It's time for my daily incantation:
"OK Google, what time is it?"OK, I don't ask Google to bring coffee. I stick my head out the door and make my wakeful state known. I make a mental note to program Google to flash a light in the kitchen when I'm ready for my first coffee of the day
"OK Google, turn on National Public Radio"
"OK Google, turn on bedroom lights"
"OK Google, bring coffee"
A few minutes later, the coffee arrives.
I like to start my day slowly, reading the news on my tablet. I skim through a range of material, including Politico and the New York Times. If the news is too much to stomach this early in the morning, I retreat to a tech site like Gizmodo, or research travel possibilities.
I get up, potter some more, then wash dishes by hand. Tomorrow, somebody will come to fix the dishwasher; today, I'm the dishwasher.
Soon, I "need" more coffee. An important element of aging in place is being close to coffee shops. We plan to live in our new neighborhood for decades, which means planning for decrepitude. We have several coffee choices within a couple blocks; today I choose Connexion, the cafe at Open Book.
I walk out of our building and look up at the condominium block under construction next door.
I walk past a former brothel and across the road to Open Book (pictured at the top of this post). The barista greets me by name, then, unasked, pours my coffee and plates a freshly baked slice of crumb cake.
Open Book houses book-oriented nonprofits. There's a bookshop, a book arts organization that puts on exuberant exhibitions, and The Loft Literary Center. I've taken a one-day writing course at The Loft and have promised myself more education along those lines.
My mind turns to cooking: what will I dish up for Dwight's birthday tomorrow? I head up the road to Whole Foods to squeeze the eggplant.