Get up, get dressed, drink some coffee. There's no hurry. Cook some eggs and toast, eat, poke the fire, bring in an armload of wood, empty the compost, drink more coffee. Eat a grapefruit with the daughter and talk about - what else - grapefruit, how the membranes between sections are kind of like cell walls, but the tiny sac around each juicy nodule is the real cell wall, and those nodules are the largest known cells. Cool. Make note to self: Listen to your kids, you'll learn stuff.
Drive with spouse to her old office, which she once swore would be her last, and load furniture in the pickup truck. Drive home and talk about - what else - furniture, the old office, the new office, the past and future of her massage therapy practice. Unload some of the furniture at home and some at the new office, talk briefly about upcoming renovations with the guy who owns the building.
Go home, start a batch of bread, keep the fire going. Tinker. While dough is rising on a rack behind the woodstove, scavenge free wood from an undisclosed location, and on the way home scavenge some landscaping stones from another undisclosed location; rationalize that nobody will miss them. Unload wood and stones in yard; vow to replace badly installed hinges on back gate.
Work the dough into loaves, rearrange couch, coffee table, desk and rocking chair in den with skeptical spouse, put loaves in the oven, do a short workout as the sun goes down, take heavy bread out of oven to cool, change clothes.
Take wife, daughter, and daughter's best friend out to dinner at Barley's, hear about friend's difficult discussion with her dad about transferring from her college in Boston to our local Swingstate Megaversity, and commiserate with both of them. Chow down on sauerkraut balls (try 'em, they're outstanding!), Russian stout, Greek salad, and pierogis.
Go home, walk the dog, go to bed, reflect that I didn't really need that second stout, sleep like a rock.
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