A Package for Me




When the doorbell rings I don't usually rush to answer it.  I allow about 10 seconds to pass, and when I hear the UPS truck kick into gear, then I know that it's a package for Rich.  ODI, Specialized, Sram, Giro, Troy Lee, 100%.  It's to the point that the garage being open is an invitation for the UPS guy guy to chat with Rich for a bit about bikes, probably wishing he could trade his brown uniform in for a brown bottle from our fridge and turn off the truck.  


But today I got a package.  One I was expecting.  Upon its opening I was giddy with anticipation, and I have been smiling in sweet reminiscence all day, with a delicious drink at my side.

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She was the one who introduced me to the Grateful Dead and Dar Williams, among many others on a mixed tape.

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She was the one who taught me about jeans with holes in them.

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She drove me to soccer practices in Portland because she was a year older and wiser.

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We always stopped for a Starbucks Coffee, which seemed to be more important to us than arriving on time to practice, but with her, I didn't stress.  And I suppose we had some strange confidence in knowing that we were good enough players that our coach shouldn't mind either.

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Our birthdays are 366 days apart.  One birthday she bought me a Libra book that, well, for lack of better description, helped me feel normal in those teen-age years when nothing felt normal.

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I smoked my first  {and only?}  clove cigarette with her, but I'm sure I acted like it was my 12th.

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Pre-game meals consisted of a freshly-bought baguette with a side of peanut butter and good conversation.  Always, good conversation.

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I don't think it's hard to surmise that I idolized her.  That she was the epitome of cool to me.


She came to visit me in college, freshman year.  I'm pretty sure we drank some Livingston Cellars Wine and I remember telling her I liked her boots.  

She was gone in the morning.  Her feet must have hurt when she got to her car, because outside my door sat those boots, the same ones I have looked forward to bringing out every fall, for 16 years now.    


The Prosperity Tree that arrived on my doorstep, shortly after moving into our home 6 years ago, came from her gracious and thoughtful heart.  It is still alive: forgiving of my sporadic watering and having survived two toddler's curious hands, it has always stood as a reminder of our friendship.  Lasting, real, alive with little maintenance required.  


I had the privilege of seeing her last year, with her young family.  So calm and steady she was, just as I had imagined her being as a mother. "I like your boots", she said to me, with a smile. 


To know she is doing exactly what she is meant to be doing, is something that gives me immense joy.  The boots can't miss out on this, they need to go back home, where rain and coffee pour with equal frequency, and where their rightful owner will surely put them to good use.  


*She is the Libra Lady behind Pier Coffee, which is cold-brewed coffee that is … well, I should let Erin tell you, so click here.  Under caffeinated inspiration, I created this new section to my blog, Sip & Chat…read my first interview with Erin   


 © Houseman 2013