Visiting a strange dilapidated antique store where it was raining inside, and whose owner had a vice-like handshake. There were canned goods everywhere, too.
Seeing a relief wood carving of a beaver from 1973 that cost $12.
Drinking an excellent homemade plumb brandy with a cheeky description of its provenance on the back label.
Attending a winter solstice party where most people in attendance believed in God.
Scoring dozens and dozens of colored and decorated enveloped from the 1970s for a buck.
An espresso from Earl’s Coffee Shop.
Meeting someone on a mountain.
Watching a John Garfield film.
Drinking a creamy porter in an ocean of Bud Light.
Listening to quail soft shoe on the roof.
Shaving without bleeding (too much).
Walking in rain.
More letters from an incarcerated soul with tremendous promise.
Holding out an offer of rapprochement to someone dear to me.
Reading a Western and delighting in its sheer artifice and lack of affectation. An interesting combination that only a good Western provides.
Reading a poetry chapbook from a friend that contained a wonderful poem about Ken Kesey.
Hearing a story from an OTA woman who used a pink angora sweater as “bait.”