Last weekend I drove down to Tacoma to visit a dear friend of mine. We had lunch at Antique Sandwich Co., which is a vast, open room filled with old wooden furniture and soft fabric bunting strung from the ceiling and a bunch of old polaroids hanging on one wall. It feels like you've stepped into someone's living room. We got settled, and the waiter brought out our sandwiches and tabouli salads and steaming mugs of chai. The woman sitting behind us declared how cute my friend's five month old baby was – the first of many strangers to do so.
Later we meandered along the water, watched a ferry set out toward Tahlequah, and visited Point Defiance Park's rhododendron garden even though it was no longer in bloom. Well, I guess that's not entirely true. There were still two or three flowers clinging to one lonely bush, holding on for dear life, ignoring the change of seasons.
You know when you feel nostalgic about a time and place while you're still in it? That day was one of those times.
Today I'm baking for Thanksgiving. Usually my mom is the one who makes the pumpkin pies – two of them, always. But this year I'm in charge of desserts. I'm making a pumpkin pie (how could I not?) and a cranberry-topped cheesecake. The last time I remember making cheesecake when when I was in college, for my then-boyfriend-now-husband's birthday. When I took the cheesecake out of the fridge to serve it, it flipped out of my hands and landed face down on the kitchen floor. It's the kind of moment that was – still is – hopelessly funny and sad at the same time.
Happy Thanksgiving tomorrow. I hope you get to spend it with lots of people you love.