My perfect day begins at 9 a.m. Eight makes me feel sleepy and ten makes me feel lazy, so nine it is. I will perhaps be over-rested since I went to bed around midnight, but for this day it won’t matter. I will wake up clear-eyed and transition quickly to appropriately energized.
There won’t be a breakfast. The perfect day is going to involve a substantial lunch and dinner and plenty of snacking, so there’s no room for a real breakfast. I’ve had great days that started with breakfast, but they were never perfect. So instead of real food, I’ll drink a few mouthfuls of water (after showering and brushing my teeth, of course, which will impart the water a fresh, minty taste), and eat half an apple. Nancee will eat the other half.
We’ll sit on the deck in the cool morning air, the sun crawling up the sky but not heating things up too much, because it will be late September. We’ll talk for half an hour, then go look at the garden, which will somehow still be producing tomatoes late in the season. Then we’ll head back inside and lie around reading books for a while. My book will be something by Bill Bryson, I think, because Cormac McCarthy is a little heavy for a perfect day.
At 11:20 we’ll be too hungry to wait for lunch any longer, so a-lunching we shall go. And let me tell you, Diane, nobody does lunch like the India Garden. I’ll heap my plate with vegetable biryani and chicken tikka masala and that cheese and peas concoction that sounds and looks appalling, but is actually utterly amazing. And because it’s a perfect day, they will have brought over some of those marvelous fried cauliflower things from Garam Masala Indian Grill. I’ll clean one plate and pick over half of another one, and then we’ll head out.
We’ll walk to Indy CD and Vinyl where I’ll buy two or three CDs. I’m thinking three – one roots reggae classic and two lost gems of late 70s funk. Then we’ll drive to Vibes up in Castleton and I’ll load up on punk and metal. Something by the Dead Kennedys, and some Entombed album that they recorded between “Left Hand Path” and “Clandestine” but somehow forgot to release. Finally we’ll stop by Luna Music, which has conviently relocated to the same strip so I don’t have to make another trip, and I’ll pore over the hipster indie rock before eventually deciding that I’ve had enough music for one day.
The CD player in my car will miraculously heal itself, and Entombed will serenade us with raw-throated paeans to death and Satan (played at a moderate volume) as we drive to Brown County in southern Indiana. The CD will end just as we get there, because somehow the drive will only take 40 minutes even though it’s usually twice that. We’ll hit the candy shops and buy carmel corn and almond bark, and peppermint bark for Nancee. We’ll get fresh-made ice cream in waffle cones, and finish the last dripping bite as we start a round of mini golf, which will eventually end in a tie (much to Nancee’s delight). The air will smell like wood smoke as we walk to the pizza place to get dinner.
We’ll eat pizza and breadsticks stuffed with jalapenos and mozzarella, and we’ll watch “Jaws” on DVD back in the hotel room. Our cat Fiver will be there, because we always miss him when he’s not with us; but for some reason he’ll decide not to nip and poke us to get our attention, because that drives us crazy. Quint will die but Brody and Richard Dreyfuss will paddle home and leave me feeling inspired and hopeful. I’ll put on my earphones and listen to Scientist dub me into another world as I drift off to sleep.
Now that’s a day, Diane.