Early in the morning, I tell my girl – I don’t have to shower, eat, any of it. Do your morning as you would if I were not here. She looks at me in the way that only daughters can – with horror, pity, but too, with a smile of understanding.
She goes off to work.
I head for Lake Michigan.
If I thought there’d be dramatic fog – I was wrong. It’s a tad misty and there are a lot of joggers out there on the lake path. And dog walkers. I think how tough it is to have a dog in the city. I've done it. I would not want to do it again.
I do a little shopping. I don’t like that I do this. Spending money on things is most always not a good call, but still, cities have a way of reminding me what's lacking back at the farmhouse: I don’t have this. I could surely use this. And so on.
In the end, I only acquire simple but much coveted dessert plates at Crate and Barrel. And then, outside the store, as if I needed to be reminded that I could have managed without them, I accidentally knock the bag down and break two of the six. And, too, I miss the earlier bus back home. That'll teach me.
Will it? Time... what’s time? It’s what you need to get work done, to get close to your sweetie. I catch the later bus. Plenty of time. For work and for sweetie.
Rosie’s there, waiting by the Law School. I ride her in the warm breeze of a beautiful evening...
Ed suggests a local pizza for supper. Roman Candle. Just up the road.
In our usual way, we sit in the booth on the same side of the table. It is what we do. The pizza is the same, too.
I ask Ed after – miss me? He responds – of course!
It’s the way we talk. He knows that I will ask and I know what he'll say in response. Predictable and warm. Like the garlic and mushrooms on the pizza. We've come to like it that way.