Catching up on Project 365: March 6

We live on a relatively quiet street, nobody's regular route except for the houseful of little boys around the corner; they keep the pavement hot with all manner of self-propelled wheeled contraptions. Other than that? Mainly neighbors driving to and from work.

This morning while Rob and I were eating breakfast, something unexpected drove past our house. "Look! A bus!" Rob said with surprise. I looked out the window in time to see its back end heading west. Hmph. That's odd. What's a tour bus doing on our street?

We went back to our breakfast, but a few minutes later, the bus drove past our house again. We both jumped up for a better look at it. Gray Lines of Seattle. "Maybe John S. is here for a visit," Rob laughed. I wish. (John? Are you reading this?)

We let our food get cold. Is the bus coming back? We watched out the east window and in a few minutes, here it came again. "Maybe it's a sign," I said. "Maybe we should run outside and stick out our thumbs." As yearning thoughts for the Pacific NW hung in the air, the bus stopped, right in front of our house. "They're waiting for us!" I exclaimed.

We stared as the driver got out of his seat and began to back down the steps, but he didn't open the door. He perched and waited as another person took his place behind the wheel, then the first driver stepped up into the bus again, and off they went toward the west.

"Do you think they're coming back?"

Breakfast was pretty much over by then. We were too enthralled to finish eating. I finally thought to grab my camera, but wasn't dressed for outside yet, so all I could do was stand somewhat scandalously on my glassed-in front porch and shoot a few quick shots through the window and leaning out the storm door as our bus drove past for a fourth time.

Hoping for better shots, I dashed in and pulled on some workout pants and a fleece and ran outside, Nikon poised. The bus never came back. The visitation from Seattle was over.

What does it mean?

I guess it means we are very easily entertained, and we both want to spend time again in Washington and Oregon . . . or anywhere.

And it means, John S., that you really should get off the bus next time and be our guest for a while.

This household needs some excitement.



For those of you who might be wondering if we went back to feast on Torment after our first failed attempt, I can assure you that yes, yes, we did.

Rob and I had a reunion to go to in the evening, but no dinner was going to be provided, so we left home with what we thought was just enough time to get in and out of Torment before joining our old neighborhood friends. As we neared the taqueria, I asked Rob, "Hey, what if they aren't open . . . again?" We laughed about it, and joked about how that really would be a great torment, to put the word out over and over that a restaurant was opening, and then never let anyone in. Ha ha. So we pulled up to the front door, where two guys were working—one upgrading the old sign with bright bright yellow paint, and the other, the fellow we met on March Forth, still fussing with the front door. They turned around to look at us, each grinning with more glowing teeth than the Cheshire Cat, and said in unison, "To-morrow." We drove away hungry, and laughing at how this place was really living up to its name. Then I had Rob circle around so I could snap a shot.

Oh, yes, hermanos, we'll be back. You can torture us all you want. You can't keep a coupla good gringos down.