Today, my friend Joe and I decided to take a little day trip and go somewhere I've heard about but have never visited: Goldendale, WA, where a replica of Stonehenge and a museum of art stand.
It's a beautiful drive. These wind turbines are clustered across the land, adding something interesting to look at while you're tooling along. Make sure you roll down the window and get the wind in your hair while you check out the Columbia River and the beauty of the sunlight dancing over the water.
The Stonehenge replica is a war monument dedicated to those of the county who died serving in World War I. I don't know about the other tourists, but I could sense the sacredness of the place, the ground made holy by human hands, the deaths caused by war and the ancient knowledge of those who watched the sky and the stars invoked to create a lasting memorial.
When you stand outside the ring of stones you feel like the normal outsider, the tourist here to see the American copy of what was made so long ago. But when you walk into the ring, you suddenly become a part of a cycle that has been in motion since we humans looked up and suddenly realized that we could see the divine.
Joe made the comment that there was no trash around; even the teenagers had seemed to withhold their normal disrespect. This was, of course, before we found the graffiti. But even the tagging is accepted as part of the memorial as a matter of course--the dishonor of youth that will be slowly washed away by age, time and nature.
They still leave flowers in this enormous tribute to the dead.
Just me tring to be artistic.
Joe and I showed our respect, and I was happy that I'd finally been able to come see something I've wanted to for such a long time. Aside from beginning the day at IHOP with strawberry pancakes, visiting Stonehenge was the start of that rare, damn-near-perfect day.
The drive during the three miles separating Stonehenge from the Maryhill Museum of Art is pretty.
But the chateau-style mansion/museum is prettier.
Not nearly as pretty as I am, but still pretty.
Anyway, the museum is definitely worth the trip. It holds art by Augustine Rodin and features lots of furniture, jewelry and various other extras once owned by European royalty as well as modern sculptures and, surprisingly, a bunch of comic book art created by Pacific Northwest artists.
It was Joe's idea! Upstairs is an exhibit that features fashion and theatre. They had these cut-out dresses. Of course we were going to pose with them.
We tried to go a little further down the highway to see what else we might have missed, but since we aren't wine drinkers and aren't particularly interested in the Maryhill Winery, we felt like just heading back to the Tri-Cities.
We weren't quite hungry when we started chatting about where we would have dinner tonight, but I told him that I didn't want to go to any of the spots I'd been in the last few months. "Surprise me," I said.
And he did.
In downtown Kennewick on 1st Avenue is a house/business that I'd always known as a limo service. It is no longer a limo service. It is Little Italy recreated in Carmine's image in Tri-Cities, America.
It's a very small family-run restaurant where you have to reserve a table or hope to get lucky with one of the tables they reserve for walk-in customers. It serves one meal per day--today was rigatoni--and they serve it to you in one dish, creating a communal, familial atmosphere that the Italians are, of course, famous for. Joe told me that the family comes in the morning to cook all day.
The ambience reminded me of Venice (Ah, Venice...), how they gave me water in glass bottles, the Italian music piping through the speakers, the sounds of conversation and laughter and silverware clinking against the dishes in the vain attempt to get every single bit of sauce into you. It was nonstop bread, wonderful salad (I had all the croutons, Joe found only one for him, I'm a greedy bitch) and the pasta with the red sauce that has made the number three slot in my top favorites. (The first is my mother's sauce, the second is the spaghetti sauce I had in Venice.)
Then came dessert. This was no ordinary dessert. I'd ordered something I'd never heard of before: ice box cake, a graham cracker chocolate pudding thing (this one had vanilla pudding too) that was so wonderful I immediately wanted to ask for the whole thing to take home. And while I really did enjoy it, it was what Joe ordered that truly won my heart. It was, I kid you not, the best cheesecake with blueberry-raspberry sauce I've ever had.
Be sure to check out Carmine's because the food is true Italian everything. No, I don't get free food because I'm promoting them. They really are that good.
As I write this, I'm sitting on Joe's couch, using his laptop, while he, my brother, my sister and her boyfriend wait for me to come join them in playing a dominoes death match, a winner take-all tournament that will end with someone holding back the desperate need to pee because they are laughing so hard.
Rarely, very rarely, do I experience a day of travel to a new place, see some beautiful scenery and art, playing with a new camera, hanging with one of my best friends and spend time with my siblings before going to bed.
I was once told that I have a tendency to hum Christmas music--usually the song "Deck the Halls"--when I'm happy and content. While it doesn't happen often, I was caught doing it again on our way home from Carmine's. Today was so fun and great that there's not a whole lot that could mar my happiness right now.
Fa la la la la la 'Tis the season to be jolly!
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