Spring is Here

Sort of.  Mostly the sound this morning, which began just after 5 A.M., was of sharp, triangular plastic being used by tensed and gloved hands to scrape ice off the glass of car windows.  Then, on the first walk with the two big, black dogs, a few robins could be heard staking claims.

Having completed my piece on washoku for Sewasdee, I’m free to work on the interview I did with Hilliard Pouncy, a 90 year old former bombardier and Tuskegee Airman.  That’s due Friday for Bay State Banner.

And, of course, waiting on the contract from New Delhi for the book I’m writing on Non Resident Indians.

Escapes and near escapes, sequesters and disappearances.  I have to wonder what remains or what’s left.

And, solo the next few days with the wife in Denver dining at restaurants I chose for her, there will be plenty of time to mull.  That is, between seeing folks on locked psychiatric units.

And reading…trying to read…Tanizaki on aesthetics is on the table.

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