Getting Back to the Unit

Some years ago, Adrienne’s friend Bruce described his grandfather, a thin and elderly man sinking into dementia. On some days he was unable to find his way around the house, but on this particular day he’d put on his uniform (from the second world war), and he’d started walking up the street.

They found him thirty miles up the road in the next town, patiently waiting for a bus. He said he was taking the bus to rejoin his unit.

Lately the radio has been full of news of Iraq, and yesterday we walked the dog in the beautiful Shastice park, where long meadows of lawn wind around the tennis courts. Lizzie rolled on the grass and drifting clouds folded around the mountain, and glided in our direction, promising weather to come.

While we were walking and enjoying the peace, some punk stole Adrienne’s purse from our parked car.

Driving away, she realized. “Stop the car,” she said.

We returned, interviewed folks, examined nearby cars, and peeked into trash cans. No luck. The thieves were long gone.

At the police station, I told the burly guy behind the glass that we’d been robbed, that her purse had been stolen from the car. He smiled. “That’s not robbery,” he said. “That’s burglary.”

“Ok, fine,” I said. “Burglary. How do we file a report?”

He fetched a patrolman who asked questions, and we went home. Somebody has our keys. Adrienne is mightily upset. I think it’s not just the loss of glasses, cards, and somebody having our keys. It’s the loss of the feeling that everything is so safe, here.

We’d planned on dinner, and so when some calm returned, we left Lizzie to bark away intruders and went out. In the restaurant, a lady in the next booth excitedly pointed and gibbered to her husband; a mountain lion was crossing the road. The husband didn’t seem very interested.

When we returned home, everything was fine, no problem. I’m guessing the thieves were kids, looking for thrills or dope money. We’re out about $300 for glasses and keys, and they got $24, plus a sweet picture of Tulip our border collie. But that’s the problem with criminals; they got no consideration.

Today’s been strange too, arranging for the locksmith to change the locks — just in case — and cancelling credit cards, atm cards, auto club card, kaiser card, etc, etc, etc. Voicemail jail and around the block. The Sears card lady in Iowa wrote down the information while tornado alerts boomed in the office behind her. Thank you.

And Friday was strange. We discovered a large white pickup parked mid-block, at right-angles to the street, rear wheels on a lawn with the tailgate pushed into bushes. No plates, keys dangling in the ignition. The cops came and drove it away.

Strange. Strange.

Adrienne tells me she feels like putting on her uniform, and taking the bus to rejoin her unit.