People watching atop the Space Needle . . .

People watching is always a theatrical experience . . . People watching atop the Space Needle is a theatre in the round with an ever-changing cast and fluid scene scapes . . .

Arthur, at the wine bar, has been busily serving, smiling, directing and educating all afternoon and into the evening. His once bustling circular bar is now reflecting the soft mood lighting as he carefully and thoroughly wipes down its surface, ending the day and readying it for tomorrow’s repeat performance . . .

Several pods of rowdy teens from NYC circle the o deck in alternating patterns. Their laughter and loud conversations are only interrupted for a moment when they look up at the visibly slanted roof and ask how they can get UP to the restaurant above so they can see it move . . . Though in reality the restaurant is below the o deck . . .

A young couple with touring packs on their backs, silently read the 18’ long history board of the needle’s humble beginning, from a concept drawn on a napkin, to the completion of the structure and beyond. They take in each word studiously and with a reverence that is lacked by those who quickly pass them by . . .

Differing sizes of colorful screens face those who attempt to capture a moment in time and their personal history with a variety of cameras and cell phones . . .

With the last remnants of today’s sunset finally gone, lovers both young and old linger by the railing soaking in a final embrace, sharing a memorable kiss before they make their way back inside . . .

Little ones with fingers placed in their mouths, use their other fingers to point to the twinkling lights of the city as they begin to dot the buildings in the twilight sky . . .

All shapes and sizes, who stand in line waiting for their elevator coach ride back down to the city floor, share their day’s memories as they look back through the digital images on their electronic handhelds . . .

A visiting 4 generation family gathers together for a group hug. Their departure leaves behind only scattered chairs round a table adorned with empty Starbucks cups . . .

A banquet of older folks now make their way around the inner deck, looking out across the water. Dressed in their finest, their gowns and suits are punctuated by large white sticky rectangles trimmed in red, with their names proudly displayed for all to read . . .

A cascade of Mylar balloons happen by bearing the salutation “Happy Birthday“. Their handler -- concealed by their number and bulk . . .

Swinging her socked feet happily, a baby contented on her mother’s lap, quietly takes in the sparkle of the view outside the window by which they sit . . .

As the night sky quickens its pace, turning it's color from hues of blue to misty black, bright flashes begin to pulse steadily on the outer deck, lighting faces of loved ones before a backdrop of the Seattle skyline . . .

Two young brothers, with neatly cropped hair, sit side by side in tall chairs directly facing a window. The unison of their matching pants and jackets are only surpassed by their synchronized sipping of their hot chocolate . . .

A gray headed gentleman leans in to within inches of the inner wall, to view the drawings and photos hanging there . . .

The baristas work feverishly together to serve the lengthening line at the snack bar and espresso counter. Short hand for latte lingo is quickly scribbled down the side of empty cups by one before they are passed to the other who busily pushes down a symphony of pumps, like keys on a pipe organ, that help create the individualized beverages . . .

A solo worker makes her way in a clockwise path ‘round the o deck with her broom and dustpan. Little flicks of her right wrist create a little rift sound with the broom as she sweeps up tiny droppings of straw papers, ticket stubs and banana bread crumbs. Her task is only interrupted by an occasional straightening of a chair or table . . .

With the noise quieting itself, whispers of conversations shared by intimate groups of people huddled around the small circular tables, can now be heard. With their feet gratefully propped up on the bottom runs of the bar stool high chairs, people share intently what is currently on their minds and in their hearts . . .

The bright red hair of a woman, reflects the glow of each spotlight she walks under in her search for her family members . . .

As he fills his elevator to capacity, the young man assures those left behind the black nylon stanchions, that he will be right back to get them. More gather in the line, and when he returns, the twinkle in his brown eyes and smile surrounded by his thickly sculpted auburn beard, give no hint of the tiredness he feels in his body, or the length of his up and down day . . .

Raindrops have just begun to dot the window panes, and ride on the shoulders of those who brave the outer deck at this late hour. The rain may dampen their clothes, but their enthusiasm for their experience remains unweathered . . .

People watching atop the Space Needle . . . A wonderful theatrical experience that raises oneself above the daily grind, and gives the soul a chance to breathe in the fresh air of renewal . . .

Family Communion . . .

Family Communion . . .

Communion is celebrated in many different ways throughout the world. In Daddy’s church, we celebrated communion in different ways depending on the time of year or special event. Communion was always a solemn time, as it symbolized the taking and eating of bread, Christ’s body and the drinking of wine, Christ’s blood. Daddy never wanted anyone to forget this or take for granted the gift Christ gives of himself, so he often came up with unique ways to present communion to our church family. One of my very favorites happened the week before Easter Sunday . . .

In the front of the church, at the altar’s edge, Daddy set up a long table from one of the Sunday School rooms. It was rectangle in shape, and it’s two legs folded out, one at each end. A metal click echoed in the sanctuary when the braces were in just the right spot to hold the table sturdily. Once the table was in it’s proper place, Daddy then covered it with layers of white draping that covered ½ of the top of the table and hung down the sides till it puddled ever so slightly on the floor. This was done till all 4 sides were covered completely. Then Daddy would spread out the special table cloths that were used in every communion to cover the top of the table with a heavy white embroidered cloth. Momma had washed, bleached, and ironed the cloths so they would look their very best.

Daddy then began to add folding chairs around 3 sides of the table, leaving the front side clear so as to be able to be viewed and admired as people walked down the aisle. There were 13 chairs in all. In the very center chair on the back side of the table, Daddy placed a large painting that someone had painted of how they believed Jesus looked. Daddy knew that Jesus was truly with us in our hearts, but he wanted to do something to help people remember this. The church lights were turned off except for just a couple of soft spotlights that shown down and lighted the table. On the table in the very center was placed a loaf of bread that had no cuts in it, and a metal goblet just to it’s right.

As I would stand back and admire the effect, I began to realize what Daddy was trying to create . . . It looked like the painting of the Last Supper, when Jesus celebrated Passover with his Disciples just before his Crucifixion. Candles were lit behind on the wooden communion table that always sat in the sanctuary in front of the pulpit, as well as on the front edge of both the piano and organ. It was so very beautiful, I could hardly breathe when I looked at it. Daddy would then ask me, “how does it look Debbie?” and all I could do was to shake my head yes, as I never could find the words that my heart was feeling at the sight.

Daddy then took me by the hand and led me into his office where he would let me help him prepare the communion trays. Every part of the trays and the little glasses had to shine perfectly. The silver trays had been washed and dried, and polished till they sparkled even in the dimmest light. Daddy gave me two soft cloths and I would hold a little glass with one in my left hand, and with my right I would push the cloth down into the bottom of each glass to make sure it was perfectly dry and had no spots. Then each glass was placed in one of the holes in the communion tray till each layer was completely filled. Lastly Daddy put the top on that sloped up to a point in the middle where a little cross stood all alone. Then we took special cloths and rubbed the two little flat trays till they shown just as brightly as the others. Daddy wrapped them in small heavy cloths made from the same material the table cloths had been made, to keep them from getting fingerprints on them.

Daddy carried the tall communion tray and I followed him caring the two little wrapped trays. He arranged them on the wooden communion table. The church people who were Daddy’s communion helpers then came in and I had to go back home. I always wanted to stay, but Daddy said that I had to wait and come with our family.

Each church family had signed up for a time to come and have communion together. There were so many that this special communion happened for three nights.

But before she took me home, Momma let me peek through a side door to see what happened . . .

When a family came in, they were greeted in the foyer by one of the communion helpers. The sanctuary doors were then opened for them, and they walked together down the center aisle to the table that had been set for them. Daddy stood at the right side of the Jesus painting and his second helper stood to the left side of the wooden communion table with his hands neatly folded. Two ladies also helped Daddy. One stayed off to the left side of the sanctuary. She was the one who tended to the bread and juice in-between each communion served, and the other sat at the organ playing softly hymns who’s well know words would run through everyone’s minds as they listened to the notes.

Daddy greeted the family and began to tell them the familiar story of Jesus and his disciples . . . How they gathered together, and how Jesus blessed the wine and blessed the bread, telling them to take and eat and to drink and to do it in remembrance of Him. As Daddy continued the story, he would tell it as if no one had ever heard it before with such a reverent joy that was so different you almost felt yourself back in time in the upper room. Before the family would leave Daddy would then pray over them asking God’s blessing and a special touch on each one. The family would then rise, and leave together, and though they walked the same aisle back, they always seemed to hold one another closer on their way out.

Once the family had gone through the doors, Daddy and his helpers would set everything up fresh and new for the next family.

Our family came together on the last night. Daddy greeted us at the sanctuary doors and walked with us down the center aisle. Daddy’s helpers greeted us and helped us to be situated. I always wanted to sit between Daddy and Jesus’ picture. Daddy sat with us and told us the story, and how that Jesus loved us each so very much, that even if we were the only ones, He would have still given his life for us, so that we would one day live forever with Him in heaven.

The helpers served us the bread and the juice and bowed their heads when Daddy began to pray over our family. He prayed for each of us individually and together as one. Daddy thanked God for leading our family, and prayed that He would give Daddy the guidance to be the Husband, Father, and Pastor that God wanted him to be. There was such a warmth in the air surrounding us that I never wanted that moment to end.

We’ve since all gone our separate ways . . . Making our own families and life decisions . . . And Daddy has since gone on to be with Jesus in Heaven. Still I remember that special time, the communion shared, the prayers said, and know that the same God that placed his hand on our family then, is still on the throne and His love for each of us is still as strong and true.

My Space Needle View . . .

. . . Up above the city, gazing out the window across the waters to the islands on the other side I am reminded of a large table that little old ladies would gather round with mounds of textiles.

Their movement of the fabrics pushed some up into little ranges of hills, while their smoothing out of others across the table created a sea for everyone to admire, touch and consider for the quilt to be created.

Like the ever changing weather fronts and times of day, no two quiltings were ever the same . . .

Today, Nature's quilt of  Puget Sound and the surrounding area is all in blues, grays, dull silvers, creams, and greens with little prints of bright dots and little box houses. The quilt is named twilight under the weather front. There is constant movement giving a bit of an uneasy feeling, yet the whole, when gathered about oneself, can give a deep and enveloping comfort.

Tucking in for the night . . .

. . . Ships in the harbor are nestling together tonight, their tall proud sales pulled down and wrapped around the decks of their ship as if to help keep the vessel warm in the biting cold of the autumn’s night. Huddling together as if to keep the cold out, here and there a flicker of light peeps through a glass pane signaling anyone who cares to cast a gaze their way that life continues on . . . and though braced for the storm heading in slowly from over the horizon, the spirit of those sailors will not diminish or give way to abandonment of all that they hold most dear to their hearts. Larger vessels are tendered further out from shore creating a loose outer hedge for the harbor, and the sight leaves me wondering what each ship holds . . .who abides there . . . and what are their thoughts as they look back my way . . .