The wait
In summer, the meal schedule gets bumped around. Too many other things going on, some days. Lethargy, on others. Happily, there’s always the “take out” option, or as I’ve learned, the exercise in waiting. You park, queue, order, pay, take the precious number tag, and then you wait. That means everyone, including the family dog.
I watched a small Teckel, obviously accustomed to the trade. No need to bother other customers, or forage for food; the owner had made arrangements for a small dish of soft vanilla ice cream. With a snout that was designed by nature for just such a meal (unlike a Pug), her wait was short, and in the end, sweet.
I had two orders going, at different venues, so I had to juggle my wait times. As it turned out, the pizza stayed hot while the scallop plates were given the shortest route home treatment. Supper, with only the waste to clear. Dish-free dining. The radio kept me informed on the little details in my world, and my time away from home was minimal.
I’ve also been waiting, on the first signs of our personal spring. Today, new green. Not much, not long, but real. I imagine that by this time next week (assuming drought avoidance), the lawn will have moved from potential to purposeful. Almost long enough to test with my toes; the mowing can wait.
Someone found an instance of The Truman Show, this evening. A world seen through the lens. Reality TV, in surreal space. I like this show.
