554.

It's turned into an Eric Claption kinda day around here.

(Currently playing: I Can't Stand It. Next up: Knocking on Heaven's Door.)

Our living room, flooded with sunshine and good conversation.

My daughter, talking about her latest dream. Me, discussing my jitters over something that normally wouldn't get an eyelash bat from me.

Our shared awe at not knowing (or for me, remembering) that Eric Clapton is British.

And now that it's sunny out, I want to get out of here. My daughter invited me to lunch with her and a friend but I don't want to be the third wheel.

It's possible I'll sit on the porch to read and crochet.

There are errands I could run but I'm not a Saturday-errand-running kinda gal. I prefer to run my errands when the masses are happily ensconced in their cubicles. Or beds.

Which means it's likely I'll make a run to the hardware store around 7 or so. Maybe dinner out after.

And maybe I can sweet-talk my daughter to go to the tennis court with me. I learned today that it's open until 10:30 p.m. in summer.

Well, we'll see...