A Saturday Anyway
Saturday. OK, the pants that arrived last night were a trifle snug, but just a trifle. This morning they were better, perhaps because the blip caused by my Christmas dinner Thursday night was returning to normal. So good. We'll hold on for a month, see how it goes, before we order more. There are indeed good things that come from getting rid of the excess weight and one of them is buying new clothes. When's the last time I've really bought any new clothes? Other than t-shirts and jockey shorts? I, like the Chronicle columnist Jon Carroll, have a wardrobe the entire value of which is less than the cost of a single high end business suit (without socks, shirt and shoes). Cheap to replace, when you think in those terms, I would think.
A long night's sleep last night, up at seven, an hour later than has been the habit, the body like a frozen engine that's been goosed by a feeble spark. Get up, get dressed, feed Ms. Emmy, take the various vitamins and meds, head out (late) for breakfast. The frozen engine has now had thirty or forty minutes to react to that feeble trying to turn me over jolt. Breakfast: good. Coffee: good. A drive back home to sit here in front of the computer, some sense of the world around me creeping into the cortex, the various funky “don't give me none of that get up get out of bed crap!” holdouts of head and neck and arms and legs coming around, communicating with whatever it is they communicate with on a Saturday morning. An hour to get it together? I have an hour. Live with the fact the trick is to get there, no how long it takes?
Is this any different than any other morning these last many weeks?
You wonder about going out and doing the town on a Christmas dinner binge. Logically you'd think not, a few slower hours the day after, but the day after that? It is heading into winter, the shortest day of the year is coming up in a couple of weeks, the hours of daylight are short, the body has rules we're unaware of about that: lack of light, lack of heat. Or so I say with great confidence. We'll leave it to the seasons with a dash of getting to be an old fart. We have a trip to Portland coming up, plenty to keep us busy, plenty of things to forget about and screw the thing up.
What's on the list?
Cameras to pack, batteries to charge, Christmas cards to send (to those kind souls who still keep me on their list), gifts to think about - did I think of everything? I don't usually do more than take care of my nephew, is that enough when, instead of a card, you yourself show up? - many, but not overly complicated things to remember and put in place. Christmas, in other words, but the bachelor uncle who lives far away coming to visit kind of Christmas: less stress, less required. Some form of low key semi-conscious behavior is generally enough.
Later. OK, today has been a bit of a laid back buzz. A walk down to the bank through the farmer's market area earlier, around ten, not all that many people early on an overcast morning, but a perfunctory picture just to say I'd taken one, and a walk back to the apartment for another nap. Nap in the sense of lying down, finishing the papers, staring at the ceiling, closing the eyes, petting the cat and then getting up, after, say, a half hour, to take a look at this damned thing. A bus ride downtown later, I think, a quick look through a card shop, maybe find a Santa hat. How have I gone this long in life without having a Santa hat?
Later still. So I set out for the bus, checking the camera settings as I was walking, noticing I had the ISO still set through the roof for the Christmas dinner Thursday night, the bright areas totally blown out on the one or two pictures I took this morning on the way to the bank. Still, nothing to worry about. Check your cameras, kiddies, don't let your highlights go south.
A visit to the local Rite Aid, where I have some of my prescriptions filled, to check out their greeting card section. They actually have a reasonable selection for someone with my tastes. Which is saying something, let me tell you. I wonder if anyone else actually buys them? But I wander. A cup of coffee at Peet's, a couple of photographs of what appear to be yellow kangaroo paws, still growing out in front of the old APL building to no apparent deleterious effect. Other than turning yellow, of course. The red ones are all there, of course, none of them quite blooming at the moment. Of course.
Back then on the bus, the head in a bubble, the world outside, well, outside, but otherwise in good shape. Coherent when conversation is required. It's always good to be coherent when conversation is required, one of the few times it's considered OK to fake it when it's not. When you're not. Does you reputation no good, incoherence, on a Saturday. Anyway.