His voice was faint, barely discernible over the long distance static crackle and the high temperature sizzle of the szechuan stir-fry cooking on stove. Retirement takes its toll after 35 years. Purposelessness and loneliness transmit quietly thru glass tunnels and across state lines. Next weekend, a visit, a temporary fix.

What else? - Shutesbury and skating on ice of black glass perfection (and Didn't fall thru for a change). Rusty wrist shot and backhand are on display.

Dreams all weird that involve broken locomotives and the harried defense of my parents home from unseen invaders. Armed with blunderbuss and oversized cherry bombs, I take up position near an oak tree bristled with corroded nails.
Also,

Rearrangement of bedroom furniture. Bed is now next to desk, allowing the drowsy to tilt and teeter and fall softley into a saftey net during sleepy late nights editing tunes for Seattle Jon. Sleepy late nights like last night, with Dylan on monitors from Australia, and the visions of Johanna that conquer my mind.

And today, just like everyone else, I think of Millard Fillmore, Rutherford B. Hayes and shopperific Bed & Bath blow-out sales.