THANKFUL FRIDAY

Thursday morning, I dropped Josephine off at the groomers at 7:45 AM and then promptly locked myself out of my car. I locked myself out of everything. My phone. My wallet. My lunch. All inside the car. I borrowed the phone at the groomer’s and called my insurance company for road side service. This took twenty minutes and my estimated time for service was 100-130 minutes. I waited three hours, walking back and forth, standing near my car, hopping up and down. Every time I tried waiting it out inside, Josephine would start whining. So I stood outside most of the time. I finally gave up and borrowed the phone again to call a locksmith. Then I waited twenty minutes and paid $270 to have the nicest young man with the thickest Italian accent open my car.

I am not kidding when I say that I hugged him.

Seriously, it was the most ridiculous morning and I don’t even know why, but I went ahead and went on to work even though half the day had passed and I was going to have to leave at 3:00 to get Josephine. I just didn’t know what else to do with myself. So without much thinking, I headed to the closest place where I could address my physical needs: bathroom, coffee, food, warmth. That place happened to be work. I am just grateful to be able to go somewhere. That is the very first time I have ever locked myself out of my vehicle. That seems surprising, but it’s true. I’ve locked myself out of the house, but there have been people inside it. All I had to do was knock. I once locked myself out of an email account because I could not for the life of me remember my password. But I had, until just now, never locked myself out of my vehicle. I did it with gusto too.

Later, when I had finally made it to work and warmed up, I texted a friend about what I had done. A giggle bubbled up as I read the things I had written. Then I couldn’t help myself. I just started laughing and laughing. Because it was so much more than just being locked out of my car. I hadn’t had coffee or breakfast. I had no way to pay for anything. I had no way to contact anyone unless I asked to borrow a phone, but who would I call because I don’t have numbers memorized. Even then, who would I call that could come get me and do anything to help this situation? I was in true pioneer wild west territory.

My mother went through a phase where she continuously locked herself out of her car. Her colleagues bought her a special key chain that held her keys on a retractable cord attached to a belt loop. It was a brief phase, but it is something I thought about while I waited for someone to come unlock my car. I hopped from one foot to the other and thought “Oh no…it’s happening.” Then I shrugged and thought “good for me.” There are worse traits I could inherit, but I think I’ve inherited the best of my mother, like her resilience and stubborn independence. I don’t think there is anything wrong with being a bit stubborn and independent. My mother celebrated a birthday on Monday and I am grateful that she could do so.

Today is the last day that this body will ever be forty seven years old. I asked Alexa this morning to play the top hits from 1976 and it started playing a song by the band Kansas. This was followed up with an ABBA song and I remembered that I am not only an inauguration baby, but I’m a baby of the Disco-Rock Wars. Which is probably why I love roller rinks and mosh pits. I left the house singing “There was something in the air that night. The stars shone bright, Fernando.” Even though it’s dangerously cold outside, I felt the sun on my face and decided that today is going to be so much better than yesterday.

EVEN ON GOOD DAYS

It was a good day. The whole weekend was shaping up nicely. It took a three page write up in Bon Appetit with them listing this place as one of the top ten best new restaurants, but I finally convinced Michael to try Baba’s Pantry. Now we can’t eat anything else for the rest of our lives. I picked up Friday night’s dinner from there and the next day we went back for hummus and cheeses and spicy pickled things. In continuing with the them of lists, we headed out on our scooters for Kitty’s Cafe, who made the list of top 50 restaurants for the New York Times. It was okay. I guess the pork tenderloin is the main reason they made that list. My option was a fish sandwich which was tasty, but it was just a fish sandwich.

After lunch, Michael led us to Mikey’s Military Surplus. The route took us through a part of town that I didn’t even know existed. At one point, Michael stopped so I could pull up next to him. He said “Honk if you want to stop to take pictures.” and then I had some serious regrets for not having my bigger camera. The road we were on ran right along side the railroad tracks that follow the Missouri river. On one side, we had tall grasses, train tracks and the occasional train. The other side of the street was lined with shotgun houses varying in shades of blues, pinks and greens. Then we came to a four way stop and on one corner was a little house with a sign that read “Welcome to East Argentine”. I beeped my horn so Michael would know that I wanted to stop. It was like we had just entered a different country.

We made it to Mikey’s, which is split. Half of it is regular work clothes with brands like Dickies and Carharrt. I found a nice pair of fleece fingerless mittens with grippy pads on the palms. The other side of the shop is devoted to military surplus. I could feel the nudge in the back of my brain as I stepped into that area. It smelled like every single military surplus store I had been into with Chris. My fingers grazed over a rack of coveralls and I thought about pulling one down and putting it on. There was a crate full of com-phone receivers that probably should have been in my basement. I did not spend a lot of time in this area and became inpatient to leave.

We stopped at a large Mercado on our way home with nothing inside labeled in english, bought a large wedge of white crumbly cheese and popsicles. Then we sat outside at a picnic table in the shade, eating our popsicles and watching families come and go. My popsicle was more shredded coconut than ice cream. The tropical taste mixed with the warmth of the day and unfamiliar surroundings, again made think for a moment that I had magically transported myself to South America. As Michael and I rode our scooters back down the road that had brought us to that area, that nudging in the back of my brain became a hard shove.

When Chris and I moved here, we knew very little about this city. So we spent our weekends just driving around with no destination in mind. We’d turn off maps and GPS and go out and get lost. It’s how we discovered so many great little Portland like places. These adventures allowed us to see that even though we hadn’t moved to the city that held our hearts, we had moved to a really cool place that was very much like the city that held our hearts. Michael’s lived here his whole life and I was able to introduce him to places he’s never heard of and all of that was because of mine and Chris’s adventures in getting lost. So while I was riding down this strange little street with railroads on one side and shotgun houses on the other side, I was struck that this, all of it, was something that Chris and I never found. At the very least, how was it that we never stumbled across Mikey’s Surplus? That shit was right up Chris’s alley.

I picked up speed as anger rose up inside me and I stewed in it for most of the ride home. Then I thought about the beauty of the day, the perfection of all the finds and the weather. I marveled at how after all this time I could still let it get to me. The things we didn’t do. Not enough time. The reconciliation of my life now without him. That’s the most difficult part, giving myself permission to have this life without him.