The process whereby people, in various societies of the world, select a husband or wife has gone through a major revolution in relatively recent years. Noting important exceptions, like the Muslim culture and areas of Africa and the Far East, it’s a worldwide revolution that, to a large extent, originated in the U.S. and then spread to other countries. At least in this respect, one can say America was the cutting edge. Our influence has changed the world’s social and sexual norms more in the past 50 years than they’ve changed at any other time in the past 10,000 years.
Monkey Rides didn’t last long. The shop might have worked in some districts of Seattle – again, Belltown – but not in a suburban community like ours. The building stood empty for several months.
Now I’m happy to report the place has been extensively remodeled, to say the least, and has opened as a restaurant.
It was early June 1776 and a group of elected representatives from up and down the Eastern Seaboard gathered in the Philadelphia Colonial Capital building – later to be known as Independence Hall and immortalized on the back of our $100 bill – for the express purpose of deciding whether they should declare war on England. They were, of course, all males because in those early days men were simply assumed, without any question, to be far more skilled in the “dirty” business of forging a nation.
Today I find myself in a philosophical mood. When this has happened in the past, it’s frequently resulted in a philosophical column. This is no exception.
Traditionally, June is the month for weddings. Most marriages are conducted in a church. But during the past 30 years, an increasing number of nuptials are defying custom and are taking place outdoors.
You may not know Ann and Toby Larson unless you spend an occasional afternoon haunting the Lee lounge, in which case you probably know them quite well. And, if that’s the case, you might have played the pull tabs with them. Or joined them in the football pool. Perhaps the state lottery?
You see, the Larsons are gamblin’ fools.
Well, if you go back far enough, there was a stable and/or blacksmith shop at the corner of Cole Street and Initial Avenue. Then along came retired flight attendant, Marilyn Nelson. She bought the building and planned to open another antique mall after, she said, “a little remodeling,” which was a slight understatement to be sure.
Today I’d like to address the younger set, if any of them happen to read these columns. Say, those men and women younger than 25 years of age.
Just in case you didn’t know – like, you’ve been living in a cave or something – we have a new hospital.
There’s a painting by an artist whose name escapes me, if I ever knew it, that depicts Christ floating above…
In the next few days, Enumclaw’s Radio Shack will close its doors. Permanently.
And there you are. Another vacant building on Cole Street.
Craig Gammon has been managing the business for the past 17 years. Most of you probably don’t know him in that capacity because you’ve never been in the store, which is precisely why the place is closing.
A couple of days ago, I was treated to the damnedest collection of taste sensations I’ve experienced in a long time. As mentioned in one of these columns a few weeks ago, I’ve experimented with a wide variety of wines and refined my preference accordingly, but I was completely unprepared for the vino I stumbled across that particular afternoon.
Diane Mills is the stepdaughter of Les Stehr, who has owned the Lee Restaurant and Lounge for the past 35 years, give or take a few days. Now, she owns the place.
