|Parking lot supervisor|
Time marches on . . .
12/29, Sunday. I recommend the mindful preparation of a batch of chicken vegetable soup with Tord Gustavsen on the CD player and a winter wind gusting outside the kitchen windows as a perfect way to spend a Sunday morning.
12/30, Monday. How is it, I keep wondering, that a blogger friend in Switzerland, who hardly knows English, knows ten times what I do about American pop culture?
12/31, Tuesday. Department of Simple Pleasures: I have rigged up lights around the house to turn themselves on and off during the evening and into the night, and it delights me that a string of them over one kitchen cupboard is already warmly glowing in the morning darkness, lighting up a corner of the room as I get up to make coffee.
1/1, Wednesday. The desert has its own bird population, and my favorite has to be the cactus wren whose rollicking call is a great greeting for the new year as I step out into the back yard, the rays of the rising sun lighting up the mountains and valley below with a golden glow.
1/2, Thursday. Under a brilliant, cloudless, sun-bright sky, a Costco parking lot supervisor, muttering and ruffling his feathers, observes as I return my shopping cart.
1/3, Friday. A new wrist brace on my left hand and an appointment on the calendar in three weeks to see a doc about what seems to be a case of carpal tunnel, I am discovering how much I have taken the gift of two fully functional hands for granted—and incidentally how hard it is to type with just one.
1/4, Saturday. Three days crossed off my new calendar, and I’m feeling the new year already beginning to slip away.
Image credits: Ron Scheer
Coming up: Richard Wheeler, The Richest Hill on Earth