Go With The Flow
Saturday. Up this morning in a reasonably good mood with the alarm, off to breakfast and back with a detour by the supermarket. I'd had a thought yesterday, when heading out for that chicken sandwich, that the world might be better if I'd had something closer to actual food in the kitchen. Just in case. So I compromised this morning and brought home some of each: garden grown vittles and wrapped in bright plastic industrial crap.
This is the day they've been saying we'll hit a high of seventy, so I'm ready. Yesterday was nice: high sixties. A bit cold this morning, but not all that cold and the sun is indeed shining. Do something more ambitious later? Enlarge my walking area? A trip to San Francisco? To Oahu?
I know. You get started on a thought and you've soon left any notion of reality behind. Typing, really, not writing. What's on my mind? Give it more time, maybe a nap, give the brain space to wake up and then see what happens.
Later. Approaching one in the afternoon. We've been downtown to pick up a prescription refill at the pharmacy and returned, getting off the bus at the Grand Lake farmers market to look around, camera ready, but without taking a single picture.
OK, so, on then to the morning café for a chocolate dipped biscotti finger biscuit thing, ice cream and coffee out on the patio, all their tables filled but one. Felt good, even the sinuses, so a walk back to the apartment along the lake to take one or two pictures.
Later still. A nap. A good nap, up now in the mid-afternoon, the head empty. A nice day.
A walk just over to the lake and back, taking one or two pictures of the large numbers of people engaged in this and that. I'm still impressed there are tight rope walkers who gather to practice. This guy was flying, although he decided to stop and rest when I approached.
Do people (younger people) in any significant number learn tight rope walking for sport, for hobby, for the hell of it? I'd like to think they do, it somehow gives me a kind of confidence. They're the emerging generation and they're going to have things they're going to have to wrestle with, some that may well be more than difficult and tight rope walking seems a better preparation for them than others they might choose.
Evening. The Commisario Brunetti, done in German, subtitled in English, set in Venice police procedural played at six. I knew from the first scene I'd seen it before, didn't remember the outcome, although it was fairly obvious from early on who'd probably done the deed(s). OK, an hour and a half, playing along on the guitar. And two of the small bottles of Ozeki dry sake (I mentioned I'd visited the supermarket after breakfast this morning?). Followed by a shot of Jack Daniels. Over some three hours. Well, actually two shots of Jack Daniels.
Is that advisable?
We'll know tomorrow.
And so, buzzing right along and feeling just fine, thank you (there's a reason we come back to the well) I remembered House runs on Saturday nights until ten and the one I dialed into after the Commisario had finished sucked me right in. Could have been the Ozeki. Could even have been the show. Either way, we'll go with the flow.