i know. i'm blushing.

We found this cool place in Seattle called “Fainting Goat Gelato,” and as everyone knows, anything with goat in the title must be excellent. The word gelato doesn’t hurt either.

Needless to say, the goat rule of thumb didn’t let me down; it was excellent. Bryant got the fainting goat flavored gelato. Thankfully, it didn’t taste like goat… at least not what I imagine goat to taste like. It was made with goat milk and this funky dried berry/raisin-looking thing (though we can’t remember its name) from some Greek island (though we can’t remember which one), but the locals have this tradition that it possesses special healing properties. I’m not sure if Bryant felt healed after eating it, but he was in a pretty good mood. It tasted odd and delicious. I like when those two adjectives join forces. My stracciatella was delicious, too.

Anyone who wants to come visit us will get a trip to Fainting Goat. …What? You thought I was above bribery?

Also, as we were walking down the street and fattening up on our delicious dairy desserts, we saw THIS:

(Er… whatever it takes?)

and THIS:

I’ve found my new favorite street in Seattle. Just thought I’d pass that along.

I don’t know if it has something to do with Washington, or if it’s just a coincidence, but it seems like people have a much harder time with our name here than they did in Utah. It’s always an adventure to check the mail. Since moving here and setting up all our new utilities, phone service, and whatnot, we’ve gotten mail for:

• Richard Casteel (somehow Bryant’s phone got set up under his middle name)
• Brian Casteel (that’s what Bryant’s phone now thinks his name is, after trying to fix it)
• the Casteer family
• the Cestfield family

I can see that Casteer sounds pretty darn similar to Casteel, but Cestfield? Where’d that one come from? It’s Casteel, folks. C-A-S-T-E-E-L. I know it’s no “Anderson,” but it’s not rocket science either.

I’ve had this antsy itch lately. It’s a quiet but festering desire to be creative… to make something.

But I don’t know what.

Sometimes the thought crosses my mind, “Why don’t you knit something?” But I ignore that thought. My yarn, knitting needles, and partially finished projects are still sitting in an unopened box in the study. (I know, how long have we been in our new place and we still have unopened boxes? It’s a shame, but it’s definitely not a surprise!) There’s some mildly repellant force between me and that yarn box—like two positive sides of a magnet that push each other away. I don’t know what that’s about.

Sometimes the thought crosses my mind, “Why don’t you play piano?” And sometimes I actually do. I’m teaching myself a great new song. So far I can play the first page… at half the speed and with a millionth of the talent of Mr. Zimerman in that video there, but I’m still trying. The piano is fun, and it’s a great outlet, but even with my extra playing lately, I’m still getting this creative itch.

Sometimes the thought crosses my mind, “It’s the blog. You ought to blog more.” But clearly I haven’t been listening to that voice.

And sometimes the thought crosses my mind, “Aw quit your whining already. Just turn on the TV.”

And that, of course, is usually the thought that wins.