Last week I worked every day 8 to 5 at my cousin’s metal shop. I cut bronze with a band saw, picked up steel from a Newtown Creek foundry, installed bathroom fixtures at a West 14th Street luxury condo, and delivered decorative storage bins to the patio of a 5th Avenue penthouse. The work was exhausting and non-stop day after day. Rick and I worked Saturday and we were glad to complete the last bathroom in the condo.

I thought about going up to see the Basquiat show at the Gagosian Gallery, but opted for the A train to Fort Greene.

My body and soul needed rest and wine.

Bedtime came early and I woke on Sunday morning with the dawn.

My Sabbath was dedicated to recovering from the week’s labors; a long bath, a bacon and eggs breakfast at the Academy Diner, reading ON THE ROAD, writing IN HEAVEN ABOVE as well as a few entries to mangozeen, then an afternoon nap, otherwise known as a siesta.

Siesta is derived from the Latin words ‘hora sexta’ for the sixth hour after dawn and people of the Mare Nostrum have perpetuated the afternoon nap for centuries. I lived in Perpignan in the late-80s and my cousins ate a large lunch after which we draped our bodies across couches and chairs for a good hour repose. I considered this practice extremely civilized in comparison to the Northern European work schedule of lunch and right back to work, however the siesta has suffered from the recent economic decline in Spain, as workers are threatened by dismissal for any signs of lax work ethics.

Doctors have failed to find any concrete benefit from siestas, although people sleeping after lunch supposedly are 37% less prone to heart disease.

This afternoon I didn’t care about anything other than hitting my pillow for some ZZZZZZs.

I spend a good hour in slumber and woke to gray skies.

Tomorrow it’s supposed to snow.

Winter is taking its time saying good-bye and I rolled over to catch a few more minutes of rest in respect of the Dalai Lama’s belief “Sleep is the best meditation.”