This heatwave morning, I wrestled my arms through the backpack's shoulder straps (with a monograph book enclosed in the compartment, water bottle affixed). I then walked (approximately three-quarters of a mile at a non-exercise pace) to the neighborhood's (traveling) farmer's market. Amongst the small crowd, I was able to purchase some heirloom tomatoes, corn, and peaches. I sauntered a short distance to the park, sat down at a cafe table, drank the water, read a chapter, and ate the seemingly innocuous apeche fruit amongst a gathering of festive folk.
Once back home, I had a lunch-snack consisting of two locally manufactured turkey hotdogs, which were accompanied with horseradish mustard, triangular chips, and an iced tea drink. Having read a couple of magazine articles, I then filled the laundry machine, and then washed dishes while I waited for the freshly ground coffee to percolate.
For evening dinner, I prepared:
- A Heirloom Tomato (olive oil)
- Steak Skirt (sea salt)
- Corn on the Cob (butter)
- Brown Rice
As I watched the televised broadcast news, I was grateful that I did not need to be stamped for approval, and that the distance I traversed coupled with the meal(s) consumed were not part of a warlords' travail laden with diminished provisions--grateful that the Somali plunder has yet to go global.