Writing Along with Monk and Rollins

Thelonious Monk and Sonny Rollins duet on “I Want to be Happy.”

So do I. Some people don’t.

Rain falls and then it doesn’t and I write in concert with jazz.

I just chopped garlic and onions for a mushroom and tomato and rice stew. Jim Harrison would approve. I need a dog here to lick the bowl.

I saw tri-colored yoga pants in the most unlikeliest of places.

A harbor seal followed me for two miles. I called out to him.

I had my hands on lavender cords and they fit, but…they were women’s pants and I couldn’t do it. I’m not there yet.

A former student called me out of the rain and it was good to hear his voice.

I found a book in a laundromat called Crazy Salad, a collection of essays about women, written by Nora Ephron. I started reading it right there. It was published in 1973 and contains more insight into women than any other book I have ever read about women.

A new river is about to emerge in my life.

I saw a man splayed on a gravel bar, flapping his arms like wings.

I met an elderly man who was pulled over for driving eight miles an hour down Highway 101. He told me he was zonked on a prescription opiod and the police arrested him.

I attended a craft fair in an unheated lodge decorated with mounted heads of deer and elk.

My Friday night entertainment this Friday night will be listening to a 2-A high school football playoff game on the radio. In mono. I’ll be tabulating all the cliches from the lone announcer. Heavy rain is forecast. Let it rain on a football field when football players are playing. Let fumbles and dropped passes commence.

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