rainbow brite

A decade ago yesterday, we arrived in Missoula.  We drove our two old cars, our two cars that we still drive, through hot, dusty state-lines and arrived in a town we'd never before seen.  We arrived in the evening, about the same time these rainbow pictures were shot yesterday.  We stumbled out of our driving haze and decided to walk the river trail towards downtown, a way to stretch our legs and find some much needed dinner.  I remember it so clearly, that first walk along the river trail.  The tanned, healthy folk that jogged past.  Bikes and dogs and strollers and hippies and old folk.  The smell in the air.  We found our way  downtown and began our first amble along Higgins.  To think I had no idea how cool our little downtown was!  I don't think I even used the Internet then, probably hadn't even Googled Missoula.  It was a weird leap of faith that brought us here.

So we read menus and marquees as we walked.  One thing we had given up when we left L.A. was our weekly sushi habit.  I think I'd probably have saved a lot more money from my early twenties if Jeff and I hadn't indulged in sushi every Friday night.  It was one of our best rituals.  I'd assumed there was no sushi in Missoula.

And then we saw it.  The sign for Sushi Hana.   
Does that say sushi, Jeff?  
Yeah, I think it does. 
Even our conversation feels pretty clear in my mind.  We walked in.  I admired the high ceilings, the cool, ornate white designs.  I remember the artwork that hung in the hallway as I wandered to the restroom.  I remember how cool the air inside of the restaurant felt. 

We ordered a feast that night.  And while it wasn't exactly Kabuki quality, it was gonna be just fine.  And then somewhere in the middle of our Hamachi, a summer storm appeared.  It was a downpour, fast and furious.  I got that wild feeling that I get when there's weather of any kind.  It was the first of many, many times that I'd continue to have that weird weather feeling. 

The storm ended.  The sun returned, as fierce as ever.  And then it appeared.  An incredible double rainbow above our new, little town.  All the patrons in the restaurant ran outside to get a closer glimpse.  We joined them, our first foray into our new community.  People smiled, pointed, focused.  Slowly they began to make their way back inside, back towards their dinners, moving out of the moment of total awe.

A decade has passed since that night.  And last night we found ourselves, quite arbitrarily, back on the river trail.  This time, two wild haired children were there to help us oogle at the rainbow.  They held our breath just as the rainbow had ten years earlier.