Shades of Wonderful Things to Come

I've been so wrapped up in world events and anniversaries, I completely forgot to blog about a significant event in my own life. Call it humility if you like, but it's probably just embarrassment.

A couple of weeks ago, American Cinematheque held a showing of "Playtime" by Jacques Tati. It's one of the funniest movies ever made, and screenings are not common. So when Little Miss came down for the weekend, I told her I really wanted her to see it.

Friday night is the beginning of the Jewish Sabbath, of course, and Little Miss wasn't thrilled about driving into Hollywood or anywhere else on the day of rest. I don't remember being particularly insistent, but I was very excited about seeing this movie and Little Miss likes to accommodate me, so we got in her car and headed to the theater.

I said "Playtime" is a hilariously funny movie, but it doesn't produce a lot of loud guffaws. You have to get into the rhythm of it. Little Miss found that difficult; she was uneasy about seeing a movie on the Sabbath, and her mind was elsewhere. She left the theater a couple of times to have a smoke and try to calm down. Then she suddenly stormed back in and hissed at me - "They're towing my car!"


Now, Little Miss lives in Ventura, which is 40 or more miles from where I live, and her daughter was still up there. What's more, her clothes and other necessities were still in the car. And finally, that car belonged to her father, who passed away about two years ago; his estate is still in probate, so the car did not have a current registration.

The immediate reason for the tow involved a few unpaid parking tickets, but we couldn't help thinking that God was trying to tell us something. Like, say, "Stop driving around on the Sabbath, you two!" Especially me. It seemed unfair that Little Miss had to deal with so much tsuris when the whole thing was really my fault for dragging us out to Hollywood of all places on a Friday night.

We were pretty upset, but we had plenty of time to calm down, walking the five miles back to my house. It was a pretty nice walk, actually; not too much traffic and some nice homes to look at. Over the next week, with a little help from me and from my mother, Little Miss got some important things out of her car, got it registered, paid the parking tickets and got home to her daughter. (It wasn't easy on the poor girl, but she has lots of family up in Ventura and she came through it all right - she's pretty tough for her age, or at least she can act like it.)

My most delighted reflection about that week, though, comes from the fact that Little Miss and I shared my apartment for that whole time, and not only did I avoid feeling constrained, I liked it a lot.

Man, am I ever going to marry her.

Benshlomo says, I love you, Little Miss.