I woke up cold this morning.
That’s not much different than any other morning.
The advent of AC and onset of the 40’s means Les keeps the AC turned low to combat her discomfort.
My comfort be damned!
I get 50’s era advice one would expect from a cardigan clad Dad.
“Put on a sweater if you’re cold.”
But I don’t sleep in a sweater.
I don’t sleep in much more than shorts, and even then, begrudgingly.
Not that I slept in the nude for almost all of my adult life.
I wore a watch.
No, this morning was a Fall morning that people like to write about.
You know, sun on the still water, orange red sky, crisp chill air.
You’ve read it before.
You’ve felt it before.
You know what I’m talking about.
Like you see it in your mind, like it’s supposed to be, like the poets of old meant in small New England towns.
There was coffee. There were a few moments of quiet contemplation.
Then the day began and the silence went the way of the sunrise.
I run mornings like a race car pit crew.
I make coffee, and while it brews, I pack lunches and get breakfast.
I clean out the car from yesterday’s adventures, gather baseball gear and debris from changing on the go.
I clear out water bottles and transfer what needs to go out, out, and what should go in, in.
Then I pack them up, and pack them in so they can begin their day.
I send them away with wishes for a great one.
So I can get to work.
Which you know I’ve been thinking about.
Not just this small little media company that publishes books and audiobooks and writes down ideas for tv and movies.
I’m talking about BIG WORK. Community development. Fighting the rise in crime. Real estate rehab.