Monday is for laundry and luxury

Written last night:

Today was not lazy, but it was routine. I’m letting a new routine emerge. 

I did the laundry: uneventful, except that in the laundry room on the first floor (It’s got plenty of washers and dryers and looks onto the garden, so it’s only slightly inconvenient.) I did meet a woman who observed (complained) that the ceilings here are too low to properly hang her antique Japanese kimono, which she has framed like a picture. She had to put it in storage.  “Is it silk or cotton?” I asked. “Silk.” 

Of course there had to be an hour or two or three of unpacking and putting things away. This should be simple, but somehow I’ve lost my winter jackets and sweaters. I remember stashing them somewhere when I was numbly opening boxes in the dark last Friday. I hope I find them by December.

Then I treated myself to a manicure and pedicure at the Vietnamese shop around the corner from the grocery. I recently started doing this, at Clark’s insistence. He wanted to pamper me. The first couple of times, in the Tallahassee shop, near the Lake Ella Publix, I felt clumsy. It’s kind of like a dance and I didn’t know the moves: Someone greets you (rather abruptly) usually from a stool where he/she is polishing someone’s feet. “Hello,” but not just hello. There’s a gesture made, and I didn’t know what it means. But had I followed the hand I would have seen it pointing to a wall of polishes. I was to select a color immediately, or maybe two. But I don’t want polish. “No polish?” “No color?” Since that first time, I’ve gotten looks that were disapproving, or puzzled, or even relieved. Usually I get an extra finger massage for simplifying their work. 

On a roll with being good to myself, I followed with a pressure-point massage for my pained knee. (After the knee heals I’m going to continue massages anyway.)  I am breaking out of a rut — a deeply dug habit, part guilt and part righteous shunning of such luxuries. 

As I drove home, Patrick called and eventually I was able to pull over to talk. It’s hard to find a parking spot in Sacramento at rush hour. People are not just escaping to the suburbs; many are weaving around the “grid” as I was, stopping at shops and restaurants. Then, since I was two blocks from a small Thai restaurant called The Coconut  I went in and ordered Cashew Shrimp with brown rice to go. While I waited, I ordered four dining chairs from West Elm. “Oh, are you shopping online?” the waitress said, “I do all my shopping online; I never go to stores anymore,” she added. So she approved. Dinner was delicious. I will go to The Coconut a lot, I suspect. It is a plain couple of rooms decorated with original paintings by a local artist, and people of all ages enjoying straightforward deliciousness. I will feel comfortable eating there by myself. It was a perfect spot to finish my day of pampering.

Love,

K