Who said they had to be 52 weeks in a row, right?

• The cool air, clear light and the soft buzz of the wind on my morning bike commute.
• Seeing the San Francisco skyline at night as I drive down from Twin Peaks
• The smell of slowly roasting tomatoes, thyme and balsamic vinegar for tomorrow’s lentil lunch.

I saw IrishGirlie’s (re)tweet this morning about little birdie’s 52 weeks of happiness. Now that’s something I could get into.

Here goes:

1. running hills, or, more accurately, the feeling after said scamper.
2. not being called in to report for jury duty.
3. a nod and a “hi” while passing the American Grilled Cheese Kitchen guy on the street.
4. a wee dram of whisky at a work Burns supper celebration (no haggis, thank you).

(1/52)

Note: Apropos to yesterday’s VisitScotland’s pony pics I posted, I didn’t realize Jen of Little Birdie was also a glaswegian lassie, so it’s a lovely coincidence that we had a Scottish shindig at work today, in honor of poet Robert “Rabbie” Burns. I am not intimate with Mr. Burns’ oeuvre, but I look forward to learning more before next year. Scotland remains on my list of places I’d like to visit one day.