I am in my living room with the radio playing in the background, wearing a shirt, tie, and cardigan sweater topped off with a nice wool cap. And I am eating nuts, although I haven’t put them in the breast pocket of my shirt the way my grandpa did. I don’t have a newspaper or book in my lap either, but I do have my laptop. This way of being must be genetic, at least in part.
It is a wonderfully cozy feeling, an almost elegant feeling. I hope someone comes to the door so I can freak them out with my dignified domesticity. Perhaps some kids will come selling candy bars for Kiwanis or fruit for the high school band. If only kids did that still. I could have them come in while I deliberately fiddle for my checkbook and tell stories about my days in the band.
Time for the evening news. I’ll get more nuts.