Shot this photo early yesterday morning in the parking lot in Benton City while we waited for our horsey friend to show up so we could follow her out to the round-up. Gene told me later the guy who owns this dog says it's a husky/wolf mix. He was super friendly and photogenic and huge. The dog, that is. Gene chatted with the owner quite a while so I imagine he was friendly too.
But, that's not what this post is about.
Bologna sandwiches. That's what I'm talking about today.
The other morning I had a memory pop up about a weekend trip I took lots of years ago to Cordova, Alaska while I was living in Eagle River. My very good friend, Ginny, had moved there to work and she invited me to come stay for the weekend. I was so thrilled for the invite because although I had been lots of places in Alaska, I had never been to Cordova and would have never gone without a good reason. That was back in the day when I was married to someone who had not one ounce of wanderlust in his blood.
When I arrived, I was starving (story of my life) and all she had was a package of bologna, some white Wonder bread, sliced cheese and a container of mustard. It was, by far, the best bologna sandwich I'd ever had. She kept apologizing because she hadn't been to the store yet. I kept trying to convince her that I was thrilled to have a bologna sandwich as it was something we never had much of and it was truly a fine offering for a starving woman.
We had a great time that weekend, just drinking coffee, catching up, walking around the town and just enjoying our great friendship. She is one of those kind of best friends that no matter how long you've been apart, you can pick up right where you left off. She had gone to Belize for nearly two years with the Peace Corps prior to moving to Cordova. I wrote her often when she was there and she returned the favor. I have since lost those letters too many moves ago that she wrote and I had collected and kept neatly in a basket. One time, I mailed her $5 for her birthday and told her to go have a Margarita and she wrote back and told me she had done just that.
When I got on the plane to leave Cordova that weekend, I cried a lot. I'm not very good at saying good-bye and even though I knew I'd see her again, I wished that she lived closer. When we got close to Anchorage, there was a malfunction with the landing gear indicators and the pilot had no way of knowing whether or not the landing gear had locked into place. We circled the airport for close to an hour before they finally decided to take her in and land despite the lack of indicators. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was sitting on that plane and had just had a wonderful, sunny weekend with my best friend, the sky was blue and I remember a surprising peacefulness that washed over me as I didn't know whether it would be my last day alive. If it had been my last day, I was as happy as I could be at that particular moment.
I have chased that feeling ever since. Sometimes I catch it and ride it for a while. Other times it seems so elusive but having already felt it, I know that if I get up and try that perhaps this will be the day I get it.
Perhaps a bologna sandwich would do it.