I came home from work yesterday and after several short drives back and forth on the island I finally reached a point where all the errands I could get done were done and all I could think to do was buy a 6 pack of beer and find a place to enjoy a few of them. (The post office had closed at 12 so I could not mail the two packages I intended to but I assumed the world would continue turning despite my small disappointment)

Disappointment which was neutralized when I arrived home and found new books in the mail box. I had been fretting for WEEKS about the arrival of this package, stalking the "order status" page and obsessively tracking the shipment, especially when I realized that I had placed the order when we were in our old condo and we had since moved. Yesterday morning I asked Rob to go to the island PO with the shipping information in an effort to increase the chances of them holding it there or delivering it to our forwarding address -- Rob later called and said the man had written a few things down and gave him comforting assurance (intended for me I'm sure) that the person assigned to our route was "a good lady who usually catches those things."

Why I didn't give Rob the two packages I wanted to mail to my mother and brother is beyond me. I guess I saw my day panning out differently and certainly didn't think about shorter hours on Saturday. But I occasionally cling to tasks that I want to be done because I know that if it isn't done, no one has to experience Rachel's disappointment except me.

My best friend for the last two years, Kristina (and her family), lives about 5 miles from us. We're mid-island and they're north-island. If we were south-island it would add a whopping two miles to the distance but the point is I never get tired of appreciating that we live so close to each other and are such good friends. I don't try to but have always had one best friend at a time, and it seems to take me a long time and odd circumstances. I suppose that gives it character. hehe. Kristina and I were an extremely unlikely pair to become friends and I still remember how quirky it felt I was when I realized we genuinely enjoyed each-others company. I thought we couldn't stand each other. We even exchanged heated debates at work about patient care--looking back I think both of us were right. Both of us passionate about the people we cared for. Then sometime weeks later when there was a lull in our combat, I texted her from a dermatologists office asking if she would mind being my emergency contact because it made sense for a good nurse to be an emergency contact in an place where I was about to go through a painful laser treatment--she laughed (in text) and said she'd be honored and asked me if my vaccinations were up to date and what my advance directives were.

Anyway, this entry is getting longer than what my mind imagined. But that's the nutshell of how we became friends.

I went to her house after my errands yesterday and any time I go there I'm usually happily sucked into to their household chaos of neighborhood kids running in and out, Kristina yelling about the back door being open, spontaneous board games and their slightly stinky but sweet little dog, Charlie. And we usually end up trying to figure out what to order out for food so that Dan doesn't get cranky and Rob has a reason to come hang out with us when he gets off work. Last night was no different. Kristina and I ran through hours of entertaining each other with elaborate stories of the PTSD we have from our last employer, she recreated hilarious stories about working in hospice, I described the latest odd pet-walker sighting on our street (a very old woman wearing ONLY a hot pink raincoat) and presented at least one re-enactment of a laughable event that was mortifying at the time it was actually experienced. Basically our only goal is to make each other laugh, even if sometimes we end up crying.

On the way to her house I saw a kitten that had been hit and killed. It was right in the middle, right on the yellow line and it was very young--a soft gray, orange and white little tabby. It was pouring rain and I imagined the driver either never saw it at all or tried in vain to avoid it, although the latter honestly should have resulted in moving it from the road--I do try to give us humans the benefit of the doubt in such situations. I didn't tell Kristina about the kitten until we were about to leave and I asked if we could borrow a shovel. Rob said he had one in his truck and we would get it up if it was still there on our way home.  Rain was still peppering down and I don't like driving after dark or in the rain if I can help it, so I was following Rob as we headed home in separate cars. He drove slowly all the way to the end of the street so we wouldn't miss seeing the kitten. When we approached the place where I'd seen it earlier, there was no kitten--but the mother cat was there. I knew it was her. She was grey and orange, sitting in the oncoming lane in the rain. As we passed she shuffled to the side of the road and sat back down on the shoulder. I cried the rest of the way home--for the kitten, and for a mother's undeniable, stunning grief from the loss.

I started reading Gaiman's novel this morning (I have no intention of reading it in one sitting--that seems gluttonous) --and I already read the forward online so I leafed through it to chapter one. The boy receives a kitten on his 7th birthday....a special little creature who later is the unfortunate victim of an auto driver (who is not kind). Thinking it out loud on a screen here I always feel like I have to explain that I realize it's a fictional story -- but to me they may all be real and they often make more sense anyway. Chapter one freshened my sadness from last night, but in it's odd little way was also comforting--a hand from the universe reaching in to gesture these things we share.

The sun was out for 30 minutes or so. Long enough to hear children squealing by the pool across the hedge behind our lovely condo. It sounded like wind but I realized it was rain as the rushing sound started moving across this part of the island toward the marsh. The people at the pool scurried to put their things away and get inside and its pouring rain again. I originally wanted the sun to stay out so I could go to the beach, and the cats aren't thrilled if I leave the patio door open when it's raining -- but it does make for an excellent background on this Sunday morning.

Chapter two