A bit ago I mentioned something about couture cocktails in a laid back atmosphere.

And, I am still hesitant to reveal the source (I am sure tons of you have been there already). It's one of those places you want to keep to yourself and the people you know just so it doesn't change. But, to be honest, I'd kind of like to see one or some of you there so we can admire the sugar rimmed shot glasses and pinky promise over summer plans. And, after all, the bar is welcoming and unpretentious - so I should be too...

Suite 410 (410 Stewart St Seattle, WA 98101 (206) 624-9911)

I am not sure if any of you kids were around for the hey day of Toi (Just around the corner on 4th and Stewart). One of the lovely dudes behind the bar was one of the founding fathers of Toi and has carried that same “elite-with out-snobbery-vibe” with him. Oh, and, the bathroom is magical.

Spring is doing its very best to rear it's lovely head - I can hear the birds and see some buds and feel a bit of sunshine, however it just not enough. I have taken it upon myself to create a bit of spring in my little world.




Capazi Hanging Pendent $69.99; Cost Plus World Market (2103 Western Avenue Seattle, WA 98121 Phone: (206) 443-1055)



Capazi Hanging Pendent $69.99; Cost Plus World Market (2103 Western Avenue Seattle, WA 98121 Phone: (206) 443-1055)

These make me feel like I am on the heals of summer. I chose the pendent with the multi hued shells. I have some darker furniture I am trying to work into my new "beachy" theme. I've added little touches of blues and some of my most favorite shells collected from summers in Europe. My little nook of a dining room is a constant reminder of what's to come.

As I’ve been treading aimlessly and relying on hope, luck and uncertainty to keep me afloat, I found this:



Wish Bone Necklace, $30.00, Les Amis (3420 Evanston Avenue N. Seattle, WA 98103 (206)632-2877)

What you are supposed to do is make a wish, tie it on, and when it falls off your wish will come true. The concept is a bit wishy washy for me. I prefer to wish on more substantial things like shooting stars and coins found with the heads side up.

I've been deep inside my pockets, thumbing through lost buttons and bits of french ribbon. I haven't been exploring much of anything around this city. New York was just about enough "new" I can handle about now. I'm am back to my constantly mundane and normal ways.

Change has been persistently knocking at my door, and despite my best efforts to keep him at bay, He won't leave me be. He doesn't seem to understand any part of "no thank you". I've taken to reading horoscopes and dancing with metaphors because right now, mother earth, is reaching from the depths of her winter slumber and grabbing at my ankles. I can quite decipher her efforts. Whatever they are, I've been nothing but faithful in my ignorance and have put almost all of my faith uncertainty.

The Worry is back, I can't say I've missed it much. It's the little bit of me that I don't mind being without. It's infiltrated the little things - like if I said goodbye the right way or if I'll remember the way the music sounds when you are in the room. This time the worry has held the fun and giggles and my regular ways captive.

For the time being there will be stories; stories of the things I remember just the way I remember them.

If New York and I were on a first date, I'd totally let him kiss me goodnight.

There are things about this city that are undoubtedly charming. Crepes until 3am, french skin cream and punk rock t-shirts in corner boutiques with pink window treatments, semi famous somebodies hopping into tinted windowed SUVs - all at my finger tips.

Hey Seattle? Can you see me? I'm the girl all the way on the other side of the country, hauled up in my hotel room (which smells like cherry's) somewhere in an part of town they call LES/Soho. I'm sending a lovely little message via light flicking Morris code.

I'll be here for the next few days meeting some new faces at work and (hopefully) opening a few more doors of opportunity.

My hotel is wedged between a bruschetta restaurant and a bodega and sits chicly across the street from a store that houses hundreds of vintage shoes and hand bags. I've gone ahead and dog eared all the relevant pages of my favorite NYC blogs and will set to shopping on Friday.

Until then, you should pop into my neighborhood and stop by Buds and Filler (right off of Madison ave E, on 41st). You can get a bunch of Tulips (8 stems) for $2.00 (!!). they have vases galore (square, round, traditional bud) for under $10.00. There are all sorts of other by-the-stem buds to select (orchids, Lilly's, roses) at an equally inexpensive price.

ehem.

Hi, my name is Amanda, I am a girl who believes in Love, fate and long term planning. I like balance bars and big hand bags and nice denim. I prefer black pumps to anything else and I wish I had better hand writing. Nice to meet you.

Please accept my most sincere apology for my absence.

I'd like to say I have been out and about collecting all sorts of treasure and will, at any moment, dump them into your lap with detailed maps on how to find the most fantastic stuff in this city. But I haven't. What I have been doing is nursing the flu, working East Coast hours in the Pacific Northwest and tight rope walking over an eclectic mix of rose petals and dragon breath.

While I was on my little tangent of not doing what I was supposed to do, I celebrated a birthday, took some photos, played with kids, and fell more in love. I DO have some great stuff to tell you about: flower shops and a fantastic new denim line. Stay tuned.

This morning I woke to birds chirping and a brighter sky than I've seen a quite a few days. I had to hold back from strapping on my espadrilles and flowery skirts and cardigans. Spring is almost here. Let’s meet in a beer garden and forget that we have work tomorrow.

Don’t go far, there is a lot to share.

Even though I am fittingly convinced that focused and sure footed are the way to be in this world, there is still  bit of me that believes in the "what if" and kismet. There is still a part of me that believes serendipity is real that you may find your soul mate because you hopped on the wrong bus and tripped willfully into each other as you ordered the same complicated coffee drink.

I am the girl who writes her name in the back of books.

I believe in stories and will sit cross legged as you tell yours in hopes that it may happen to me as well.

And there is a part of me who believes that it okay to be confused and not know the answer. That it's okay to  feel hopeless with out someone and be filled with promise by a meager happenstance like a butterfly tapping you on your shoulder or finding a penny heads side up.

I had completely forgotten that I believed in magic and chance until I heard this woman's voice


She a girl from Seattle who sings about New York and learning and being just a bit behind in love. Her voice is clear and vulnerable,

The creativity is still on vacation. I have all sorts of little notes folded into witty shapes floating around in my head. However when I get to unfolding them, they scurry off to a dark little corner and refuse to let me share.

Maybe this evening, after a few giggles and pretty rimmed vodka drinks* I'll be able to flirt them out of their corner.

I hope your Saturday has been as domestically pleasing and reassuring as mine.

*I promise to share where we will be giggling and sipping vodka drinks later this week. Tonight, we'd like it all to ourselves. That is unless you have party pants and are psychic, then you are more than welcome.

Please forgive me if I speak to you with my mouth full of raspberries and dirt on my knees. Over the next few weeks I plan on willing spring into my back pocket and planting gardens in glass jars.

I may have danced all the creativity out of me last night. I am full up with a whole-lot-of-nothing.

This weekend renders a lunch, some gazing, running and some fantastically tailored cocktails.

A lady, who always did what she wanted and not what she should said this very poignant thing:

"So long as you write what you wish to write, that is all that matters; and whether it matters for ages or only for hours, nobody can say. But to sacrifice a hair of the head of your vision, a shade of its colour, in deference to some Headmaster with a silver pot in his hand or to some professor with a measuring-rod up his sleeve, is the most abject treachery."