And so it was. Thank you for Stacy’s return (business trip –for you gossip mongerers). For Bel’s constant companionship. Big Jim’s steady pace in the furrow. The safe unloading of the “new” 1937 one-horse mower. The sharpening of the new fence posts. The smell of the needed rain. The words of David Foster Wallace. The music of Beth Orton. The strange obedience of my dog, Buddy (just not used to that). The abundance of the garden (finally!). The kindness of my neighbor who yelled “good morning!” as I walked out the door. The fatigue of politics (damn, I broke my promise and penned this piece for the ninnies at GMD). And, of course, the truth in the here and the now. Breathe.
P.S. It’s also Peter Buknatski’s birthday. 65! I think he should buy me a beer.
P.S.S. Goodnight, John-boy.
Oh yes, there’s also music:
I’m 61! The Bomb is 65. The one I have. Watch it!