Blogs, Clogs and Dogs

I didn’t bring my Croc clogs on our most recent return to Seattle, but we did bring the dogs, and I decided I would write my blog about that trip.

The trip was for a necessary return to the surgeon so that she could assess the husband’s progress post surgery No. 2 on the left displaced humeral fracture. The 6 inch metal plate fastened to the bone by 13 screws remained intact—this time. The husband, poor dear, fretted about what the surgeon would say, but she was happy with the result—a great relief to the man.

I booked a little house through a popular rental website that I have used many times before. I must not have used my usual care: how many stairs, was there a full kitchen, how big was it really? The place was easy to find, the host friendly via messaging, the price was right. And they accepted our two English mastiffs as guests.

After climbing steep stairs to the house, and taking a side-path up to the back yard where the little house resided, then climbing more rocky steps, we came to the dwelling.

On either side of an open landing of nice, new decking, were two, well, I began to think of them as cubes. They were pre-fabricated tiny houses. Very tiny. On the left was the door to the bed and bath. On the right (up two more steps) was the living and kitchen area.

Each opened using a code, which our host had provided. It worked the first time.

We let the dogs explore the yard, nicely landscaped around a massive cedar and completely fenced. Inside Living/Cooking cube was a table, two chairs, a sofa-like thing and a microwave, mini fridge and tiny sink.

No kitchen. The husband, who is the cook, had packed things to cook, and we despaired at first about having to eat out. The coffee apparatus was one of those espresso things that use tiny cups of coffees (more plastic to kill more whales), however the hosts had high environmental sentiment, and had provided a reusable tiny cup which I had no clue how to use.

There were no instructions, either.

Bed/Bath cube held a double bed and a bathroom sliver. Shower, tiny sink and composting toilet. We knew about the toilet, and there were two sets of identical instructions for that.

Everything was prettily decorated Ikea-style. With two adults and two English mastiffs, Living/Cooking was very crowded. We ended up bedding the dogs in the truck—a Transit Connect is a perfect size for two adults, two dogs, and all their stuff.

Errands were undertaken for the next two days: visit with the surgeon, visit with a close friend recovering from a serious illness, visit with two more friends over IPAs at one of our old haunts. The next day, visit with the escrow company to sign at the closing of the sale of our Tukwila house, and finally a visit to Uhaul.

Of course, there were a few items at the old house we wanted to grab, necessitating the trailer. We loaded those while the dogs roamed their old territory, but already they understood they didn’t live here anymore, and kept looking at us as if to ask can we leave now? Can we go home? After a late lunch at a pho shop we liked very much, we went back to the cubes, and watched reruns.

I knew things could be cooked in microwaves. Until this Seattle visit, we had only used ours for heating and defrosting. There was very good wireless, and I looked up some things. The husband was able to cook eggs, sausage and a steak in the micro. All quite edible.

We were never happier to leave a place as we were that one.

There were other issues, and even though the odds are against our hosts reading this blog, I won’t give details here. I did, however, relay thoughtful feedback to them.

And our new home in Albany, Oregon smelled clean and cheerful and the dogs looked at us as if to say it’s about time.

We agreed and took a nap.



About Jill Zeller

Author of numerous novels and short stories, Jill Zeller is a Left Coast writer, 2nd generation Californian, retired registered nurse, and obsessed gardener. She lives in Oregon with her patient husband, 2 silly English mastiffs and 2 rescue cats—the silliest of all. Her works explore the boundaries of reality. Some may call it fantasy, but there are rarely swords and never elves. More to the point, she prefers to write as if myth, imagination and hallucination are as real as the chair she is sitting on as she writes this. Jill Zeller also writes under the pseudonym Hunter Morrison

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