A delayed day

Every year on Holy Thursday, my friend Tom and I, and usually Rebecca attend the Morning Praise service and then walk to Chinatown for lunch. Sadly, this year I was sick (for all the Holy Week services) and so I thought, “That is that! We have missed our annual outing!” I have the idea that if it is not done on Holy Thursday, it can’t be done at all. The more practical Tom said, “Let’s go on Monday.” At first this idea seemed outrageous to one so tradition bound as I, but then I realized that it was eminently sensible. So off we went this morning. Our route takes us through the Danny Woo garden, which is on a steep slope and divided into small plots for the nearby resident gardeners to plant vegetables or flowers, or usually, both. This year, Easter being so early, there was not much vegetibular progress, but the cherry blossoms were exuberant. We had lunch at our favorite Chinese restaurant, Hing Loon, and as usual, it was scrumptious. You can see past outings when the gardens were more plush here.

We stopped in a sort of art gallery which occupied the site of our favorite variety store, Higo. Over the years, we went to Higo’s frequently. It was the place to find what you could not find anywhere else – from lovely handkerchiefs or exotic Origami paper to Asian dishwashing scrubbers. If we brought Leslie, my Cairn terrier, with us, the lady proprietresses would titter in delight, caress him, and rush into the back of the store to get him a cookie. Here is a picture of some dolls on display in the gallery today. And a picture of lovely greens from one of our previous – later in the season – walks.

Holy Thursday

Just as Rachael’s favorite religious observance was Palm Sunday, my favorite was always Holy Thursday. I remember singing upstairs in the choir loft with Sister Justina and our grammar school choir, looking down at the foot washing and the stripping of the altar, chanting Pange Lingua, and being moved year after year with the passionate solemnity of the service. Then, of course, came Good Friday, which I always rather dreaded. Our children’s choir had its own little mortification of the flesh for the whole three hours, straining to be quiet and attentive, amusing ourselves from our bird’s eye view of the head tops, and our special vantage point for assessing the encroaching baldness of the manly portion of the congregation. I’m not sure why this was so fascinating, but it was. Now days, I’m in the grown up choir – two choirs, actually – both of which have roles on Holy Thursday, and the ten women who are in both choirs have to switch roles throughout the service. This makes for the stress of constant vigilance to assure that one is in the right place at the right time. And the number of services during the week (I sing at eleven different ones), means that none of the music has been over rehearsed, and this means that there is no autopilot singing. The care and attention required can really be exhausting. Sooooo, while I still love Holy Thursday, it has taken on a new aspect, an evening of beautiful tension. The rigorous focus on the details of the music and rubrics leave one little time for religious ecstasy.
Tomorrow – well, actually today – will be Good Friday. This, along with the Holy Thursday Compline service - is now my favorite service at St. James. The music doesn’t change much from year to year, so the terrors of that are minimal, and one can sink into the beauty and passion of the liturgy. The church is darkened and silent, the religious sorrow hangs heavy. Everything seems to be deep red or black, intensifying the somber atmosphere of love and loss.

Every Holy Thursday for years past, Tom, Rebecca, and I walked to Chinatown after the Morning Praise and, after exploring the neighborhood a bit, had lunch at Hing Loon. This year, Tom was not with us in body, but Rebecca and I felt him there in spirit. We didn’t order him any food, but we did have a place for him at our table. You can click here, here and here to see some Holy Thursdays of the past years. The flag picture was taken by Rebecca.

Easter Friday

Cherry blossom carpet

I’ve made many little mental blog entries but never seemed to have time to make real ones.  It’s yet another instance of seeming really busy, while in the end, having nothing to show for it.  Not even much knitting or reading!  Just dithering about. I’ve had lots of company.  That must be it!  Ana and I had a fun day knitting, catching up on Jonathan Creek, and taking a pleasant walk to Chinatown and the Panama Hotel (my new favorite) for tea. In years past, every Holy Thursday after Morning Praise, Rebecca, Tom, and I walked through the Denny Woo Garden to Chinatown and had lunch at Hing Loon.  

Pea Patches in Denny Woo Gardens

But Tom got sick and Rebecca got a job, so we had to go on other days during Holy Week, and finally we didn’t go at all.  I am always urging someone or another to walk to Chinatown with me during Holy Week, but it was no go this year, so I settled for Easter Week. 

Some residents of the garden

The weather promised to be awful, but we had a welcome sun break (sort of,) a fun walk, yummy tea, and a bit of knitting in a cozy atmosphere, and an almost finished mitten for me, along with sock progress for Ana. 

 

Ana's tea looked mysterious and flowery.

Mine looked like tea ordinaire

Home again, home again, joggity jog!

A Visiting Day

We are all so glad to see Frank!

My adorable brother Frank made his annual 600 mile trip to have lunch with us, and we had a great time at Hing Loon, our favorite Chinese restaurant, and the one to which we go every Holy Thursday.  I have always been a little envious when characters in books or movies go into restaurants and the staff knows exactly what they want.  Well, to some extent, that happens to Rebecca and me here.  We usually get the same table, and the waitress knows in advance what we like best.

The conversationalists.

The dessert.

The person who just ate my dessert and is feigning innocence.  

Frank is easy to entertain, both because he is a mellow fellow, and because the town were he lives is comprised of three stores and a post office.  And probably a gas station.  And that is about it.  So everything in Seattle is exciting.  Even walking around down town is an adventure.  Well, actually, I was born here, and I find still walking around down town an adventure.  There is always an aliveness and excitement about it, even on the greyest days.  And while this day started out sunny, by the time we got to the Center for Wooden Boats, it had become a misty-moisty sweater-is-not-enough day.  It would have seemed less chilly if we had not dressed for the morning sun.  We should have known better, especially since the same thing happened to us on our walk last week.  

Rebecca and Rachael enjoying a favorite place (at lease one of my favorites - not sure about them)