The lady who documents everything six ways to Sunday forgot to photograph her first real visitors to her new tiny house. *Heavy sigh*
They came and went, Jim Carriere, his lovely and spunky wife Nancy, and their handsome son Joe. They drove down from Oakland originally planning to buy crawfish in Isleton. When their dinner menu changed to crab, they came anyway. They brought a box of See’s Chocolates, a tiny box of lusciousness with sentimental meaning for me of which they had been delightfully unaware. They hit the gift nail squarely on its emotional head, reminding me of Easter in my childhood home with See’s candy from my mother and grandmother.
They made themselves comfortable on tiny chairs and complimented Angel’s Haven. They listened to tales of real estate horrors and shared one of their own. We talked about Jim’s and my shared love of Rotary; dissected Joe’s future as a doctor or a vet; and touched on the J20 women’s march in San Fran which I’ll miss because I’ll be in Kansas City. With an offer of berth for the night before my trip and safe parking for the RAV4, they bade me goodbye, stopping to admire the expertly constructed deck as they exited. A thousand words and two hours after they arrived, my first official non-family visitors drove off while I stood on my new porch.
Their car couldn’t have been out of the loop before I realized that I had not taken one picture.
But their smiles remain in my internal scrapbook. I had a perfect dark chocolate with my coffee. I sat talking with my son on the phone, sharing how good it feels to have made a lasting friend by virtue of our mutual dedication to service and the KC Shelterbox representative, Jeff Deatherage, who had originally connected us. The world grows smaller every day, and a registered Republican banker from Oakland with his delightful family has made it a little smaller for me today, a little sweeter, and a little more like home.
It’s the seventh day of the forty-ninth month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.