One of Those Days

One of Those Days

It’s one of those days. I wake up. Pull back the curtain by my bed. It’s still dark. There is a thin band of light shining round the window shade from the house across the street. I let the curtain drop. Greta is asleep on her bed. Mr Fez is curled up near my feet on the comforter. He owns the bed until he jumps down in the morning. Greta comes up to take his place and snuggles in for a bit. Usually I’m up before dark, feeding my little furry family, before heading to a yoga class. But today, is not one of those days. I turn the alarm off. Roll over, and snuggle down deep in the covers. Up at dawn or sleep in. Early to bed or stay up late. I’m fortunate that my work allows me to make my own schedule. Most all of my working life has been like this. I know I am lucky. 

Yesterday I went to my library to pick up a book on reserve, and I spied two others about inspiring women.; Coming to My Senses: The Making of a Counterculture Cook by Alice Waters, and Reckless Daughter: A Portrait of Joni Mitchell by David Yaffe.

In 1977 my brother took me to Chez Panisse in Berkeley for my birthday. It must have been good, because I can still remember the entire menu that night featured mushrooms. Nearly thirty years later, I went again, this time with my good friends, the peach farmer who grew the fruit Alice loved, and his wife. Alice was there and stopped by to chat. I met her again at a book signing…this time in Seattle. She kindly remembered I made pie. 

And Joni. Just saying her name, I hear her voice, her words, her melodies, and the rhythmic strumming of guitar tunings I spent hours figuring out as a teenager. I wanted to be like her…a free spirit, an explorer of emotions, a lover of life, living outside of the box. It is this book I pick up first. Within pages I am hooked.  

An hour later now, I crawl out of bed and make myself a mug of strong coffee, and tuck myself in on the couch, covered by an afghan that was knit for me as a wedding present when I was married the first time at twenty-five. The afghan has a few holes, but after forty years it has seen me through both sides of love. Greta is cuddled up next to me. I balance the book on my lap, and turn another page. 

It’s one of those days. This is where you’ll find me.