Scotch Tape and Tickets

Casita Life.  A small cozy space, akin to a studio apartment, except it is only one self-contained unit.  The essentials are here; stovetop, toaster oven, French Press, printer, wi-fi.  And the necessities too; comfy Murphy bed, (never to be folded), washer and dryer, a nicely appointed lavatory.  I am feeling pretty at home here.

The parking in Santa Fe, especially in this downtown area is tight and tough.  I have a parking pass that allows me to be on the Casita's street only, without qualifying for a ticket.  My hostess has suggested I just keep the pass on the dash at all times, and at first that seemed like a good idea.  But then that Cop Mom brain comes into play and I think NO!  Why should I announce to every stranger, in every parking lot, the street name where the car with Colorado plates (and of course the driver) is staying.  It is a short street with only about 12 houses, so it wouldn't be difficult to track me down, plus the casita is set way back from the road.  My intuition tells me just remember to put it up and down as needed.

Before this innate paranoia set in, I thought "let me get some scotch tape and attach the pass to the dash".  It likes to slide around, and just my luck it would fall into the defroster vents, never to be seen again.  In the future every time I would turn on the heat I'd hear it flutter from the inner cogs of my car and I would be warmly reminded of my time in Santa Fe.

Yesterday, I walked 1.5 miles to an Al-Anon meeting.  GPS doesn't like walkers as much as drivers and it is a bit weird to be in  public with my purse telling me what to do, where to go.  Kind of like being married.  On Montezuma St. my pocket pal had me turn around three times - go east - go west - go east, before I just looked at the damn map myself and figured it out.  Par usual the return trip was easier and faster.  I was able to let my mind wander a bit; did I feel Santa Fe like the lady in the restaurant suggested?  Do I possess the determination to write prolifically here?  Did I really need hiking boots for an urban stroll?  The sidewalks are in shit shape.  Scree abounds, tree roots have created pyramids of concrete, and drivers like to dare me to go.

About halfway back to the Casita, there are two rolls of scotch tape on a pilaster.  A little note,  taped down, announces: FREE!  I stand there with my mouth agape.  Does the universe want me to affix my parking pass?  Why is there free tape just hanging out on my walk?  One is the typical encased in plastic roll, and the other is for desk top office models.  I look around to see if anyone is watching, filming perhaps?  I mean, who gives away scotch tape?  Did these folks neglect to buy enough holiday gifts to justify their tape supply?

Even though the sign says free, implying take it, I surreptitiously slip the self-contained unit into my purse.  I feel smug, like I've scored something priceless.  How ridiculous to have a surge of satisfied emotion, the same kind of brain tingle I get when my FB post gets a lot of likes.  I continue on my jaunt, now obsessed with the should I / shouldn't I thought process of whether to tape the pass  or not.  Cop Mom vs citation angst.

For now my Cop Mom brain waves win.  Maybe it is my residual New Yorker psyche that knows the world is not only full of wonderful, kind people, but also some dirt-bags.  I need only turn on the nightly news, which I actually avoid doing, to hear the horrors of society.  I temper my need to feel safe with a dose of confidence.  I've got this.

Time to Write,

Jane