At Large in Ballard by Peggy Sturdivant

A lifetime ago my world seemed to be no bigger than the office where I worked, the house where I lived, the park at the end of the street and one restaurant. Someone asked why all of my writing was set at home; except for one story set at the school bus stop. Clearly they didn't understand life as a single parent.

A few weeks ago I bicycled over to the little business district that exists on Northwest 70th just east of 15th. A girl was skipping rope in front of a coffee/tea shop and the Neighborhood Cafe was already closed for the day. Tarasco's Restaurant and Bar is still there but it has moved across the street since I was a regular, and a sign on the door now specifies "21 and Older."

One summer night a long time ago - when my daughter sat in a booster seat and not the driver's seat - I had a perfect moment on that block. A friend and I were facing each other in a booth at Tarasco's with our daughters in booster seats that were tippy on the vinyl booth. An old friend found us there, because as he put it, we weren't at home and we weren't at the park. I loved being so easy to find, as though Ballard was a one-stop kind of town, in which I knew everyone.

When my daughter was young we moved in just a few squares, work, daycare, Monday nights at the Ballard pool, Wednesdays at the library for story hour, Friday nights at the park, weekends on our block. At the age of three my daughter became friends with a girl named Rachel. For the next five years there was no point in trying to take one home from daycare or after school without the other. Our world became a bit bigger, to include their block, their closest playground.

The first outing together was to Woodland Park Zoo, before they built the food court. There used to be food stands throughout the zoo and on that raw November day we ordered French fries and hot chocolates. After we finished the fries, Rachel's mother Leah ordered more. I knew then we would be friends as well.

Our daughters liked to dress as twins. They would argue from the back seat whether the bakery on 24th was The Ballard Bakery or the Ballard Baking Company. They grilled me on reproduction and chronic public inebriation. They made up little books together and would disappear while Leah cooked, usually insisting that we stay to dinner. We took car trips together and played endless games of Yahtzee.

If we didn't feel like cooking we often went to Tarasco's. The waiters knew us well. The girls always had a bean burrito with a side of rice and beans. One night first one daughter tipped over in the booster and then the other. By then Leah and I were both sitting on the opposite side of the girls - I'm sure we made some effort to grab them, but we missed. Each girl seemed to catapult up before they fell down to the floor. The beans and rice also catapulted, but they stayed lodged on the ceiling.

The girls weren't hurt, just rattled. We tried to provide comfort even though we couldn't stop laughing. Leah held her daughter on her lap and opened her clasp purse to look for Kleenex. It's hard to say how the clasp cut Becky's lip but that caused us to laugh even harder. We couldn't even eat anymore and decided to flee before they discovered how much food was on the ceiling and the floor. We left a tip that was larger than the bill.

Then Tarasco's moved across the street and didn't seem the same. It smelled different. Emily stopped eating any foods that touched and became a vegetarian at five. By third grade the girls no longer went to the same school; so no more trading off on carpooling. The zoo built the Rainforest Cafe and the only French fries were from Burger King. Things changed. At first it wasn't that the girls grew apart, it was that they were no longer growing up together.

The Ballard Baking Company became something else, then the site of Cafe Besalu. Businesses changed on that little stretch of NW 70th. Neighborhoods change, friendships change, but the past doesn't get rewritten. There was a golden time when our friends could always find us in our regular booth if we weren't at home or at the park, and that you didn't see one girl without the other. The separate paths will curve back and cross again, just like trees grow full and tall so fast.

Our worlds got bigger but Leah and I will always be friends - and French fries and hot chocolate will always be the perfect snack on a cold November day.

Peggy's e-mail is atlargeinballard@yahoo.com She writes additional pieces for the P.I.'s Ballard Webtown at http://blog.seattlepi.