hot eggs and meditation

The rain was the draw tide for my dreams. What was a distant patter suddenly had me in the bedroom and awake. It was quarter to six and I had to get cooking.
The school I am at today had a "staff lunch" where each person either cooks or buys something to bring in. I decided that I was going to make tortilla as I hadn't made it in quite a while. So, come 6 am, I had out my old notebook (see extras). I was peeling totties in the sink, breaking eggs: singing along to music. I normally do my TM as soon as I get up, but today it could wait for the bus ride.
Whilst busying myself in the kitchen I had that pleasant experience of having drifted through time and place and found myself back in Spain, in my Brother-in-law's bar. I worked there for a while cooking and serving drinks. The first thing I did each morning was to make the tortilla. Peel some totties, break some eggs. Drink good coffee.
Back in Glasgow I managed to flip, season and cook the tortilla and struggled out in the rain juggling two bags full of teaching materials, a ukulele and a hot plate with the tortilla. The bus was late.
It came eventually and there were two empty seats where I could sit in at the window and do my TM. I calamitied up the aisle into the seat, got my bags onto the floor at my feet, sat the plate on my lap and started my mantra.
I heard people get on and off the bus. Two different people sat beside me for a while. Someone had a coughing fit. My lap burned with hot eggs as I repeated my mantra and tried to get deeper. Tried to break the thoughts that came in their shells of habit.
After about twenty minutes I opened my eyes and found the bus almost empty. In front of me, reading a book on her kindle, was a woman in autumnal colours. She had shed her saffron jacket and was sitting in her green floral blouse reading quite the thing.
I could see through the gap in the seats that her book was in Spanish. She had such a luxuriant way of reading. Her fingernails were painted red, and as she read one finger erotically stroked the right hand edge of the kindle teasing it towards turning the page. I was transfixed, trying not to look. I had hot eggs in my lap remember!
Her stop arrived and she put on her coat the colour of the leaves outside. Not long after I had to get off and change buses. The image was taken at that bus stop. It is at the Glasgow Museum of Modern Art.
The statue is of the Duke of Wellington and it has been an open secret (in recent years taken up by the city highheidyins) that the statue must have a traffic cone hat at a jaunty angle. Every time it was taken off someone out in the drunken heart of the city night would put it back on. It represented irreverence to authority, and we Glaswegians like that.
Anyway. Balancing my burden of many things - one of them still hot- I got on my bus and made it to school in time. The rain was back on and people were hunched heads-down to their destinations. As I passed the Lollipop Man crossing the children and their parents across the busy road, a man crossing greeted him,
"Alright?"
"Aye," he replied, "No bad for a Wednesday!"

That'll do me. The tortilla went down a treat. No bad for a Wednesday.

Onwards!