"I PLAN ON WRITING AN EPIC POEM ABOUT THIS GORGEOUS PIE..." (Gordon Cole, Twin Peaks)

This day was all kinds of fantastic: a picnic at Remlinger Farms, a pilgrimage to North Bend (well, a pre-pilgrimage), and an evening in West Seattle. Very Saturday and Very Summer. We were due; for the past several weeks, Matt has been hard at work on various house and yard projects, so we've mostly stuck close to home. Today, though, we eyed the invitation to Matt's company picnic and thought, you know, this looks fun, and we don't have much summer left. So we loaded up the car and headed out of town.

The drive to Remlinger Farms is really lovely. I love heading out on Highway 18, into the mountains and away from the city. In the fall, the colors are spectacular. Today, the mountains were deep green under a sky heavy with storm clouds. The sun broke through often enough that I figured we'd be fine for the picnic, and I was right: the first fat drop of water landed on my arm as we were heading back to the car afterwards. We drove towards Seattle in a downpour, and when we stepped out of the car in West Seattle the air was sharp and clean in a way it hasn't been for weeks. We even heard a little thunder in West Seattle while we were browsing through one of our favorite little toy stores, and I erupted with an embarrassing amount of enthusiasm.

"It never does that here!" I cried.

"You must be from the Midwest or something," the saleslady said.

But the rain spared the picnic, so we spent a few pleasant hours eating hamburgers and potato salad and corn on the cob and partaking of things like the climbing wall (Matt), the henna tattoos (me), and the big inflatable bouncy house thingie (Suzannah). Let me talk about the bouncy house thingie for a moment. You all know what I'm talking about, right? Those big inflatable things that kids can go inside and basically just . . . go crazy jumping around and throwing themselves off the walls? When we arrived, I gave it hardly more than a passing glance because it was full of a bunch of Big Boys. Big as in, like, fourth grade. Big as in, there is no way I'm going to let my two-year-old baby girl in there with a bunch of crazy ten-year-olds who are playing a game of Who Can Stay Conscious The Longest After Head-to-Head Collisions. We moved on.

But after we'd eaten and checked everything out, I noticed that the Bouncy House Thingie was more or less unoccupied. There was one girl there -- she was maybe nine -- whose eyes lit up as we approached.

"Does she want to go in?" she asked. "I'll go in with her!"

Truthfully, I wasn't sure Suzannah would go in. She's kind of a cautious child sometimes; she takes her sweet time approaching something new. But when she finally goes for it, let me tell you, she GOES FOR IT. This proved to be the case with the bouncy house. She sat just inside the opening, tentatively. She watched the nine-year-old bounce gently nearby, encouraging her. She giggled a bit and bounced around on her knees. Finally, she stood up, and suddenly she was shouting, "Jump! Jump! JUMP!" She was just beaming. And then she went from jumping to running. Around and around and around. And then she went to tumbling. And then running some more. And then tumbling again. A few other kids -- a young boy and a girl just a tad older than Suzannah -- joined her. They were all very good about not clobbering my child with their happily flailing limbs, and Suzannah would probably still be in there now if I hadn't grabbed her ankle as she bounced by the entrance. Even that made her shriek with delight. The entire trip was worth it just for the Bouncy House Thingie.

Oh, and the pre-pilgrimage.

I've become addicted to Twin Peaks, that bizarre show that aired in 1990 when I was probably too young to fully appreciate it (or, you know, be allowed to watch it). It was filmed around here, and the Twin Peaks Diner is actually Twede's Diner in North Bend. If you've seen the show, you'll understand why I wanted to see this diner. Actually, what I really need want to do is order a piece of cherry pie and a cup of black coffee ("a deep black cup of joe"), but since we were full of picnic food and were planning to eat dinner at the Elliott Bay Brewery, I settled for merely staring at it in blissed-out wonder. (Actually, my husband will tell you that when we found the diner I spent a full five minutes convulsing with glee. And it's true.)

West Seattle was all about the ahi tacos at the Elliott Bay Brewery and hot cocoa at Coffee to a Tea afterwards. The evening ended rather abruptly when our over-tired little lady got upset and crawled under the dollhouse (it was up on a little coffee table) in the kids' corner and cried bitterly into her hands. She cheered up once we got her into the bath at home, which only goes to show that when kids get a little squinky, you should always put them in water. It works every time.

And now I'll leave you with a few glorious tidbits from one of the most brilliant shows to air on television.

Pete Martell: Mr. Cooper, how do you take it?
Dale Cooper: Black as midnight on a moonless night.
Pete Martell: Pretty black.

"This must be where pies go when they die." --Special Agent Dale Cooper

"Harry, I'm gonna let you in on a little secret. Every day, once a day, give yourself a present. Don't plan it, don't wait for it, just… let it happen."
--Special Agent Dale Cooper