The Seattle Chronicles: Day Six

"Holy Innocents, Batman!!!" -- Mark Shea

Today was my birthday. I was born at about seven in the morning Eastern time, at Saint Ann's Hospital in Cleveland, Ohio. Mom says I took my sweet time coming out. Forty-eight years later, I slept through the exact moment in question. When I got up, I headed into town for some serious shopping at the Pike Place Market. The bus system here is excellent, coming up every ten minutes (on a Saturday, no less!), and getting me down there in half an hour. Most of them are electric buses, powered by twin overhead wires. I haven't seen those since I was a kid going through Dayton, Ohio.

Boy, and I thought the Strip District in Pittsburgh was something else. This place has got twice the action in the same amount of space. I bought craft gifts for family and friends. I finally got to visit the famous Lark in the Morning music store, and picked up a bunch of harmonica necklaces. They were only two bucks apiece, but they didn't have the fancy chain like the ones I was used to getting here.

That evening, I went to a pub just down the street from the Tractor Tavern, where I was to meet some serious zydeco addicts. After nearly an hour, I couldn't find anyone who either remotely fit the profile of such enthusiasts, nor knew who I was talking about. So I called Sean, who was my main contact, on his cell phone. ("Sean, there's a guy standing next to me with a cell phone in his hand. Can you tell me what you look like?") Eventually we were connected. They laughed at my dead-pan humor, so they can't be all bad.I talked for awhile with Aubra, who lives on a farm and raises chickens, and rides horses. We talked about farming, and why western riding is superior to English. We went over to get tickets. Here hair was getting wet. I put my hood on and gave her my hat. She looked better with it than I did. Must be 'cuz she's a cowgirl. After awhile, it wa clear that these people were in no hurry to open up. She offered to stay there and get my ticket for me.

After awhile we went back over to the Tractor again about 9 pm, it was totally packed. Geno Delafose usually brings out the big crowd, of course. I was never without someone to dance with. Talk about a small world -- again. I met another former Cincinnatian. This time it was Aaron, whom I knew from my international folk dancing days in the late '70s. He moved to Seattle in 1985. They sang "Happy Birthday" for some gal who turned 21. I pretended it was for me. There was also a gal who could salsa dance. I could tell by the moves, and both salsa and zydeco have similar origins in the Carribean. So I got some salsa dancing in. Never hurts to broaden your appeal.

I stayed until the end. I wish it had gone longer. I enjoyed connecting with people at the pub, because it's hard to do that in a crowded dance hall, at least on an intimate level. I wouldn't see Aubra again. She was going to Calgary to ride mechanical bulls. (Hmmm, that would have almost been worth seeing, but I digress.) I could talk to people who lived two or three thousand miles away, about mutual friends, as though the miles didn't matter. There was even a guy there from the DC area who remembered me -- Dean, I think his name was -- and who was there now with his new wife.

There was a moment of weakness, when I thought of my friends in Louisiana at that moment. They would have been at the Carrier family farm, for a big cook-out. I thought of Troy and his band, and the fun I had playing with those guys. The Tractor was too crowded for me to "dance" with my guitar. Besides, I was in (ahem!) enough demand as it was. Never enough decent male dancers, you know. Even in Seattle. Let's call it a night.