[lit-ideas] For Eric

From: David Ritchie <ritchierd@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Date: Mon, 11 Apr 2011 14:40:03 -0700
People sometimes complain that fiction is insufficiently factual for their 
taste.  Why trust an author who tells lies for a living?  It is possible that 
the following tale may appeal to that particular market segment or set of 
lifestyle adherents.  

Drove north.  Or rather, set off on a Friday afternoon with the declared intent 
of driving north.  Broken stoplights on Burnside meant that one hour later we 
were still in Portland.  

With whizzy new phone, L. looked up umpteen places where we might dine, also 
reviews on Yelp.  Eventually settled on exactly the place we probably would 
have picked without such aid, a brewpub in Tacoma where the raucous office 
workers celebrating Friday's twilight mingled with families on iced-tea and 
water-only.  

Cashed in accumulated points for a free night in Everett.  Was reminded of that 
punchline, "and the second prize is two free nights."  Not an awful motel, one 
personned by really very personable people, but not a place I'd recommend.  
Breakfast (free): egg-like substance, orange-juice-like substance, coffee-like 
substance...polystyrene vessels, plastic implements, all tossed in the garbage 
at the end of the meal.  At the next table a family of barrel-shaped 
people--nearly as round as they were tall--encouraged their kids to eat.  They 
were very successful.

The Canadian border guard thought there was something suspicious about people 
coming into her country for a single night.
"Why are you visiting?"
"To see friends."  
"It's a long way from Portland."
"We know."
"Why aren't you staying?"
"We have to work on Monday."
She seemed unconvinced; did Canada really need people who behaved this way?

We did have ulterior motives: a friend is recovering from chemotherapy and 
seemed ready for a small dose of company; Phoebus Maximus, the daughter of 
another friend, was available to be taken out for a helping of decent food; 
there was the promise of catching up with D., the ex-cabinet minister turned 
painter and "Raging Grannie." (She would join us in the early evening, just as 
soon as the Demonstration was done.)  A botanist who used to shoot the tops off 
fir trees for a living wanted to know how interested we are in bone china.  We 
had run out of Maltesers.

I won't bore you with details.  In broad brush strokes: everyone was well fed, 
views on Canada's elections were well aired, and the drive home was well...wet. 
 We stopped at the same brewpub on the way back--happy hour, all-you-can-eat 
fish and chips--arrived home to find ants.  I believe the house-sitter had 
spilled soda; this is not a fact.

David Ritchie,
Portland, 
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[lit-ideas] For Eric

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