I didn’t make my usual Sunday morning bike ride this morning. Instead I was over at the car shop getting my front brake pads replaced. At least I felt like I was accomplishing something practical.

I wandered across to Skillets restaurant and had some breakfast. I sat up at their bar table. I’d never eaten at that table before, but then I’d never been there by myself before either. The food came fast and I managed to stuff myself with corned beef hash and eggs, along with their fried potato dish and some rye toast. I had cranberry juice to drink.

It’s a funny restaurant because clearly it has “regular-seasonal” customers. They show back up and have to get re-acquainted with the staff who themselves might be seasonal. So there’s always the conversation that consists of, “good to see you, welcome back! When did you get back? I’m sorry to hear that about your wife/husband! I just got back myself, spending less and less time there…” And so on. I swear I heard that same conversation five times over breakfast.

Anyway, I’m safe back out on the road again, or so I pretend. The car will stop when desired, which is a plus. And I’ve been laying about on the couch reading Stephen King’s book called “On Writing”. It’s a very solid book on the subject—part memoir part instructional, and fairly entertaining in it’s own right.

And now I think I’m going to take a stroll about outside. I’ve been watching the scenery through the sliding glass doors and it looks inviting at the moment. Maybe it’ll be too hot when I actually get out there, in which case it’ll be a short walk. But getting out of the house is appealing.