Lace

My husband and I like to adventure – within bounds, well-armed with plans and maps. For example, when we travel abroad we always book a packaged tour. We are free-flying, with erudite guidance so as not to feel out-of-sorts. Open-spaced with a pattern and plan – like the prettiest lace.

A recent adventure was to Anaheim, a city built by wine-planting ancestors whose fame was supplanted by a mouse, angels, and mighty ducks. In that order. What a quirky parade!

The entertaining re-birth transformed the city landscape a few miles north of Irvine’s relentless, well-planned grace. Trim buildings and manicured grasses bordered by chiseled shrubs and right-angled curbs, as if arranged by a militant stylist to the stars. Surrounded by spaghetti loops of streets…we were a-mazed.

Within twenty minutes, our resolve to roust about and adventure unlaced. Drive here, drive back, turn here, turn around, where’s a street sign… Even our GPS couldn’t keep up.

Then we spied the Packard Building, a renovated auto repair shop that, in its day had rivaled the Irvine BMW-Mini City. Within its brick confines someone had wisely founded a wine-serving brewery. Now our spirits could lift.

I readily noticed a woman fluttering about the Packard Building interior: sprigs of red tattoo sprouting a black lace sweater. The colors of Mickey”s uniform, though hers was decidedly different, very goth, eccentric to my middle-aged eyes. A butterfly mourning a lost life – her own? – blood smearing the veins of the lace.

Soon the butterfly landed at our table: our waitress. She was smiling, sweet, and attentive. As she left to place our order, I noticed her neck was laced with white script – Mickey Mouse’s name had been erased. 

Made me really,really wonder why and what if – a great story of something laced with haste and angst? Spawned by the lord of the ‘happiest place on earth’?

We were in a bar: we soused the mouse.