Driving Federal Highway at 7:30 on a Sunday morning is a joy – not only is there little traffic but the lights seem to be synchronized – especially when listening to Camille Saint Saens’ “Requiem Mass” on Sirius XM (yes, on the radio, because if I’d supplied the music myself I would not have had the pleasure of happenstance). I was on my way to Croissan’Time to pick up a pain au chocolat for the French Open at 9.
“Do you want a big one or a small one?” the saleswoman asked me. I had forgotten they came in two sizes. “Two small ones,” I told her, thinking the chocolate-to-bread ratio would be more in my favor. Then I asked her where she was from.
“Romania,” she said. I asked her where. She mentioned a town I’d never heard of. “It’s small,” she said. I rattled off the places I’d been in her country and she said, “It’s near Suceava.” I told her I’d loved the painted monasteries and I think made her a little homesick.
On the drive home I stopped at Bob’s News to pick up the Wall Street Journal. Why not read it online? Well, in front of me at the counter stood a woman with two large dogs.
“They’re beautiful,” I said. “What are they?”
“Chesapeake Bay Retrievers,” she said. “This one’s seven months old – he’s never been in a store before – and this one’s a champion.”
“He should be at Westminster,” I said.
“I wish,” she said. “His mother won there in 2016.”
I drove home with my paper and pastries for the men’s final.
