Friday, March 16, 2012

the sun, the sky, the city, home

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.


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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...


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...home.

Ed suggests a local pizza for supper. Roman Candle. Just up the road.


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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.


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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.