Sunday, March 22, 2015

Sunday Morning - Not winter but not yet spring

After a night of a on again off again naps, I sat in front of the screen drinking cold coffee and waiting for the sun to join me. The classical music changes to silly news and puzzles but I’m restless. I get up and then lie back down and then get up again. Still full of red beans and rice from last night, I surf the same news sites with the same news because it has been nighttime and nothing has happened. Get up and make another cup of hot coffee and try to sort why someone would be getting married at the beach in the middle of a civil war reenactment with cannons scarring the seagulls and counting MandMs. Where do these weird dreams come from? So back into the guitar room and catch three cases that are sliding. I rearrange them to eliminate that happening again, and then notice the light is increasing outside. I pull back the curtains and whom should I see? A small grey bunny is hopping about munching on leaves and bamboo. The bunny is young with those little ears and about the size of a chipmunk instead of a squirrel. Well it is near Easter so I guess they had to come around to entertain me this morning. Brings more joy than the sun coming up or the bitter coffee. A few emails of silliness then the first of “This American Life” but still too anxious to stay still. The mind is still flashing between what needs to be done in spring but don’t interfere with the bunnies and haven’t heard the owl yet and what should be bought at the store because a real trip to the store is in the future. So shake off the boredom and aimless wanderings and looks like ‘Readwave’ has crashed without my latest fine writing, so put on some pants and sweats and brush the teeth and power rinse like I was going on a date instead of just the grocery store. The same pattern of opening the front door just to look at the cars parked in the same spots they always are. The next door neighbor’s boyfriend or workman or whatever he is has started his continuation of yesterday’s construction with his two-time barking dog. Locking up the empty house there is a chill in the air but the air is fresh. Grab a pony and prepare for the routine, but every day is different. The usual protective behavior to pulling to the side of the street to let the driver decide which lane to choose before the light changes. The sand from the winter just a few days past is still there but is being covered by the petals of new tree flowers. There is not much movement yet in the hood, but it is nice to see the father and son riding on the empty streets. Shift up the gears because I need some exercise from the cold damp boring dark winter. Maybe I should use that gym I keep paying for? Lock up with little problem and find a miniature cart to zip around the far too familiar floor plan in. The deli holds the same stuff that was there yesterday, so I’ll pass on that. Grab a bag of peanuts and then my venture to find something that might entice my taste buds. Being early on a Sunday morning it is a different crowd than I normally see. Couples seem lost, cute girls on a mission, and some guy on a phone who I guess cannot figure out the difference between butter and margarine. I look at the shelves and into the frozen cases like visiting a sideshow. What ticket would I buy to taste the wonder? Microwave potpies? No, I had them the other night. Pizza? No, got one in the refrigerator. So on my way back to reload my bullets, I think biscuits might be good. Where did I have biscuits before? Oh the mind is spinning now and I’ve got to use my mental GPS to find all the locations of a possible meal of eggs and biscuits and juice. That might even be a tasty breakfast. Should I get real eggs or that soup pouring stuff that is an artificial egg mixture? The guy with the phone has now parked himself in front of the eggs so I do my usual walk around some more allowing him to move on. After a round about in the frozen food I venture back to the egg stand only to find an elderly couple, the first one I have seen today, discussing the virtues of dead chickens in shells. Folks this is not a library so make your discussion and move on, but they are determined to read every label and run a price comparison that will probably last until the afternoon. As I usually decide it was not meant to be today, I move into the troughs with the moving rubber belts. A cute brunette in a black jogging suit has already piled her gatherings and is about done with her scanning. I look around for there is a pile of dead animal products sitting at the beginning line. Perhaps they were someone else’s so I waited. As the cute brunette’s products were being scanned and she was all bubbly and talkative, I point out the pile of meat and asked if they were hers? “Oh yes!” she replied and dragged them to the attendant (what is the job title of the person who scans your food and takes you cash?). As I unloaded my little zip cart with my meager selections, the cute brunette started going through a fist full of coupons. As I pushed my daily nutrition forward, another cute brunette in a grey sweater and smile started unloading. I have to remember to come to the store more often on Sunday morning. The cute brunette in the black jogging suit was about done when she thanked me for reminding her of the missing meat. I glanced at the checkout screen and noticed the balance was $100 but after all the coupons the total was $8.00. I need to shop with her. “Where are the peanuts?” the bagger asks. Note: the bagger refers to my constant purchases of the same items everyday and the term ‘bagger’ is about a person who places items into a bag and not the English term for a looter. All in a good laugh about coupons for beer and the final approval button and a fare the well away from my brief interactions with other humans. Not so sure the few miles ride home will pay off the rest of the day of doze, but it was fun for the moment. With the rest of the yard fed and left alone to romp, I wrap myself in a lap blanket with a small heater and Celtic songs and poetry and guitars and maybe a nap or two for another Sunday morning in the spring.


Art said...

Checker... They are checkers.
PS, this was great. I am glad the bunny was not eaten by the owl.

TripleG said...

Sunday Morning in the Park with Clyph. Now playing!