Journal of a Sabbatical

November 5, 2000

toast

Today's Reading: Circling the Sacred Mountain by Robert Thurman and Tad Wise

Morning came way too early and way too rainy. I was awake until 2:00 AM because I was so wound up from my frantic search for Wilbur, not to mention ruminating on the idea that I have become a crazy cat lady. Anyway, I jolted awake at 6:30 and was groggy and grouchy all day.

I drove to Providence to take Nancy shopping for a new bed. The old bed had a spring go sproing the other night. Like sproing right through the mattress cover. So we figured we'd have brunch at Downcity Diner because I still have not had their fabulous toast since I have been back from China and I crave their fabulous toast. So I skipped breakfast, hopped in the car, and drove south.

Well, Nancy called Downcity. An hour wait. She called Rue de L'Espoir. An hour wait. We settled on Z-Bar and Grille where we ate last week. She didn't call them. They're never full. It's not parents' weekend at Brown or anything. We get there. It's full. There's a wait. Yikes!

People are once again waiting in the street at The Brickway. We are still mad at Zog. It is now past noon. Oh, past noon, that means lunch buffet at Taste of India!

No toast on the Taste of India buffet, but they do have lotus root of all things. Not prepared either of the ways I had it in China, but lotus root nonetheless. With potatoes. Really good. Other good things on the buffet too like black-eyed peas. Black-eyed peas are Indian? Anyway, we lucked out. I got to have lotus root and introduce Nancy to it, and we got to have the most meltingly good black-eyed peas I've had in years.

Finding the mattress store takes most of the rest of the afternoon, then there's the actual choosing one and arranging to have it delivered etc. Then I backed into another car in the parking lot because my right side mirror popped out of it's little pocket thing two days ago and I had neglected to push it back in. The woman whose car I hit spoke only Portuguese. A little kid had to translate. Fortunately, there was only a little scratch on her car and she didn't want to make a claim on my insurance. At least that's what the little kid said that she said. I don't understand a word of Portuguese.

Way too late to go look for that snowy owl that's been reported at Sachuest Point, and even too late to go look for ducks at the cove, which is much closer, because the rain from up by my house has moved down to Providence and it's gonna be dark very shortly.

Brown Bookstore - where I successfully avoid buying anything and spend way too much time looking at home decorating books, especially ones that promise to make your home cozy.

Dinner at Cafe Paragon. I just love their avocado and plum tomato salad, and their to-die-for mushroom bruschetta. Who needs a main course?

Slog slowly back home in the rain, which intensifies as I go north.

When, oh when, will I get some of that Portuguese cornbread toast?