When I got back from Whistler, we stopped in White Rock long enough for a bathroom break and granola bar consumption, scooped up my parents and drove to Seattle. It was such perfect West Coast weather [finally!]. The border took a while and there was a lot of traffic downtown because Obama was visiting the emerald city, so we took a quick drive through pike place and headed over to McRory's for some pre-game snacks.
Just as our drinks were arriving, the pub was filled with the sound of cracking snare drums and marching. Who should promenade themselves in but the Seattle [and Boston?] Police Piping Column. Who knew? Each group played three songs. I called it a "pipe band flash mob". They ended up playing the national anthem at the ball game.
I've spent my whole life visiting Seattle, and I am always met with the coziness of the brick walls and steep roads, the coffee shops on each corner and big, old windows on each of the store fronts. There is always awe, there is always the feeling of coming home.