Of Seattle, Puppy Play, and the spirit of Alice B. Toklas

Seattle: More than meets the eye. Honest.

When the spirit of the life partner to a legendary writer, poet, playwright makes contact, I think it’s probably the universe telling me: Start writing again.

Some details:

• Spirit/life partner = Alice B. Toklas (deceased: April 30, 1877 — March 7, 1967)

• Writer, poet, playwright = Gertrude Stein (deceased: February 3, 1874 — July 27, 1946)

• Me = Kelley King (nearly 50-year-old, suburban housewife, still ballin’)

Before I get to that supernatural situation, please know I have mostly devoted this blog to my life with breast cancer. For more about that, see a full update below … Because, boy howdy, do I have a tale to tell before we talk about my rogue cells.

To set the stage, my husband — The Weed — and I visited Seattle last week in what we were billing as a ‘quest for a nontraditional holiday.’ Turns out, we succeeded.

Before we even left Denver International Airport, strewn with wives yelling at husbands, children throwing stuffed bunnies at their mothers’ heads, and one poor guy trying to fit 350 pounds of concert equipment in cardboard boxes onto the next flight to South Africa, my husband had to backtrack (38.8 miles one way; 77.6 miles roundtrip, I’m told) to retrieve my wallet.

The wallet I left in my car. In the garage. At home. While he did so, I sat at DIA watching people cry about missed flights and prayed our luck would be better than those tear-soaked folk. Not a great way to jumpstart the holiday season.

Fast forward a bit. I have my wallet. We make it to Seattle. We enjoy our first day at the Chihuly Garden and Glass exhibit and then take a harrowing (HARROWING!) trip to the top of the Space Needle.

After, we returned to our hotel (I won’t name it here but any savvy reader can apply some ninja Google skills and find it) billed as a historic site and ‘Seattle’s original hub of hospitality, creativity, and urban life.’

Buckle up.

While in the bar, The Weed and I enjoyed a nice, complimentary happy hour. During the happy hour, a couple joined us. The man had a modest mohawk and wore jeans and a Marilyn Manson concert T-shirt.

The woman wore a full dog mask and anatomically correct tail that wagged when she was happy. Strange and definitely the first time I have seen anyone ‘dress to impress’ in this manner.

The woman drank her wine through a straw and only removed her mask to eat a cheese plate and play some very haunting (FUCK!) music on the piano in the bar.

At the same time, the man looked on, smiling and wiping his eyes, as if he were crying. She then returned to her friend and put the mask back on.

It got stranger. A lot of inappropriate petting and public displays of affection. Eventually, happy hour concluded. They left. We chalked up the situation to ‘lifestyle decisions.’

After posting about this encounter on social media, several more-worldly-than-me friends sent links to educate me about the existence of Puppy Play. So, yep, ‘lifestyle decisions.’

Nice little complimentary happy hour at the hotel bar ... and a not-so-subtle introduction to Puppy Play.

Back to me and The Weed. No Puppy Play. Never. Thank you very much.

At 1:30 a.m., later the same night/morning, at the same hotel, we were asleep in our room when someone used a key to let themselves in through the ‘mystery’ door in the suite. Not cool.

The person apologized: ‘Sorry’ and closed the door.

The Weed and I lay there for a few minutes, stunned, before he jumped up to go to the lobby, leaving me alone, singing ‘Do You Want to Build A Snowman’ to comfort myself.

In the lobby, The Weed, reportedly, approached the front desk and said: ‘So, a dog-faced girl played the piano earlier and someone just walked into our room.’ In response, we were able to change hotel rooms, the happy hour wine wore off, and we were assured the owner would contact us to discuss the night’s events.

I, however, remained sleepless in Seattle.

Again, after sharing an update about the night’s newest adventure on social media, some of my night owl friends began sending links and reports about the hotel where we were staying.

According to several published reports, this hotel is pretty, well, haunted.

Before we were startled awake by someone with keys to the ‘mystery’ door, we were in room 406.

It is said, the ghost of Alice B. Toklas, a fascinating woman, life partner to Gertrude Stein, and reported inventor of the pot brownie, is fond of room 408. The room adjoining ours. (Note: No pot brownies were consumed by me or The Weed.)

Photo of Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas, at the right.

The next morning, after we reviewed links about the spirit of Alice B. Toklas in Seattle, we talked to the hotel manager.

He confirmed the door between the adjoining rooms is sealed; requires a hard key to open; and none of the guests have the key.

We then talked to two hotel employees (all employees sign NDAs and can’t talk about guests or situations in the hotel) who pretty much smiled and nodded when we described what happened when we were startled awake by the opening door, including me looking into the hallway and seeing what I thought was a man in a dark hat, long dark coat, carrying a skateboard.

When I saw photos of Alice B. Toklas, I got goosebumps. This is who I saw in the hallway that night. (The skateboard gave me pause. Perhaps, instead, it was a stylish handbag I saw in my sleepy state.)

So, there you have it. All in one night, we were introduced to the practice of Puppy Play, the discreet yet restless spirit of Alice B. Toklas, and the art of changing hotel rooms in fits of ‘Jesus Christ, we might die tonight! Where’s the toothpaste?!?!’

Universe, I hear you. I guess it’s time for me to start writing again. I’m a bit rusty. Bear with me and these lengthy posts.

I’ve seen some pretty strange shit in my life but that night, one night in Seattle’s First Hill neighborhood, frightened and enlightened me.

Funnily enough, I just received a guest survey from the hotel. Think I’ll include a link to this blog and see if we get invited back for Alice’s birthday. I hear Seattle is beautiful in April.

Flowers placed on a stand outside rooms 406 and 408 in this Seattle hotel. I think Alice liked the flowers.

•••

I promised an update about my life with breast cancer.

If you’ve read my blog in the past six years, you know I’ve had two stints with the disease.

I’ve had several surgeries that have left me scarred and salty about society’s expectations of the female form.

This year, the year of our Lord 2019, has been pretty good to me in the cancer department. Thankfully.

In March, I had the final of three annual PET scans. Results showed I remain in remission. The cancer that had spread from my right breast into 14 lymph nodes in my right axilla, polite term for ‘armpit,’ seems to be contained and quiet. This is hugely great news.

In October, I met with my oncologist for the last of every six-month appointments. She cleared me to return for annual-only appointments so long as I promised to be vigilant about reporting any strange or unusual developments with my body. (I think she’d like the story of Alice B. Toklas, though.)

As it stands, I will now visit the oncologist each October and continue to take a daily medication until 2027. To me, that sounds like an eternity on this medication.

Still, I know it’s keeping me alive and ready to embrace the remarkable events of this life. I am beyond grateful … Stay tuned for more.

Last shot from Seattle. As seen from our hotel room. We called an Uber but, umm, No Thanks!