For the second week in a row, I had trouble getting up this morning for my Tuesday walk. But at least this time I knew why. Yesterday my wife came home early and suggested we go play tennis. Only reluctantly did I agree—not because I don't like tennis, but because the last time we played, Linda clobbered me. With my frail male ego, a second drubbing would be more than I could bear. We ended up playing for an hour and a half—and by pure luck, I beat her in a tie-breaker.

On our way home I called my mom on the cell phone and invited her over for a drink and dinner. She accepted and arrived at our house shortly after we did. After dinner I got sleepy and went to bed just before 10 o’clock. But at midnight I awoke—and that was pretty much the end of my sleep. After a winter of non-use, my tennis muscles were complaining loudly. For the rest of the night I dozed on and off, for only a few minutes at a time. It made for a rough start this morning.

Last week, because I did not wake up until 6:30, I did not take my walk. But even though it was about 6:30 again this morning before I crawled out of bed, I decided I was not going to miss my walk again. So off I went, leaving the house just minutes before 7. The sun was already high in the sky, and the traffic on the streets was considerably more than when I go walking at 6.

About 10 minutes after starting toward downtown Santa Fe, I was on Galisteo Street, whose northern boundary ends close to the center of town. A sign painted on one of the store windows made me laugh, even as I sped away from it in monetary fear. I had seen that sign before.

I first noticed it one afternoon last week, while walking on Galisteo Street. Done freehand in blood-red letters, the sign said “HEAT” at the top and “A Freak Boutique” below. The letters had paint runs at the bottom, as if they had actually been written in blood. It piqued my interest, so in I went.

A young fellow dressed in very mod clothes asked if he could be of help. I told him that the sign had caught my eye, and I just wanted to look around. I asked where he was from, and to my surprise he said he was a Native American from Cochiti Pueblo, about 20 miles south of Santa Fe. I never would have guessed it—from his outfit I would have said California or Florida.

After a few minutes I saw some clothes that I was sure my daughter would like. I bought them for her, then later came back to the store with my wife and bought some clothes for her, too. What had started innocently enough with a catchy sign was turning into an expensive deal. The young man was very pleasant and helpful, and made it easy for me to part with my money.

This morning, as I sped past the sign, I remembered all this. It’s a good thing the store was not open yet, or I probably would have dropped some more money there. Oh, well, you’ve got to spend it on something. I hope my daughter liked her gift and that Linda liked hers. I also hope that my wife won't be too upset when I spend a little money on some calories at the French Pastry Shop. For myself.

Have a great day.

Stan