Could Last Forever
Tuesday. To bed at a decent hour. I think. I seem to recall. Anyway, up before the alarm, off to breakfast and back on what looks as if it will be a warm sunny day. In May. We can do this.
A haircut at ten so a bus downtown in another hour. I'm thinking of having it cut shorter. Much shorter. A change in look, a change in pace, a change, any old change, rather than sit here bitching.
Later. So, a bus to the ATM on Broadway to walk on then to the haircut appointment in the City Center, arriving three minutes before it was scheduled to start. “Shorter”, I said. And so she proceeded to cut.
Large head, thick hair, not the best combination for keeping it long. Or short. As it happens.
A walk up Broadway to Grand and then a bus back to the apartment, thinking of staying on the bus to the morning restaurant, but finally deciding against it. Too early, maybe, not hungry. Still, half an hour later I did walk, had lunch (a burger and lemonade, our other than red clam spaghetti sauce meat for the week) out on the patio in the sun before walking back to the apartment, stopping at the lake to sit on a bench for a short while. I'm getting good at bench sitting by the lake. Nice day. I may have mentioned it.
I'd thought of going out after the haircut with the new 80-400mm lens, but decided against it and brought the 85mm instead. I guess I avoid walking around with something so conspicuous other than when it's close to home along the lake. It would have been nice to have had when I ran across these two, though.
Home now, mid afternoon, maybe a nap, maybe start on the guitar. I've been taking a guitar vacation the last two days, taking advantage of the now two week stretch before the next lesson, but we don't want to stretch it too far. Comes back to haunt. Haunting I remember, it's the who done it in detective shows I forget.
Evening. A Maigret I've seen before. At least once. Can't really, um, remember. Another odd improbabe story set in a different culture at a different time that I watched this evening with some satisfaction if not pleasure. Ah, well. Don't question an experience too closely if it's good, harms no children and won't frighten the horses.
Through all this about an hour on the guitar. I figure an hour (generally played in pieces over a three hour period) is about right. Nothing to catapult me to guitar mastery in less than about five hundred years, but more than enough for an old duff.
You do go on.
Indeed. It's spring. Nice if it could last forever.