Fare Thee Well, City Of Fortune

(N.B. There is quite a gap in the storyline here, but suffice it to say: it didn’t work out.)

My last few days in Ventura were some of the most troubling I’ve had to deal with; a lost job, the prospect of a cross-country trip on my own, disappointed friends who would not have a chance to say goodbye – the list goes on. I was at the point where I was just gonna say forget it and throw everything out and just fly back; at least I’d be home. I went into lockdown, not responding to phone calls or emails, or texts – for almost three solid days, while I deliberated.
But my newly re-charged truck would be my only source of transport upon my return, and it was that deciding factor that allowed me to throw caution to the wind, load her up (easier said), and prepare to depart. So many people to thank, so many small “re-gifts” and giveaways (small legacies to those with whom I’d grown close).
By some small miracle, my cherished landlady Doris was in Minnesota for the July 4th weekend. This would give me a few days reprieve to create some chaos in the apartment and surrounding areas, run a few loads of uninterrupted laundry, and generally tidy up. Strange, in all these six months, that the last time I would see her would be at the office; but it’s how I’d like to remember her: a spritely young 80-something in a straw hat and floral band, in flowing chinos, carrying her volunteerism bag, heading off to her next assignment. Of course, when I arrived home, there was another “Note From Doris” (I’ve saved them all) with some final matters to attend to: return the keys, garage opener, trash removal, mail to bring in with newspapers in her absence…then, in typical fashion, a simple smiley face (with a frown), and a large “D.”
I will miss her.
My friend DMK and his new love, Nancy, were kind enough to have me for a tri-tip barbecue Sunday evening. Their Boxer pair, Buster Brown and Pepper Laurie, bustled about, but behaved in my presence (generally : ) and as the sun began to set, I had an emotional burst of tears, holding on to Buster, my pride and joy, who went from a rambunctious pup (hence his name) – how far in his training he’s come, and he’s a good example for Pepper; she’ll come around.
The following morning was D-day, but I still wanted to say goodbye to Cindy, my fellow nomad, with whom I’d grown very close these last few months, emotionally, spiritually, professionally. I had picked some lemons from the tree in my yard, and had already left some other odds and ends for her that I thought would go well in her apartment.
Ironically, she texted me early in the am, asking if I was still around. We rendezvoused at Palermo, where she had first taken me back in November, when all of this began. The AD of the theatre “crashed” our visit because she wished to say goodbye; it was oddly relaxing and we laughed quite a lot, we three. Once left to our own, I bequeathed the lemons to Cindy with a quip: “When life hands you lemons, make grape juice, “ and as she smiled at me, I finished with, “then sit back and let everyone wonder how you did it.”
Shortly thereafter, I was in my truck; I looked at the clock: 11:11 AM - I made wish. "I wish to make it to Vegas."
And off I went.
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