Wake-up time is wake-up time, regardless of what the clock says. "Get to sleep an extra hour" is pure silliness. I shall not go off on my seasonal tantrum, but I'm not happy about the blankety-blank Daylight Savings situation. "Their" definition of Standard Time and mine differs, since it's anything but standard when "they" keep changing it. Oh well, I woke up at the now four-thirty and I'll just have to deal with it.
Yesterday was a day of celebration for my mother-in-law's 90th birthday. My sister-in-law, Lynne, and her husband Stan had organized a party for family and friends at a long-established Italian restaurant, and they did an outstanding job. I don't get to spend much time with that side of the family, and nephews and nieces whom I've known since they were born are now handsome and lovely men and women. Best of all, they're funny! There is a new great-great-grandson for Billie, a tiny baby boy who was passed around like a party favor and never woke up. All too soon it was time for me to head back up the hill.
Why is it that the drive home is so much shorter than the trip away? I made a stop at a grocery store that I like, thinking to be in and out in no time. The store had been completely renovated and nothing was where it "should" be, and it took a lot longer to find the few items I wanted than I'd hoped. There was an unexpected bonus, though. It doesn't pay to run around in the hills without a full tank of gas, so I stopped to fill up and paid $3.05/gallon!! Haven't seen gas that cheap for...I don't remember when.
Got home in time to watch The Breeders Cup at Santa Anita, unpack the groceries, get a fire going in the wood stove, and put the kids to bed before dark. Still in my go-to-town jeans and not my ubiquitous bibbies, I didn't have my phone in a pocket and so missed out on a photo of the huge, stupendous thunderheads over the mountains, touched with a rosy gold from the last rays of the setting sun. Darn.
It was a good day.