So last week I was getting ready (grudgingly) to head out to NOLA* for a short business trip. I stopped at Ex's -- my ex-house -- the eve before to kiss Young Son good-bye. As I was getting ready to leave, I stepped backwards off the last step onto the landing. My foot hit something unexpected, my ankle said "Fuck it -- you're on your own," and I went down like a well-marbled side of beef. As I fell, I heard the pop of an ankle indicating that something significant had just happened. Shit!
I knew exactly what I had almost-stepped on: One of My Rocks; specifically, the one I used on hot summer days to hold the front door open so the wind wouldn't catch it and slam it shut. Ex used to mock My Rocks. And there he was, watching one of My Rocks bring me down. Shit!
Then Ex's girlfriend asked why that stupid rock was always sitting by the front door. I felt compelled to explain. I felt like an idiot. Shit!
But the good news is that A) My ankle, although swollen and colored like a mood ring, didn't cause me enough grief to negatively impact my travel and B) Ex said I could take the rock home with me.
Maybe that's why it managed to be right there in that particular place that one time. Maybe it just wanted to come with me. I'd just last week finished getting the rest of my stuff out of my ex-house** but somehow that rock got overlooked. Now it's in my new house, poised to hold open my self-closing door to the garage when I need it. It works pretty well***, too.
As for my very first trip to NOLA, I spent most of the time sitting in a windowless exhibit hall talking to economists. But as I walked out of the hotel to the cab back to the airport, I did notice that it was really warm outside. I rode to the airport with the window halfway down, buffeted by the wind but loving the feel of the warm air and the sun.
* See? I'm an insider.
** It only took a year!
*** "Hey, does this rock still work?" Sorry -- inside joke. Watch Ghostbusters, the scene where they first check out the firehouse.