On looking up, looking down & a day at the office

On looking up. . .

Now into week 2 of the Great Foot Recovery, I can report that the crack in the TV room ceiling isn't getting any worse. It's been there for years -- one of the Nine-One-Fours many benign structural varicose veins if you will. Things you expect of a 71-year-old dowager.

The cobweb dallying in air the next to it -- not so much. Remind me to take care of that in the next decade or so.

On looking down. . . 

Sunday was beautiful -- a teaser that spring is just around the corner. The 40-degree temperatures? A reminder that we've still got several blocks to go before reaching that corner.

Nevertheless, sated with cabin fever, my date said, "Let's get out of here and go to lunch!" So off we dashed shuffled (I've upped my game to a shuffle since late last week, btw),  thinking we'd re-visit Chan's Dragon Inn. Sadly the Dragon didn't open till 4 p.m. so we made yet another Third Avenue discovery.

More on that later.

Let's just cut to chase and say lunch was a delicious success.








And so was a short reconnoiter around the Back Forty when we got home.

Tulips!

Hyacinthe!

Bleeding heart!

Hope sprouts eternal.


















And a day at the office. . .

You got the tour of  my mothership of working at home last week. Lest you think we just lay around all day doing nothing here at the Nine-One-Four, here's what productivity looks like:

My assistant: I'm worried about the Purina account.
Truth be told: This is the first morning he's taken
any interest in work.

Ear rubs were written into the master contract last year.
But on the minute!? WTF.

Pushin' paper at the Nine-One-Four.

And my assistant wonders why his computer skills are lacking.

My assistant: I don't think I was cut out for this type of work.
Could I get a transfer to the Parks Department?

The home office

It's just a shade under a week since my foot surgery -- and basically learning to live life shaped like the partially flattened version of the letter V.

We're settling into something of a routine -- breakfast, Words with Friends for 45-60 minutes, then punching the virtual time clock for a few hours of work, foot elevated and on ice.

Welcome to my home office. Let me give you a brief tour.

The aerial view: 

Lap (literally) top, mouse, etc. "Going" to the office is easy because the office is, basically, on my lap. But, once at the office, it requires the skill, cunning and creativity of a Cirque du Soleil star to navigate the cables, comforters and canine sensitivities if an impromptu trip 

to the bathroom water cooler is necessary.

My mouse pad -- copyright 1971.

The strategy room.

The file room.

And my assistant.

Could someone give him a nudge and let him know I'm ready for my 10 a.m. latte?