Yesterday, Mike and I drove to where the other half lives–in Bellevue. My friend Cheryl was hosting her going away party at her country club in a neighborhood where every house rose over perfect lawns, three-car garages, and timed sprinkler systems. I brought my camera, but forgot to put the memory card back in, so there are no photos. When she returns from Japan in a couple of years, maybe we’ll meet somewhere more low-key. That is, if she remembers me.
Till then, I’m going to listen to Hot Hot Heat, teach sixteen-year olds, and enjoy this transitory place called the slow lane.