Anticipation of pleasure is, in itself, a very considerable pleasure.
-David Hume
It's Thursday, and I find myself like a horse that sees the barn. Almost there. And oh, the joys of a little hay and rest at the other side of the sprint.
It's a habit I acquired over the course of all those moves when I was a kid, I guess, fine tuned during long days and nights in the desert during the war. I browsed travel brochures endlessly in search of a safari or a mountain climb or some other exotic travel location I'd visit once we came back to the states. Sometimes I just sprawled under the canopy of Arabian stars, closed my eyes, and dreamed of being home again with Jeep the dog and Smithers the cat, in my white picket fence neighborhood filled with trees and manicured lawns. There was always something better just over the horizon.
Today, as I pull inside a week until this monthlong slog in Florida draws to a close, I'm feeling that way again.
What lies ahead that keeps me plodding forward?
Well, for starters I've been told by one of the lawyers attending tomorrow's mediation that he has to be on the road by one, which means I almost certainly will be as well. Even losing an hour, I'll pull through the gate at Wyldswood, that most beloved space, before five. I'll drop my bags, open all the curtains, turn the air conditioner back down from 82, then drive out to the golf course to see Mike and Audie and whoever else is enjoying the breeze and a cocktail out on the deck, then have Nicki pour me a cocktail of my own as I embark on a quick nine holes before making my way back to this very spot to throw a little floating catfish food.
That second, empty chair will likely conjure its own melancholy, which may lead to supper at the Elks, where I can get a smile from Helen and a hug from Dot. Or maybe I'll just sit on the porch and listen to the frogs while I telepathically encourage the only two fireflies on the property to mate and make more fireflies.
Saturday's always a work day, first around the grounds and then in my farm office. My plan for the morning had been to engage in a little zero turn therapy around the pond, then try to figure out how Peg's tractor works to cut down some dog fennel in the chicken house pasture, but as I was leaving at 4:30 in the morning on Monday I noticed the curtilage was getting shaggy in the headlights, not even two days after I mowed it. Something's getting mowed one way or another--I'm just not sure which parcels.
The afternoon I'll spend working on cross-examination outlines for a trial on Tuesday, and maybe a couple writing projects that have been demanding my attention in vain lately. I have four trials scheduled in the space of eight weeks, two by jury. It's relentless.
If all goes well, maybe there will be a little more golf on Saturday afternoon. Or maybe I'll buy $700 worth of golf cart batteries from Billy at NAPA, and get that old golf cart back up and running.
Sunday's sort of an open book, at least the first part. My co-counsel for Tuesday's trial is driving up from Fort Lauderdale, and I promised to be there to unlock the office that afternoon. We'll work on trial prep, and maybe go find some supper before he goes back to the hotel.
Monday's a hearing and more trial prep, then on Tuesday at nine we tee up a case for what's supposed to be a one-day bench trial. We'll see. If all goes as planned, I have the plane gassed and ready to leave ECP as soon as we're finished. I'll likely have a change of clothes in the office.
Weather permitting, and the trial timely concluded, I'll be in the air 2 + 35 getting to Key West, where by then Peg will have worked for two days. I'll lose an hour again, which probably means a 9:30 arrival. Hoping P doesn't mind picking me up a little late.
And yes, that will comprise the best part of this journey, finally being with P again.
We'll likely dress a little more lightly than that--Key West in late June and early July is hotter than a $2 pistol. I'll work in the hotel room or out by the pool each weekday while P's in the operating room, then we'll find amusement somewhere in that most amusing of places.
Where to next? That's sort of an open question right now. We'll need to stop enroute to ELM, and I suggested just spending the night somewhere fun. That may be Wyldswood, or Savannah, or some other venue we've not visiting recently or ever.
Ah, I feel better living all that in my head. A churlish and apparently mentally disturbed lawyer in one of my cases has started her day by emailing me, apparently trying to pick a fight. Reality returns. But I can still see that barn up ahead.
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