Smell Fake

Ann got up early to watch the women's French Open Final. Ann never gets up early unless she has an appointment, but tennis for Ann is an appointment. "The French Open feels like summer," she said to me from her bundled position on the couch. I'm not sure if it's because Ann's mother is French that she feels this marks summer or the city of Paris in the background of the wide shots makes it feel like summer, but it sure as hell doesn't feel like summer to me.

I'm cold. Yesterday morning when I walked the dog in yet another rainstorm I was so cold I shivered. I wore my down vest all through work on Friday and still didn't feel adequately warm. When I took the dog out for a walk this morning, I was pleasantly surprised that the rain had stopped, but the sky was still ominously gray and the wind offered up yet another kind of chill -- the wet-air, damp kind of chill of October.

Summer has gotten lost, I thought to myself as Rubin nudged me toward the park, it's stuck on the other side of the world without a compass.

When we got to the park, the plan was to walk our usual loop through then up and over the big hill, but romping on the wide open field was Ginger, a German short-haired pointer and an enormous boxer we'd never meant before. Ginger is talkative and playful and despite her 9 years of age, she loves to chase Rubin. I was uncertain about the boxer, but as he approached I heard his owner yell out, "Ya'll just relax, Jimmy!"

Jimmy was huge. Jimmy was thick. Jimmy was so thick and huge he looked more like a cow than a dog, but Jimmy was also a pushover -- very relaxed and very gentle. Rubin was in heaven especially when I released him from his leash. Rubin chased the ball, Ginger chased Rubin, and Jimmy galloped around the field like an elephant.

Jimmy's owner just arrived from Texas -- Dallas to be exact and in the span of 30 minutes, Ginger's owner and I heard her story. Married now divorced, she had no idea she'd live in Seattle. "Honey, I am from the deep south and this here ain't no place I thought I'd be livin'." She sold her house in Dallas and bought a condo up here in the Northwest..."on that hill where all those cute gay boys live."

Her husband was a lying, cheating pig and she knew she needed a change, a "big, fat change" and when she read about Seattle on the internet, it looked like just the place. When I heard her say "big, fat change" I thought she was referring to the purchase of her dog, but what she meant, after further interrogation by Ginger's owner (one of the cute gay boys who live on the hill) was "something green and clean and fresh."

"Too bad the weather's been so lousy," I offered.

"Honey," she oozed, "I'll take this any day over 110 degrees in January."

"How'd you end up at this park," Ginger's owner asked. "It's quite a journey from Capitol Hill."

"Oh, I've been driving myself all over this city checking out every green park I can find. This is by far the best yet and there ain't nobody ever here."

"Not a lot of people venture to the Central District," I confirmed.

"Why's that?" she squealed. "I don't see nothin' wrong with it?"

"It's kind of a high crime area," offered Ginger's owner. "It's kind of gentrifying, but it's slow going and not many people think to come here for a park."

"Shoot, they're fools then, ain't they." We laughed. I've lived in many places all over the city and there are few parks I like more than this one and one even farther south.

"So, you like it here in Seattle?" I asked.

"Hell yes," she answered without hesitation.

"A lot of people who come here from other parts of the country find Seattlites to be cold and unwelcoming," I said.

"You know what I think, honey?" The dogs did a fly by through our knees and back around the soccer goal at our end of the field and then sped off after each other smiling. "I think ya'll can smell fake a mile a way. Lots of phony people smell like fake. Ya'll's real, is what ya is and ain't a lot of folk who can take real. I can take. I can take it real good."

A silence followed. We didn't look at each other, we just watched the dogs frolic and play.

"And it's so much cheaper to live here," she added.

"You think so?" Ginger's owner asked.

"Hell yes! I walked into my new condo and asked the Realtor where the air conditioner was. He said there wasn't any and all I thought was 'thank god, that'll save me $400!"

I had to walk home then. After the French Open Ann did have her first massage appointment scheduled to help heal her torn rotator cuff. She's hesitant to drive so it's up to me to taxi her around for the weekend. I walked Jimmy and his owner to their car and then headed home. The rain started. Not a heavy rain, but a misty spray and I thought that living in Seattle was a lot like living in the Arctic. The Inuit have many words for snow. We have many names for rain.

To the west, a sucker hole of blue winked at me and I saw summer waving. She's still off in the distance, but even in the misty wetness I could smell her and she smelled real -- green, clean, and fresh.

Hell yes this rain is good for something, I thought. We can smell fake a mile away.