Seriously Drenched in Sebastopol

Today I went, in a City CarShare car, to Sebastopol to visit K.

The drive up there was beautiful, all the shades of green and brown and blue. I got to meet K.’s parents and his younger brother and see where he lives. We took a walk in Armstrong Woods among the redwoods, at first trying to avoid the puddles, but once our feet were thoroughly wet—it was pouring rain—we just went ahead and walked right through water inches deep.

After the tranquility of being among the giant trees, we went back to K.'s house for dry clothes; he lent me some socks and a pair of his own shoes, helping himself to a pair of his brother's. I asked if the owner of those shoes was going to come along and be chagrined to find them absent and K. executed an impressively high kick and said, “If he does, I'll kick him with one of them,” which struck me as comical, the notion of kicking someone with his own shoe.

Then we had lunch at a Thai place in Sebastopol and went back to K.'s house so I could return his shoes and socks, and then I came home in the second-worst deluge I’ve ever been in on a freeway. (The worst ever was in St. Louis, while driving across the country with one of my sisters.)

The trip home on 101 was absolutely glorious: the window down, my arm hanging out, the rain blowing in, the Drowning Pool at a deafening volume, all those things I can't, or don't, do when anyone else is in the car, though Tom is extremely indulgent about letting me have my window all the way down on the freeway, even at night when it's freezing, and he's also nice about loud music, but I don't usually inflict both on him at once, and if loud music is the order of the day, it's not as loud as it would be if I were by myself.

On our way to Armstrong Woods, I realized we were going to pass within half a mile of the house of my friend Alix, who I haven’t seen in a handful of years. She is not good about returning calls, cards or emails, so I’ve been faithfully sending her a birthday card each year and leaving her a voice mail now and then, but half wondering if she's thinking, “My god, how do I get rid of this stalker?”

At first I thought I would just call her from in front of her house, though K. was of the opinion that that would be weirder than knocking on her door out of the blue, but I couldn’t remember her number (I can still remember the phone number I had 41 years ago, and I once had Alix’s number memorized, so I had every expectation of still knowing it), so I was forced to knock, and got to see Alix’s dear beloved face briefly. She assured me that she is happy to hear from me every time.

At the Thai restaurant, we chose vegetarian dishes on my account, and I said to K. that if he was feeling the lack of animal protein, we could stop at the corner store afterwards and get him some jerky, but before I could say the word “jerky,” he said, “flank.” He has a delightful sense of humor.

The work situation seemed less dire by the end of the week. It turns out that a bad thing I thought was going to happen may not happen, after all, though there is an ongoing situation that will continue to require much care. (I have another post more or less on this subject sitting on another computer and will put it up if it still makes sense when I see it again).