Some of the pleasures of working from a home office are flexible schedules and unexpected adventures, especially the little adventures close to home. Today I had an impromptu lunch with my youthful dad in between his appointments. His phone call came at just the right moment while a file was taking its sweet Internet time downloading before I started my next cover letter. “Let’s go to that cafe on Crescent,” he said. “I’ll be over in 15 minutes.” “Wonderful. We can walk there; it’ll be my first time for lunch at the place,” I said, reminding him to park in the driveway. I pulled my car out, my only expected driving for the day, and parked in front of our house, triple checking that I had hung the parking permit on my rear-view mirror before I went back in. An obsession I had acquired, in hindsight, after too many parking tickets without the permit. (Dear Beverly Hills Traffic and Permit Department, Why can’t we have stickers to place on the car window so we don’t have to keep putting that permit on the mirror? Signed, Team Beverly Hills graduate)

I change into presentable clothes and my made-for-walking boots. The door bell rings, and, yes, it’s punctual, retired aerospace engineer Dad with his Lexus in my driveway. The permit is still hanging on my car mirror, so we to head over to Bailey’s. http://bit.ly/c0AKI

Lunch was good. Unpretentious and flavorful green bean and beef sausage soup-of-the-day. Creamy rice pudding, topped with applesauce and cinnamon sugar to share with Dad for dessert. And ordered to go, “homemade” chili for Ben’s dinner. Will he be impressed? Nah. He’ll know it wasn’t homemade in our home. Lunch was Dad’s treat. Thanks, Dad. What a treat to be with him on an ordinary Thursday afternoon.

Add yet another pleasure:  On our walk home, we caught up with our neighbor who was walking to lunch with his home-from-college son. An avid walker himself, Stacy and I often chat when our paths cross in town. He shouted, “Good luck to your kid going off to Chicago,” remembering the news of Ben’s acceptance to the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. A real small town feel-good moment. All unexpected. Let’s why we walk.