Today I had to make an unplanned trip to Oakland to deliver a bolt of cream linen. It was hiding in the garage when it should have been at the grader's being cut into dress parts. An unplanned trip to Oakland means looking at the clock and calculating my chances of getting there and back before TRAFFIC STARTS, borrowing the little white truck against my Dad's wishes and driving, over the treacherous Hwy 17 pass and up the equally treacherous strip of 880 to the East Bay, as fast as I can. I have to work that vehicle, coaxing and whipping alternately, to match the speed of modern cars. It is loud inside and drowns out the radio. It also rattles a bit. I got there, carried the sixty yard roll into the freight elevator on my shoulder, waited impatiently while the large doors closed and the metal box rose, and dumped it in the pile. After a few words with the grader I ran to the elevator, waited impatiently for the doors to close and the box to lower, ran to the truck and gunned it down the loading ramp and out onto 880. Rocketing just ahead of the building traffic, I managed to make it home with only minor delays. I was a small motor boat speeding just ahead of the tsunami. Or whatever. Once I was home I asked myself if that just happened. It did. And was worth it. Small delays add up. And I don't want that. Everything will be cut by the end of the day on Friday and ready to be sewn next week. Now I sit on the couch wrapped in a blanket with the rain coming down outside. Bello snores to my right.