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Like the antique store, the restaurant in Collectibles On Cole has been open for more than a year. Marilyn Nelson, owner of the whole operation – that is, both the antique side and the cafe – ran the restaurant, with various cooks and servers, during the first few months.
Across the Auburn Highway from the Enumclaw Sales barn, on the southwest corner of the intersection of state Route 164 and 228th Avenue Southeast, there’s a stand of fir trees that’s known as the Farmers’ Picnic Grounds. At least that’s what old-timers call it.
Bonna Hanna and I have known one another for at least 35 years and yet, for whatever reason, we’ve never been especially close. One could say we’re casual acquaintances; that is, we always greet one another with a smile while passing through the colorful neon and multi-hued mirrors of one bar or another.
When I was in grad school (say around 1970), the Earth’s population stood at 3.5 billion. Today, it’s more than 7 billion. That would seem to be enough people.
In my younger days, I used to enjoy playing tennis and basketball. I suppose I still would, but haven’t played either for several years. Last time I shot a few hoops in Garrett Park, some young fellas – at least they were younger than 40 – walked on the court, so I had to leave. Either that, or make a fool of myself.
Hey, all you paranoid people out there, no need to be lonesome. Sometimes I also feel like I’m being watched.
As the man once said more than 40 years ago, "The Times They Are A-changin'."
I never met Gene Emry and knew absolutely nothing about the barbecue catering service he opened around 1955 behind Herald’s Restaurant and Lounge (currently, a strip mall). In fact, I didn’t even realize the business was there until the mid-1960s. In 1990, Gene sold his enterprise to Frank Mickelson and, in 2005, Frank sold to Gary Shaw, who operates the place today.
Well, I can’t remember the exact day or week it started, but it was sometime last September. Initially, it was a handful of unemployed college grads, parading down Wall Street carrying novel protest signs: “We’re the 99 percent,” “Can I get bailed out?” and “Do you feel it trickle down?”
When most Americans think of gambling in Nevada, they think of the tourist-oriented Strip in Las Vegas. With more than a dozen huge casino-resorts – some of the largest in the world – and their gaudy, colorful walls of neon, water ballets and spectacular streetside theater, there’s good reason for the Strip’s fame and popularity.
Well, class, it's time for a little anthropology, a subject that's always been close to my heart.
I had a great uncle, Sylvester Gaydeski, who died in 1970 at the age of 96. This, in and of itself, may not seem especially mind-boggling until you realize that when he was 10 or 11 years old, he migrated to this region via a covered wagon on the Oregon Trail.
So, I found myself sitting in the office of ophthalmologist Robert Tester, M.D., while he held a model of the human eye in his lap and clarified my rather foreboding situation. He said my vision was going to hell because I had cataracts.
Contrary to what you may suspect, some aspects of the Republican party used to appeal to me. On occasion, I even voted for Republican candidates, especially in state elections.
Well, just in case you haven’t heard, the world is coming to an end this year. It’s the Mayan calendar, you know. On the 21st of December – which the Mayans surely realized was the first day of winter because they were really into astronomy – their 2000-year-old calendar comes to an end. And various cults, religions and prophets of one type or another attach a great deal of significance to this.
Ten years ago, Aaron Brenner came to town and opened a bakery in the alley behind Vinnie’s Deli and the Village Shop. Today, both those businesses have folded, but the bakery is still going strong.
As any worthwhile linguist will tell you, our queen’s English is in a constant state of flux; that is, the meaning of words change, new words are invented and the spelling of words change.
Sunday evening, Hol-lywood once again salutes the movie industry and its accomplishments. Though the event isn’t quite as popular as it was a few years ago, we can safely predict it will still attract one of the largest audiences and highest Neilson ratings of 2012.
When I was a little kid the long, narrow building beside Suburban Soul and across Cole Street from the senior center used to be a garage and Goodrich tire shop that my uncle, Joe Semanski, owned and managed. I’ve discussed this business in previous columns and have no desire to describe it again. Suffice to say, it was the noisiest place I’d ever been in and the loud clang of sledgehammers against iron wheels actually hurt my young ears and may have caused nerve damage – a condition that, years later, was further aggravated by several rock concerts. (At this stage of my life, it’s a wonder I’m not stone deaf.) But mostly there was the irritating odor of burnt rubber. Indeed, that terrible smell is permanently etched into the deeper recesses of my reptilian mind.
The first time I met Les Stehr I thought he was a rather grumpy fellow and, at least on a superficial level, my first impressions were correct. (But, as bartender Tamara Dedmon points out, most of his gruffness was just show.)