That Sounds Like A Really Nice Day!

by

She exclaimed to me over the phone.

We have just started working together and she’s got exuberance, that’s for sure.

And she was right.

As I sit here listening to “Bye Bye Blackbird” with John Coltrane and Miles Davis, it was a really nice day.

It didn’t exactly start that way.

I woke up with a headache.

I don’t often and when I do it’s usually due to being sick and so, the cold lingers on another day, I thought to myself as I looked at my phone, it was still early, go back to sleep.

I managed to get another little sleep snack in, but the head hurt and my stomach was saying hello, wake up, feed me, coffee me, let’s go!

Up I got.

Three ibuprofen, strip the bed sheets, toss laundry in the wash, fresh sheets on the bed, dress, read some stuff, kneel down and say some stuff, start the coffee, start the oatmeal, boil an egg, eat.

I could feel the edges of the chair and wished fervently that the head ache would dissipate and that the coffee ibuprofen combo would allievate the tightness in my skull.

Fortunately.

They did.

But I was sad.

With the sickness hand in hand the “sads.”

Not horrible.

But there.

I was just finishing up my oatmeal when my girl friend called and I got to check in with her and cry a little on the phone, I am just such a sad sack when I am sick.

It happens so infrequently that I have little humor with myself, or ease of being in myself, I want to be on the go, I want to be doing things with my time off, I don’t want to always be preparing for the work week.

I want.

I want.

I want.

And.

I want it my way.

Damn it.

My friend gently reminded me that I was ok, to stop beating myself up and then told me about the work she had to do today and what she wouldn’t give to have a down day, a day to sit and be cozy and read a magazine, to cook, or go for a walk on the beach.

Hmmm.

She has a point.

The grass is always greener on the other side, she added.

Yup.

That it is.

I had my cry, I got my friend check in on and then, oh, the head ache, I could feel it easing.

I made another cup of coffee–pour over Ritual, “San Jose” grown in San Jose de Pedregal, Colombia (so much better than the other addiction I used to have to another Colombian import), varietal, Caturra with the following flavor notes: blackberry, black currant, muscat raisin, and dark honey.

I couldn’t tell you if any or all of those notes are inherent.

It just tasted damn skippy good.

I savored it and flipped open my blue sparkle notebook and wrote four pages long hand.

By the time I finished the laundry was done in the dryer and I was folding up the wash as I heard the first knock on my door.

A cup of tea with a ladybug, some checking in, some reading.

Then a second knock an hour later.

More tea, more reading, more get right with God.

I felt fantastic.

Ha.

Screw you sadness.

I’m ready for the day now.

I had a quick snack and hopped on the bike, riding over to Noriega Produce–in the opposite direction of the Safeway and anything to do with the finish line of Bay to Breakers.

Aside.

It was not nearly the shit show out here that it was last year.

I’m pretty sure the grey cold weather had a lot to do with it and despite wishing for the sun to come out a little more today, I was grateful that the neighborhood was not a vomitorium nor a tipped over garbage can of wastrel and people pissing in doorways too inebriated to use the port a potties lining the way.

End aside.

I came home from the produce market with lunch stuffs and proceeded to enjoy my little lunch, homemade humus, raw veggies, hard-boiled eggs, and the first of the season’s organic cherries.

Luscious.

Then the cooking.

Italian white bean stew with crushed fire roasted tomatoes, zucchini, celery, garlic, onions, chicken, basil, oregano, parsley, sea salt, black pepper, set it all on low and let simmer.

I also made my stand by pot of brown rice and by the time I had finished eating my lunch and washing up the dishes, the rice was done and my stew was percolating nicely.

I turned down the heat on the stove to its lowest, threw on a hoodie, grabbed my bag and headed out the door to the beach.

I was banking on the cold and the grey to discourage away all but the most ardent of beach goers.

I was right.

It was deserted.

With the exception of sea gulls and sand plovers and a pod of very serious Outer Sunset surfer boys.

I walked and stuck my toes in the surf, it was freezing, but its such a habit to walk the tide line.

The water was grey, but smelled fantastic and I felt energized and also, yes a little sad, a bit lonely.

I made a phone call and had a check in.

“Get into the discomfort,” he said, “it’s uncomfortable being alone at first, and lonely and alone are two very different things,” he added as I choked up on the phone, the tears floating down my cheeks and mixing in the ribbons of pink hair flying about my face.

“I find that this spot is where God gets in, there is God in this, there is God there, sit in it,” he said, “find a bench by the sea wall or go sit outside of Java Beach and just sit in the stillness.”

Java Beach was too busy for that kind of solitary contemplation, I knew from the walk down to the beach, the cafe always does a brisk business, even when the weather is not accommodating, but the ocean side where I was walking would do the trick.

I got off the phone.

I looked out.

Sunshine broke through a grey bank of clouds.

Ensorcelled in the sunlight for a moment, I took off my glasses, stuck them in my hoodie pocket, and raised my face to the light just letting it soak into me, while the tide washed over my feet and splashed my ankles.

When I opened them.

The sea was grey again, but I know that sunshine was there, behind the clouds.

I am alone.

Not lonely.

The company I keep.

The woman I am.

I am my own best friend and I am never alone.

I always have that sunshine within me.

Once again finding the reality of God deep within.

God.

Love.

Same same.

You catch my drift.

I am not alone.

And.

It was.

A really nice day.

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