Santee

I should know Santee, but I don't.

For a few months, a decade ago, I worked in Santee.

I opened a Mimi's there.

I parked my car in the lot there 6 days a week.

Those 6 days a week I exited the freeway in the whereabouts, likely listening to Britney Spears en route, clutching the steering wheel of my gold 97' Chevy Cavalier.

I should know the name of that freeway exit, but I don't.

I have a poor memory for so many things.

And the other day as I drove through San Diego county, headed toward Grossmont College I saw a sign that read "Santee".

And it was then that I realized I have no clue how to navigate to that Mimi's Cafe if I wanted to...

Just for memory's sake.

Just to pop in and have an omelette,

or a latte,



or remind myself what those few months were like.

And they were good months.

I had great, great colleagues back then and I had youth and no crow's feet and I had several work aprons and they were all cute and I had a name badge that read "trainer" and I thought I was the cat's meow.

And now, I don't know Santee.

Regrettably, I remember Cliff's face.  He was one of the trainees I dated.

I remember the horrible fires that engulfed the county that year and the sky painted in smoky yellow and greys.

I remember the nights out with Ashley and Jenn.

I remember one last dinner with an ex at Islands (no, not Cliff)... (I swear they didn't overlap.) 

And I remember the drives to Temecula to take courses for my Master's degree twice a week.

I remember those people, those moments, those days, but I don't remember Santee.

Next time, I'll let my GPS remember.

And maybe I'll have an omelette,

or a latte.