A precious day off to myself after losing the weekend—and month—to work. But as usual I’m besotted by choices, and will probably lose the day trying to decide. Stay in under the covers and reread The Name of the Rose, or Possession? Work on one of my short-stories? (But then which?) Take advantage of the gorgeous January weather, before it’s gone, and take a walk at the bird sanctuary further up Arastradero, or on the water at Shoreline? Have a bite of lunch at the café there? Take a sandwich to the beach; wander with my camera? Walk up to the horses, or buy cracked crab? Or clean out my writing room (a task for Hercules that leaves me in despair) and enjoy in stillness the late afternoon sun that comes in hazy stripes through its window, writing a letter, drinking some of my new sweet-scented tea from the apple-green teapot? That way lies daydreaming—hibiscus petals blended with dried cherries and vanilla, from Argo tea; the name reminding me of the argonauts and their journeys (so enchantingly recreated by Mary Zimmerman in Argonautika).
There are no wrong choices, of course, but I am so afraid of missing any of the possibilities, of finding myself out of time without having given my all to this day that has given itself to me. So toss a whole handful of coins? I’ll just take my notebook and sandwich and camera and see where I am led, what serendipity lies in wait. Time enough for reading, I suppose, when the sun has gone down and my turkey and herbs, slow-cooking, is steaming the windows. I’ve found the walking shoes I wore for archaeology at Hadrian’s Wall, with their amiable green laces, so am off—with only half the day gone in waffling. Anticipation is a happy pastime too, after all.
image: Coins of the World, Art Print by John K. Nakata