People over 50 who eat hot wings after 8 pm deserve world class heartburn. I ask for no sympathy and it’s a good thing I expect none.
It is with flaming heart, therefore, that I announce the following horrific news. I decided to clean off the memo portion of my cell phone as I recollected just now that I had sung a number of tunes into it. Well, a number turns out to be seven, all but one without lyrics and me with no clue what key they are in or what to call any of them. Thank you o great muse for your immense bounty, but I JUST SAID on my blog that I had 39 percent of them written down, so I’m down to 36 percent instantaneously. Now, this is a fine, a stupendous problem to have, and I’d be six kinds of fool to even hint at wishing for a shutoff valve, but I refuse to do anything but acknowledge the fact that I have yet more work, as sleep beckons.
I got to meet Mike’s new inamorata Vilma. (While Keith played Rock Band non stop). She can sit on her hair. I know personal remarks is rude, but her hair is stupendous, and comes entirely unregulated or mishandled by professionals in cascading rippling waves of honey blonde that terminate just above the backs of her knees. The full effect is enhanced by her petiteness, and of course if she wasn’t a lovely, smart and good-natured woman the personal remarks would be even ruder. Mike has horseshoes clanking around in his sitz platz.
Oh, and me and Mike and Keith played darts. Mike won with a dazzling “come through in the choke” maneuvre.
That’s 39 percent. I may actually get this project DONE by the end of my year off!
Of course it would help if I quit writing songs, but not a chance of that. When I sit down to noodle these days I cut to the chase pretty fast. Then, boom, another song to write down. What can I say, it is so much fun to be me these days I can scarcely credit it.
I am going to head off to the Royal City Farmer’s Market this afternoon. Time I did some bike shopping, and I have a hankering for some organic piggy hacks.
Walls of my heart is written down (forgive the title, I was oozing a neurasthenic and self-absorbed romanticism at the time I wrote it).
Aiee! I am back in the swing of things with church, what with the potential move and the satellite service, so I invited myself to the growth committee meeting. Actually, I hosted it last night. Keith made himself known to everybody (feeling safe to come out if Peggy and I are in the room) and I (scandalously, for a Unitarian) didn’t feed snacks afterwards because one of our number is fasting for a genuine health reason and I figured we could all get by on clear fluids rather than force her to watch us eat. That is the first time I ever had a committee or small group ministry meeting at my house without food – and my Mennonite foremothers are rotating like cylinder records in their graves at the very thought.
In the old days, visitors would be fed ‘faspa’ which is the Mennonite equivalent of tiffin, and consists of something lighter than a meal and heavier than a snack, if you know what I mean. It’s so much part of the culture that it’s a major faux pas not to provide it. Even though I had a sound reason, I still felt guilty. Ah, it’s so good to be back in church!
Why the hell does an atheist do church?
Continue reading More tunes…