Scarlett’s Letter July 23, 2013

Tuesday, right?

I wasn’t scheduled to work with a client today, nor did I have a project for work. The latter half of my day was marked on my calendar as a “travel day”. I work on site in Redwood City, California, about sixty miles from home, for the next couple of days. My morning was free. So I got paid to sit around the kitchen table, in my pajamas, and visit with my mom, answer the occasional email and be ready to assist if anyone on the team needed help. No one did.

I had a leisurely breakfast, my usual, plain Greek yogurt with local, organic honey stirred in and some organic blueberries. We sat and talked and talked and sat as the morning wore on. I went upstairs, finally, and returned a couple of emails and a couple of phone calls. My “obligations” were met for the morning, all I had left to do was shower, pack and drive.

Mom and I had entertained the idea of having mimosas, for the sole purpose of finishing off that pesky opened bottle of sparkling wine in the refrigerator before it lost its effervesance. We dismissed the idea, initially, it was Tuesday. Morning. So? We revisited the idea and decided it was probably better to enjoy the bubbles and orange juice sooner rather than later.

Three mimosas later.

We were still talking, and coherently. It was after noon and, still, I was in my “pajamas”, sweats, actually, but still, I was in what I wore to sleep in last night. This is so unlike me, I am actually repulsed by the thought of still being in PJs at noon. Blech! I planned on leaving for my hotel at about 3:00 PM, to hopefully miss traffic through San Francisco and get there early enough to complete my “first night ritual”. I showered and got ready, finished hanging and folding last night’s laundry and packed simultaneously, in fairly short order.

I’ve been missing a sock. I’ve been missing a sock I really, really like. I have these “business socks” I wear with my slacks, for work. And the sock that is missing is actually silver. And glittery. Last night, after my run, I grabbed a clean towel to use after my shower. I guess the silver, glittery sock clung to this towel and has been folded up with it since before I went to New York over a month ago. When I got out of the shower and grabbed my clean towel, out fell my missing glittery, silver sock. I was so happy! Really. It doesn’t take much. I was so happy, I even told my man about finding my silver, glittery sock during our nightly phone conversation. As I explained finding my beloved sock, I was looking for the mate, the one that wasn’t lost. I couldn’t find it! Shit! Now the sock that was there, wasn’t and the sock that had been lost was here. I’m hopeless, sometimes. Today, in folding my clothes and packing, I found the sock that hadn’t been missing, so, yes, now I have two silver, glittery socks. In my suitcase, ready to be worn with my business attire tomorrow! Excellent, I just wasn’t sure how many more times I could stand wearing black business socks with my blue, pinstriped slacks. There is peace and harmony in my world once again.

But, as I continued to sort and fold my laundry, it came to my attention that I only had one of my super expensive, hot pink, Balega running socks. I swear, it’s a curse. I just wore them last night, and I washed them and put them both in the dryer, I remember, vividly. I shook the other clothes out, once, and again. No pink sock. I looked downstairs by the dryer. I looked in the dryer. I looked in the washing machine. My mom had put my clothes that had been in the dryer on my bed, and she’d noticed the solitary pink sock, too. A curse, I tell you. A curse. It was nowhere. It’s like there is this cosmic balance that is maintained only by the fact that there is always at least one highly valued, missing sock. I had almost texted my man the good news of finding the silver, glittery sock, but now that my pink sock was missing, I decided not to draw any additional attention to my ongoing sock saga. Curses are never good and are probably best not discussed.

An hour later, after my mom took her clothes out of the dryer, I went to the garage for some other reason, and there, on the floor, my hot pink sock. If the world tips off its axis or the cosmic well-being of the universe is at all unsettled, just know, it’s because all of my socks are presently accounted for.

After I packed, Mom and I decided to have lunch, and, no, we did not have more mimosas. We were out of sparkling wine and I had to drive. We did decide to have a half a cantaloupe each with a scoop of vanilla ice cream in the middle! This is my new favorite lunch and I need to not indulge in this deliciousness too often! It has been a big food week, and with work related travel, meaning dinner out for the next three nights, and another “party weekend” coming up, this could all add up to very tight size sixes by the time next Tuesday rolls around. Or I roll around. At least I’ve run a couple of times this week.

At 3:00 PM, precisely, I loaded up my car and headed for the “peninsula”. As planned, traffic was light. There was a little congestion here and there, but nothing like commute time. I made good time and found my hotel very easily. I checked in and went about my “first night ritual”. After dropping my bag in my room, I grabbed my purse and my TomTom and headed back to my car. The first order of business is always to find the clients’ office. When I booked my hotel, I noticed it was only a couple thousand feet from the address my client provided. I could walk. I may walk. It is about a block away.

The second order of business, upon ascertaining that there was, indeed, a small refrigerator in my room, was to find the closest Whole Foods and buy a few items for my breakfasts and lunches for the next couple of days. I take great delight in shopping at different Whole Foods locations. I don’t know why, exactly, but I do, and I “check in” on Facebook, if for no other reason, than to keep a record for my own purposes. I think it would be cool to be able to claim to have visited EVERY Whole Foods location. Not likely, but cool. I bought Greek yogurt with honey in it, organic blueberries, organic raspberries, a small wheel of Brie and two apples for my lunches, a split of sparkling wine, a split of Zinfandel and a couple bottles of water. Oh, and at the register, impulse buy, two small squares of dark Peruvian chocolate. I made my way back to the hotel and loaded up the refrigerator.

Before leaving home, I made reservations for dinner at a French restaurant in the same town as my hotel. I use Open Table to make my reservations, even though I usually eat early and am always by myself. In other words, I don’t usually need reservations, but, when you use Open Table, you earn points for every reservation you make. You can then redeem the points for gift certificates that can be redeemed at any participating restaurant! I’ve almost earned a $100 certificate, I’m just a few meals away!

When I got to the hotel, after my Whole Foods trip, I pulled up my dinner reservation on my phone to get directions, only to find that the French restaurant was downstairs, in my hotel! Excellent! And it was! A flight of three French red wines, striped bass, quinoa and grilled vegetables, supposedly only 195 calories and for dessert, because it was only supposed to be 90 calories, fresh berries gratin, flambéed. I skipped appetizers, soup, salad and sides, thankfully, that was the most filling three hundred calorie meal I ever ate. I think the French must count calories differently than we do. Or is it the “French paradox” again? How they eat like they do and look like they do, I don’t know. Actually, I do. If you haven’t read “French Women Don’t Get Fat” by Mireille Guiliano, you should. Hopefully, you like leeks. I love them. I eat them every day.

After dinner, the ritual continues; I iron all the clothes for my entire stay, drink more wine, some of the Zinfandel, confirm the time training begins in the morning, set two alarms, each, on both of my iPhones, and make sure all the files are ready on my work computer. Then I busy myself with something entertaining for the rest of the evening like duncing around on Facebook, texting my Sweetie, reading, watching the YouTube channels I subscribe to, or, actually, pretty much what I’d be doing if I were home and everything that needed to be done was, in fact, done.

And that was my Tuesday. It is Tuesday, right?

 

My usual breakfast; organic Greek yogurt, made here in Napa, with local, organic honey and some organic blueberries. And coffee.
My usual breakfast; organic Greek yogurt, made here in Napa, with local, organic honey and some organic blueberries. And coffee.

 

We "had" to use up the champagne before it went flat or something.
We “had” to use up the champagne before it went flat or something.

 

This. Is. Lunch.
This. Is. Lunch.

 

The view from my hotel room.
The view from my hotel room.

 

A flight (three two ounce pours) of French red wines at Bay223 in Redwood City, CA.
A flight (three two ounce pours) of French red wines at Bay223 in Redwood City, CA.

 

My "195 calorie" entree at Bay223 in Redwood City, CA.
My “195 calorie” entree at Bay223 in Redwood City, CA.

 

My "90-calorie" berries gratin, flambeed, at Bay223 in Redwood City, CA.
My “90-calorie” berries gratin, flambeed, at Bay223 in Redwood City, CA.

 

 

 

 

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