An Empty Weekend

Friday night: At the end of a two-and-a-half-hour bus ride home on Friday nights, Santa and Spaulding would pick me up at the Kuldiga bus station. The little old Honda CRV would be parked in the Rimi supermarket parking lot across the street from the bus station and as the bus went by the parking lot heading into the station I would get a profile view of the car with Santa in the front seat or not (sometimes she would shop whole waiting), and always Spaulding’s figure in the back seat. He would look big in comparison to the car, which was orange, only slightly lighter than his red color. As I would approach the car he would get in between the two from seats standing on the consul and excitedly lick my face and give me a welcome that repaired the burden of any travels (and on occasion the Latvian bus system will provide you burdens). I would never get close to a hello kiss from Santa because Spaulding would not vacate that middle spot until we were well on our way out of town. The back-left window would be his next destination on that ride, but only after coaxing him to it a few times. When we arrive home, he would plant himself under my table desk. Since I arrived late I would have dinner at my desk. Spaulding, as he would do at any meal he could get to, willing shared my meal with me, ensuring no leftovers and a very clean plate. Saturday morning: Saturday morning would start with me stumbling down stairs and going into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Tea in hand, I would go to the study where Spaulding would be on the couch or in a chair. Upon seeing me he would pop up and we would head out the door for a short walk down our 200-yard-long driveway. Half the walk was through fields on each side and the other half with forest. I would talk to God, usually thanking him for these beautiful natural surroundings, Spaulding would take care of all the business a morning brings. At the foot of the driveway, I would look up and won our isolated dirt road, to the East to greet the morning sun, to the west to observe the incoming weather. Spaulding would mark the trees and bushes needing marking that morning. After a minute or two we would turn around and head back to the house. He would be in more of a rush to get back than me, usually meeting me at the side door as I rounded a corner. Once inside, the, other Saturday morning activities at my desk would begin liking reading the news or answering emails. Spaulding at my feet under the desk. After a while, Saturday morning breakfast, my favorite meal of the week would begin. Usually Santa would start this by frying up fresh bacon. Some-how only a certain percentage of the bacon being cut got to the frying pan. I suspect Spaulding’s charms do in fact work on Santa. At the table, my fried bacon would be shared in about 50/50 proportions with Spaulding. He could eat eggs, but only from my plate, he had no interest in being served his own eggs. He had egg a lot. After breakfast, we go to town each week to have a latte at our favorite coffee shop and do the weeks shopping. This is Spaulding’s favorite trip because no one but him is ever invited, so it validates his special family status above all other creatures (or persons). He would happily hop into the back seat of the car and immediately get on the consul between the front two seats. He would concentrate on the road in front of us with a concerned look on his face. It would take a minute or two and I would look at him and offer to let him drive. He usually declined and retreated to his window which would be rolled half way down for him to take in all that fresh country air. Once at the coffee shop, Santa and I would hop out of the car and ask him to be good. This was a sincere request because any stranger who strolled too close to the car would discover that there was a fairly effective alarm system semi-sleeping in the back seat. This same request would be delivered at each Saturday morning stop. I have no proof, but I suspect that the little orange Honda CRV was understood by the good people of Kuldiga to be left alone on Saturday morning if ever they would come upon it. The trip home would include the same rituals, where Spaulding would indicate his interest in leading us home from his perch on the center consul but eventually move to the window to enjoy the view and the fresh air. Today: This is how each weekend has started the last four and a half years. But this weekend was different. There was an empty back seat in little orange Honda CRV. I actually got to kiss my wife hello upon being picked up at the bus station on Friday night. I did not have the strength to walk the driveway and talk to God, he knows I have only one request of him this weekend. I ate my own bacon and eggs. The drive to the coffee shop required only my piloting and the Honda sat quiet and unguarded in Kuldiga this morning. The pedestrian of town having no surprises. This weekend seems very empty and it isn’t even 1:00 yet.