Echoes of Seattle Memories
Returning to the Heart of Seattle
When my husband, Phil, brought home a memo from work, the Owner of the company was seeking help in the home office during upcoming staff vacations. Was I interested? "If I could work in downtown Seattle again for a couple of weeks, sure!"
Seattle would be a long bus ride from our home in Marysville, but the thought of returning to the city stirred something deep within me. I used to work in downtown Seattle as a young woman, and the memories from my childhood and youth made this an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.
A Familiar Journey
As the Metro bus rolled through the dark morning, I passed by old friends, or rather, the landmarks of my past. Even in the rainy dawn, I spotted the restaurants where I once laughed with friends, the buildings that stood as silent witnesses to my youth. Several buildings have undergone recent changes, but I can still recognize them.
There’s the Bank of America Building, with its massive oil painting—a quilt of colors that I walked past daily as a young woman. It watched over our comings and goings, so many yesterdays ago. Faces of my former SeaFirst co-workers come to mind: John, Brigid, Barry, and Wanda. We spent our days immersed in the trust department, researching stock dividends and processing bond trades. My favorite manager, “P.J.,” was always cheerful, with a quick smile that made even the busiest days a little brighter.
We’d barely notice the large "quilt" painting as we hurried by; there were only a few minutes for lunch. We didn't receive much pay, but we dedicated ourselves to working hard every day. Now, as the bus speeds through traffic, the painting winks at me through the glass, a reminder of days long past.
Whispers of Family at the Seattle Library Fountain
The Seattle Library fountain holds a special place in my heart. It was where my dad and mom would read to us as children, sitting together on sun-warmed concrete benches. The pigeons would flutter around us, drawn by the soothing rhythm of our voices.
Years later, during lunch breaks from Seattle First National Bank, I’d cross the street to sit by the fountain, the same pigeons now almost tame, landing near my lunch bag. As the fountain comes into view through the bus window’s glare, I’m reminded of my father’s voice, reading to us as Martha and Randi laughed, and David splashed in the water. Martha, David, Mom, and Dad—gone for many years now, taken by a boating accident while I was still in high school at Nathan Hale.
The new Seattle City Library has moved the fountain to a place where the afternoon sun still touches it. As my bus passes by, I feel a sense of relief. The fountain still echoes with the voices of my family.
Climbing Seattle’s Hills and Memories
My feet ache as I walk up the steep sidewalks of University and Pike. The cool Seattle breeze from the waterfront blows my coat open, and the cry of seagulls transports me back in time. How could I ever leave Seattle? The horn blasts from the Bremerton ferry stir another memory: pulling a blanket tightly around my siblings on the upper deck, watching the green waters churn into silvery froth as we left the city, heading towards the Ozette wilderness, our annual summer escape.
At Pike Place Market, the fishmongers still sing and laugh, tossing a huge salmon to Dad, who could always catch it effortlessly. My mom’s high heels clicked on the purple glass tiles of the sidewalk as she hurried to catch a bus, my small hand clasped tightly in hers. I tried to keep up, my strawberry blond curls bouncing as I tried to make my legs longer.
Bringing the Past to Life
Years later, I brought my daughters to view Seattle from the top of the Smith Tower. My oldest, Shannon, held onto her little sister’s stroller as we rode the same elevator I took with my mother when she introduced me to the “World’s Fair” city. Phil and I would spend days exploring Pioneer Square, taking the streetcar back up Alaskan Way, walking up the stairs to the Market, and catching the Monorail back to the Center. We’d join the crowd in front of Pier 54, just as we did when I was a child, when Ivar himself would sing us a song and ask, “How was dinner tonight?”
A City Alive with Christmas Memories
My dad was the organist for the University Congregational Church, and after playing for the Choir’s Christmas Midnight Service, we’d drive downtown to see The Bon Marche's Christmas Star. The streets would be empty, the carols from the department store windows softly filling the quiet night. I’d fall asleep just before Mom and Dad turned for home.
Seattle: Where the Past and Present Meet
Now, as I work in the Dexter Avenue office, my calves aching from climbing Seattle’s forty-five-degree hills, I think of winter memories from the distant past: Mom’s spare change spent on Frango chocolates for each of us, the live green anole lizard she fastened to my coat collar with a red ribbon, the joy of discovering the city through a child’s eyes.
Each droplet of Seattle rain spills another memory. As I snug my coat and wrap my scarf around my neck, waiting for the bus, seagulls circle above, their calls echoing the past. My brief holiday season fill-in is over, but the memories linger—sitting with my big sister, Una, on the steps of the Seattle Public Library, biking by ferry to Bainbridge with college friends. The years may have passed, but Seattle holds my memories in its cement, glass, and water.
My Seattle
Seattle is not just a city; it’s the keeper of my history, the backdrop to my life. It’s my Seattle.
