Time For Bed
Saturday. Rain last night, rain this morning, somewhat more rain increasing now that I've returned from breakfast. Up with the alarm without a problem after getting to bed before ten last night, remembering, yes, I'd had those two small bottles of sake when I noticed them waiting for me in the hallway to be taken down to the recycle bin. OK, it's wet, but we've survived: life is good, onward.
We rescheduled next week's guitar lesson Friday for this coming Wednesday, it dawning on me afterward this coming Thursday is Thanksgiving. Right, my guitar teacher obviously has a life and needed to free up his weekend. What should I do on Thanksgiving?
My morning restaurant will be closed all day, so we need to think about breakfast and then dinner. Do we do our usual little or nothing (pop it in the microwave oven) or so we plan something more elaborate? I've done both in the past. I don't mind celebrating alone, but it's not easy to say you've celebrated if you do nothing to celebrate. I'm a solitary old codger, but I do know the difference. Something that doesn't take too much cooking? Something a little more upscale along with it that comes in a bottle? We'll think it over for the time being. Can you microwave a turkey?
So what will the rest of the day hold? Guitar, of course, with the usual news babble playing in the background, but maybe another shot at the bedroom? I have the two small pieces of furniture arriving next week, get things ready for their arrival? Why not? Well, other than all the other times I've said “why not” when it was obvious to one and all I wouldn't well before I made the suggestion.
Later. A bus downtown to pick up enough of that prescription I checked on yesterday to get me through the weekend and beyond until the doctor's office finally made contact. Should have taken care of that yesterday. Dark grey overcast rain clouds through all this, but other than one or two errant drops it wasn't raining. A walk to Peet's to have coffee and a scone out on the patio, I the only person out there at a table and chair I'd taken from a stacked by the door pile, idly watching as the rain diminished crowd walked by.
Maybe it's the early years in Seattle, the rain tolerance. Feels good, as long as you're not getting wet, out with not a lot of people around, the colors both darker and yet in some ways more vibrant. Or some variation on that. Back on the bus I debated whether to stay on and go to the morning restaurant, but deciding against it. The farmers market will be down to a few grim rain or shine shoppers and the café patio will be closed. Well, deserted and most certainly wet.
Now that we've gotten our walk out of the way we're back to deciding what to do with the bedroom, how to put off sitting down with the guitar (just kidding). All those pairs of shoes, most of which are old and worn out and should have been dumped years ago when I bought their replacements, why not go through them now, weed the pack? Free up space? Get them, if not gone, then off the floor? Hup (and all that)?
And why not?
Can't think of a single damned reason, although I won't. Sort through them. Do it. Nice idea, though. Do you get awarded points for your nice ideas even if you don't follow through?
Not if you talk on about it like a complete idiot.
Later still. The clouds are breaking, streaming in from the (west?) and the sun is back, so a walk over to the morning café for lunch (a BLT, ice cream and coffee), taking a couple of pictures on the walk back, passing two young women, one of whom was taking pictures with a new camera. They said hello when they saw me taking this picture and I did what I could to encourage them further.
Home now with the news running on in the background. A nap, maybe, no more alcohol for a while (until Thanksgiving, I would hope) and maybe a little time with the finger picking. Fast times at Ridgemont High..., um, at Lake Merritt in the sun. Diddle-dee-dun.
Evening. Better. A chapter of Beck I haven't seen before at six, so I continued along on the guitar through the entire ninety minutes, going over and over the finger picking exercises I managed to blow on Friday. We'll do the same through the week, get in more than two hours on the picking and the chords each and every day.
I might surprise the both of us. I might.
Nothing coming up I want to watch, the guitar is sitting in its stand and disconnected from the amp, so I suspect it's time for bed, here in Oakland after dark.