The haze
Today was going to be my first day back at my regular 32-hour work week since early March – meaning I would not have to be at the office until noon, instead of 8:30 as I've been doing every Tuesday for the last several months. So I was enjoying a leisurely breakfast on the patio, watching the hazy sky (because of all the fires – the season has begun early this year), sipping from my fat yellow teacup and reading the first pages of an as-yet-unread-by-me Faulkner novel, when the phone rang.
I considered not answering it – and then I decided to follow up on that urge and let it go to voicemail. I waited for the little "ding" that lets me know there's a new message, and when I listened to it – halleluja and hot dang in a handbasket! It was my boss, informing me that there was very little work to be done today, and that if I would like to take the day off, that would be just fine. So yeah! I did it. I took the day off.
Making a conscious effort for the moment not to worry too much about what it means that there is so little to do that they are asking people not to come in (because with all the freelance work I committed to earlier this year all this really means for me is that I'm finally back to only 40 hours a week)... I enjoyed my day very much. I puttered, I read, I did some sewing, I did some cleaning, I took a bath followed by a brief nap, I tried on a bunch of new outfits. I rode my bike to the thrift store to drop off several large bags of clothes that have been hanging around in the garage for way too long. I went to the library and got a new library card – my old one having long since disappeared – and checked out a bunch of books about women in the American West in the late 19th century, with an emphasis on the Mormon experience (something that never fails to fascinate me).
On the way home I rode the long way around, stopping at this shady little bar on the banks of the creek not far from my house – a polka palace in continuous operation for more than 100 years, which now also features local Cajun, Zydeco and tango bands, among others. I was the only person in the place besides the bartender. He said it wouldn't get busy until the Kiwanis showed up for their weekly meeting at 7:30, so he turned on the waterfall for me and I took a seat under the Christmas lights outside and downed a couple of beers before riding the rest of the way home.
Here's a picture of the wall behind the bar, which the bartender informed me was painted in 1927. The whole place is old-school in the extreme, right down to the dinner menu (steaks, chops, pasta, giant uncomplicated salads, etc. – not a veggieburger in sight).
All in all a very satisfying day.
Now I am about to have a little salad, after which I will cut up the pants and dresses I bought by the pound at that thrift store, and sew them into new skirts to wear on my vacation next week.
I love summer. Except for all the fires. Those I will admit are a little disturbing, though the haze makes for lovely red sunsets.
I considered not answering it – and then I decided to follow up on that urge and let it go to voicemail. I waited for the little "ding" that lets me know there's a new message, and when I listened to it – halleluja and hot dang in a handbasket! It was my boss, informing me that there was very little work to be done today, and that if I would like to take the day off, that would be just fine. So yeah! I did it. I took the day off.
Making a conscious effort for the moment not to worry too much about what it means that there is so little to do that they are asking people not to come in (because with all the freelance work I committed to earlier this year all this really means for me is that I'm finally back to only 40 hours a week)... I enjoyed my day very much. I puttered, I read, I did some sewing, I did some cleaning, I took a bath followed by a brief nap, I tried on a bunch of new outfits. I rode my bike to the thrift store to drop off several large bags of clothes that have been hanging around in the garage for way too long. I went to the library and got a new library card – my old one having long since disappeared – and checked out a bunch of books about women in the American West in the late 19th century, with an emphasis on the Mormon experience (something that never fails to fascinate me).
On the way home I rode the long way around, stopping at this shady little bar on the banks of the creek not far from my house – a polka palace in continuous operation for more than 100 years, which now also features local Cajun, Zydeco and tango bands, among others. I was the only person in the place besides the bartender. He said it wouldn't get busy until the Kiwanis showed up for their weekly meeting at 7:30, so he turned on the waterfall for me and I took a seat under the Christmas lights outside and downed a couple of beers before riding the rest of the way home.
Here's a picture of the wall behind the bar, which the bartender informed me was painted in 1927. The whole place is old-school in the extreme, right down to the dinner menu (steaks, chops, pasta, giant uncomplicated salads, etc. – not a veggieburger in sight).
All in all a very satisfying day.
Now I am about to have a little salad, after which I will cut up the pants and dresses I bought by the pound at that thrift store, and sew them into new skirts to wear on my vacation next week.
I love summer. Except for all the fires. Those I will admit are a little disturbing, though the haze makes for lovely red sunsets.
1 Comments:
What a gift, your day! And you used your gift so well. I love LOVE that bar you described and the accompanying photo. I would love to see photos of the finished skirts you sewed! Fashion show, please?
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