December 16
Last night, I was meandering the streets of Portland with Ariella, Tony and Ariella’s friend. We hugged ourselves tightly as we hopped around various establishments seeking nightlife. I’d spend much of the afternoon in a cafe drinking the most amazing wellness concoction as the natural light from their full-framed windows tried to fool me into springtime fever. We warmed our spirits with games of pool, witty banter and well, warm spirits (I discovered the most tantalizing pear brandy hot cider drink in creation) Against all logical reasoning, Ariella and I saved ourselves time for a 3 hour snooze before waking up to get me off to the airport.
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| yummmm. wellness. |
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| Yummmm. Indulgence. |
Within minutes of entering, I am trapped in a Portlandia scene. At 3:30am, a couple behind me has the vivacious flare of energy for ranting. First the length of the line (commentary about our mob mentality) then some talk justifying their obnoxiously loud judgment of a lost woman (“we *all* have to turn around and look at the crazy one, right? Like when there’s a bad driver on the road and you have to look. You have to see who the idiot is.”) They cannot get enough of finding shit to complain about. I almost want to turn around and say “so, what do you think of me?” But I’m too tired.
On the plane, I am perfectly poised between small children in literally every row of seats around me, including my own. One is armed with a sound-enabled device. The rest certainly don’t need one. I muster up all of my energy reserve to drown out the noise and sleep, forgoing any opportunity to admire a birds eye-view of the planet until we near our touch down in Tampa, Florida.
I am in Florida.
In friggin December.
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| All of the streets are named after fruits...or Texas or Ohio... |
It is surreal. Not just the weather. This whole thing. When I’d initially felt drawn to stay with my friend Lauren for the holidays, it was pure intuition. The moment I made the decision was a moment of pure clarity even without thinking about it. As it neared though, I naturally started to process what it all meant. I wouldn’t see my family. I wouldn’t see my cat. It wouldn’t necessarily make my life an instant vacation. Lauren and I hadn’t even talked much beyond logistics and I had no idea what was happening for her in life. I had no idea how connected the kids would feel with me any more. And I had no idea how my recent health baggage would fall into place while I was there.
With each text, there is more enthusiasm until I am rounding the corner at baggage claim and she says she’d just parked to come find me. I don’t remember the last time anyone came to meet me inside an airport! No one does that anymore! With one hug, excitement restores itself. She navigates us through the weird layout of airport crazies with their tropical fish tanks in the halls and such. In the car, I immediately out myself and my apprehensions and with full acceptance, we move past them into the moment.
As per Lauren’s life, we instantly have a most amazingly oddball interaction. Our parking ticket attendant notices Lauren’s nose rings and strikes up conversation. He is a bit knowledgeable about their cultural relevance in Persia and other traditions and Lauren explains the dichotomy of meanings between slavery and freedom symbolism in them. But then out of the blue he asks “So, but the men-a-like-to-a lick? A turn on, no?” We drive off thoroughly amused.
Lauren and I meet up with her friend Jake about an hour down in Sarasota for dinner at a fairly new raw/vegan establishment. The woman who owns it is incredibly warm hearted and eager to get feedback on her food. It is a work in progress but we all agree it has potential…although she should probably stop advertising her vinegar as kombucha. We share our three dishes as she pops over between bites to try and get us to choose favorites.
We make it home late but the kids have been allowed to wait up to say hi. I’m relieved to hear their excitement about seeing me. Big hugs all around, followed by loads of questions about Hannukah, which has started tonight. Lauren had gotten a menorah and everything and after they get ready for bed, we light the candles and I teach them the blessings.
December 17
Lauren pretty much saved the business at her current place of employment which is both an incredible story in and of itself and nice because she gets a lot of leniency on her office hours. Once the kids are off at school and she’s done a few things at the office, we spend my first day in town sort of flitting about in a combination of errands and sight-seeing. Jake lives at a really rad artists collective and Organic Juice bar/garden place called the Open Studio and we go ogle their art and crops. Before going back to the office, we head to lunch at one of the few trustworthy establishments in Englewood. If there is one thing Florida is lacking, it is in catching up on the progressive end of the foodie craze. But Vino Loco is a sufficient exception. Charlie the waitress catches up with Lauren since connections are just as small-town common as in Packwood. Then we order soups and sandwiches/salads to taste from one another. I can’t believe I am sitting outside in the sun in a t-shirt.
We wind up the last of the day at the office and I get to meet some of the guy’s-guy characters I’ve heard so much about. They like to talk about their sports businesses and their lack of tail and make horrible jokes. But it feels like a friendly and comfortable environment which is much more than it was when Lauren first arrived there. She’s a miracle worker. I help her address holiday cards and Kayan walks the easy 1.5 blocks from home after school to join us and play around with the guys next door in the boat yard. Lauren’s dad helps out there for a few hours each morning. The comfortable distance of the everything in the neighborhood is my kind of utopia; a real sense of belonging and comradery.
Dinner plans with her parents shift when they say they are going out instead so not feeling the need to cook as urgently, Lauren and I gather up the kids and go try to catch the sunset at the beach. We blast the new Nahko Bear song on the way and I swell in bliss listening to the kids. I am feeling such a shift since being here. I am feeling real again.
The sunset is gorgeous and then we hang on the swings a bit before needing to cater to our hungry stomachs. Cooking is such an easy process with us. The kids ask how they can help and we divvy up little tasks here and there. On the menu tonight is a veggie stir-fry, steamed greens and quinoa. And hannukah candles. They so love those Hannukah candles.
It is still early when her parents return. The kids’ bedtime is just approaching and as everyone is bustling about, I check my e-mail and learn that I did not get the job that I most wanted at Naropa in Colorado. Even though I hadn’t let myself get carried away by the prospect, I couldn’t help but feel the disappointment sink in as I realized what possibilities were now closed off for me as a next move. Lauren asks me if I’d like to go out if her parents are okay with being babysitter.
We drive all the way to Sarasota in search of some good music to let loose to. The drive provides the opportunity for a much needed talk about future and uncertainty. The town provides entertainment. We drive down the main block and keep our eyes peeled. It isn’t long before we hit a corner with live outdoor music so we park to check it out. Even though we find out they close at 11, it is fun to watch an older couple dance wildly to the music. The man is a phenomenal dancer and even pole dances against one of the structure’s poles at one point! after that, we head across the street where a nice security guard named Tony directs us to a calmer bar that offers pool and, he thinks, more cider options (Lauren is determined to quench my thirst tastes). We enjoy a few games of pool and a cider but the bar itself is odd. The barback is off-putting, social to begin with but immediately off in her own world again. It is obvious some of the folks at the bar are regulars and she ignores me for a good 10 minutes while she makes small talk. Coming from a small town coffee shop like the butte, I know how it is to have a chat-a-thon with locals. I also know that when we get people in for business, we take care of business.
We go down the road craving more music and stop in mid walk when we see a solo guitarist standing on a small cube-like stage in the middle of the bar. We both look at each other with the “we’ve gotta check this out” look and just as we walk up, we are greeted by a 52 year-old man by the name of Zoran, or ‘Z’ as his establishment is named after. Z talks to us for hours, telling us about his tradition from Serbia to Florida, owning a restaurant business, his gang days in his teens. We talk about politics and the #1 problem with Americans (Naivity, he says). He buys us drinks and we talk about the rarity of conscious young people (“you are like, 5% of America” he says to us) and about kids. If I hadn’t hit a wall, we probably would have talked well past closing time.
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