I’m running the home stretch now, the part where you can see that unless you are set on by a pack of forest wolves you are going to win the dang race. Really, I’ve done enough now so that even if it were released posthumously next month it would be good. It would be enough.
I am so close to it being…. enough.
However, as all of a sudden everything I look at looks like a target again, I no longer expect to turn in my files and peacefully die. I expect instead to begin to party like Bill Clinton, starting this Saturday when my husband and sons arrive from on an airplane.
I love this video of Van Morrison’s band and backup singers riding the bus to get to their gigs, 1970s shakycam all the way. The hair. The light, the clothes. The guitars and the joints. Ah, the ’70s. They live on in me. I think I’ll wear a striped sweater today.
Oh, and the calendar?
HELL YES you want one.
Hey, Francesca Watson, look what Larry has for you, you crazy table wizard.