Whenever Eric and I were even remotely close to Healdsburg we would stop for lunch at  Shed. Ugh, I can still remember the first time I was there, a salad so fresh it felt like the vegetables were jumping from the ground straight into my mouth. The second time, a pizza with dough so fluffy it was like eating clouds. As Eric and I plan our next weekend getaway to Healdsburg, my mouth is already watering at the thought of my meal at Shed.

I am so damn sure that the Shed of my memories, the Shed of my imagination is what I am guaranteed on our next trip. But, if I am being honest, my memories are a little doctored; I choose to ignore the times the food is just so-so, to believe that the one time I got food poisoning was an’outlier’, to gloss the unpleasantness when we have had to wait hours for a table, or to forget the  heartbreak when I learned they had stopped serving their pizza.

My imagination isn’t too trustworthy either, after all, Shed changes: There is variable comfort of certain tables over others, varying service, varying food quality, temptation of the sweets case that is extra painful when I am dieting but a joy when I am feeling thin, coffee sometimes too caffeinated, produce selection sometimes filled with my favorites but sometimes stocked with very least favorites (persimmons, yuk).  Shed is many parts, many workers, many ingredients,  many patrons, many experiences, each constantly shifting.  The only place it stays the same is in my imagination. No matter how much the place changes, in my mind it always seems to be the Magical Shed.

The problem is, this is delusional. The Shed of my mind (memory + imagination) exists no where in reality. Yet, I expect that on my next trip to Healdsburg I will be able to just go and find it and when I find it, it will behave and fulfill me just like I imagine.  Ultimately reality always gets the last word: Everything always changes, shifts, decays to a point my ly’in mind can’t pretend anymore, and when that finally happens I suffer a world of  hurt.  Trust me, I know, because several years after I had this contemplation, I learned Shed closed down just a few weeks before my last vacay out to Healdsburg — a stab of disappointment for which there was no one to blame but myself.