Took H to the train station early this morning, then errands at the post office, then breakfast at Fat City, where I haven't eaten for a while. This Portland institution serves my favorite breakfast, and I've been ordering the same thing there for decades. Talk about routine and habit. In fact, I like routine and habit in my life, unlike in my work, where I'm easily bored and where I'm reluctant to do something I've already done unless I get paid in advance for it.
Fat City has not bent one centimeter in compromise of the New Age fad for "healthy breakfasts" and continues to serve the same "unhealthy breakfasts" they've always served, and I love them for it. The place doesn't change. The place doesn't need to change. In good restaurants, as in good literature and art, change is not an improvement.
Now for some piano practice before class. A weekend to myself, H not picked up until Sunday evening. Polish the splay and mail the "cranked up" version to my agent, finish learning a couple banjo tunes, progress on the new splay.
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