The Day After

I hate the day after.

The day after my girlfriend leaves. It means another wonderful visit has come and gone, and spells a return to a normal routine that no longer feels “normal” or “routine.” The realization that she was here less than twenty-four hours ago is hard to bear; it’s all still fresh, and often I’ll find myself thinking, yesterday at this time we were…{fill in the blank with whatever we were doing, and it doesn’t really matter what we were doing, the simple fact that we were together is enough}, my mind remembering every minute detail, my heart aching with the pain of separation.

I’m sentimental to a fault sometimes.

And I know, in the grand scheme of things, this is nothing. She keeps calling the past eight days her last visit here, for now the focus has turned to searching for a job. Once she finds one, she will move here, and we can begin a life together. She is optimistic it won’t take long, and lord knows she’s far less pickier than I am when it comes to work (this is a compliment). Still, every moment we’re apart stings a little now. It doesn’t help that we’re both impatient, or that there is no firm date for the next time we see each other, a first since we began dating back in September. There’s always been some concrete event to look forward to, and the countdown app on my phone has never before been void of days to tick down toward. I think it makes this time apart the roughest yet, and believe me, no goodbye has ever been easy. We’ve talked about meeting in Boise for a couple of days sometime between now and That Future Then When She’s Here For Good. We’ll see how everything goes.

And yet, I remain happier than I’ve been in years. The pain of separation speaks volumes about the depth of that joy. Soon, I tell myself. Very soon these goodbyes will be nothing but a memory. There will be no day after to contend with.

It’s all good in the hood, as they say. Or maybe nobody actually says that, but they should. It’s clever and it rhymes.

Anyhoo.

LONG PARAGRAPH WARNING!!!

The Days During were pretty stinkin’ good, as always. Hanging out with the kids last weekend was a blast; Tara and Audrey bonded on Sunday, shopping together and even getting manicures. I was impressed, as The Daughter has never been much of a girly girl (which explains the black nail polish, but I thought that was cool and loved the fact that Tara would go out of her way to do something special with Audrey). After dropping the kids off Sunday night, we got all gussied up and hit the town for a belated Valentine’s Day dinner at Jake’s Famous Crawfish, Portland’s oldest restaurant (dating back to 1892), and I introduced her to the wonder and joy that is Powell’s Books. The baked salmon stuffed with crab, shrimp and brie, and the seafood fettucine were excellent. These came from Jake’s, not Powell’s, in case you were wondering and the word “books” didn’t tip you off. Monday we relaxed around the house, partaking in the grilled cheese experiment and watching movies, before making a fantastic dinner of steaks, sauteed mushrooms, garlic bread, artichokes dipped in mayo (never had this before but man alive am I hooked), and margaritas. Since we’re both foodies, one thing we do enjoy together is the art of good eating! Tuesday, we were on the interstate by 9 AM, destination: The Emerald City. Seattle, not Oz (because somebody forgot to pack their ruby slippers this time around). We arrived shortly after noon, made a quick stop to say hi to her brother Eric, and then killed a couple of hours at Pike Place Market. I love it there! Picture acres of fresh produce and just-caught seafood, fish flying through the air, hot doughnuts fresh from the fryer, quirky shops, and a big brass pig. It’s such a cool place, and I hadn’t been in a few years. When we came up for the City Arts Festival in October we discovered a little hole in the wall Chinese restaurant called Genghis Khan, which served the most fantastic orange beef we’d ever had, so a return visit was in order, and since it was lunchtime, our timing was perfect. The beef (and sweet ‘n sour prawns) were every bit as good as we’d remembered. By mid-afternoon it was time to meet up with Tara’s mom, Tracy, in Bothell, so we left the market and parked the car at the park and ride station in Bothell, down the street from her home. She sort of surprised us by suddenly appearing in front of the car while we were in the middle of a rather intense make-out session…oopsie. Not quite in flagrante delicto, but let’s just say if the windows weren’t steamed up, they should’a been. I cooked us fried chicken that night, and Tracy made mashed potatoes and country gravy. Yummy stuff. Wednesday we mostly hung around the house; Tara and Tracy were throwing a baby shower for Eric’s girlfriend, Anne, that evening; when they left, Tracy’s boyfriend David and I kicked it at home and decided to watch a couple of movies. I’d never seen Gone With The Wind before and he urged me to check it out, so I did – and naturally, was quite impressed. It’s not considered a classic for nothin’, after all. We put on Urban Cowboy next, a different sort of classic film…if you’re fond of John Travolta, anyway. Which I am. So that was a nice and relaxing day. Thursday, Tara and I went out to breakfast and then – on a whim – decided to drive across Stevens Pass to Leavenworth, a quaint Bavarian village on the other side of the Cascades. I’d always wanted to go, and had no idea it was a mere 100 miles from Bothell. We had a fantastic time there, strolling hand-in-hand through town and stopping in at various shops – an olive oil and vinegar place, a hippie joint (pun intended), a Christmas store, an antique place, a taffy shop – and naturally, had to buy a big ol’ soft and warm German pretzel to share on our way back. That evening Tracy made a pork roast with garlic mashed potatoes, and Eric and Anne came over for dinner and Wii bowling. I was promised a lemon if I made a beer run with Eric, and eagerly took Tara up on that offer. (Inside joke. Very funny. Trust me). We then played cards before heading to bed. Friday we said our goodbyes and made the trek back home; we had my parents over for dinner, and Tara was sweet enough to cook for them, whipping up her chicken broccoli braid. It was a night of good conversation, the wine was flowing, and Frank Sinatra crooned to us over the iPod. Saturday sucked. But only because of that trip to the airport at 3:30. Before that, the day was just fine and dandy! So, all in all, an excellent visit.

It just makes me that much more eager to have her around all the time. It’s going to be amazing.