"Honey, I don't know how to tell you this, but your package of noodles is in the middle of Main Street."  I never thought I would hear Calvin say that to me.

In the movie "500 Days of Summer" one of best scenes is when they are shopping in Ikea. It is like a playground for home decorators. One of our favorite quotes to say is when Tom says to Summer, "Darling."
[Summer looks up at him]
Tom says, "I don't know how to tell you this, but... there's a Chinese family in our bathroom." In one of the 300 square-foot model apartments there is a Chinese family oddly looking at Tom and Summer as they cuddle on the display bed.
For some reason we crack up hysterically every time we hear this.
It has been the punchline for weeks.

However today was not a day for laughing. I was late to work and I had to drive Calvin to school. I managed to spill an entire tray of frozen celery on the ground before leaving the house and didn't have time to clean it up. My hair was wet.
It was not turning out to be a peachy morning.

I looked like a tightrope walker as I tried to cautiously balance everything in my hands while trying to open the car door. I couldn't take it anymore. I had to put something down. My lunch, (in a glass container) seemed like the perfect thing to rest on the top of the car.
"Just for a minute," I thought.

I tossed the keys to Calvin because he was a better driver. He sped all the way to BYU campus, swerving like a race car driver. I heard a loud thunk somewhere between 4th and 5th street.
"What was that?" I asked Calvin.
"I don't know."
Our car makes lots of noises.

We finally arrived at BYU with a few minutes to spare.
Calvin leaps out of the car with his backpack in hand.

"Hey... you have something on your car, a student said with a puzzled look on our face.
Somehow, the glass container defrosting vegetables and a bag of trail mix was still intact, had defied the law of physics and were resting on the hood of the car.
The noodles though, were gone.



I snatched the food and put it in the car to hide my embarrassment.
Calvin, at a loss of words for the disaster we just avoided, just kissed me and said, "Only you Krysta would be able to do something like that."

On my way home I went down main street imagining to find a package of udon noodles with tire tracks on it. I didn't.

However, "The case of the missing noodles," was not a tragic ending.
Every day I pass by what I lovingly refer to as the "tamale lady." I sometimes see her several times a day, in rain or cold selling tamales. She must be at least 80 years old. Well today was the day. I finally bought some. I found a dollar bill and some coins in the car so I gave it to her and said, "I'll have two chicken tamales please."
She didn't speak a word of English.
Trying to remember the Spanish I learned from Dora the Explorer and Taco Bell commercials, I said in my Spanglish, "dos chicken tamales porfavor." She didn't understand so she pulled out a worn menu and had me point to the  kind of tamales I wanted. I was not her first English customer.
She then lovingly wrapped the tamales in a brown paper bag and handed them to me with a smile. At that second, even though I didn't speak her language we shared a wonderful moment together. Human connection is so powerful that sometimes language doesn't even matter.  I wish I could have bought 20 tamales to help this sweet lady.
Although I didn't plan it, it turned out to be a good day after all.