August 5, 2012
Nothing fishy about this film cue.
This delicious moon was served up to us a few nights ago.
Meanwhile, when I walked out to the deck with my morning coffee recently, I was given a fine suggestion for what kind of breakfast omelet I might create:
Into every life, a little crab must fall.
This immediately reminded me of last year’s culinary offering. Maybe I should open a seafood restaurant.
The commercial fishing season has begun here, and what is normally a quiet, isolated view:
from the Cascades…
…to the Olympics.
…suddenly becomes the flotilla equivalent of the San Diego Freeway in rush hour:
One large purse seiner, The Emancipator (not exactly the Abe Lincoln of fish), anchors right next to my house for a few days.
People who live in glass houses should consider putting clothes on.
It’s endless amusement for me and any friends who happen to be here, watching the smaller boats sidle up and toss their catch, one hapless salmon after another, over to the larger boat.
Look closely and you can see the flying fish.
I swear, it’s as though Pike Place Fish Market has come to my doorstep.
Now, if only I could get these fishermen to turn in my direction and fling one of these salmon onto my deck with their best pitching arm!
A huge flock of gulls is waiting for table service.
As is a fox, who sits on my deck, licks his chops, and hopes something fabulous might fall from the sky, since that seems to be what happens around here.
And he keeps waiting, right there under the table. Looking more than a tad disdainful. Ultimately, everyone complains that this restaurant just isn’t what it used to be.
But they all admit that the view remains superb.
Location, location, location.