(It is DAY TWO of a handful of demanding work days.)
Perhaps the most comforting part of the day is now -- I am at the farmhouse, supper dishes are stashed away, I'm listening to music (Ed's off playing volley ball). I want to get a snack but I cannot get up. Isis has his face firmly pressed against my thigh and it surely would be heartless to nudge him to the side. When they say that pets keep you young and chirpy, they're referring to moments like this: the snuggled animal who loves the comfort of just being next to you. (They don't mean the times when said animal wakes you, or fouls your carpet or shares your bed -- those would be the prices you pay for the moment of that face against your leg.)
Otherwise, DAY TWO threatened to be almost worse than DAY ONE. I thought I had time after work to pop into the Genius Bar at Apple Store (the promise of prompt and courteous repairs is a big selling point behind Apple products), so as to inspect a possible squashy key on my MacBook computer. I'm leaving Sunday and I don't want issues when I am away. The Genius Bar is almost always the model of good sales work. I have this image that nothing can fail there, nothing can't be fixed. The name (Genius) implies as much.
Unfortunately the lad who took my computer for inspection actually broke it (or at least the return key). So a non-problem turned into a problem and one that may or may not be fixed by my departure time. And it took him one hour to fess up to this. As I rode back home on Rosie in the fading daylight I tried hard to remember the good breathing exercises that yoga teaches are so vital to your well being.
It helped that my ride was, in part, by the water's edge. At dusk, the ribbons of color are splendid.
At home, Ed is sweetly sympathetic, though he does rightly point out that these things happen and that obviously the lad had not intended to break the computer. So I felt less disappointed with the Genius Bar, even as I have a slightly dysfunctional computer and another trip to the Apple Store in a few days, at which time I will have to relinquish my laptop for overnight repairs. Considering that most of my laptop work happens between the hours of 9 and midnight and then, on sleepless nights, between 4 and 6 in the morning, it is going to be, I think, difficult to make up for this period of abstinence.
On the upside, there is the weather -- or, what I saw of it. In the morning, we had cloudless skies and the same fields that yesterday looked like someone had poured dirty water over them, today looked… vibrant (in a brown sort of way)!
And here's another chipper note: when the day gets to be a tad over the top, there's always a pot of soup to be made when you get home. There's a reason why we bagged all those tomatoes this summer and stuck them in the freezer. They were for nights like this, where nothing, nothing is as satisfying as a warm bowl of home made chunky tomato soup.
But what really made this day quite fine, despite the tribulations, was actually, in the scheme of things, a small thing -- lasting seconds, really -- and it happened in the morning: as I am rushing, rushing so fiercely to get to work on time, I realize that the poor overused Rosie is out of gas. I let out a mournful groan and Ed dutifully, kindly dashes out to pour in some to get me going. I point my camera at him, thinking that this may well be the only shot I'll have for the day and he, the man who really shies away from my camera lens, stretches out his arms to make it worth my while.
You gotta love a day when someone is so keen on giving you a boost in it.
