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Last week, we were hungry. Famished, really. The kind of hunger that only the Las Palapas Bean and Cheese Breakfast Taco could satisfy.
We FaceBooked our San Antonio friend Wendy with what we thought to be an ordinary request. Wendy, an unlikely candidate for ever consuming such artery clogging bliss, but the kind of friend who doesn't judge you because you eat 2 a day....everyday.
The request: please go to the Las Palapas drive thru, pick up 30 bean and cheese tacos with a commiserate amount of brown salsa to match (think quarts) and find the nearest UPS store who will so graciously dry ice our delicacy and have them delivered by morning.
Thursday morning proved challenging. Things always happen for a reason in my world. Perhaps I was delayed by this slow truck because I will be avoiding an accident ahead, perhaps this banana has a spoiled spot on it and I cannot eat it because I would've had a choking accident, my shoe lace is untied and I have to take 3 seconds to retie it, allowing me to avoid that water spill which would've tripped me and left me out cold.
What then? I only move the juice, water and dry goods to the lowest pantry shelf before I go to bed when Jason is out of town. In the event I die in my sleep, Sophia will need to nourish herself when she wakes up. I certainly don't plan on an afternoon tragedy to knock me out.
You see why I smile as I tie my shoelace.
I believe nothing is as it seems and delays in life that other's find frustrating, I take comfort in because everything happens as it should. I never say, "if only......"
Juliet and I left the house at 10:30 for her 11:45 a.m. doctor's appt. I am notoriously early for absolutely everything, except invitations to people houses, which just isn't polite, if you invite me for 5:3o I will arrive at 5:30. I understand that every second is needed to prepare for guests.
We are headed toward the city at a comfortable 55 mph on a sunny day. I am looking for 390 15th street. My GPS and mapquest both say it's only 8 miles away and a 15 minute drive. All of the addresses that I am passing are in the thousands, from 1000-5000 and there isn't a medical center in site, only strip malls. My pride had me back and forth on 15th street for over an hour and believe it or not, I handled it well. Every single New Year's Eve, I vow to find patience and I was doing an exemplary job while explaining to Juliet that she had an intelligent mother who could certainly find a building.
I finally decided to call because it was 11:30 and our appt. was in 15 minutes. I was starting to sweat, which frequently happens if anyone has the possibility of attaching my name to being late. I silently gave myself a pat on the back for always filling out and printing paperwork before we go to an appt. Surely I was only minutes away, could easily put Juliet in the stroller and take an elevator up to my appt. by 11:45.
I was stuck in a phone tree. The resounding theme was that the phones turn off between 11:30 and 1:30 for lunch. I called back numerous times because surely there was an opt out to get an operator for situations such as mine. And, most importantly no one eats lunch for 2 hours. Perhaps it's my ignorance of the medical profession, but they had to be doing paperwork or getting ready to return calls. In my corporate world, you eat at your desk or you don't eat.
It was now after 11:45 and I am sweating from every orifice. The terrible kind of sweat where you are in your car with a jacket on and suddenly that bright, sunny day is being used against you as it pours in the windows.
I have left a woman named Rita 3 messages to call me back. I need directions and my daughter needs to be seen today. We waited a month for this appt.
Why was Lavenda failing me?
Lavenda is our appropriately named GPS. She earned the name from our "doesn't quite meet expectations" realtor that showed us Dallas this summer. Lavenda and her equally exemplary husband knew nothing of this area, including obvious school district information and relied solely on their newly purchased Global Positioning System to find each and every house we looked at. Need to remind you Juliet was 4 weeks old and I was nursing. Postpartum and moving don't work well together and hearing Lavenda calmly order me right and left and back right again in circles was a painful memory of the elite at Coldwell Banker.
I drove home and watched the clock. Exactly as I expected, the phone rang at 1:30. Rita explained she had received my messages, but she was eating her lunch. Just like I teach Sophia, I took a deep breath after hearing the confirmation that she indeed was enjoying a 2 hour lunch. Regrettably there was an error on their paperwork and the address was 3900 15th. I took another deep breath and wondered how in the world people keep their jobs? If she knew of the error, she couldn't log online and correct it by simply adding another "0." I suppose she was busy dining. Of course, I was the one with the medical needs so I had to concede. She fit us in an hour later.
After my sweet daughter had a wire stuck down her tear duct to try and unclog it, Sophia and I left with a traumatized screaming baby who was bleeding from her eye and took quite sometime to fall asleep in the car.
Claudia called. I couldn't wait to share my latest customer service experience with her. It turns out there was no time for that--the tacos were at her door!
I dropped Sophia off to play with her daughter Claire and left with my jewels. I wanted to drive around and keep Juliet asleep.
Ideally, Claudia and I should've enjoyed our tacos together in complete silence (the rarity of this consumption now puts a Las Palapas taco in the category of demanding solitude so as to fully enjoy the experience).
Things happen as they should. I couldn't wait any longer so I pulled into my driveway and hope d that Juliet stayed asleep. I ran in and used my "reheat" feature on the microwave, which by the way, grows on me more and more everyday. I got back into the car with my two perfect tacos and dipped them into what I believed to be salsa spiked in my honor! It had never had more kick!
Immediately I was sick was nostalgia. I told you that smells do this to me.
I was glad I was alone for this ride.
It literally and figuratively all came back to me.
Sweet Tiffany introducing me to the breakfast taco at Harcourt in 2004. Nonchalantly inviting me to "grab a taco" at 7:45 a.m. -- always up for an adventure....I thought, why not? I found out that beans and ketchup didn't taste any different at the start of a day. You can see my novice here...dipping it in ketchup rather than salsa.
Or, being in labor with Sophia and gently reminding my doctor of our conversation beforehand. I get cranky and lightheaded if I don't eat, I will need to eat at the hospital. He smiled and went back on our agreement --citing legal reasons. Since I wasn't in "active" labor I could go home and enjoy chicken broth. I opted for the Las Palapas 3 chicken enchilada platter with beans and rice. I devoured it at 7:15 p.m., laid down and my water broke at 7:29.
Or, keeping our 12 month old Sophia and Claire in their car seats while Claudia and I enjoyed tacos in the front. Yes, most mornings. And, of course, the sweet old lady in the parking lot with the hundreds of pigeons she fed was equally as pleasurable.
Dropping Sophia off at school when I was pregnant, picking up my tacos and sitting on my sunshine filled patio.... dreaming of what my new little girl would be like.
The memories raced past me like a wild dream and for a moment I was incredibly homesick, but so thankful for the trip down memory lane.
$90 and change for that special delivery.
Claudia called today with the "shakes" because she had consumed her last taco. That's what she gets for sharing them with her husband and children.
Me....i'll always keep mine to myself.
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