Redemption Blog

We all have things we would’ve liked to have done differently.  So when the rare opportunity to redeem ourselves comes along, it seems perfectly natural to react quickly and irrationally. 

Such was my thought last Saturday, as I made a Jason Bourne-style move with my car into my driveway, frantically yanking bags into my house and loudly calling for Joe.

“JOETHERE’SADOGWENEEDTOHELPITSADOGWEGOTTAGORIGHTNOW!”

Allow me to explain.

A while back I told a story about when Joe and I were still living in Maryland and how we found a dog wandering the streets outside our house late one night.  We tried to call the authorities and looked around for its’ owner, but neither effort proved fruitful.  Without knowing how it would react to our then-new dog, Georgia, and with no shelter open that late at night, we had no choice but to pass the dog along to a stranger that happened to walk by and said they'd take it. 

I remember how sick I felt in the pit of my stomach that night, angry at myself that I didn’t do more to help this poor lost dog.  Joe always tried to console me, assuring me that the dog probably did find a good home.  But I always told myself that if every such a chance to be a hero to a little furry friend came my was again, I’d do something about it.

Cut back to last Saturday.

I was on my way home after running some errands when I turned a corner and noticed a pudgy little Pug trotting along the sidewalk.  By the time my brain processed that there was no owner attached to the dog, I was already well passed it and just saw it out of my rear-view mirror.  The dog was headed straight for the highway and as I gasped with fear, I realized that my moment had come.  At long last, I was going to help this dog and redeem myself! 

Right after I dropped off these groceries, I thought.

I raced to my house, threw my car in park, and burst through the front door, hollering for Joe.  I expected him to stop me, to calm me down and say not to worry about it, but much to my surprise he simply said, “Ok, let’s go.”

I was so excited and anxious, I forgot all about my groceries.  

Well, almost.  

Jason Bourne may have survived colossal car chases and leaping across buidlings, but I don’t think even he could survive salmonella or trichinosis.  So I tossed my cold groceries in the fridge before joining Joe.

As were leaving, I felt compelled to grab Georgia’s blanket just in case the dog was going to need to be wrapped in something. 

You know, like a flood victim.

What can I say?  I was determined to live out this hero-fantasy to the max.

I drove while Joe scanned the roads looking for the rogue Pug, all the while assuring me once again that this dog would be fine.  I wasn’t totally listening.  I was determined to help this dog.  I would not leave another poor helpless dog out in the wild, even if the “wild” was only “Lakewood Ranch”.

We drove around for a little while longer, turning down side streets and stopping at cul-de-sacs, but never spotting the little brown Pug.  

My heart sank.  I failed again.

Joe patted my shoulder.

“He’s probably OK.  The owner might’ve caught up with him and taken him home already,” he said, consoling me.  “At least we know he didn’t get hit by a car on the highway.  We would’ve seen him smashed up on the side of the road,” Joe said warmly as he rubbed my back.  I shot him an angry look, but felt too defeated to say anything as we drove home.

I walked back into the house and replaced Georgia’s blanket on the couch, disappointed I didn’t get the chance to envelope a frightened dog in a comforting embrace.  Meanwhile Georgia came running up to greet us and I was sad I didn’t have a new friendly little buddy for her to play with.  I gave her a big hug and wandered back into the kitchen.

While I remembered to put the perishable groceries away, I forgot all about the fast-food I bought for me and Joe.  We sat down at the table, but I couldn’t eat.  I was still so mad at myself.  I should’ve just stopped the car the instant I saw that dog, I thought, I should’ve flagged someone down.

As I sat there staring at my nearly cold McNuggets, thinking of all the things I could’ve or should’ve done, Joe was almost through eating.

“Thank you for picking up some food for us, honey.  You know, this is maybe the first time you remembered to get us both something to eat while you were out.  Usually, you forget to ask me if I want anything, ha ha,” Joe said good-naturedly.

Suddenly, a revelation dawned on me.

“Yes!  I DID remember.  You’re right.  Normally I always just assume you ate already or I won’t be home in time.  But I remembered this time.  I did it!  I redeemed myself!” 

I sat there, brightened by the fact that I did undo a wrong I did.  I remembered someone else’s needs.  I took care of someone.  I provided comfort to someone.  It didn’t make up for not helping that dog.  I will always be on the lookout for another chance like that.  

But at least in this one small instance, this underdog redeemed herself.

In the Mouth of Madness: A Dandy Day in Kissable Kissimmee

Last weekend, Joe had an interview to do up in Orlando and I tagged along so that afterwards we could spend the day exploring the city together.  We looked for things to do that might keep us from spending a fortune, but nothing really fit the bill.  And since Orlando was also mobbed with people, we looked up places nearby that might be historically interesting and walk-able.

“How about Kissimmee?” I suggested, seeing “Historic Kissimmee” pop up as one of the first results in my map search.  It was a mere 15 or 20 miles away, and in the direction we would have to go in anyway.  I tapped the "Main Street" location as our destination and we set off to enjoy a day in ol’ Kissimmee.  We looked forward to finding a decent pizza shop and ice cream parlor to enjoy as we took in the sights of a charming old Florida town.  However, as we neared closer to the red dot on my map screen, we were not exactly immediately charmed.

“Ah, here’s the historic O’Reilly’s Auto Parts, nestled quaintly betwixt IHOP and Ye Old Towne Walgreens,” we joked as we passed big box stores and strip malls. 

Fortunately, with a few turns, we suddenly emerged from the commercialized highways and found a cute tree and lamppost-lined main street.  We parked, found a pretty decent and hip pizza restaurant for lunch and then set out to spend a few hours ducking into art galleries and antique shops.

If Orlando was overrun with people, my guess is that half the people there were from Kissimmee.  As we walked along we rarely saw another human being, though most of the stores we passed were open and ready for business.  Unfortunately, there were a good number that looked as though they had been shut down years ago, with scraggly faded posters still clinging to the front facade.  It felt a little eerie, like an episode of the Twilight Zone.

Finally we found an antique shop to cool off in and explore.  As we walked in, we immediately beheld a long room filled everywhere with knickknacks vintage items.  On the right, a middle-aged woman sat on a stool, flipping through the newspaper.  We offered warm and friendly “hellos” while she merely glanced up with a sufficient “hello” and went back to her paper. 

Joe dove deep into the back of the store to treasure hunt, while I was entranced by the big display of costume jewelry.  

I’m always on the hunt for unique vintage jewelry, and in this one store I hit a mother lode.  I played dress up for a few minutes and even found a necklace I really liked.  It hung close to my neck and was a series of white leaves or feathers strung around.  It was beautifully simple and elegant, yet unique.  As I glanced at myself in the old wooden mirror they had on the wall, I couldn’t decide if I liked it enough to buy it.  Would I wear it?  Does it go with anything I own?  I put it back down on the felt pad, deciding I would look around for a few more minutes and if I really kept thinking about it, I would get it for myself as an early birthday present.

Meanwhile, Joe nodded at me to follow him and when we were out of earshot, he whispered in my ear. 

“There’s a really creepy effect happening in that small room,” he said, indicating this odd office in the middle of the store.  The door was closed and inside a curtain was drawn, yet a fan must’ve been on because the curtain was billowing so frantically that it almost looked as though someone was inside and trying to escape or call for help.  It gave us both the creeps and Joe remarked how it reminded him of the movie, In the Mouth of Madness.

As we began to make our way towards the exit, my eye was drawn to the racks of firearms on the walls and a pretty racist card in a glass display case featuring a cartoonish African-American man.  At that, I abandoned hope for the necklace, said our polite goodbyes and quickly hustled ourselves out the door.

We commented on the awkwardness of the store, but had high hopes for the next one we happened into.  Thankfully, the owners of the next store were much more welcoming, smiling as we entered and encouraging us to simply look around.  It was a very friendly vibe, and as Joe pointed out to me later on, the overly-friendly vibe was coming from other customers as well.  After we had made our way through the huge store, Joe asked if I noticed the family that was walking around.  I said I did but didn’t comment about noticing anything out of the ordinary.

“Yeah, I was definitely getting a little bit of an incest-vibe from them,” Joe said gritting his teeth.  When I pressed him for more info, he just said, “the father was just way too hands-y with his daughter, constantly touching her.  And even the son seemed a little touched- he was maniacally typing something over and over again on the old typewriter, without any paper in it.”

Where the hell were we?  We expected to find Mayberry and instead we stumbled upon Caligula's resort town.

Finally deciding we had had enough “charm” we sought out a sweet and innocent ice cream shop to cool our senses (and sweeten the distaste in our mouths).  We found a little open-air ice cream stand called "Abracadabra Ice Cream" right around the corner, with kids and parents all milling about.  I was excited to stand in front of a nice big freezer case enshrining all my favorite flavors.  Instead, there was nothing but a solid counter. 

We perused the giant chalkboard sign overhead, but didn’t see anything about flavor options, just additional toppings we could mix in. Mix in with what? I wondered.  Disheartened by the lack of selection, we both just opted for simple classic chocolate milkshakes. 

Rather than pulling up rich, old-fashioned, full dairy and fat ice cream from a drum, they began pulling odd bottles out, pouring them into a wide silver bowl, and then shooting it with liquid nitrogen.  When the whole science experiment was complete, they presented us with our shakes.  I took one sip, expecting that for all this pomp and circumstance, this must be the finest shake I will ever taste.

“It tastes like vanilla,” I said, wrinkling my nose, unable to hide my disappointment.

“No, it tastes like chocolate,” Joe said, tasting it again, “it tastes like that crappy chocolate you get in those prepackaged chocolate and vanilla containers with the small wooden paddle.  You know, the kind they used to give you at birthday parties when you were a kid,” Joe said.

We got back in the car, sipping our bland “futuristic” milkshakes, chatting about the odd day we had, and letting charming historic Kissimmee fade into the background.  We pulled back into the thoroughfare of commercialism, knowing that this would be a trip that we would laugh about for years to come.

But for now, we were happy just to rejoin modern, tolerant, non-dysfunctional, and normal ice cream-enjoying society.