b r e a t h i n g r o o m
23 Nov 97
One of those deliciously lost days. Slept this time till 10:30, woke to the smell of coffee brewing. The consummate host, Rita made us scrambled eggs with spinach, green onions, and feta, and muffins, and juice. Nick and Rita talked about the scrapbooks, momentos of shows and tours past. Eventually we packed up and headed off.
The eternal documentor, Nick convinced me to head back into Santa Cruz so he could take a few snapshots of the Catalyst and see about snagging a poster from the show. We ate sandwiches from a kiosk on the street, while listening to an insane man sing along with disco's greatest hits, bought some persian style smoothies with rose water, and then drove back.
Every time I called home, it was later than I expected, and when I dropped off Nick in the outer sunset, it was already past four. I ran into heavy traffic on the way home and got home around six. The porchlight was dark. I hadn't gotten through live on the phone all day, but the other car was out front, so I knew B was home.
I found her in the bedroom, dressed to the nines. I asked her, "Are you coming or going?" She said "we're going out for a nice dinner." We made reservations at Oliveto's, a favorite of ours that's too expensive for everything but special occasions. The evening turned out to be the perfect welcome home from my miniature tour, and when we turned out the lights I slept like a log back in my own bed.
Copyright © 1997