For years after Bill and I married, we frequented a family-run Mexican restaurant in a shopping center known as Loehmann’s Plaza.  It was the kind of place that didn’t take reservations.  If you showed up with a group on a Friday night—our family was automatically a group—you gave them your name, got in line, and waited.  Eventually, for reasons I don’t know, the restaurant operation moved from the Factoria area to Bellevue Square, and we followed it there until that branch closed down as well.

The next time they resurfaced was in Kirkland on 85th in a restaurant called Tres Hermanos. (Do not try to dictate the words Tres Hermanos to Siri.  She does NOT speak conversational or even restaurant Spanish!)

Tres Hermanos showed up in Kirkland about the time my daughter and her husband moved into the neighborhood, and they were a haven for Jeanne T. and Jon while they duked it out with Jon’s melanoma.

The people who run the restaurant know their customers and they care. During one of Jon’s hospitalizations, one of his friends showed up in town for a visit, and Jeanne T. took him to Tres for lunch.  The service was appalling—for the first time ever.  Finally she realized what the problem was.  They thought she was there two-timing Jon.  When she set everyone straight on that score, the service improved immeasurably.

Our grandson, Colt, was nine months old when we lost his dad to the Big C.  Three months later, when it came time for Colt’s first birthday celebration, that’s where we went—Tres Hermanos.  It’s been the same story for Colt’s birthday every year since, and today’s the day he turned eleven.  When we go there, I’m not NYTimes best selling author, J.A. Jance.  At Tres Hermanos, I’m Colt’s Grandma.  Or Cauliflower Ears’ Grandma which what Miguel Piña usually calls him.

Two years ago, Colt joined a bowling league.  Our daughter was delighted that her son had found a sport that a: He loved and b: Didn’t require sun screen.  Grandpa told Colt what when his bowling scores topped 100, we’d get him a ball.  When it came time to deliver on that promise, the only ball that would do was a Seahawks Super Bowl ball.  And he got one.

He’s been bowling ever since, winning tournaments here and there along the way. This past week his high score edged up to 208, and a new ball was called for—a viral ball this time around.   Back in the old days, freshman and sophomore students at the University of Arizona were required to take PE.  As a consequence, my checkered past includes pulling out a barely passing grade for a semester’s worth of bowling.  Based on that, you can be sure that my knowledge when it comes to bowling balls is … well … limited.  A viral ball?  Does that mean it’s contagious?

So I asked Colt why his coach thought he needed a viral ball.  “Because it’s less responsive.”

That’s what he said.  I’m not sure it’s what he meant.  It seems to me that you’d want a ball to be more responsive rather than less, but maybe that’s just me.

At any rate, the viral ball arrived yesterday.  It’s not an official Seahawks ball, but it has the right color scheme.  Today we drove up to Kenmore Lanes in Bothell to have the ball drilled.  Tonight we’ll go to Tres Hermanos to celebrate.

Hold the Tacos al Carbon!  And for dessert?  Cupcakes topped with bowling pins, of course.