"I don't know how to start this..."

Today is for ruminating on serendipity, the power and surprise of beginnings.

So we waited outside The Kingfish Café twenty minutes before it opened because that’s what you have to do if you’re counting on a short wait and a piece of cake. It’s really the only way to go if you’re going to go to The Kingfish, I’ve decided. In the past I and any friends wanting to eat there aimed for the late hour. But by then certain dishes are sold out and, certainly, any trace of cake has been devoured. But at opening you’ll get a dark and cozy seat and the room is somewhat quiet as every person has just sat down and, from earned hunger, is silently perusing the menu. Later, over your fried chicken—that man loves fried chicken!—and mac&cheese, when with every bite you exclaim through stuffed cheeks how novel these old favorites taste, the room begins to fill with the murmurs of satisfied diners. The sisters running the place are laughing and chatting, indeed running the show with their ease. And by the time each of you has your own giant slice of chocolate or coconut cake (both served with a generous dollop of smote), you’ve decided this must be the best restaurant in Seattle because food doesn’t really get any better than this, because the price is totally reasonable for it, and because it’s a family-run place and every person working has a stake in the restaurant, their co-workers and the food they serve...

We ordered more cake than we could eat and it was unequivocally the best cake I’ve ever had. On our way out one of the sisters asked us if we wanted a bag in which to carry our three take-home boxes. So I told her, This is the best cake I’ve ever eaten and it’s not like I haven’t eaten a lot of cake! The slices were huge, I’m not kidding so huge I could go on and on about them and even if I don’t it doesn’t diminish the fact that it took us three tries to finish 'em off. (We were still eating cake for breakfast.)

We were all coconut cake with white sweet flakes stacked lightly on our hair and cars and everything else too. We drove north for more of it, giving the grippy tires something to play with. Then we came back to watch Amelie at the Egyptian. Everyone has said it’s a cute film and they’re right partly, but I thought it tried too hard to feature Audrey Tautou. Maybe it’s the Egyptian and its lousy seats? Whatever. We walked into our snowy city telling each other how the film was less than captivating.

It’s one year since the end of our 730-day adjournment. I mean it exactly as it reads: two years to the day without contact, an interval during which some things got worked out. It began (and ended) March 7, just before that trip around the world.