Monday. And so, as said, to bed last night at nine-thirty, finally drifting off to sleep without a problem, up at six forty-five well after the alarm that is set for six, running a little late. So we'll feed a dollar into the meter, so what? We'll tap the laundry stash for quarters, it's been getting way too far ahead of the game as it is.
Anyway, a plain waffle with fruit, a fruit cup (my good customer thanks from the café) and coffee, taking no chances after yesterday. The sky overcast, but it looks as if it will clear up and we'll have another close to seventy degree spring day, another day without rain.
Seems a world away, reading about the temperatures and the snow in the Midwest and on the East Coast. Lived in New York once, remember some of the cold weather and snow, but that was a long time ago. Tales of another era, told by another person from another planet.
Anyway (for the second time), we'll concentrate on guitar, try to get a decent picture that fits up top for today's entry and take the day as it comes. Our plan for the day, the week and the life. So far. Not unusual, this plan, whether it works or whether it does not in under the sun or in the snow. Ho, ho.
You sure you didn't have something else with that waffle with sliced bananas and strawberries for breakfast?
Later. A nap, a good hour of which I don't remember, so maybe I indeed got some sleep. Up to futz with the computer and then finally take a walk over to the lake without a destination in mind, remembering at the last moment I needed to go by the ATM and that would give me an excuse for a decent outing.
Getting to the ATM and waiting for longer than I'd like for the person in front of me to make a number of deposits on different cards, I pushed the buttons for a withdrawal and got a “transaction not available” message. OK, we'll take the card and go find a teller inside, now where's the exit, I want my card back button? Do I want another transaction? Um, yes, lots of choices there, but no quit button. How did this happened?
A word about the problem to the guy who was waiting patiently behind me to then duck inside the bank to talk with the woman sitting at the first desk. She came out, the fellow who had been standing behind me with my card in his hand. How had he managed that? Seems there's a cancel button along with the other buttons at the base of the screen. Which I hadn't noticed or thought to find. Duh. Ah, well. Now we know. And they know and with this the world now knows. It all comes out in the end.
A walk back, a dish of ice cream on the way: two scoops, good for lunch. A picture or two as I passed by the lake, home now to catch the end of the PBS News Hour that had started at three. Guitar now starting later than I said I'd start last night. And said the night before that. Consistent we are.
Later still. Another nap. Hmm. What the hell is with the naps?
There are one or two things on television worth watching later tonight, so we'll sit and watch and play guitar. Why didn't you apply yourself to the guitar over all those years, young man? Well, there weren't programs I wanted to watch on television to play along with and so I never really got in enough practice. The cards were stacked against me, sir, and the guitar was left to its own devices.
Sounds about right to me.
Evening. And so I feel better. A funky afternoon created by what? The two scoops of ice cream? The small amount of crunchy peanut butter scooped out of the jar at various times with a spoon? I have no idea, but we'll hold off buying any more peanut butter for the while.
Some progress on the guitar leading up to Scott and Bailey that started at nine forty-five. Which was late, but we watched, we played and we got to bed but a second after. We did.