A good weekend -

Had my writing group over on Friday night. Talked about writing. And it was cool.
Yes, as a matter of fact, talking about writing is cool if you've got the right people in the room. Sometimes we wandered off the topic. The subject of circumsision was touched upon briefly. As was American politics and Middle Eastern relations. But mostly it was an evening filled with nouns and protagonists, sex and chin hairs.

The last writer left at 2:40 am.
Then Clint came into the kitchen to eat leftover pizza and look over the stuff we had been working on. And he felt like talking.

When your usually-noncommuncative teenaged son feels like talking you do not, under any circumstances, go to bed.
So we stayed up til 4:00 am.

My dad was over bright and early to help us put in a new desk for sleepy first-born son. Turns out those Costco desks are not like building a Lego castle.
I left them still at it at 5:00 pm.
I had a birthday celebration to go to.

You know how on Thursday night when I came home from Fiddler on the Roof, I encouraged you to go see it? Well, now I've got another recommendation....





Go see it.
Even if your dad did not own every album and stack them all up on the record player and listen to them every Sunday afternoon not noticing that by the time the last one fell, the turntable was rotating slower than normal because of the weight and the songs were whinier and mellower than recorded- I think you'll still like it.

I want to see it again. The next time hopefully from a vantage point further back than the front section where everything is a little blurrier than ideal.

I believe that when he married his first wife, he loved her as best as he was able.
But.
But it wasn't enough.
June was his friend. Partner. Work associate. They lived in the same world and understood each other. It was inevidable.
These things happen.
Soul mates deserve a shot at happiness.




That's life.