In Vermont we live happily content within a season-to a point. When the point is about to be passed, the season changes. Good. We love it.
Regarding seasons, I crave change; regarding my daily activities, not so much.
I eat lunch at the same place every day I'm able, and I'm able most every day. I make my bed every morning, brush my teeth three times a day, and exercise every day, a couple times a day. I foresee a day when I won't eat lunch at the same place every day because businesses don't last forever, but mostly all the things I do every day I will do every day until my last.
If you go to the gym I go to, about the same time span I go, on a regular basis, and have the slightest ability to perceive, you know I read the newspapers on the cardio machines every day. On the Stairmaster I ply open the papers, which depending on my interest in that day's content takes me 15 to sometimes a little more than 30 minutes to read. I'm off the Stairmaster after thirty minutes, and I set and continue my cardio on a stationary bike, continuing to scour the final bits of the paper, or cracking open and starting on the New York paper. If I finish it before the hour, I read on a book I've brought.
This newspaper reading. It's what I do, every day. I love to do it. It's my little thing. It's my pleasure. It's a habit, a weakness, call it an affectation if you'd like; I don't care what the heck it is, as long as it is that I read my papers while I exercise my heart every day on the Stairmaster and stationary bike-damn it.
A week ago a gym regular who also brings and reads a New York paper everyday, walked over to me up on the Stairmaster and asked if he could see my paper for "just a minute." Just a minute, is what he said. He'd forgotten to buy one that day.