The alarm I set woke us up on Saturday, a rarity. We crawled out of bed, the spouse first, then me, then headed out to the local car dealership to pick up the spouse's car. It now has oil-eating issues; the cheerful car tech informed us that's normal for ten-year old engines in five year old cars. Translation: new car early next year.
PJ Abbey had only one table filled when we arrived. We gorged ourselves on our regular fair of two separate omelet plates raspberry and stuffed raspberry and cream french toast slices. Good thing, too, since we spent the rest of the day at Renfaire and didn't have our next meal until thirteen hours later.
On Sunday, we brunched again at the Circle. However, before stepping into the restaurant, we admired the autos of yesteryear parked in every nook and cranny, staged by the local car enthusiasts group. I waxed and waned about taking pics and writing a blog post or even an article for my sites, but ultimately decided it wasn't appropriate, subject-wise. Afterwards, the spouse and I went our separate ways. Day passed quickly with the Internet and the telly. We dined on fish.
Four cups of coffee.
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