One

As for yesterday, the beginning came at around five thirty. Ryan and I had planned as early as last week to drive down to the far end of the Boulder mountain for an adventure of sorts. A friend had mentioned to him a little-known pond above Posey Lake, mentioning a plenty of large fish long neglected by anglers so numerous at the highly accessible Posey.
I might have been forewarned by the way things began.
In the spirit of disclosure and perhaps, entertainment, rather than complaint, here's an account.
My percolator mysteriously clogged and made a mess, and after that was taken care of, I tromped around in the noodle looking for soap to no avail. Before I was done with my thangs, the short time before Ryan came to pick me up had passed. By the point I was dressed and out the door, having forgotten to eat any breakfast, I was late by at least ten minutes.
Harried somewhat by my slow start, I watched the ranges on either side of our home valley slide by. We spoke of small things, of my frustration with my job as a school teacher for an alternative high school and trepidation at the fast-approaching school year. Not a good way to start the day ahead, and I sensed it. But that didn't stop me from blathering on, I'll have you know.
Other subjects came up and were enjoyed far more, but we were focused on the imminent possibility of a good hike and fishing along the same lines.
As Salina approached, my stomach jumped at the possibilty of something solid, albeit purchased from the Maverik station where we traditionally purchased petrol on trips south. Here is where the second miracle of mindfulness began...
The Maverik was full of large trucks and fueling boats, so we waited for a few minutes. As it became apparent that things weren't moving at our speed, we headed for the neighboring station for provisions. Inside after fueling for four cents a gallon more than the other, we were greeted by a much smaller selection. I'm not sure how this place stays in business but by higher price per gallon, because I seldom see anyone here during our visits to the always busy Maverik. This should have been my first clue and guide, but I bought food anyway.
Old Dominion peanuts and a package of string cheese in hand, we cruised away from the store. As we chatted and opened the packages, I popped a handful of nuts into my ready mouth. Augh. They were stale, tres stale in fact. I smelled the bag, and the odor, too, indicated rancid oils and other unkindly-aged hydrocarbons. The date stated '10 July 08', but the proof was here in the mouth-putting. I must have been too far away from Virgina to casually feast on these peanuts.
Bent but undefeated, I gripped the cheese for opening. Looking more closely, I noticed a discoloration at one end. Above the discoloration was a torn triangle of wrapper. The cheese was opened and at one end, dried. That was the end of that battle, and as I threw the peanuts and cheese out the window of the auto, I reflected briefly upon the lessons that I could learn from this. I had been hasty and unobservant, and though I this was only a continuation of symptoms from my 'hasty and unobservant' condition, the indications of my disease would continue for a while today...

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