The sun shone brightly on Friday as all of Seattle rushed outside in anticipation of the first warm sunny weekend this year.  Then, the phone rang and I heard my sister telling me that mom was going into the ER and then a short time later, emergency surgery.  Pause.

Shaken and waiting to hear the outcome of the surgery, I needed Happy Hour.  Bad.  We sat outside in Belltown at Bell and Whete and tried to enjoy nibbles while I nursed a stiff Old Fashioned.  One moment of levity came when the manager, whom I had seen flitting around, came by our table and reached for our credit card and bill to cash us out.  Thom, who hadn’t seen him before, immediately jerked it out of his hand and asked who the hell he was, distrustful New Yorker that he is and always will be.  The manager just laughed and introduced himself and I vouched for him.  Oh Thom!

After hearing that mom came through with flying colors and was already charming the nursing staff, we were able to enjoy a perfect Saturday in Seattle.  After a lazy morning, we took off downtown to the waterfront to get in our 10,000+ steps on our FitBits.  Sitting in my happy place, Sculpture Park, high above the water, we decided to hit the ferry and take it for a ride to Bainbridge Island just for the heck of it.  What fun for only $16 for both tickets!  With the chllly breeze blowing us around, we enjoyed the company of a couple of parrots on their way back home after seeing the vet and took in the view from the ferry we see every day from our window crossing Elliott Bay.

Sunday morning means volunteering at Shared Breakfast where my son joined us for the first time, after missing last week when he overslept.  After a few hours serving 275+ folks in need a hot breakfast, he retired for a nap and we took off to enjoy the Fremont Street Market.  A great mix of food, arts & crafts and unique junk finds, we could have bought too much but we abstained and decided to travel light.  Good thing we did because we just kept on walking the path by the canal, ending up several miles later in Ballard.

Now, we’re watching the Mets and I’m listening to explicit language I haven’t heard since the World Series.  Play ball!  Listen up Mets–please start winning so Thom doesn’t have a heart attack.  Ahhh Spring Time in the George household.  F*@king Mets, hit the f&%cking ball!  Oh Thom…watch that NY mouth of yours and take a sedative.  The season has just begun.