Left the house 8:30ish to catch a Friday spin class, just an hour. Made it back home at 11:50.
The back row blondes chatted like a cocktail party through class. Don’t mind really; it’s why during mornings I choose the bike closest to the biggest speaker, put my head down and ride hard. After class another long time spinner made a point to come to my row. Dark, petite and with guns Madonna would envy. “You look good,” she complimented. “I see you here all the time, in class and on the machines, you’re working so hard. It shows.”
With a bitch of an upslope coming (the weather folk predict 12 inches tomorrow), made a quick stopped by the organic market to load up on fresh everything and fixings for weekend soup. I landed on chicken meatball-leek-cannoli-bean-rosemary with crunchy ciabatta bread - a small piece - on the side. Going to simmer the stock out of the carcass of the roasted chicken I picked up for lunch and fresh herbs. I may even get to baking the strawberry-white chocolate scones I’ve prattled on about for week now. Those will go to friends (I may nibble one over coffee Sunday morning after yoga).
The machine at the check out line I chose stalled processing payments, and in his attempt to fix the matter after many tries the sweet teenage boy with the too large ear piercings (like flat blue quarters nestled in his lobes) voided the entire transaction. A do over. The head clerk who unpacked my packages and re-scanned the order kept apologizing, even offered a pint of fresh strawberries for my patience. “No worries,” I said. And meant it.
In the car, as I leaned far left to pull the driver side door shut, it was nearly shorn away along with my arm by a car making a too large, too fast sway into the parking space over. A banana boat of an older model coupe and at the wheel an older lady that…how do I say this delicately…should reconsider driving at this point. She never even noticed, just smiled as she took off with tiny stooped steps. I smiled back, with a veiled bit of serious glint in my eye, but smiled all the same.
Right now there’s a black cat roaming the house. Somewhere. His name is Zipper, I call him “Black Velvet Elvis." He's shiny and smooth and dark as coal, only his lips are pink. His person lets him roam on nice days and he wandered in with the groceries. I’ll find him eventually. He’s a sweet boy, regal and Egyptian looking, always craning his triangle shaped head up, eyes half closed, for a few scratches.
The black cat is running after me, I’ve lost hours on deadline and found another project looming in my inbox. But I have a strong body and quick reflexes and snow and soup and scones and yoga and furry love to look forward to this weekend.