Petals, Pedals, Peddles

There are rose petals in my coffee. I have chores to do, a network to network, and the wrens are buzzing my table as they traverse the central flyway from one corner of the yard to the other. The extended family that inhabits our yard likes to fly from their nest outside the kitchen window to the compost part of the garden and back. The best seat in the house is right here on the patio, with morning light filtering through the white roses climbing across the pergola that every once in a while explode and rain a few petals on the table.

In training to begin a new job on Tuesday, I got up early and drank coffee outside. The late-May heat was drying recently planted basil and tomatoes, so I have them a drink from a gallon jug and pulled a few weeds. Bread with lemon curd made a perfect breakfast. During breaks from weeding, I read a chapter from Michael Lewis's Liar's Poker and continued my lesson in bond trading 1980s style. On the phone my Dad correctly identified a crucial part of the learning curve: a whole new vocabulary. Grilled cheddar on cranberry walnut bread with rose petals wasn't a bad lunch.

After weeding the front yard of about a million thistles, I stopped just in time to avoid exhaustion and took a break to watch a little of the Tribe's loss to the White Sox, then came to my senses and took a short bike ride down by the reservoir, followed by a delicious Burning River pale ale and a shower. Gwen served leftover ratatouille, ooh la la! We talked about old friends with whom we have lost touch and some with whom we are back in touch. Thanks for the day.