Life of Wry

Snapped from the passenger seat, riding, uncharacteristically, shotgun.  The attendant was not amused, but I waved at him right after I took this picture, as if to say, don’t mind me, I’m just taking a picture, but it’s ok, you’re not really all that in it, go right on back to work. He waved back.  We drove away… off to pick Peter up from a junior high school dance.  Story for another time.

I just needed a quick photo, as time was ticking down on this day.

I was not driving because I’d had too much retsina at dinner.  One glass over my limit.  In my happy retsina place, but not right for driving. I’ve decided greek food shall be served at my memorial; I love it that much.

I’m reflecting on a day full of productivity–lots of reading, writing, necessary and satisfying communications, progress on the office cleaning front, and an hour of stretching, which did wonders for several traumatized body zones.  Getting old is hell. But stretching is heaven.

This is the eve of a brutal weekend to come: a far away baseball tournament with early games on both Saturday and Sunday, and Jim’s 40th high school reunion sandwiched in between.  This means we drive 80 miles south to a farming community in the central valley, watch a couple baseball games and drive home.  Then, a reunion-appropriate wardrobe change, a 70-mile drive west to Piedmont for an upscale evening event that will undoubtedly run late into the night, then back home to Davis.  Then, up the next morning before dawn to get back down the valley for another couple, three baseball games. Hoping for smooth flowing traffic and good attitudes throughout.