15 more minutes of this. Can I make it with a straight face, or without watching my mood swing dangerously down the slope to utter irritability.

The music was nice enough, in an odd way. When I arrived, around 7 am, one of the usual  Saturday characters sat outside with a mini speaker blasting a Bluegrass violin tune. It was nice. Reminded me of the yearly New World Fest, in Randolph, which had been on my mind that very morning. I had missed the event two years in a row now. I smiled.

Now, in he came to fold, speaker blasting at his side, some old style country western voice barking a musical tale. It was pleasant, I thought, but I also felt I had suddenly entered a slapstick humor show. The man sang along. He was happy, allowing his weekend chore to wash over him musically. No harm in that. And I smiled again.

I smiled because this nudged me out of my comfort zone. It nudged me out of the quiet, reserved, suburban girl persona. Something in me wanted this girl to crank out her neck like a turtle coming out of its shell with a big, satisfied, knowing grin on its face.

What I knew, in that instant, was that I had misplaced my playfulness; traded it for the daily dramas at work, and for blind adherence to routine and personal rules of etiquette. 

And now, I drive straight to work with this country soul ear worm stuck in my head. I have no reason to frown today. I have reason to be thankful to the man who brought his easy-going Sunday morning self along for the laundry chore.