Woke

Y’all, my dad calls me all the time now to explain gay people to me and how you can go to church and be gay and have a happy life. We are through the looking glass here.

I was supposed to be working on my marketing materials for Dynamite Nashville this weekend. Well, phrasing it that way makes it sound like I didn’t work on it. I did. I just don’t have three blurbers to say nice things about me.

And I’ve been wracking my brain trying to come up with who would be just the right name to pull eyes to the book. And I just don’t know.

I also have been tromping all over trying to find old Benevolent Society cemeteries. I’m looking for Edmondson grave markers and a thing I’ve realized is that this is the missing component in the Venn diagram of where to find his stuff–black cemetery, dead person is someone from his neighborhood or worked in his neighborhood or worked with him at the hospital, and it’s a Benevolent Society cemetery.

This does make the Mt. Pisgah cemetery the anomaly, though, since none of his markers in there are for folks from his neighborhood. I’d like to know how he knew those folks.

Today I’m getting a fish-tank heater for the indigo vat. Who would have ever imagined a summer in Tennessee where you weren’t sitting in the high 80s all day?

Friday night, I dreamed about Rufus. There was some commotion in the back yard and I got up to shut the door to the garage so he wouldn’t get out, but he was too fast and he slipped through the door, even as I felt it shutting on him.