Of My Life
Tuesday. OK, when I learned my sister (in Portland) is snowed in with whatever number of inches on the ground and the weather people were saying snow all this week including up the coast I decided Portland for Christmas was not in the cards and headed over to Mr. S's place last night to commiserate (he ran into the same problem planning on driving to Nevada) and test the latest batch of beer along with Mr. E and Mr. H. It seemed only fair. I wasn't much of a beer taster, keeping it to a single pint, but the evening went well up there on the hill at Mr. S's place overlooking the entire bay under a crystal clear sky. Or something like that, Portland being out of the cards.
It is now mid morning having returned from breakfast and my attitude and aching sinus-head thing are pretty good. They took the scaffolding down yesterday and I've swept the balcony up and rearranged the pieces of broken furniture I have sitting out there, Ms. Emmy's litter box now in its usual place, the temporary “just in case” litter box on the kitchen floor back outside where it belongs. The sun is out and bright as it was yesterday (yet it's snowing like crazy in Portland and Seattle) and I'm thinking of what to do, now, for Christmas. Lay in a bit of sake, order up a dinner for one at the local Whole Foods market, maybe even play an old record or two from years gone by.
I do have to admit to a somewhat better attitude lately, the sinus-head thing still with me, but not so much still with me, at least that's what I've been saying. I'm not sure what's coming up for the next year, but I think it will be a good one. I have no real interest in travel, real travel anyway, but maybe that will change if the sinus-head thing continues to recede. Most of my lack of interest in going anywhere, I think, comes from somewhere else. I bounced around the country when I was younger (much younger) and for whatever reason lost any interest in setting out to new places, new adventures, new whatevers, perhaps because I'd burned my little fingers in the past and gave into, well, fear? One does not want to admit to giving into fear, even if it's true. Better, perhaps, and probably more accurate to blame it on sloth. Maybe a little jaunt somewhere for the upcoming birthday in March. Somewhere north of Marin or south of Daly City. You can never tell.
So, we're here in Oakland for Christmas, the attitude good, the hurley burly of the building painting completed, the stairway to my sliding balcony doors now gone with the scaffolding taken down, breakfast finished, what more for the day? For the week? For the rest of my life?