A Perfect Day

Mid 80's on the thermometer, not even a wispy cloud in the sky, and a stack of library books awaiting me.  Sunday, a day off from the gym and the Pilates Studio and any guilt at all about maintaining my physical fitness.  It was a day filled with possibilities and no responsibilities - it was perfect.

I finished Elnathan John's Born on a Tuesday by 10:30 and sat, paralyzed, on Douglas-the-Couch.  The Sunni/Shia/Mujahadin divide among Nigerian Muslims was filling my living room with torture and death and powerlessness.  I tried checking Facebook, but the horror wouldn't let go.... and it didn't, until Amster texted and invited herself over for lunch and the pool and dinner.

Turning that frown upside down in a nano-second, we agreed to meet for salad and pizza first, then go our separate ways for errands, meeting up by my pool in the later afternoon.  She had yet to comb her hair.  I was wearing the t-shirt I'd slept in last night.  Tucson didn't seem to notice, and neither did we.  That casual acceptance of whatever is presented at the moment might be the defining characteristic of our relationship... to one another, and to Tucson itself.

Did I mention that it was perfect?

Costco, the library, the grocery store, a demand letter, feeding the dogs.... and then we were drinking Prosecco, slathered in sunscreen, gently exercising in the water as we lamented the state of the world.... or at least our little corner of it.

Stuffed peppers and another bottle of Prosecco and even the Warrior's 26 point loss couldn't make me unhappy.  Amster's on her way home to a night of smoked Gouda and Netflix, I have that stack of library books, and there are all those episodes of The Americans we have yet to watch.

The night is full of possibilities, and each one of them carries with it a big smile.