Nothing to write home about

photo (2)Sometimes I wake up and lay there, thinking about the night. Other mornings I bury myself beneath warm covers and the very soft down pillow I punch and twist into comfort under my head. This morning’s wake-up call was a rude one, the loud ring of the portable phone handset beside my bed. Straight up and out of bed and to the computer before coffee – not a good start to my day under the worst of circumstances, but it garnered me a couple hundred dollars so I guess it wasn’t the worst day to come along.

Speaking of coffee, I bought a couple fabric filters for my Melita. It said to rinse in hot water before use and, normally, I’d just chuck it into the wash before using it but, instead, this time I trusted that was all I should do. The flavor of hemp is not a good accompaniment to fresh-ground, especially the first cup. ‘Nuff said.

Off to the post office before noon and I figured to stop in at my favorite little coffee shop – the one with gaudy jewelry, absurd teacups, and the lovely owner with glittery fingernail polish. She made my day – a large cup of dark chocolate with raspberry, hold the whipped cream. First sip brought back the previous evening’s phone call from my daughter, an apology for not calling on Mother’s Day, and an opportunity to hear the voice of a child I love very much, a love without end, without condition, but tempered by addiction and behavior. Still, the sound of her voice saying, “I love you, Mom” was altogether a complete summation of the day.

Mid-day meal was delicious – oatmeal mushroom steaks with onions and sage and paprika, a light gravy over the mashed potatoes and a crisp cupful of tangy slaw. I thought half a plate would fill me up, but confound if I didn’t finish the other half, too. Perfection and comfort as reward for the brusque kick-off to the day.

The sun’s been trying to shine, to keep up the standard set by the weatherman who hasn’t looked out the window, apparently. The temps aren’t freezing, but we’re a ways from the higher digits forecast. Still, it’s not raining and it’s not snowing, and the birds seem happy enough so who am I to complain?

2:30 and I’m pulling myself out of a funk by sitting here, tapping away about what’s on my mind. I dislike personal revelations on social media, where intimate details are flashed onto every screen associated with anyone you know, and whether or not anyone comments or even cares matters not at all – it was said for all the world to hear and I’m not so sure some things won’t come back to haunt or bite or cause regret. I keep it simple, photographic, or amusing, and let’s hope I continue to consider it an aside to my business of daily life, and not the meat of any real conversation, eh?

Anyway, there’s bread to get made, a fragrant candle to light, and some EMS material to review for the next class I teach. I can write this and you can choose not to read, but when I’m teaching and a student begins to nod off, I take it as a cue to raise the bar next time. Please, God; forbid that I’m ever really, truly that boring…


2 thoughts on “Nothing to write home about

  1. An interesting peak into your day. It’s nice that every day holds something different. Sometimes we have to make a move to get out of the same boring grind, and at times things are thrown in that we hadn’t planned that shake up the ordinary. I can’t imagine that you would be boring. From what I know of you, you’re anything but that. I’m glad you heard from your daughter. It’s always nice to hear the words, ” I love you.” Such a simple phrase, but it has the power to take us through some dark times. Thanks for sharing.

  2. Now i see the difference between my regimented day and one like yours filled with interesting diversions. I am blessed however to not have to worry about the phone waking me up since we have no phone service out here. I do however envy the accessibility of that ‘large cup of dark chocolate with raspberry’…you to are truly blessed.

Thanks for reading; feedback welcome.

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