Oh, I’m not real into this tonight.
I thought I’d slept better last night, and even woke up a bit excited about it. But then now it’s 8:30 and I’m beat. I’m cranky. I was happy earlier, though. What happened?
Awake around 6:00am, up around 7:00. Dreams…those damned dreams. They’re not bad dreams, I just hate dreams of any sort. I also hate hearing about people’s dreams: random strings of nonsense. It was like I was dreaming of the future, 5 minutes from the present—I kept dreaming I was waking up, then I’d wake up. And I think that confused me into thinking I’d slept well, when really I just kept waking up. Prescience.
The great thing about Fridays is they’re a full telecommute day for me. I DID go to Bella Bru for breakfast, and I DID have my lemon poppy seed muffin and mocha (after I’d polished off a Blue Machine). There are certain joys to being a person of certain dietary routines. There’s a girl that works there who’s almost always there when I am, and I think her name may be Laura or Lauren but I’ve never asked, but she knows what I want to eat and drink, knows my name, and always calls Liam “Little Stan.”
Anyway, it was a bit before 8:00, and there was an unusually long line, and I was watching the number of lemon poppy seed muffins dwindle. I could feel my mood dwindling. There were four when I got in line, then three, then two left. There were families in front of me, people with 100s of kids all ordering muffins, it seemed. Liam was squirming in my arms from the long wait. Then there was only one of my muffins left. I started to sweat. I wanted to call out or lunge or do something to make that last poppy seed muffin mine. I was staring at it. I was trying to will others to order anything but that last damn lemon poppy seed muffin. They’re glazed on top. They’re sooooo good.
I almost cartwheeled when I finally got to walk up to order, but then I also almost shouted “LEMON POPPY SEED MUFFIN!” just so I beat the person at the register next to me to it. No worries, as it turned out—I stepped up to the counter and Laura or Lauren (though I think maybe Laura) set a bag and a cup on the counter. “Lemon poppy seed, right? And here’s your mocha.” She deserved a hug, probably, but that would have been inappropriate, so I ordered a berry bran muffin for Liam. And I tipped, which I don’t normally do for coffee and a muffin. Call me cheap if you want. They aren’t getting paid below minimum wage, and it’s coffee and a muffin at the counter. And I get that kind of service, so they must not mind.
Liam and I automoted (ha!) home, me behind the wheel eating my muffin carefully: upside down, tear off bits from the bottom…savor…eat all the soft stuff up to the top, then finally take in that crusty glazy muffin top. Mmmmm….
I’m drinking a super cheap syrah tonight. The best cheap wine there is in my world: Smoking Loon syrah. It usually sets me back about $6, and it’s just so good. There were cans of beer earlier. I’ll get to that.
I put Liam in his high chair, broke up his muffin and gave him some coffee with whiskey—or, I mean milk, really (REALLY)—and got to working. I have a big work plan I’m drafting up right now. Confusing, boring, difficult, and annoying, but it has to get done. It consumed my work day, which is fine. It will consume many more. I also managed to get a bit of garden time in, play with my boy, do some laundry, tighten up the bolts on the high chair, and go for a run.
Yup, it was the first time I’ve run since Sunday. See: no regimen. It was lunch time, and I wanted to get out there before it got too hot for the Elbster (our younger pup). Nosta, she was a much better runner than Elba. Unfortunately, Nosta’s just too old for it these days. Elba, she’s like the sled at the tractor pull. She may keep up in the beginning, but she’ll start dragging ass. It’s okay. She has a lot of fur; she gets hot. And although the internets all told me it was only 80 degrees at the time, it was surely around 90. The on-line temperature is never right. Never. My car tells me so. Also, Elba’s not running very routinely. She loves it, and she’s a good dog.
My wife and I have names for all of our runs: The River Loop, The Berry Loop, Grant-cil Hoffman, Sutter/Landis, etcetera. (Just because no one ever spells etcetera.) Today Elba and I ran the River Loop, which is about 3.5 miles as most all my runs are these days, down a residential street, through Ancil Hoffman Park, then back up a series of turns on other residential streets. I was pushing Liam in the Iron Man stroller. Hills suck when you’re pushing a stroller. Kids don’t get lighter as they grow, either.
Even though it wasn’t the Berry Loop, there are still berry bushes on the way out of the park (which is about 2.5 miles into my run), so I stopped to eat some berries. I was dismayed to find the bushes so heavily picked over. Still, I found some goodies, and Liam was refusing, so I purpled myself and ran on. Elba appreciated the rest in the shade.
After the run and the stopping of the sweat, I really needed to get food in our stomachs, so off to Whole Foods we went. There, big surprise: we shop at Whole Foods for most of our groceries. And I’m not ashamed: I LOVE Whole Foods. And it’s so close to us. Or close enough.
<<Okay, I just battled a giant spider and won. Battled. I spotted it while petting Nosta. It was staring at me from the doorway. I stared back, trying to beat the gaze of so many eyes. It gave me a wicked smile, and I shuddered. I stood. I tried to call my wife in to witness; to call 911 should the need arise. She couldn’t hear me. I was on my own. I was in my flip flops. I went to step down on it, but it held my foot up and pushed me backward. I gathered myself. I could hear it laughing. Breathing. It was mocking me. But the details aren’t important. I killed that bitch.>>
I got some bananas and apples and more Naked Juices ‘cause they’re still on sale and I ordered a half pound of peppered turkey breast sliced up for sandwiches and she cut too much so she gave the surplus to Liam as a “sample,” and Liam ate that stuff down. He ate a banana on the way home. I ate some almonds. And another Naked Juice, now that I think of it. Probably another Blue Machine. Huh. I wouldn’t have done that if I’d thought about it. When we got home I made a turkey sandwich with swiss cheese and Stout and Ground Mustard on double fiber bread with sea salt and ground pepper potato chips on the side (I thought I had some lettuce, but we were out), put Liam in his high chair with a bowl of applesauce, a spoon, a bit of my sandwich, and some milk, and I got back to work.
There was a bit more playing and laughing with my son. He did some napping, of course. A little after 5:00 I stopped the working and started folding laundry. Liam was handing me clothes, and I kept saying “thank you,” and I always thank him when he does good things, and he started saying “thank you” back. Pretty darn cute.
I like to shake corn when the male flowers are all up and open and the anthers are dangling and I can make big clouds of pollen. But that happened this morning. Chronology is not my strong suit. Speaking of which, I forgot about those cans of beer. There were cans of an IPA at Whole Foods and, having never seen such a thing, I bought a six pack. Not bad, but there are better IPAs. Sorry, Minnesota: Southern California will win every time in that department.
When Angie walked in the door around 5:15, I popped the top on a can of that IPA. Oh, the novelty. It wasn’t my most eventful evening. I had a bit more typing to do, I wrote way too long of a message to someone about wine, and my wife started cooking even though it was my night to cook, which made me feel guilty (I just wasn’t hungry or focused) right up until I just saved our household from that giant spider. GIANT. I ate the rest of the Talenti Double Chocolate ice cream while strolling the garden. It’s not going as well as I’d hoped this year, although I’m learning, so I guess that’s good and hopefully I’ll make things better this fall and next spring.
After his bath, Liam ran out to me naked, me typing this blog, climbed into my lap, gave me his open-mouth kiss (he just leans in with is mouth open—it’s nothing salacious), then climbed back off. Again, just so darn cute. But that was a while ago. He’s asleep now. Our house is kinda dark. I’ve just about finished off glass-of-wine-two. I may pour one more, do a bit of reading, and go to sleep.
So good night, book to my left that I’ll never read by Lee Strobel called “The Case for a Creator.” Way to be original in your titling there, Mr. Strobel. (Ahem: Day 7.) And topic. That may even be more annoying than Michael Pollan. “The Botany of Desire” was brilliant. “The Omnivore’s Dilemma” was okay. And then you started beating the dead horse. Get off it, already. New topic.
But they’re getting paid. I’m not, so I can be as annoying and repetitive as I want. Wait, that probably makes them smarter than me. Drat. I did just kill a fly with that Lee Strobel book, though. So good night, dead house fly. Ew.