This is a small statue my brother once gave me, and characterizes how I feel today: taking off and "see" the sights like a tourist (see the camera?), whatever they are, on a leisurely pace. No rush, no deadlines. The two painted rocks come from my grand kids.
It's noon on Monday. And I'm still in my robe/housecoat. Have forgotten about the water I boiled for tea, and the Dutch rusk (like toast) with butter and chocolate shavings that is sitting on the counter.
I had such a crazy busy weekend that I need to wind up my steam engine for a while, before my train is ready to take the run of this week. I'll get up now for my second chance of breakfast:)
This last weekend began on Friday when my hubby's commute home starting at 4:00, and for weekend traffic arrives "early." That means 5:30 pm.
We left 6 pm for a birthday celebration of friends at 7:00 pm, at a French restaurant an hours drive away. What happens is very typical of our area.
Ten minutes till seven, my hubby alerts our friends on the cell phone, "We have been stopping and going for longer than half an hour - the freeway is packed (4 lanes one-way), and there must be an accident, no telling when we'll arrive.
Why don't you go ahead with dinner and we'll join you whenever we arrive Oh, there it is in front of us, police car lights flashing."
We find our friends sitting at a window seat. It's the kind of restaurant where the lowest price on the menu for dinner dishes is $18, but we were prepared for that.
I choose roasted duck in Grand Marnier's sauce, with mashed potatoes. Only $6 more. At first I choose Scrimp Scampi, but discovered it was $27. Nah, I'll eat that another time for $16.
I am writing this tongue-in-cheek, because the roasted duck is the next-to-least expensive dish and is at least half of the amount of the price of the dish I usually choose.
I remember a very elaborate roasted duck dinner with several vegetable dishes included in Beijing two years ago for the total price of $50 (for 4 people). But I'll bite my tongue, because after all, we are here for our friends, not for the food (I hope so!).
I am a good girl, I am in a French restaurant and order my dish in French, because the titles are in French. The waitress looks puzzled. "What do you mean?" and she moves over behind me, to see where I have my finger on the menu. I guess French speaking help is hard to find in Los Angeles.
But...the dish looks like an artwork, carefully arranged with edible sprigs and an orchid in the middle. I won't let it touch my heart, because food is food. C'est delicieux. The desserts look so rich that my hubby and I decide to share it.
I noticed that the table is kind of high in comparison to the hard chairs we sit on. I'm thinking, for these prices I want to sit more cushy next time. When I finally get up after 2 plus hours to go to the restroom, I am so stiff that I walk like a drunken sailor, and no, I didn't even have one glass of wine!
When I get back, suddenly the hubby of the other couple gets up and kind of grunts that he has a "Charlie horse"(for international readers, it's an idiom: a muscle spasm coming from a lack of blood flow in the thigh from riding a horse).
One can see on his face that it's very painful.
He tries to talk, but after some time he decides he's going for a walk, saying that that is the thing that helps him the most. Two victims of wrong chairs!
This was only one of the four events I had this last weekend, and leave it now at this to enjoy the rest of my day in the painting zone.