Sign reads "May you find Paradise to be all its name implies."
Thanks for joining me on the verge of Paradise, as the next chapter of my life unfolds. If you're new to Life by Chocolate, or just madly trying to catch up with your blog reading (Can we ever truly catch up?), this non-fictional autobiographical story begins here. While I strive for accuracy regarding place and time, I am altering a few names as I see fit. This does not include Nora Profit, Mimi or Mojo the cat. Those names are perfectly right and perfectly real.
Mojo in his favorite spot (on my bed)
Mojo in his second favorite spot (in my kitchen cabinet)
A 20-year old college student was shot in the chest at Café Culture just two nights after my excursion there. He was standing right about where I parked my car. Last I read, the victim was - miraculously - expected to make a full recovery. Thank goodness!
But I sure feel petty for complaining about all the non-excitement around here.
Three mornings ago, at 4am, the boy rammed his head on the door with enough force to successfully enter my bedroom. You should know that the door was (1) closed and (2) locked. Clearly, I needed to give it an extra shove but failed to do so. He’s been fine since then, intact enough to rip up the bottom of my box-spring mattress, navigate my kitchen cabinets with sufficient prowess to snack on some veggie sticks, and bite me once or twice daily.
Damnit, Mojo! I mean, look sweetie, either you go or I go, and I ain’t going. Furthermore, if any boy’s going to be so anxious about entering my bedroom as to pummel through my locked door and madly tear up my bed, I prefer that boy be human. Got it? Run along now. Go find him for me. Make sure he’s nice and smart too. Okay?
“Zeek’s missing.” Her tone was somber as Nora entered The Loft on Wednesday morning. “He didn’t come home all night. He probably got hit by a car.”
Zeek’s a charming black-spotted white kitty, with a dark triangle that uniquely accentuates the left edge of his nose. “Sorry, I'll miss him too,” I shared. I like Zeek more than Mojo. He practices non-violent communication and doesn’t implore my attention at every turn.
I thought to call Mimi, who adores Zeek, but I lacked a free four-hour window. Short of pretending the phone line’s been snipped, it’s not possible to conduct a brief conversation with Mimi. She’s not working at The Loft anymore, since her computer skills are even worse than mine. There's little she can help with, now that I'm there.
Note that the only way for my computer competence to supercede another's is for that other to refuse to touch a computer, as is the case with Mimi. “I was too busy with my rock 'n roll band to learn computers,” she defends. “I can’t learn them now; it’s hard on my eyes. I need to sit 10-15 feet from the screen. The glare causes me headaches. I think it's an aging thing. And I need to squint and take breaks. I don’t know how to move around on the screen. You’re so good at it, Robyn.”
Mimi’s a dear, and we’ll remain friends. She is okay with not working these days, as she’s facing home foreclosure and other stresses familiar to many.
Thus, the two of us (Nora and I) pushed through that day without Zeek or Mimi, and I experienced my usual abundance of computer frustrations.
“Nora, does it typically take 5 minutes for an email to get sent? Oh, I shouldn’t have left these things open, huh? Um…Sorry to bother you again. How do I save this file? Oh, the ‘save’ function saves files. Thanks...Excuse me, just one more thing, would you please show me how to switch to your side of the computer to pull up the monthly calendar and re-format it to fit landscape 11 x 8.5 and add a link to it for the next class and then upload the calendar to the website and then send out an email to our folks to invite them to the event? Thank you.”
She left to run an errand (Who could blame her?) and came back announcing, “Look who I found!” Zeek was in her car all night long. My eyes welled. It was a happy ending to a sad day.
Next time I complain about non-excitement, feel free to tell me that I’m being catty.