Something must be retrograde!  I’ve spend two an a half hours trying to tidy up this blog and —sheesh–I have no control of what is going on and everything takes about a vat of lard to shoulder through to a change and I found all these posts that didn’t  get published in the beginning of the year…and obviously it is the time to sign off, check out (great astrology site) and give it up while the slow summer sun traces shadow and light on cedar branches.  The cat and dogs sleep but I’m still twirling my skirts like the yellow rose.

Did something seem abysmally slow to you today?


Poets under cover

The Prozac Mountain Boys played at Honey Moon last night, a little alley cabaret that reminded Michael of New York and me of Denver in the ’70s.  Arielle Luckman, in town from Chicago, joined in the toe tapping tunes on her fiddle.  I eased up to the bar with a glass of pull-your-own water, very Bellingham, and settled on a hardwood stool.

Bluegrass with a bit of Connie Francis and Bob Dylan on the side.  Standing room only.  A tastefully decorated Christmas tree hung upside down from the high ceiling.

Inebriated college students, old and new hippies, a retired border worker, a psycho therapist, a tarot reader, a geologist were among the few I watched and talked to as the evening bubbled along.  AND a poet and publisher.

My focus for 2012 is to be back in print.  A most auspicious outing.