Time marches on . . .
1/5, Sunday. So I sit up watching CBGB last night, and today I’ve got the Talking Heads singing “This ain’t no party, this ain’t no disco, this ain’t no fooling around” repeating in my head.
1/6, Monday. A walk around the neighborhood unleashes an unending chorus of dogs barking from yards and houses, each setting off the next like falling pins or block-long strings of firecrackers.
1/7, Tuesday. Thanks to whoever and wherever I was on January 1, 1988, when I mixed a cassette tape called “Uppers,” which I put in the player today and discovered it was clips from old comedy albums by Woody Allen, Bill Cosby, Groucho Marx, Lily Tomlin, and Steven Wright.
1/8, Wednesday. Gratitude Department: On a walk today in Palm Springs, making breezy laps around the Wellness Park, we are gratefully reminded of a similar outing a year ago using a walker and still deep in the oh-so-slow recovery process following spinal surgery.
1/9, Thursday. With my left arm half-numb and half-useless with a wrist brace, my usual clumsiness has increased by a factor of at least 10, and I am giving up thoughts for now of growing old gracefully.
1/10, Friday. Not given much to rants, I would sure as hell anyway like to see the recycling truck dump a full load in the front yards of the don’t-give-a-damn jerks who discard their old TVs and furniture in the desert.
1/11, Saturday. Finishing up draft 6 of the book on early frontier fiction I’ve been writing, after deciding a couple months ago (with the help of a candid reader) that draft 5 needed a major overhaul, and in a day or two it’s off to an editor.
Last week: Dec 29- Jan 4
Image credits: Ron Scheer
Coming up: Ben Bridges, Draw Down the Lightning