I hadn’t heard this song before, because I live in an almost impenetrable bubble of uncoolness, but I love hearing all these towns–Alton, Beardstown, Pekin–and I love the way the song comes through her whole body, how she’s marching in place to keep time.
I can’t even begin to capture in words how nice this weekend has been and how sorely needed it was. I talked to very few people. I dug in my garden. I went searching for Old Jefferson, which I missed by mere yards because I didn’t check the TSLA site before I left and still ended up in a really great park. I had a fire. And I finished Tom Stone’s Zeus, which I bought when it first came out, got maybe 30 pages into it and then packed it up and left it sitting in my garage for two years. And yet, it was an easy enough read, delightful and thought-provoking.
Still, it made me wish for a book that talked more about the kind of shift from proto-thunder god into the various European thunder gods.
It’s nice to be able to read books again. And to enjoy them.
It’s too bad Old Jefferson isn’t a park like Port Royal. I’d like to be able to wander around and wonder at it.
On our way there, the dog stood, as she does, on the passenger seat, with her front paws on the arm rest. She then did something she has never done–she rested her head on my shoulder.