Sunday morning

I have four short, squat juice glasses on the ledge overlooking my computer desk. They are half-filled with tiny seashells. Some customer returned a package of Southeast Asian seashells, and Larry gave them to me to buy for a buck. The shells are just like the ones we used to pick up off the beaches back home, during childhood weekends at the beach.

The roses have died, and I separated the petals and topped off the seashell glasses. I reach for one every so often as I sit at my computer, breathing in the heady fragrance of roses.

Patrick left to visit his parents last night, and didn't get back until after I'd gone to bed. There was a mini Hershey's chocolate bar waiting on my keyboard this morning, and a Goldilocks ensaymada on the kitchen counter. I must prevail.