Well, it's a lovely morning, in that good old Pacific Northwest way -- overcast sky, still a deep purply blue, fresh dampness to the air, though no rain falling, wet pavements shining gold and lavender in the reflected lights. When I stepped out my door this morning, the familiarity of this lifted my soul with a physical lift that I could feel in my chest. Ahh, home!
Which is probably why I wasn't annoyed or dismayed to realize, just as I rounded the corner, that I had forgotten to get my new pack of bus tickets the previous night. I had gotten off the bus, thinking, "Stop at the library, then at Food Front, then home," (isn't it lovely to live so closely with one's need-suppliers? Both of these things between my bus stop and my door!) and I did make the library stop. But when I came out, I was passing St. Honore's bakery, and my eye and appetite were caught. I went in and bought a blueberry tart (note to self: don't buy that again) and a small bag of chouquettes, which I ate with great satisfaction -- and passed merrily by Food Front, without it tickling the smallest response in me.
But, as I say, I wasn't even remotely distressed by this, merely pondering whether I should ride the bus and pay cash, and then try to get some more cash somewhere to make the trip home, or simply drive. And I opted for the auto.
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