Today is double stamp day at the coffee shack up the road. I try strenuously not to miss it on the days I am in town and so am headed there this morning. It is also the Radish’s 70th birthday and mine, minus twenty-six. Get out your calculators.
As some of you know, I am in the US to celebrate the big day with my mother. Mr. Understanding, ever understanding, is single-parenting and doing a bang up job in the PRC. How blessed am I to have such a great family?
We have already had our adult party with the sisters. Each of us wore an iconic piece from the Radish’s personal wardrobe. MCV wore a vintage St. John dress from the early 80’s with red patent pumps, Mood Rind Momma wore a Missoni-ish hand-knitted sweater, and I wore a quilted jacket, complete with squares with basketball hoops on it. The Radish herself, unaware of the impending fashion extravaganza, wore a tiny hat given to her by her sister; it was the cross between a yarmulke and a frothy cupcake top. Vintage Ferragamos lended polish. Even our chauffeur, Wild Bill (Mood Ring’s husband), wore a sweater knitted for him by the Radish and a chaffeur’s hat. Poppy wore his Cal Berkeley tie and did not find our Radish runway antics humorous.
We started off the party next door at 425Heidi’s where Mr. Shutternut took our family portrait. We all agreed, the next day, that our family photo left something to be desired. MCV, the camera, pointed out, needed a boob lift. I need another chin lift and looked so pale I had an aura. Mood Ring, well, Mood Ring just clashed. The sweater was not of the same color palette as the rest of us. The Radish and Poppy both looked swell, if not a teensy bit Modern American Hippie Republican Gothic. Mr. Shutternut clicked away, however, in a variety of configurations and came up with a bunch of other acceptable photos. He has already airbrushed Radish’s wrinkles and says he will give me pink cheeks and a fake tan. What a gift!!!!
Moving on to the Sorrento Hotel, in downtown Seattle, we had cocktails in the old world lounge. The waitress would have earned an even larger tip had she refreshed our cup of homemade potato chips. The family ground rules of the evening were no grousing and conversational focus on the Radish.
Then we moved on to the Radish’s choice of restaurants, Campagne, near Pike Place Market. In Seattle, our outlandish outfits provoked not even a bat of the eye from the other patrons. We were definitely the loudest patrons as we told family stories, led by the Radish, stories that only we know (apologies to the BILs but they would have not understood). Stories like my parents stuffing 6 people (my grandmother was with us) into a Toyota Corolla for a 10 hour drive home from a ski trip to Bend, Oregon. “Not a word from any of you,” my mother said as she closed the hatchback on five year old MCV, tucked into the corner. We obeyed.
The meal was fabulous, every course of it. The wine, superb. The company, the best.
HAPPY 70TH TO THE ROCKIN’ RADISH!!!!