Thursday afternoon

Today was mammogram day, which is not the kind of thing that makes one get up with a zest for life in the morning, but on the other hand, is not nearly as bad as slamming your fingers in a car door.  I just want to give a thumbs up to the technician at the Salt Lake Clinic, a calm, poised, lovely woman, who made the whole experience--dare I say it--pleasant.  I told her so.  Now I tell her so again, in case someone she knows happens on this blog.

So I was out of the house, which seems more difficult to do every day, and the sun was shining, and I decided to find the sewing store on Pierpont Avenue that Peggy and I looked for one day last year and could not locate.  We drove within inches of it but were spatially flummoxed.

No wonder.  That particular block of Pierpont Avenue can not be gotten into from a left lane; even finding it, I couldn't get into it without making an illegal u-turn in the intersection.

The point is that this one block with its odd, artsy shops made my soul float into a shock of happiness I don't often feel these days.  If I were fifty, I'd move into those Pierpont Lofts for a few years, and then move out again making some huge profit.  I've said this before:  I miss the bubble so much.

I went to Harmons for some easy dinner items and drove home up South Temple where I had to make a left turn into the parking garage, which is almost impossible to do after four in the afternoon.  Sure enough, there was a long line of cars moving west, but I found a break, and get this,  this huge beige van saw me moving left, sped up, and then honked when I cut in front of him.

I said foul things to that driver.  Very foul things.  Tom would have given him the finger, which I don't do, because I think there are people in this world, who would gladly kill you over that gesture.  Plus, I don't really like the gesture.  I prefer foul language in the privacy of my own car.

All in all, it was a good day.  Was it good for you?