I sometimes reward myself with an escape to a place of private pleasure. I drive to a nearby National Trust property that has reliably beautiful gardens and look my fill. It's not a huge detour, I spend a half hour appreciating colours and perfumes and the contented resonance of happy bees. I feel restored and take my smile with me again to face the day.
My timing has been a little off this season. We had a warm spell that provoked the tulips. They don't last long in California, once they flower their glory is brief. By the time I got there last week the main spectacle was over and the next, wisteria-phase, was just beginning. I was a bit annoyed at myself and the fact that it was mid-afternoon so too busy for my liking. I was grumpy at all the white-haired ones who have no concept that someone might need to pass on the brick walkways as they dither forward, four abreast, totally unconcerned. The docents were haggered and worn and had lost all sense of humour as there were repeated infractions onto the precious lawns.
Not my best visit. I will have to return again.