February 26, 2022

Last night was one of those nights, the kind that makes me smile out aloud at the realization that we’re all creating core memories together. Last night reminded me of this one, eight long and short years ago. Last night, instead of our usual Friday night Shabbat, the one with the Bag O’ Burgers from the local bar, we decided to go out to another restaurant. We ate and laughed and drank and laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed. We saw people we knew. There were people at whom we hollered and chased down for pleasantries, and people to whom we politely waved and then politely avoided. It is a small town, after all. We stopped by the bar to give our favorite server a hug and her usual Friday night tip. We drove home listening to old playlists we built together when our big boys were still at home and life was different. Oh, was life different. This morning, I noticed a text from a coworker. A gal from another department apparently overheard the bar staff trying to figure out how to reach a Rachael Kincaid last night; I must have dropped my license in the parking lot during our pop-in after dinner. This brave and kind colleague hopped into the fray and secured my license, volunteering to track me down. It only took her a few mutual connections, and now I am to retrieve my license from the nurses’ station Monday. Perhaps I’ll make a new friend out of this; she knows my age and weight now, after all. I love this town. I loved last night.