Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Yesterday was one of those days.


I lay abed until “I” was fully motivated to exit. I drifted through my daily wake-up routine with no imperatives, including the dog staying quiet without the usual “to the door, to the master, hurry it up, dude” routine.

I dressed at my leisure, had coffee at my beck, reviewed the items “to-do” and launched myself into main stream small town.

The streets were clear, the sidewalks had been shoveled, all the clerks I had to deal with were efficient and my small business around here was done and over in good time. It went so far as the on-break post master giving me my mail without my asking.

All the traffic on the one-hundred and seventy mile drive, both going and returning, was well behaved. No left turns from the right lane, all the truckers used turn signals, actually turning in the direction they were advertising.

My business at the end of the drive was quickly cared for, with promises actually kept. Help I didn’t want, and which usually is imposed on me after protestations, was offered and not imposed over my negative desires.

I stopped, while at the grocery store returning a cart to the store, to allow a large truck to park. The female passenger rolled down the window and asked me to wait just a minute, she would return the cart as she was going into the store. And she did that.

On returning home, all the eggs were whole, the tomatoes un-squashed, the grapes were in good shape, and most amazing of all, a tele-marketer did not call.

All in all, a most delightful day. I even won seven dollars at poker.

I hope that every day is not like that.


It was almost boring.

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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