Band back at Crystal and Patches' place? All I can say is that we switched to Daylight Savings that night and it did not work in our favor. Neither did the microphone when I tried out the vocals.

 

It was also on this evening that I came to the conclusion that when I have to survive my next winter, I want a fireplace filled with crackles and pops to lull me to sleep on a regular basis. That was nice. But even nicer are my precious Pullman pals. Hugs.

Seattle collections

A collection of tall buildings (view outside the hotel window):

 

Pike's produce:

 

Wind-up toys, ready to charge on an equally intimidating green army on the opposite end of the coffee table:

 

The state of confusion

Which state begins with "I" and is best known for its "famous potatoes"?

Oh, right, Iowa.

 

Connecticut apparently can't get the two straight. This sign is found in at least one gas station somewhere in Connecticut.

Anyway, onward and upward to Boston. The Old North Church, where Paul Revere signaled the sexton who hung two lanterns to signify that the British were coming by sea, not by land, during the Revolution:

 

I have several friends who are with child, and this church was chock full of great ideas for names. It appears that all church-goers were assigned a box to sit in (pews included), and you knew which box was yours by the number and/or nameplate. I'm not sure if this was to limit distractions, but I would find it rather uncomfortable. It also doesn't really promote church growth ("We don't have enough boxes - sorry, try Old East Church. We hear the Widow Featheringale has not found an occupant for her late husband's seat."). Well, in any case, back to names: "Increase" totally needs to make a comeback.

 

I can't remember where exactly these stairs go, but I think it's safe to say that they go in the general direction of the steeple.

 

The lovely bones

One place I missed on my first trip to New York was the Natural History Museum. Not this time, I said.

I thought of my nieces a bit while walking through here - the three with whom I watched Night at the Museum last fall, and then the two who are crazy about dinosaurs, and more notably, whales. And all of whom I know would have absolutely loved this museum.

 

 

I hadn't realized it was Veteran's Day that day until I started running into an unusual amount of children, running around giggling at naked homosapiens while their parents were trying to keep track of them. And in fact, I kind of felt like a child as I walked around the different exhibits, just realizing how much about the earth I don't know and will never know, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the complexity and brilliance of it all, and then also simple questions like, "How did they stuff that tiger?"

We exited the museum and re-entered the hustle and bustle of the New Yorkers' habitat. This part of it will always my favorite:

 

 

Yikes.

I know it's been like a month and I left this thing hanging. I feel torn because I have new pictures, but I am still really excited to showcase the vacation photos. So, I'm resuming. I'll just try to do it fast before everything is over a month old.

So. From Baltimore, we hopped on a Greyhound to Philadelphia. We wanted to get to New York that evening, so we only had a few hours. Prioritizing was absolutely necessary. First, obviously, was the quest to find a Philly cheesesteak.

We got in the long line at Jim's.

 

And it was delicious. As was my soda. I don't normally drink pop with a straw out of the can, but I looked around and saw everyone doing it. I thought maybe it was a Philadelphia thing, and then I thought back to the time my cousin Eric gave my family a tour of this city and called it "Filthy-delphia." Of course, cans are dirty. Straws: genius.

 

We walked around a bit, and headed over to Independence Hall. Unfortunately, you MUST sign up for a tour to get in, and if we signed up for the next one, we would have missed our bus to NYC. This is what we get for spontaneity.

 

Someone felt a little deflated, much like this teddy bear waiting to be stuffed at the gift shop across the street at the Constitution Center.