Cops and the Long Leash of the Law

On the way to our brother and sister-in-law’s place in Vancouver, we saw an accident. A kid, not more than 17, standing in the middle of three lanes in the tunnel that connects the outlying suburbs with downtown Portland. Behind him sat his pick-up, a small extended cab Toyota, the snout of it crushed from the bumper to the end of the wheel well. The truck was sitting at a t-bone in the middle of the road, forcing traffic to nose around the outermost shoulders on the right and left. In front of the kid was a cop, one foot out in front of him, a finger to his nose, miming the kid to follow along. It was 8:30 in the morning, last Sunday.

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Week 8: Redux

I was sitting in my weekly enrollment department meeting when my cell phone started vibrating; vibrating practically off my belt. After three shots at ignoring the thing, I snuck out to the hall to check voicemail. It was Kira.

"Hi Peter," she always calls me Peter, unless she’s talking about me, then its Pete. "I’m feeling very pregnant. I was just listening to the Public Radio pledge drive and someone started talking about an OPB briefcase and I just started bawling in the parking lot." Whew. This is good.

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The Mothers

&I found out we were pregnant about two weeks ago. There’s a little back-story to this, so bear with me for a bit during the recount because I think the story is wonderful, and you’ve got to sit for a good story whenever it presents itself.

Thirty years ago, Kira’s mom Bev was pregnant with Kira along side her best friend Dettie, who was encumbered with Megan. (Dettie may be familiar to some of you; she is a religious scholar and shaman and happened to be the officiant at our wedding two years ago.) Megan and Kira were born not a month apart, and the families have since made a practice of summering together. It’s a regular Great Gatsby tale of friendship.

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