Mes chers amis—
What can I say? I’ve clocked more than 16 miles on my pedometer in the past two days, & that doesn’t count pre- & post-show floor activity. (Finding meals, you guttersnipes!)
I’d have to move several stories up to be shattered.
So I’ll report on my impressions of CES later—possibly tomorrow, although I’ll be traveling all day again to get from Vegas to Seattle.
Let me just say this: it’s not possible for the door to hit my butt on the way out of here; that’s how fast I’ll be getting out of town.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
Vegas Day 1
Nothing really about CES today since, as I had feared, I got to the hotel after 1600 (even though I left SeaTac on a 1000 flight), & didn’t get my show badge until 2030 from the coordinator. That means I have to cram a lot of exhibits & demos into the next two days.
But a couple of observations, based on walking about & conversations here & there.
The tanking economy has hit even Vegas. My cabbie actually returned to driving because his janitorial service business dried up; companies will clean their own premises when it comes to saving money. (I once worked for a failing concern in the Research Triangle; & they passed on cleaning a couple of months before they locked the doors.)
Also, according to a couple of fellows in the elevator, this CES isn’t a patch on last year’s, in terms of numbers of exhibitors. Didn’t look that way from the surge of badge-wearing tote-trudging showgoers, but I’ll see what I see when I actually get inside the LVCC.
I’m staying at the Venetian, & since I hadn’t had anything to eat all day, I trawled the in-house eateries. Came across “St. Mark’s Square”, a faux-Rialto ecosystem, complete with roving opera singers, jugglers in Renaissance get-up & those human statues. (What’s up with that, anyhow? They think no one will notice they’re essentially mimes in freeze-frame?)
Oh, (& I swear I’m not making this up) & gondola rides. Complete with house photographer taking pictures so you can commemorate your glide through the fakery.
There were several restaurants in imitation-Euro style. I ate at a Mario Batali outlet—Enoteca San Marco. First time at one of his places. I wasn’t much impressed with the Gemelli pasta—cooking time was about two minutes short of al dente, & it was over salted. But I’ve had the experience.
I walked around some kind of maze of upmarket shops (or “shoppes”, as they’re styled) between the Venetian & its sister property, the Palazzo; not a lot seemed to be doing much business. But the bars were certainly chockablock.
Learned something: I used to think the guys playing piano at Nordstrom had the worst job in the music world. Spending all those years developing your talent & here you are, next to the cosmetics counter come day, go day. After seeing the lounge singer at PDX, & the tricked-out opera singers at the Venetian, I realize I was wrong.
But a couple of observations, based on walking about & conversations here & there.
The tanking economy has hit even Vegas. My cabbie actually returned to driving because his janitorial service business dried up; companies will clean their own premises when it comes to saving money. (I once worked for a failing concern in the Research Triangle; & they passed on cleaning a couple of months before they locked the doors.)
Also, according to a couple of fellows in the elevator, this CES isn’t a patch on last year’s, in terms of numbers of exhibitors. Didn’t look that way from the surge of badge-wearing tote-trudging showgoers, but I’ll see what I see when I actually get inside the LVCC.
I’m staying at the Venetian, & since I hadn’t had anything to eat all day, I trawled the in-house eateries. Came across “St. Mark’s Square”, a faux-Rialto ecosystem, complete with roving opera singers, jugglers in Renaissance get-up & those human statues. (What’s up with that, anyhow? They think no one will notice they’re essentially mimes in freeze-frame?)
Oh, (& I swear I’m not making this up) & gondola rides. Complete with house photographer taking pictures so you can commemorate your glide through the fakery.
There were several restaurants in imitation-Euro style. I ate at a Mario Batali outlet—Enoteca San Marco. First time at one of his places. I wasn’t much impressed with the Gemelli pasta—cooking time was about two minutes short of al dente, & it was over salted. But I’ve had the experience.
I walked around some kind of maze of upmarket shops (or “shoppes”, as they’re styled) between the Venetian & its sister property, the Palazzo; not a lot seemed to be doing much business. But the bars were certainly chockablock.
Learned something: I used to think the guys playing piano at Nordstrom had the worst job in the music world. Spending all those years developing your talent & here you are, next to the cosmetics counter come day, go day. After seeing the lounge singer at PDX, & the tricked-out opera singers at the Venetian, I realize I was wrong.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
CES-Bound
In an odd turn of events, I’m headed to the Consumer Electronics Show, that annual excess of coolness in Las Vegas. It’s scaled back this year, due to the economy, so it’ll just be me and 129,999 of my closest acquaintances.
I’ll recount my impressions over the next few days here—you know I’m not going to be commenting on the official stuff so much as the ancillary weirdness.
I got on the roster rather late in the game, & so have to change planes in Portland both today and Sunday—no direct flights.
I’ve never been here, if you know what I mean—only landing and taking off. So imagine my surprise to find a tuxedoed lounge singer with canned music entertaining us in the main…well, area. Very Rat Pack-ish. “It Was a Very Good Year” at the moment.
And this being PNW, of course there’s free Wi-Fi. So I’ll do the PNW thing and post in-transit.
More on CES as time permits.
I’ll recount my impressions over the next few days here—you know I’m not going to be commenting on the official stuff so much as the ancillary weirdness.
I got on the roster rather late in the game, & so have to change planes in Portland both today and Sunday—no direct flights.
I’ve never been here, if you know what I mean—only landing and taking off. So imagine my surprise to find a tuxedoed lounge singer with canned music entertaining us in the main…well, area. Very Rat Pack-ish. “It Was a Very Good Year” at the moment.
More on CES as time permits.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
The second shoe
We all know that exercise is only part of your New Year lose-weight resolution. So the WSJ has kindly dished up a soupçon of a recent crop of diet books.
They’re pretty much stating the blindingly obvious, but I pass them on as a public service.
They’re pretty much stating the blindingly obvious, but I pass them on as a public service.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Truth in menus
King County ‘s deal with the Washington Restaurant Association went into effect last Thursday: restaurants that are part of chains with 15 or more locations nationwide have started posting nutrition information on menus or in other prominent locations.
So Saturday, when I trotted in to Panera for my usual weekend breakfast treat, I was aghast to discover that the cinnamon roll, which has pretty much become my default, has been boosting my intake by 620 calories a pop. & that’s before the three pats of butter I nuke over it.
Ulp.
Thing is—a quick scan of what’s on offer indicates that pretty much everything in the pastry-bread arena is OTT when it comes to calories. Even a plain bagel is 290; & who eats a bagel plain? So I may have to find another Saturday morning spot.
Now, this agreement (not really an ordinance, is it?) is interesting, as it applies not just to fast-food chains, as you might imagine. The Cheesecake Factory, Olive Garden & Ruth’s Chris Steak House come under the requirement. One shudders to think what the data on those menus will look like. (& their Web sites don't post that information.)
As you might imagine, restaurants weren’t happy about this (industry lawsuits in New York has delayed efforts there to implement a similar law; San Francisco has one—but, of course, we’re talking San Francisco). This agreement is a compromise from the original regulation that was to apply to all restaurants.
According to a story in the Seattle Times, during the negotiation restaurants “complained about the expense of analyzing dozens of menu items and say there's no proof that knowing the calorie count of a sandwich, soup or steak tartare will actually change anyone's eating habits.”
Well, let me assure them: it really does. I’m not touching one of those cinnamon rolls, or the cobblestones, or the pecan braids, again. Sorry, Panera.
So Saturday, when I trotted in to Panera for my usual weekend breakfast treat, I was aghast to discover that the cinnamon roll, which has pretty much become my default, has been boosting my intake by 620 calories a pop. & that’s before the three pats of butter I nuke over it.
Ulp.
Thing is—a quick scan of what’s on offer indicates that pretty much everything in the pastry-bread arena is OTT when it comes to calories. Even a plain bagel is 290; & who eats a bagel plain? So I may have to find another Saturday morning spot.
Now, this agreement (not really an ordinance, is it?) is interesting, as it applies not just to fast-food chains, as you might imagine. The Cheesecake Factory, Olive Garden & Ruth’s Chris Steak House come under the requirement. One shudders to think what the data on those menus will look like. (& their Web sites don't post that information.)
As you might imagine, restaurants weren’t happy about this (industry lawsuits in New York has delayed efforts there to implement a similar law; San Francisco has one—but, of course, we’re talking San Francisco). This agreement is a compromise from the original regulation that was to apply to all restaurants.
According to a story in the Seattle Times, during the negotiation restaurants “complained about the expense of analyzing dozens of menu items and say there's no proof that knowing the calorie count of a sandwich, soup or steak tartare will actually change anyone's eating habits.”
Well, let me assure them: it really does. I’m not touching one of those cinnamon rolls, or the cobblestones, or the pecan braids, again. Sorry, Panera.
Monday, January 5, 2009
2008 between the pages
As long as we’re on the topic of last year’s reading, while I didn’t find it stellar, there were some good books across the months.
Tops would be Justinian’s Flea: Plague, Empire and the Birth of Europe, by William Rosen. It’s a little like that old James Burke series, Connections—Rosen starts off talking about the Plague of Justinian and works his way around every aspect of the Byzantine empire. Written as well as it’s researched.
I got on a Bill Mauldin kick a while ago. So when Todd Pastino published a new bio of the iconic WWII cartoonist, I picked it up. In Bill Mauldin: A life Up Front, Pastino does an excellent job with a really fascinating subject.
If I didn’t already want to live in France, John Baxter’s Immoveable Feast: A Paris Christmas would make me want to move. Baxter’s an engaging writer who chronicles more than just his culinary contributions to the Christmas celebration of his French in-laws. An Australian who spent time in the US and UK before finding the love of his life, Baxter weaves his life and love of food, films and females throughout the narrative.
I finally got around to reading David McCullough’s biography of Harry S. Truman. It took a while to get through, being more than 1000 pages, but really fascinating.
On the fiction side, Eliot Pattison has written a series of detective novels set in the nightmarish and breathtaking world of Tibet. Pattison’s detective is Inspector Shan Tao Yun, a universal symbol like Martin Cruz Smith’s Arkady Renko—a policeman who won’t fit an investigation into political needs. This devotion to the truth leads to his imprisonment in a Tibetan labor camp, where he becomes a student of the monks who are his fellow prisoners. The series begins with The Skull Mantra; I tore through all the published novels in a couple of months.
I also read Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, the novel on which last year’s movie was based. It’s a bit more fabulous (fable-like) than the film; and very, very good.
The final fiction entrant is The Bearskinner: A Tale of the Brothers Grimm, told by Laura Amy Schlitz, illustrated by Max Grafe. Yes, it’s a children’s book, but with a lesson about faith, generosity and human connections.
So, that was the year in books. Let’s see what 2009 brings.
Tops would be Justinian’s Flea: Plague, Empire and the Birth of Europe, by William Rosen. It’s a little like that old James Burke series, Connections—Rosen starts off talking about the Plague of Justinian and works his way around every aspect of the Byzantine empire. Written as well as it’s researched.
I got on a Bill Mauldin kick a while ago. So when Todd Pastino published a new bio of the iconic WWII cartoonist, I picked it up. In Bill Mauldin: A life Up Front, Pastino does an excellent job with a really fascinating subject.
If I didn’t already want to live in France, John Baxter’s Immoveable Feast: A Paris Christmas would make me want to move. Baxter’s an engaging writer who chronicles more than just his culinary contributions to the Christmas celebration of his French in-laws. An Australian who spent time in the US and UK before finding the love of his life, Baxter weaves his life and love of food, films and females throughout the narrative.
I finally got around to reading David McCullough’s biography of Harry S. Truman. It took a while to get through, being more than 1000 pages, but really fascinating.
On the fiction side, Eliot Pattison has written a series of detective novels set in the nightmarish and breathtaking world of Tibet. Pattison’s detective is Inspector Shan Tao Yun, a universal symbol like Martin Cruz Smith’s Arkady Renko—a policeman who won’t fit an investigation into political needs. This devotion to the truth leads to his imprisonment in a Tibetan labor camp, where he becomes a student of the monks who are his fellow prisoners. The series begins with The Skull Mantra; I tore through all the published novels in a couple of months.
I also read Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, the novel on which last year’s movie was based. It’s a bit more fabulous (fable-like) than the film; and very, very good.
The final fiction entrant is The Bearskinner: A Tale of the Brothers Grimm, told by Laura Amy Schlitz, illustrated by Max Grafe. Yes, it’s a children’s book, but with a lesson about faith, generosity and human connections.
So, that was the year in books. Let’s see what 2009 brings.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
See Shrub read
According to that pillar of probity, Karl Rove, it seems the soon-to-be-ex-President is quite the bookworm. The claim is that Shrub has read lots and lots of books—apparently including many that don’t involve coloring inside the lines—during his presidency.
According to Rove (and we know we can believe him, don’t we?), Bush read 95 books in 2006; 51 in 2007 and was closing in on 40 last year. And they’re not lightweight titles: 58 of the 95 were non-fiction; the fiction included books by Michael Crichton and Albert Camus.
Oh, really? I wonder if you gave him a quiz how much he’d be able to deconstruct of his consumption?
The Washington Post’s Richard Cohen analyzes the reading—his point being that, while an impressive list, it’s really narrow and serves only to reinforce Bush’s preconceived notions, not expand his horizons.
What bothers me is the idea that the burdens of being the Leader of the Free World are so light that Bush has time to read to this alleged extent (Although I suppose it goes along with the number of vacation days—879 as of March—Bush has taken while in office.)
To put it into perspective, in 2006 I read 157 books, in 2007 68 and last year 70. (Yes, I do keep a log.) The vast preponderance is non-fiction; and the only fiction I tend to read is detective novels.
But I’m not trying to ensure domestic tranquility and provide for the common defense.
Oh, wait—that’s in the Constitution, isn’t it? No wonder Bush had all that reading time…
According to Rove (and we know we can believe him, don’t we?), Bush read 95 books in 2006; 51 in 2007 and was closing in on 40 last year. And they’re not lightweight titles: 58 of the 95 were non-fiction; the fiction included books by Michael Crichton and Albert Camus.
Oh, really? I wonder if you gave him a quiz how much he’d be able to deconstruct of his consumption?
The Washington Post’s Richard Cohen analyzes the reading—his point being that, while an impressive list, it’s really narrow and serves only to reinforce Bush’s preconceived notions, not expand his horizons.
What bothers me is the idea that the burdens of being the Leader of the Free World are so light that Bush has time to read to this alleged extent (Although I suppose it goes along with the number of vacation days—879 as of March—Bush has taken while in office.)
To put it into perspective, in 2006 I read 157 books, in 2007 68 and last year 70. (Yes, I do keep a log.) The vast preponderance is non-fiction; and the only fiction I tend to read is detective novels.
But I’m not trying to ensure domestic tranquility and provide for the common defense.
Oh, wait—that’s in the Constitution, isn’t it? No wonder Bush had all that reading time…
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Help for New Year's resolutions
You may be thinking of starting an exercise program for the New Year, so I give you this video for inspiration.
Someone emailed it to me a while ago and I keep it on both my home and work PCs. If you can watch it without crying you’re seriously missing the silly gene.
(As I write this post, the Stealth Cat is kneading my arm—that’s her idea of contributing to my fitness.)
Someone emailed it to me a while ago and I keep it on both my home and work PCs. If you can watch it without crying you’re seriously missing the silly gene.
(As I write this post, the Stealth Cat is kneading my arm—that’s her idea of contributing to my fitness.)
Friday, January 2, 2009
Pike's the place
There are two things people generally think of when you mention Seattle (unless they’re grunge rockers): the Space Needle & Pike Place market. I’ve not been to the former, but I finally got round to the latter.
Well, I had been before—went the day after my interview in June; but, aside from being cold & wet, it was absolutely crammed with tourists. They were getting off coaches in swarms. You couldn’t move without bumping into someone. & I don’t do well in crowds.
However, a colleague who goes to the market regularly to buy vegetables recommended that I try earlier than late morning. Plus, these days, not so many coach tours.
Turns out that, when you can move around, PP is actually worth the time.
Of course, it being December, not all the smells associated with an open market.
(The ones I’ve been to in France, Germany & Italy are total sensory experiences. Walk past the fruit stalls & your money practically flies out of your wallet because you can’t resist the scent of really ripe peaches & berries & melons. Even the fish aisles entice you with the smell of absolutely fresh varieties. The food—asparagus to tuna—is all arranged in meticulous patterns. & there’s a melodious cacophony of exchanges between the vendors & customers is more connective tissue. You’re sorely tempted to touch, but of course it’s not the done thing.)
Still—a visit to a town market is about the best entertainment going. & Pike Place actually does a good job of carrying on the tradition—if you can avoid the tourons.
The vendors arrange their wares beautifully—clearly you aren’t supposed to touch & disturb the display. (One merchant even put out a sign to that effect.)
The fungi were equally artistic.
Then there was the seafood.
Now, one of the mongers clearly has a sense of humor: this monkfish was hanging out of the display. If you got up close to it, one of the staff pulled the tail end at the back of the stall & bellowed at you. (I have no idea how that works; but I wasn’t the only visitor to jump out of the way.)
I did actually make a purchase—some strange-looking broccoli:
It’s called Romanesco broccoli. At $5 per, I probably won’t be buying it again—it doesn’t taste nearly as good as broccolini.
But I will be back to the market.
BTW—I took a stroll around the downtown area before leaving. I have to say that Seattle seems to have a much higher percentage of panhandlers than I’ve encountered in other urban downtowns. But here’s a variant for the season: a derelict Santa, who intended to make some money by posing for pix with your kids.
Well, I had been before—went the day after my interview in June; but, aside from being cold & wet, it was absolutely crammed with tourists. They were getting off coaches in swarms. You couldn’t move without bumping into someone. & I don’t do well in crowds.
However, a colleague who goes to the market regularly to buy vegetables recommended that I try earlier than late morning. Plus, these days, not so many coach tours.
Turns out that, when you can move around, PP is actually worth the time.
Of course, it being December, not all the smells associated with an open market.
(The ones I’ve been to in France, Germany & Italy are total sensory experiences. Walk past the fruit stalls & your money practically flies out of your wallet because you can’t resist the scent of really ripe peaches & berries & melons. Even the fish aisles entice you with the smell of absolutely fresh varieties. The food—asparagus to tuna—is all arranged in meticulous patterns. & there’s a melodious cacophony of exchanges between the vendors & customers is more connective tissue. You’re sorely tempted to touch, but of course it’s not the done thing.)
Still—a visit to a town market is about the best entertainment going. & Pike Place actually does a good job of carrying on the tradition—if you can avoid the tourons.
The vendors arrange their wares beautifully—clearly you aren’t supposed to touch & disturb the display. (One merchant even put out a sign to that effect.)
The fungi were equally artistic.
Then there was the seafood.
Now, one of the mongers clearly has a sense of humor: this monkfish was hanging out of the display. If you got up close to it, one of the staff pulled the tail end at the back of the stall & bellowed at you. (I have no idea how that works; but I wasn’t the only visitor to jump out of the way.)
I did actually make a purchase—some strange-looking broccoli:
It’s called Romanesco broccoli. At $5 per, I probably won’t be buying it again—it doesn’t taste nearly as good as broccolini.
But I will be back to the market.
BTW—I took a stroll around the downtown area before leaving. I have to say that Seattle seems to have a much higher percentage of panhandlers than I’ve encountered in other urban downtowns. But here’s a variant for the season: a derelict Santa, who intended to make some money by posing for pix with your kids.
Frankly, I wouldn’t let anyone I cared about close enough to this guy to breathe the same air; he was definitely what my mom would have declared to be unhygienic. But I suppose it’s better than the outright cadging for coins.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Walking meditation
Labyrinths have come to me a couple of times when I most needed their help. A couple of years ago I’d been going through one of those grotesque periods that convince you Kafka wrote the script for your life, and Dalí is designing the set. I was participating in Reston’s annual Habitat for Humanity walk that ended at St. Anne’s Church, which, it turned out, had just dedicated its labyrinth the day before.
The only thing I really knew about labyrinths was the Theseus myth and some of the medieval history. I’m not actually a candidate for the contemplative life—the term butterfly brain was coined with me in mind. But I was drawn to the labyrinth and took my first walk.
It was an extremely powerful experience. My body temperature shot up, I started shaking, and tears kept spilling out of my eyes. And I left the sanctuary feeling, well, different.
The labyrinth experience is a walking meditation. Although the form has been around for millennia, they became a part of Christian ritual during the middle ages, when pilgrimages were all the rage. For those who couldn’t afford the time or expense of a trip to Jerusalem, Rome or Santiago de Compostela, the labyrinth built in to the local cathedral floor allowed you to make a symbolic pilgrimage.
To my surprise, I found that most of the time in a labyrinth, I was indeed able to focus more fully on things that were important—without whirling round and round in worry. It’s as close to meditation as I’ll probably ever get.
The thing about the labyrinth is that, as convoluted as it seems, there’s one path to the centre, and one path out. It’s not a maze, which is created to confuse; it’s created to focus.
I decided that, as messed-up as my life was, I could make the labyrinth my contribution to the community, and became a Labyrinth Keeper. LKs set up and take down the labyrinth (a canvas one that was constructed to fit in the altar area). One always stays on duty to help walkers if they find the experience overwhelming.
Being a LK steadied me, gave me something to focus on and provided access to the labyrinth monthly.
As part of my work, I researched other labyrinths and came to know the outdoor one at the Church of the Holy Comforter in Vienna. Starting about a year ago, I walked that labyrinth about once a week—heat or cold, it kept me going. Some walks I seemed to miss the mark; others filled me with new strength.
I’ve made an effort to find a labyrinth to walk in cities I visit. Through March I’d walked at the Association for Research & Enlightenment, Virginia Beach; Grace Cathedral, San Francisco; and St. Margaret, Palm Desert.
When I came to Seattle for my interview last June I found two outdoor labyrinths. I walked the one at Unity of Bellevue the evening before my marathon interview, and the one at St. Paul’s Seattle the morning after—when I’d got the offer. Unity’s is made of stones, which had been kicked around, so you couldn’t follow the pattern, and St. Paul’s is very, very small.
Still—they were something, although not a patch on Holy Comforter’s.
A few months ago I went in search of labyrinths that didn’t require I cross water or go to Tacoma to reach. It wasn’t a rewarding Saturday. Two were no longer around, and the only one I did find turned out to be in a seriously dodgy part of town, dedicated to recovery (which I’m sure is a hot topic in that neighborhood).
You can’t really concentrate on a walking meditation when you’re keeping your eye out for muggers or car thieves.
There are supposed to be outdoor labyrinths on Bainbridge or Whidbey Islands; but that’s kind of a schlep. And, as the names denote, you have to take a ferry to reach them.
Suffering from lack of access to a labyrinth, when I saw the ad in last week’s local Redmond throw-away paper (not the Bellevue one I usually read) for a New Year’s Eve walk at the Lake Washington United Methodist Church in nearby Kirkland, I decided I had to go.
It’s the best I’ve found so far. Or perhaps it’s just the right one for this point in my life. The setting, in the church hall, has been completely thought out. There are chairs with paper and writing implements for you to write or draw your response to your walk. They set up paper and pens for you to write out an intention for the New Year and carry it to the center of the labyrinth to leave in a bowl.
It’s exactly what I needed to close out 2008.
If you’ve not walked a labyrinth, it would be worthwhile to see if there’s one available near you. If not an outdoor one with open access, many churches have monthly walks for their indoor ones, like St. Anne and Lake Washington United Methodist. They’re open to all—no need to be a believer; just a sojourner.
The only thing I really knew about labyrinths was the Theseus myth and some of the medieval history. I’m not actually a candidate for the contemplative life—the term butterfly brain was coined with me in mind. But I was drawn to the labyrinth and took my first walk.
It was an extremely powerful experience. My body temperature shot up, I started shaking, and tears kept spilling out of my eyes. And I left the sanctuary feeling, well, different.
The labyrinth experience is a walking meditation. Although the form has been around for millennia, they became a part of Christian ritual during the middle ages, when pilgrimages were all the rage. For those who couldn’t afford the time or expense of a trip to Jerusalem, Rome or Santiago de Compostela, the labyrinth built in to the local cathedral floor allowed you to make a symbolic pilgrimage.
To my surprise, I found that most of the time in a labyrinth, I was indeed able to focus more fully on things that were important—without whirling round and round in worry. It’s as close to meditation as I’ll probably ever get.
The thing about the labyrinth is that, as convoluted as it seems, there’s one path to the centre, and one path out. It’s not a maze, which is created to confuse; it’s created to focus.
I decided that, as messed-up as my life was, I could make the labyrinth my contribution to the community, and became a Labyrinth Keeper. LKs set up and take down the labyrinth (a canvas one that was constructed to fit in the altar area). One always stays on duty to help walkers if they find the experience overwhelming.
Being a LK steadied me, gave me something to focus on and provided access to the labyrinth monthly.
As part of my work, I researched other labyrinths and came to know the outdoor one at the Church of the Holy Comforter in Vienna. Starting about a year ago, I walked that labyrinth about once a week—heat or cold, it kept me going. Some walks I seemed to miss the mark; others filled me with new strength.
I’ve made an effort to find a labyrinth to walk in cities I visit. Through March I’d walked at the Association for Research & Enlightenment, Virginia Beach; Grace Cathedral, San Francisco; and St. Margaret, Palm Desert.
When I came to Seattle for my interview last June I found two outdoor labyrinths. I walked the one at Unity of Bellevue the evening before my marathon interview, and the one at St. Paul’s Seattle the morning after—when I’d got the offer. Unity’s is made of stones, which had been kicked around, so you couldn’t follow the pattern, and St. Paul’s is very, very small.
Still—they were something, although not a patch on Holy Comforter’s.
A few months ago I went in search of labyrinths that didn’t require I cross water or go to Tacoma to reach. It wasn’t a rewarding Saturday. Two were no longer around, and the only one I did find turned out to be in a seriously dodgy part of town, dedicated to recovery (which I’m sure is a hot topic in that neighborhood).
You can’t really concentrate on a walking meditation when you’re keeping your eye out for muggers or car thieves.
There are supposed to be outdoor labyrinths on Bainbridge or Whidbey Islands; but that’s kind of a schlep. And, as the names denote, you have to take a ferry to reach them.
Suffering from lack of access to a labyrinth, when I saw the ad in last week’s local Redmond throw-away paper (not the Bellevue one I usually read) for a New Year’s Eve walk at the Lake Washington United Methodist Church in nearby Kirkland, I decided I had to go.
It’s the best I’ve found so far. Or perhaps it’s just the right one for this point in my life. The setting, in the church hall, has been completely thought out. There are chairs with paper and writing implements for you to write or draw your response to your walk. They set up paper and pens for you to write out an intention for the New Year and carry it to the center of the labyrinth to leave in a bowl.
It’s exactly what I needed to close out 2008.
If you’ve not walked a labyrinth, it would be worthwhile to see if there’s one available near you. If not an outdoor one with open access, many churches have monthly walks for their indoor ones, like St. Anne and Lake Washington United Methodist. They’re open to all—no need to be a believer; just a sojourner.
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