Beltane Waning Last Crescent Moon
So. Last Wednesday I drove into Minneapolis for the last regular legcom meeting of this year. We’d been going at it since January, once a week, with all the prep work and other matters (legislative hearings, visits to legislators, conferences, boning up on the issues) and everybody would, I know, be ready for a rest.
First, though, I had to pick up Wanda Davies at Victoria and County Road C in Roseville. In my rush to get out the door I oriented myself toward the street I knew that intersected with County Road C, Snelling Avenue. That was how I ended up waiting in the parking lot of the Holiday station.
While I was waiting, a woman in a disheveled Whiskey Sour Notes t-shirt approached me. Her car had blown a tire on the road. The trooper gave her two hours to move it and she needed to get a can of the stuff that inflates your tire. She’d found somebody to take her out there after she’d bought it, but the total was $50.00. She had skin lesions on her face that in retrospect may have been meth craters, though her teeth looked good.
Anyhow I reached in my wallet, gave her the $50 I had plus my name and address. She said she’d repay me. When I told Kate, she said, “You’re always a sucker for a hard-luck story.” Yeah, I am.
As I’ve reflected on it now, her anxiety, which was real, might have been a drug jones as much as worry about her vehicle. I don’t know. Even so, I’d rather risk being wrong than refuse an authentic plea for help. It’s only money.
Oh. Yes, I did pick up Wanda after a phone call or two and we had the meeting. And were glad to be finished with the session.
