Ordinary miracles

Written last night:

Today I didn’t do much — at least not much out of the ordinary: Shopped the farmers market and an Italian food  store nearby. Picked up Zing from the kennel. Cleaned the studio ferociously. (It's still a mess!) Did laundry. Relaxed on the balcony before dinner. Exercised. 

I love the Saturday farmers market even more than the Thursday lunchtime one. There’s a relaxed vibe, with kids and dogs and musicians. I am even beginning to recognize some of the vendors. The organic strawberries I bought today are as juicy and as delicious as the tiny wild ones I remember we kids sometimes found hiding under leaves by the creek in the woods. They say Grandpa Krumm used to sell strawberries from a stand by the road on Main Street in Columbus. I hope his were this sweet.

I also bought a couple of tomatoes so misshapen that they must be delicious. I bought the big one because it needed love, and the farmer told me she’d been watching that tomato all morning. She gave me a smaller (green striped) one for a bonus.

I’ve stopped at The Bread Store on J Street the last three Saturdays, looking for sweet rolls. They’ve always been sold out — so today I went earlier, with success. Clark and I had sweet rolls and coffee for a special Sunday breakfast, so at last I’ll be able to continue that delicious tradition. I practically swooned when the clerk offered me a raspberry-cream cheese pastry — “Is that OK?” she asked. “Of course — yes!” I said. The man behind me bought one too — the last one. “You made it sound so good that I couldn't resist,” he said.

Today I discovered that exercise seems more effective if I grunt. A few weeks ago, at the hotel gym, there was a man who grunted with every move he made. It seemed intrusive at the time, but afterward we talked, and he told me he’d been in a bad accident and unable to get out of bed for several months. Now he needs to exercise, and he puts his heart into it because he’s happy to be able to move again. So I forgave him the animal sounds he made. And today, at home where nobody but Zing can hear (and you better not complain, Zing!) I made them too. To tell the truth, I’ve been doing my leg lifts rather half-heartedly. I mean, they are so boring! But all at once the spirit of that man came to me and gave me the idea that if I would really, really concentrate it might be more effective. So I tightened my thigh muscles all the way to  the crest of my knee and focused my attention and, yes, my voice. I grunted my leg up, tightened the muscles, and grunted the leg down — over and over. My living room echoed like a boxing gym. Strangely satisfying. Like him, I definitely want to move my knee without stiffness or pain again soon.  Grunt! Really, I can get into this! 

When Zing and I went for our evening walk we passed a Craft Beer Festival on Capitol Mall. It looked like you had to pay to get in. (Be sure to drink your money’s worth.) Too bad I’m not a beer fan…  They seemed prepared for a crowd: I counted 25 Port-a-Potties in a line across the street from Wells Fargo Bank, and one was a double-wide.

Then, this evening, I was having a glass of wine (local!) on the balcony. I looked up and, right out there by my twelfth-floor roof,  against the setting sun I saw silhouetted a hummingbird.

Hope you are having a similarly happy weekend!

Love,

k

Man selling honey at Saturday midtown farmers market