No Babies Allowed

We had wanted to find a place to watch a football game.  It hasn’t been too bad not having cable, but after awhile it just doesn’t seem like fall without a little college football. Ryan had heard about a place in Nye Beach from a coworker so Thursday night we decided to try it out. If we liked it we hoped to be back the following Thursday for the Virginia Tech vs. Georgia Tech match up. We walked into the restaurant and the five people that were scattered around all turned and stared at us. After what seemed like an hour, but was more like a minute, a lady approached us. She made a big fuss over Abigail.  She was worried about Abigail’s feet being cold.  (Abigail’s new favorite past time is pulling off her socks and eating them.)  As the lady put my baby’s sock back on, she told us that she didn’t think minors were allowed. Now, before you go all child protective services on us for having our baby in a bar. Let me explain. First, it was a restaurant. Second, it was 5:30. Hardly a “party” atmosphere as a couple sat lumplike in front of a big screen TV, and another couple played a game of pool. It was not smoky, and the people were like 100 years old. After some more awkward staring the lady yelled back to someone double checking about the rule. “No babies are allowed. We don’t let them run around here anymore.” Um, alright. Because clearly my six month old baby will be running around your establishment. I doubt the senior citizens would have even heard her had she chosen to scream at the top of her lungs with the television blasting at that absurd level. So, of course I got angry and annoyed and rushed out of the restaurant with my heart beating wildly. We got back in the car and Ryan asked where I wanted to go next. “NOWHERE.” I fumed. Mature, I know. At that point I was so upset that really the only place I wanted to go was back to Lynchburg to eat with our friends in one of our favorite hangouts that wouldn’t mind Abigail being around.  But that would have been a really late dinner so we ended up at a steakhouse where the television was on Fox News of all things.  I quickly checked to make sure I wasn’t wearing ruby slippers and we were in fact still in Oregon, not Virginia, thinking “very funny, God.”  I ate my burger contemplating how much better it would be if were at The Cav, while holding back the tears that were trying to push through. I watched Abigail chewing on her sock, being so perfect in her little seat, and my heart just broke. For her, for us, and even for Hank, too. I missed our friends. Terribly. And while things hadn’t been completely awful, at that moment I felt I was falling into a hole of loneliness.

Things have quieted down. The rush of the move is over and we are left with the routine of normal life. And even though I don’t regret our decision to move for one second it is hard sometimes to go about without knowing when that new friend’s face will peek into your lonely hole with a hand that pulls you out.