So, just how hot was it? Residents of Florida, Texas, and other southern states may laugh, but the greater Seattle Area is ill-equipped to cope with temperatures that topped out at 96°. Nor could the poor Doubletree Hilton at SEATAC's air conditioning keep upper-floor hallways cool; those with glass-faced enclosures facing the sun reached fry-me-an-egg levels. At some hours of the day, the temperature in the elevator was ridiculous.
By show's close, Nelvin, a mouse-like finger puppet who has served as my synthetic spirit animal for over a decade, could no longer maintain lookout over the rearview mirror of my '94 Toyota Corolla. After three days of singeing his whiskers off in an uncovered parking lot, Nelvin was so desperate that he made a nose-dive for my drinking water cup. The poor creature barely survived.
Thankfully, with the help of my car's antiquated air conditioning system, I had cooled off just enough to exhale oxygen rather than fire. Applying artificial resuscitation—I moved as fast as I shift to the "mute" button when near-deafening high-pitched squeals, caused by mousy electronics, threaten to burn up my tweeters—Nelvin came back to life. As I approached the ferry back to the Olympic Peninsula and Port Townsend, he returned to his rightful position beside the wise Owl who knows far more than you or I. He may have needed a little fluffing up—for this we married a hair stylist—but his spirit remains as strong as ever.
We were the last car onto the Bainbridge Island Ferry before they pulled up the plank. Please enjoy our view as we bid Seattle goodbye and marveled once again at the beauties of Mt. Rainier.
By show's close, Nelvin, a mouse-like finger puppet who has served as my synthetic spirit animal for over a decade, could no longer maintain lookout over the rearview mirror of my '94 Toyota Corolla. After three days of singeing his whiskers off in an uncovered parking lot, Nelvin was so desperate that he made a nose-dive for my drinking water cup. The poor creature barely survived.
Thankfully, with the help of my car's antiquated air conditioning system, I had cooled off just enough to exhale oxygen rather than fire. Applying artificial resuscitation—I moved as fast as I shift to the "mute" button when near-deafening high-pitched squeals, caused by mousy electronics, threaten to burn up my tweeters—Nelvin came back to life. As I approached the ferry back to the Olympic Peninsula and Port Townsend, he returned to his rightful position beside the wise Owl who knows far more than you or I. He may have needed a little fluffing up—for this we married a hair stylist—but his spirit remains as strong as ever.
