When it's all just humming along, you fly to California, watch World Cup beside a live chicken standing in a shopping cart, browse fine comestibles in the Ferry Building, walk the perimeter of a decommissioned Navy Base, hold a very nice baby, brutalize a drum set, eat more curry than even exists, inhale eucalyptus, see Pavement al fresco, wince at the A-Team, sing the standards, and walk the hills that are piled on top of other hills.

My local grocer and I spoke briefly, yet broadly, about müsli. We stood in the aisle, admiring the bags of Seitenbacher in front of us, each one distended from its load of nuts, dried fruit, and grains. Müsli #22 had raspberries and almonds. Müsli #23 had cherries and almonds. I prefer Müsli #3, which is purported to be "the modern muesli mix for active people which like nordic walking, biking, skating, etc."). I am not a nordic walker, but I apparently admire the diets of people who are. 

"The Germans know how to make things ," said the grocer. He explained that in addition to müsli, they made great tanks. In fact, he had just seen a documentary on World War II that listed the top tanks of that tank-endowed era. German tanks were at the top. "And they don't put a lot of junk in their cereal," he said. I suppose I was aware that the Germans had some good tanks in the early 1940s, and I also knew that they currently make some good cereals. But I hadn't connected these things into a pattern of proficiency. We stared at the bags of müsli some more. "It's good stuff," said the grocer. It is, I thought. It certainly is. The talk of tanks made me a bit scared. 
skating etc.