A night full of dreams.  But more than that, somehow we were together, in a beautiful landscape of green but everything tinged with blue.  You told me it was, “Manitoba.”

I don’t know what idiot accompanied the slideshow of the tornado with, “Joy to the World.”  It must have been a millennial who never heard of a Christmas carol.

Think we might have an early fall.  Hot as blazes but I saw a raintree beginning to fill with those buds that turn rose copper.  And as hot as blazes as it is, wanted homemade vegetable soup–nothing like that aroma in a house with the windows open to fall–reminds me of Mom so much–so I bought the fixings today at Joe W’s.  Went to the Eastbank Regional Library for a mystery foray–got two more Ruth Galloway mysteries by Griffiths, “The Janus Stone,” and “The Crossroad Places.”  “Voodoo Moon,” by Ed Gorman–the first chapter of this is gripping; and I kept meaning to get some of David Baldacchi’s books, and I’m really engrossed in one all after noon called, “The Guilty.”  Elite sniper Will Bodie returns home to the tiny Mississippi town of Cantrell to help his father accused of murder after decades of estrangement.  It’s a page turner.  As my habit, when getting a stash of books, read all of the first chapters of each and they all promise to be very good; but Baldacchi gripped me the most, with Voodoo Moon almost lashing me in–that will be next.

I’ve noticed when men writes books, as opposed to women, there are always more opportunities for the women to be naked. For example, in “Live and Let Die,” Solitaire and Bond are about to be tortured to death, but Solitaire  is forced to take her clothes off.  In, “The Constant Gardner,” the beautiful young wife is visited by a male colleague while both of her breasts are exposed and they carry on a conversation.  The constant female nudity in Greg Isles’s books.  Okay fellas,what gives?

It  is with sadness to know that  Joan is retiring as  cantor choir member tomorrow.  There will be a reception for her tomorrow after the 9 AM Mass and I will attend.  I will miss her.

One day I wonder if I will ever pick up the phone and find it’s you on the other line.  Or open my mailbox and you have written.  Or, answered a knock on the door and it is you.

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