By 9:00 a.m. I had proven that one can secure a vehicle registration for an absent son with minimal fuss.  When the DMV first privatized, I disdained the decision but perhaps in haste.  I suppose they still serve under some corporate management; in any event, I took the paperwork sent by my son and within five minutes of arrival, walked out with his little red stickers bearing the number 17.

At Mail Packages in Brookside, my fellow Rotarian Mbugua Njoroge sold me a stamp and then shared a few minutes of description about the remodeling plans for his establishment.  As we exited the storefront, he bade me God’s blessings and I must admit that I did feel blessed.  His gentle smile speaks to me of how I would like to behave in my 70s, spritely, serene, engaging.

A few miles down the road, my parking karma guided me to a spot right outside One More Cup, settling the issue — One More Cup or Coffee Girls?  The two vibe different.  One More Cup with its mismatched wood tables and laid-back air invites solitary lingering, whereas one more likely scores a table at Coffee Girls but the sound of the blender encourages quick turnover and snappy conversation.

I’ve been making lists of events, and people, and occurrences for which I am grateful.  So, add these:  The dollars in my wallet that bought me an avocado sandwich and an Americano in a yellow pottery cup with a handle large enough for cradlng.  Art on the wall.  The children spanning the counter on stools while their parents sit chatting with strangers.  The blue of the sky; the purr of my Prius’s engine; the beating of my heart — however erratic, however weak, however broken and bruised.

It’s the nineteenth day of the twenty-seventh month of My Year Without Complaining.  From Waldo, to you, my greetings.  Life continues.