The historian is patient. He often says, "Historians have to have patience," (I may have made that exact sentence up, although I know he has said something like that in the past. (2. Telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth. is another item on my list of Things That Are Not My Virtues.)). I don't know if it's his vocation or his temperament or what, but he does not fly off the handle, pitch fits, sink into funks, or any of the other vices associated with not being patient.
I do. I do all of these things, although I strive not to and am getting better at forestalling my impatience. (Parenthetically, let me add that if I were allowed to stay on sabbatical forever, I am sure my patience would improve. Powers that Rule the Universe, please take note.)
For instance: today was beautiful. It was warm. Everything is in bloom. After an exquisitely refreshing walk with Bruiser, I put on a skirt and reveled in the springiness of it all. (Also, I deleted thousands, and I am not exaggerating, of e-mails from my work e-mail, because finally they got around to telling me, "Hey! You have way too many e-mails, sister." (3. Promptness in carrying out necessary tasks.))
The general blessedness of today did not, however, stop me from having the thought that there is literally NO fruit that is locally in season at the moment. None.
When will the local, seasonal fruit arrive? When?