As this entry posts, I’ll be on a plane headed to Tulsa, OK, for work. From there I drive to a little town called Ponca City, near the Kansas border. As for this past week, I somehow managed to miss one day. Still, six outta seven ain’t bad. . . .
- 07/08/2013 Sitting on the side porch in late evening, the light and clouds make me happy to live in this odd little neighborhood, where the sky is so much bigger and the surrounding mountains more visible than when we were buried in the middle of the city.
- 07/10/2013 Original art — like when the mail delivers a painting of some cows that your father-in-law painted — is the best.
- 07/11/2013 When I am an older man, perhaps in my sixties, I hope I can deliver simple profanities with the heft and grandeur of some of the older men I encounter.
- 07/12/2013 Camping and fly fishing eighteen miles or so up Rock Creek, I do my part to drag five trout from the stream, release them, then return to camp and be reminded there is no better place to sit than beside a fire.
- 07/13/2013 A rare afternoon nap has me up late and I realize that by the time I drag my fat ass out of bed in the morning, the Missoula Marathon — which begins near my house — will have already started and the winner will have won.
- 07/14/2013 The fat, post-rehearsal blisters on the ends of my fingers (and vocal chords, it feels like) tell the story of the price paid for a couple months of no band practice.