Saturday, May 13, 2017

A perfecr day

The following is from a journal entry I wrote in 2009. Much of it is still true, though I could always add or delete things.  After all, perfection is a vague pipe dream impossibility.  Also, I can't remember that last time I read Jonny to sleep before bed. We still read together often as a family, but the tradition of picking books to read as a bedtime tradition has fallen to the wayside. Ahhh, but the memories remain.

The Perfect Day

Wake up at dawn. Exercise for an hour. Walk, run, bike, hike, whatever. Outside, moving.

Back home, clean up, eat a big bowl of oatmeal with raisins and brown sugar. French press coffee with cream.

Four to six hours of intellectual pursuits starting no later than 8 a.m.  - reading, writing, a project, Internet. The perfect day would involve me losing track of time writing, taking advantage of a lightning satori strike of inspiration. I would also read a really good book for some of this time.

Mid-afternoon, 2-3 p.m., another short walk or hike, run an errand or two. Take a nap. Play with Jonny. Go to a park with him and Esther. Listen to the last few innings of an afternoon Cubs game.

And what would be the perfect meal for the perfect day? Anything with hot sauce or wasabi. Grilled anything. Mac and cheese. Spaghetti. Meat, vegetable, carbs. A glass of merlot. A glass of water. For dessert spumoni, an Italian ice cream, “a Lino’s portion,” as my dad says.

After dinner, you guessed it, another short walk. The perfect day must involve a sunset seen outdoors.

Back home to fireflies and dusk. Jonny picks out five books and I read him to sleep.

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