Normally, as I sit down to my morning coffee and oatmeal, my computer is just booting up. I can hear the whir of the barista’s machine, run by either the capable Chris or Martha. I’ve snagged a seat by the counter so when my breakfast bagel is done, they usually bring it out to me without too much trouble. I get to find out if this week’s password is still “tenletters” or maybe it’s slipped to something obvious like “rebelforce”. The passwords always make me smile and it reminds me that the Bean and Leaf isn’t the soulless corporation like the joint on the corner. The staff have kids and Vespas and they know my name.
Which is why it’s thrilling and a little sad that I’m sitting at my own kitchen table, drinking my own coffee and eating my own non-hippie oatmeal, knowing that the internet password isn’t as creative as itspbjtime, and the only whirring behind me is the dishwasher as I eat aforementioned oatmeal from an espresso cup with a tablespoon.
While I like that it’s early and I’m still getting intarweb stuff done, there’s something to be said about racing against the clock to get dressed, making sure everything’s waiting by the door for you, going back inside three or four times for stuff that was sitting by the door and was still forgotten and getting to the coffeehouse with roughly 9 minutes to get connected grab a cup of coffee and attempt to do the monumental list of things in your head, of which you can only remember “Update Facebook”.
And after all of that, I’m still usually twenty minutes late for work, because I gotta do one more thing.
We’ll see how late I am today and if this home Internet thing is a saving grace or not. I’ll take this time now to thank my neighbor M for his generosity, as it’s his password with which I’ve been entrusted. This will save me time in scooting to either the Bean and Leaf for a cup and a signal or the also very serene Coffee Beanery in Berkley, especially as it’s getting to finals and term paper season, and the chances of me finding an available outlet are scary slim.
The past week was very relaxing with a few moments of frenetic lunacy. D and I were both off from work eating up the last of our vacation time and while I would have been happy not showering for a week, D decided that we were going someplace warm – though not far, as he didn’t want to do a lot of driving.
We ended up first in Breezewood, PA, then Gettysburg for a hot minute and finally the Antietam Battlefield outside of Sharpsburg, MD. We did all of that in about two and a half days. Ideally we would have found a B&B to settle down so I could knit or write or veg out with a cup of cocoa while D talked some other tourists ear off about whatever popped into his head, but what places weren’t booked seemed depressingly empty, and D really wanted to talk some guy’s ear off.
Also, it was colder than he would have liked. We’re standing on the Antietam Battlefield, just beneath the Observation Tower after having just done twenty (20) Battlefield Lunges down Bloody Lane (you know, doing lunges while walking through Bloody Lane – duh) when he turms to me all flush-faced and says, “I’m ready to go.”
It was probably 30 degrees with a wicked wind blowing, but this was the kind of stuff he digs – tramping around battlefields and telling me about campaigns and dead people. We hadn’t completed a third of the Auto Tour and he was talking about being home by 2 in the morning. This wasn’t resignation or defeat but hope for the next time. He was happy about it. As far as he was concerned, he’d seen the battlefield, something we hadn’t yet done, we’d learned about the beautiful Battlefield Luminaries (the main reason there weren’t any rooms), and he could be cold back home.
After dinner we ht the road and managed to be home about 3:45, due to my VZW GPS insiting on routing us off the turnpikes and through Coldwater. Yes we wanted to avoid the congestive hell that was Breezewood, but Coldwater seemed a little extreme.
US-40 to I-70 to US 23 to US 15 to I-75 if you’re interested, Yeah, it routes you through Columbus, but just outside of Wheeling we picked up this great nostalgia radio station on the FM dial. I wish I would remember the frequency or the call letters because I really enjoyed it. It could have been WBLS 91.7 out of Bristol even with a rouge signal bouncing off of the mountains, but that’s a stretch. It could have been any radio station on the FM dial in either PA, MD or WV along the US-40/I-68 corridor. If you know what it is, could you let me know?
Anyway, that’s why neither you, PJ, nor you, Ron, got a call from us over the weekend. It got cold.
So now it’s 8:44 a.m., I’ve gotten a full post in and it’s time for me t get get ready for work. I’ve got the day’s audiobooks and music downloaded, I’m updated on my Tweets, and the dishwasher’s done enough where I can take a comfortable shower.
This new life will take a little getting used to.
P.S. – Thanks to Davecat for watching my boys while I was away.