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tristin pagenkopf

From the Heart of Rainier Valley: A Gray Day in August, White Buckets, the Red Button

August 29, 2009

in Arts/Living,Guest Columns

Plain-White-Bucket-LR2By Tristin Pagenkopf

Summer is as busy and slow as only summer can be. The days are long, sunny and dry. The grass turns yellow, then brown. Even the dandelions give up their march for a few weeks.  Neighbors come out and visit. The sky turns a fantastic shade of pink and then purple at twilight, even as everything is lit up with a yellow glow. Even on days that are gray and quiet, there are moments in the early evening so magical that I wish they would last forever.

I try to keep our shrubs from withering by marching my 5-gallon buckets around the yard with the hose, even as I spy Ralph itching to come over and show me how to use a sprinkler.  For those who wonder about the white buckets, my mother (an experienced and occasionally bossy master gardener) taught me that a 5-gallon bucket with a few 1/8” diameter holes in the bottom, filled up once or twice a week for the first three summers make those new plants “root ready” to be drought tolerant.

Of course, it’s wise to choose plants that aren’t water hogs to begin with. She helps me with that too, sliding in a regular lecture about the hydrangea. As in “it’s got ‘hydro” right in the name – what did you expect!? Of course it’s a water hog…” But some things are worth the work.

Our musician neighbors practice early on weekdays for their weekend gigs. Anything from Alice Cooper and Dire Straits, to open jazz and blues sessions. Towards evening, the amplifier is disconnected but the guitars continue to play. Snippets of conversation drift across the driveway. Between them and the Tuesday evening church services, I feel we’re surrounded by music and song.  People making music are powerful.

Mrs. Folino calls a couple a times a day. My husband refuses to answer the phone anymore. She’s working on getting the curb in front of her house designated a blue handicapped-only parking space so that her neighbor will stop parking in front of her house. I remind her that it’s a public street, but it’s a small battle she’s determined to win. To do it, even though she doesn’t know how to drive, she’s working on getting her blue ADA sticker from the state. This has been going on for weeks.  I have no doubt that she’ll succeed.

My family rode the light rail to a house-warming party last Saturday from Othello to the Beacon Hill station.  The train was pretty full, and so we attempted to flip down one of the wheelchair seats. That red button next to the lever – it had to do something with the seat, right?

Oh no, we learned it has nothing to do with operating the seat, and everything to do with talking to the conductor. If you’re in trouble, push the red button and a disembodied voice will ask about your troubles. We spluttered our mistake and sat down red-faced. It was a quiet ride otherwise, ending with the elevator ride at Beacon Hill with the security guard escort. I was surprised at that, since there was no obvious security at Othello. North Beacon Hill seems closer to us now. I just wish the ride was cheaper!

“From the heart of Rainier Valley” is written by Tristin Pagenkopf, one of the last of the blue-light specials, born just off of Rainier Avenue back in 1968. She has a day job. Sometimes she teaches. She’s married to a foreigner. They live in a house in Hillman City that’s seen better days, and they count themselves lucky to live in a fascinating, beautiful neighborhood filled with interesting people and a rich history, which is what she shares with RVP readers on a semi-regular basis.

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From the Heart of Rainier Valley: Good Fences Make Good Neighbors, Christmas Carols in July

July 9, 2009

in Arts/Living,Guest Columns

fences-0011

By Tristin Pagenkopf

I confess that I’ve been a very cranky person of late. My grandma would have come right out and called me a “picklepuss” and told me to straighten up. There’s no excuse for it. I’m beginning to think being under-employed is worse than being un-employed. At least you can say you don’t have a job. Anyhow, my biggest thorn is my neighbor.

Mr. Neighbor has been driving up our driveway to park in his front yard. He does this at high speed, barreling off the street like a maniac. He must think that if he goes fast enough no one will notice. And he probably thinks he’s entitled, since we have two driveways and he has none. Unfortunately, it already irritates me that people think this driveway is the turnaround for the neighborhood. (Public service message for all you drivers:  Just go around the block.)

Now you might be thinking, what’s the big deal? Until I owned such a popular driveway, I would have asked that question myself. For us, the issue is safety. Our toddler is a speedy little creature, and while we do our best to keep him within 10-feet of us, occasionally he makes a break for it. Luckily, most times he heads for the back of the house.

The funny thing is, we totally signed up to share a driveway when we bought this house. Just not this driveway. Our yard is a Rainier Valley classic, complete with a paved  backyard  and driveways on both sides of the house that connect in back. Slowly we’re excavating this urban hardscape to install raised garden beds, but it is heavy, expensive work to recycle asphalt.

Which brings me to Mr. Neighbor irritation No. 2.  I met with a fence company a couple of weeks ago, and this same gentleman decided that was the perfect time to come out and start instructing me (stupid woman) on how to put up a string-line so that he could “approve” a fence location – a perfectly reasonable request.

Except that we’d already done it, and Mr. Neighbor’s gardener had taken it upon himself to not only cut and remove the string-line in order to get his lawnmower from our driveway to my neighbor’s  yard, he went and pulled out the stakes and tossed them in the hedge. So despite our financial situation, we’re borrowing money to build a fence. And no, it won’t be chainlink.

Thankfully, it’s not all pesky irritations. Some days it’s downright silly. For instance, the other day you might have heard the ice cream truck playing “We wish you a Merry Christmas”, which made us giggle all through dinner. I could be wrong, but I picture a fresh-off-the-boat immigrant merrily playing Christmas carols in July, completely unaware that his mixed tape belongs to December. Either that or he’s trying to remind us of this past wretched winter. Which is also funny to think back on now that its summertime.

“From the heart of Rainier Valley” is written by Tristin Pagenkopf, one of the last of the blue-light specials, born just off of Rainier Avenue back in 1968. She has a day job. Sometimes she teaches. She’s married to a foreigner. They live in a house in Hillman City that’s seen better days, and they count themselves lucky to live in a fascinating, beautiful neighborhood filled with interesting people and a rich history, which is what she shares with RVP readers on a semi-regular basis.

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From the Heart of Rainier Valley: Letter From the Mayor, Tea Fit for an Englishman, Tuesday Night Gospel Hour

June 3, 2009

in Arts/Living

teacup“From the heart of Rainier Valley” is from Tristin Pagenkopf, one of the last of the blue-light specials, born just off of Rainier Avenue back in 1968. She has a day job. Sometimes she teaches. She’s married to a foreigner. They live in a house in Hillman City that’s seen better days, and they count themselves lucky to live in a fascinating, beautiful neighborhood filled with interesting people and a rich history, which is what she shares with RVP readers on a semi-regular basis.

Today I have a letter from the mayor’s office sitting on my placemat.  My name is spelled wrong, but it’s definitely addressed to me.  While I write a lot of letters, I don’t expect answers.  Not answers that actually say anything.  So this letter may sit unopened for quite a while.  My letters to public people like the mayor, or the CEO of Safeway, are mostly about how things could be different, sometimes about how things aren’t fair, and generally, include suggestions about how to help us live a better life.  My voice is only one of many, but I was taught young that every voice counts, especially if you want change.

We had our first visitors this past month, English in-laws by way of Canada.  The whole visit was a blur.  I have a rule with this branch of family.  I will only take on five things in any one day, including breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  They think I’m joking – good God woman, you can easily do so much more – and invariably plan impossible itineraries, like baking scones from scratch for breakfast , then driving around Mt. Rainier after  looking at every single plane at the Museum of Flight.  All in a single day.

Anyhow, one morning I had to go into the office, and I left sketchy instructions about where the tea pot was along with the tea.  Apparently my box of Harrods tea was not good enough for these northern English folks, because my father-in-law decided to strike out on his own.  Keep in mind that we live on the south end of Hillman City, smack dab in the middle of Rainier Valley.  I myself have not been into every shop near our house, not having need of halal supplies, or any desire for bubble tea.

But to my father-in-law, it looked just like home.  He went straightaway to the little shop next to Mawadda Café (Mustqua (spelling?) Express).  And get this, he found exactly what he was looking for – PG Tips, loose leaf, and a quart of milk.  He also let me know that they have the curry mixes he’s familiar with from home.  Half a block from our house, half a world from his home.  I was truly  surprised.  Take that, WalkScore!  You give us a measly 57 because you don’t recognize anything on our block as existing if it’s not listed in the phone book.

And finally, tonight is Tuesday, so the gospel church across the way is rocking out.  I can see my neighbor Ralph pacing in his kitchen.  It’s pushing 85 degrees inside even with all the windows and doors open, and I confess that it’s too hot for me.  But to sit on the front porch and hear those voices lifted in song, accompanied by a drum set, is a genuine treat.  The deep base tones of the preacher, the swell of the choir, and the rhythm of the service brings me peace.  And as of yet, I have not heard a single siren.

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From the Heart of Rainier Valley: Eggs on the Doorstep, Jazz Next Door, Mrs Folino Goes for a Walk

April 17, 2009

in Arts/Living

3-30-003“From the heart of Rainier Valley” is from Tristin Pagenkopf, one of the last of the blue-light specials, born just off of Rainier Avenue back in 1968. She has a day job. Sometimes she teaches. She’s married to a foreigner. They live in a house in Hillman City that’s seen better days, and they count themselves lucky to live in a fascinating, beautiful neighborhood filled with interesting people and a rich history, which is what she shares with RVP readers on a semi-regular basis.

When I was a kid, we used to get milk from The Smith Brothers delivered to our doorstep. We’d pick up eggs on the way home from church from a road-side stand. This week, someone I have yet to meet in person left fresh eggs on our front porch. Right here in the city. This simple, generous gift took me back to summers in my grandmother’s kitchen. My family feasted on omelets that night, and we pretended we were living in the French village where my parents briefly lived. Moments like this remind me that there is nothing ordinary about this valley we live in.

Our next door neighbors, the ones I first thought were simply renting due to the condition of their house paint, are now familiar to me as gifted musicians. Last night, now that it is warm enough to leave a window or door open, we were treated to a two hour jazz concert as they rehearsed for a gig over in Chelan. Rehearsal is really too crude a word for the music they made.

Michael is a born and raised Rainier Valley gentleman. Most days I envy his calm demeanor and lack of concern for much beyond keeping his big leaf maples under control. I worry when I see his ladder out, and big branches lying in the yard. He’s not one you would expect to own power tools. Some days I’m sure he’s stoned, walking slowly up and down our shared driveway with Alice the Dalmatian. He looks far younger than he is, but he does have a daughter in college. And Sylvia, his wife, has the voice of an angel. To hear her laugh is to know uncommon, pure joy. When she sings, I’m left speechless and touched to the core. How unexpected they both are…

Finally, I have to tell you about the morning Mrs. Folino decided to go for a walk instead of waiting for her ride. It was a couple of weeks ago on Palm Sunday. We had talked at least six times about how I would pick her up and take her to St. Edwards for mass. I confirmed the night before. What I neglected to do was synchronize our clocks.

The morning came, and I went to pick her up. I was 15 minutes early so I drove around the block. Finally, I parked and went to her door, rang the doorbell. Nothing. I tried again (and again).

Lois, a concerned neighbor, came across the street in her bathrobe to find out what was happening. Between us, we called 911 and every hospital in town. Nothing.

The heroic paramedics from Fire Station 28 came and went inside. I had visions of things you just don’t want to think about on a quiet, Sunday morning. They came out and said “She’s not there.” Not home. She was gone. It turns out that they know her from her visits to the firehouse to check her blood pressure. So I went home. Lois called later to let me know that three different police cars had also cruised by.

A couple of hours went by.  I was so worried that I managed to plant all my seeds, and dig up every weed in the garden.

Where could she be?

The phone finally rang, and here’s the best part – I got a stern talking to by my favorite elderly neighbor for not picking her up. She had decided to walk to church. That’s right, I got chewed out for being late. I tried to explain that I had been early, but she wouldn’t hear it.

Finally, I asked her what time she had, and it became clear that Mrs. Folino lives her life 20 minutes in advance of the rest of us. And she had left about five minutes before I’d arrived.

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From the Heart of Rainier Valley: South-End Drive #1, Spring Blooms

March 19, 2009

in Arts/Living,Opinion

daffodils-002“From the heart of Rainier Valley” is from Tristin Pagenkopf, one of the last of the blue-light specials, born just off of Rainier Avenue back in 1968. She has a day job. Sometimes she teaches. She’s married to a foreigner. They live in a house in Hillman City that’s seen better days, and they count themselves lucky to live in a fascinating, beautiful neighborhood filled with interesting people and a rich history, which is what she shares with RVP readers on a semi-regular basis.

Since the economy tanked, I am under-employed.  I know I’m not the only one. With the extra time, not much money, and nowhere to go (one does not just stop with a toddler in tow), I have traveled many winding routes through our southern neighborhoods.

Here’s my favorite, perfected with the help of my custom-print Kroll map from the Pike Place Market (a cheap thrill).  It’s based on the idea that sometimes the best things in life (or your neighborhood) are nearby, just out of sight.  Kind of like the announcement on the airplane that the closest exit may be behind you.

Part One, Little Saigon/ID: After an espresso at Zeitgeist Coffee near King Street Station, drive east on Jackson Street.  Follow it through all the way to the end, up and down the hills.  CAYA has just finished their new building, and it looks great.  So much new development near the Pratt Fine Arts Center is heartening to see.

Part Two, Mt Baker: Go south onto 31st Avenue S until S. McClellan Street.  I love this stretch of houses and shops, with its peekaboo views of Lake Washington and the downtown skyline. The modest front yards include a lot of lovely gardens with blooming daffodils.  At McClellan, turn east, continuing straight at the intersection with Mt. Baker Blvd.  The magnolias are in bloom already, while down in Hillman City they are still a week away.  Follow the road south, then turn east at the stop sign onto S Hanford Street, just short of Hunter Boulevard.  Take the next south turn onto Sierra Drive S, and this will lead you down a winding one-way lane right onto S Horton, which will split and take you down to Lake Washington Blvd.

Part Three, Lakewood/ Seward Park: Follow along Lake Washington Blvd, past the hydroplane pits, shell house, and Genesee Park, with Seward Park out in front of you.  No matter the weather, the view of open water brings me peace.  Turn south onto 50th Avenue S.  Go past the BothWays Café, Lakewood playground and clubhouse, and the PCC.  Continue on Wilson Ave S.  Keep heading south as the road turns into Seward Park Ave S.  Catch a view of Mt. Rainier.

Part Four, Othello: Turn west on S Othello Street, crossing Rainier Ave S.  Pass the Othello Playground.  As you pass 44th Ave S, note that it is a straight line connecting Genesee Park and the hydroplane pits to Othello Playground.  Check out the Dancing Ladies at the southeast corner of the light rail station.  While sitting at the light, look north by the Citadel and see if the chicken truck is parked at the dead-end.  Seriously, where else in Seattle can you buy a live chicken from a truck?  If you need more coffee, head west across MLK two blocks to the ever friendly Kwik Cup.  Otherwise, turn north on MLK.

Part Five, Brighton/Hillman City: Go north on MLK.  This stretch of road has such variety, from tiny restaurants/shops to houses to fake palm trees and public art, from the holy (churches and temples) to banal (gas stations, U-Haul, McDonald’s, Starbucks), to old school (Western Donuts just north of Graham).  Take it slow, and turn east on S. Graham Street, passing Aki Kurose Middle School on the way to the spices at Mawadda Café, just short of Rainier Ave.

Voila, that’s it. One of my favorite South End drives.

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Trains, Traffic & Kids = Accident Waiting to Happen at MLK & Graham (Letter to SDOT)

March 17, 2009

in Opinion,Traffic Alert

mlkatgraham

From Hillman City neighbor Tristin Pagenkopf:

I’m very worried about the intersection on Martin Luther King Way South at South Graham Street when the trains start running regularly. Due to the location of both the McDonalds drive-through (southwest corner), and the Viet Wah supermarket (northeast corner), traffic on South Graham Street gets backed up regularly from both directions into the intersection. This is due to left turning vehicles on Graham trying to get across multiple lanes of traffic.

I’m fairly vigilant about this situation, and have still been caught on the tracks with nowhere to go. MLK is so wide, by the time you know someone is blocking the road, it is too late to stop before entering the intersection.

Is there anyway to install some kind of curb divider on Graham to keep people from turning left, either into or out of these properties?  Even though the signs are up, they get knocked over regularly by semi-tractor trailers entering the Viet-Wah, and are ignored outright by most of the drivers exiting both properties.  Combine this with a whole lot of kids walking to school at Aki Kurose, and it’s an ugly accident waiting to happen.

We’re all very excited to get the trains running.  I just don’t want a tragedy to come along with them.

There is a significantly increased police presence along the Martin Luther King Jr. Way light rail corridor as Sound Transit starts testing trains in the Rainier Valley. Photo/do communications, inc.

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From the Heart of RV: Chinese New Year, Bullet Holes, Cigar-Smoking Grandma

February 8, 2009

in Arts/Living,Opinion

“From the heart of Rainier Valley” is from Tristin Pagenkopf, one of the last of the blue-light specials, born just off of Rainier Avenue back in 1968. She has a day job. Sometimes she teaches. She’s married to a foreigner. They live in a house in Hillman City that’s seen better days, but they count themselves lucky to live in a fascinating, beautiful neighborhood filled with interesting people and a rich history, which is what she plans to share with RVP readers on a semi-regular basis. Email her here. In the meantime, enjoy her next column:

In case you missed it, last weekend was the celebration of Chinese New Year, complete with clouds of blue smoke and thousands of popping firecrackers. For once, I remembered and didn’t dial 911.

A group of us had spent the previous Sunday at the Joy Palace on MLK for dim sum. I remember looking around the two tables and taking heart at the variety of people collected there. Our only agenda was to eat and enjoy one another’s company. There we were, white, black, Chinese, Filipino, gay, straight, married, divorced, single, old and young, sitting in the back of a Chinese restaurant.

We were there to celebrate the lunar holiday, and remind our friend Ching that she is very important to us. After giving 13 years to a downtown firm, she had been escorted to the elevator and sent to join the ranks of the unemployed.

Ching will say memorable things like “I was eating seaweed in my car,” and then offer you a stick of gum. Always surprising, she’s a true friend.

She lives in the Central District, and last year she had her kitchen window shot out by a stray bullet. I mention it only to tie her life to ours in the south end. We have a basement window with a bullet hole in it. Ours is an old wound, from at least a decade or so ago. The previous owner didn’t fix the hole, instead she built a wall in front of the window, shutting out the light. Every time I do laundry, I think about that hole and everything it represents.

Mostly I’m a shy person, not given to talking to people I don’t know. But I think it is important these days to do just that, get outside and greet my neighbors. Or just nod, smile, and give a wave.

So this morning I did something I haven’t done since high school. I went door to door leaving flyers for a social event, the Hillman City Heart Hunt. I talked to the few neighbors who were out, giving my name and street, assuring them I wasn’t asking for money or trying to spread religion. I thought one gentleman might spray me with his hose, but he didn’t.

We passed a house with a kid swinging on a swing set, his back to the sidewalk. Nearby an old woman was standing under a tree. She was tiny and round, wearing a giant puffy coat with the hood tied tight under her chin, and large dark sunglasses. And she was smoking a cigar.

I gave a little wave, struck by the moment. She followed me with her eyes, and kept puffing away.

This heart sign marked the location of the original Radio Hart TV business for many years before the Hillman City building was remodeled. Photo/Stephen Hultber

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From the Heart of Rainier Valley: New Year’s Eve, Birds of a Feather & a Local Character

January 2, 2009

in Arts/Living,Opinion

” From the heart of Rainier Valley” is a new column written by Tristin Pagenkopf, one of the last of the blue-light specials, who was born just off of Rainier Avenue back in 1968. She has a day job. Sometimes she teaches. She’s married to a foreigner. They live in a house on the south end of Hillman City that’s seen better days, but they count ourselves lucky to live in a fascinating, beautiful neighborhood filled with interesting people and a long and rich history, which is what she plans to share with RVP readers on a semi-regular basis. Email her here. In the meantime, enjoy her first column:

It seems right to start from home for this first column, on the first day of 2009. It’s been a week since the snow relented, and the rain is back, making the streets wet and shiny where they’re not covered by sand. So here goes, three things you may not know, coming right from the heart of Rainier Valley…

First, a scene from late New Year’s Eve.

I laid down in the dark, listening to singing and laughter drifting across from the gospel church across the street. Those folks know how to ring in the New Year. Nothing is more certain to stop me in my tracks than a group of human voices singing in harmony, with a solo voice soaring above it all.

Their voices are familiar to me – they drift across every Sunday afternoon, but I’ve never heard them in the middle of the night before. Maybe someday I’ll go over as my mother keeps encouraging me, but for now, I prefer to think of those voices as otherworldly spirits occupying our block, keeping us all safe. A good omen for a new year.

Second, there is a huge flock of birds visiting our back yard today. As it’s mostly asphalt, with just one pathetic ½-inch caliper tree, they hop around on the ground, and then jump up and fly to and fro in our neighbors’ big trees. There are robins and chickadees and other little birds. I quit counting at 50. I might become a birdwatcher if this keeps up.

Third, it’s Thursday, so I just got off the phone with Mrs. Folino. Let me introduce you, as everyone should know her. She probably knows you!

Mrs. Folino has lived in this valley her whole life. She’s been in her house near the Brighton Playfield since 1968, when she and her husband moved south due to the I-90 tunnel construction.

She’s a widow, and she is connected to just about every social service you’ve ever heard of. She rides the #7 when she feels like it, and calls the senior shuttle the rest of the time.

How did we meet? She saw me gardening, and then one day last spring just knocked on our door and came on in. She’s been coming to visit or calling on Thursday afternoons ever since. She brings us coupons. And bread bag tags. And a connection to the valley we could easily have missed.

Photo/do communications, inc.

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