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Two weekends ago Jenny and I drove to Joplin to celebrate October birthdays for my Mom, my brother-in-law, and two of my nieces. My sister Darla (we social distanced by bumping “butts” instead of elbows) hosted the whole shebang. We carved pumpkins, drank alcohol, ate brisket, opened presents, and then we went for a walk in the woods. It was great to see everybody. Sara (the one niece who doesn’t have a birthday in October) showed us her hammock, and insists that it’s more comfortable than the bed she used to sleep in. 

She’s my monkey woman, my bat girl, she’s my wife who can hang upside down by her knees. I never tried this as a kid. I was too paranoid of falling on my head. Too afraid of gravity. If only I had gone to the circus, got some sawdust in my hair, seen a horse jump through a ring of fire… maybe then I could have met an old trapeze artist who would have told me that falling feels like flying until you hit the ground… or the safety net– whichever comes first.

Snap… crackle… pop… is not just a cereal with delayed sound effects. Last night I sat in front of our chimenea while Jenny was in a Zoom meeting. My apologies for the lack of definition in this photo. I didn’t realize that you can barely see me. I guess I just wanted to lose myself in this moment and become one with the night and the fire.

“Who can the turn the world on with her smile?” My Mom, that’s who! She may never have worked for a TV news station like Mary Tyler Moore, but we sure watched enough episodes to get a feel for it! Happy Birthday Mom! You can take a “nothing day and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile!” Love is all around so… I think I’m gonna go watch a couple of Mary Tyler Moore shows now. There a bunch of them on YouTube y’know.

You can’t see them in this photo, but Steve Martin has happy feet. That’s what he used to call it in the 1970′s before he would start dancing randomly to no beat at all. My feet do a different dance right as I’m going to bed some nights. It feels like someone is tickling my soles, and I grew up calling it the heebie jeebies. Well tonight I’ve got that feeling again. I even wrote a song about it years ago…

My neighbor Barb showed me her son’s book last Thursday night. It’s a dissertation he wrote and submitted to Stanford. When I asked if she’d read it she shook her head and said “are you kidding?” Barb introduced me to her son, Ben, years ago when he was down for a visit. They both came to see me play vegetables at Salon Kitch one Friday night. Ben seemed like a normal guy with normal intellect, but someone who can write a book like this is thinking on a different plane. I would have more luck working a Sunday New York Times Crossword puzzle than I would digesting whole sentences in this book.

The park behind our house got a facelift over the summer. It used to have an old style round gazebo where bands played. They tore that down. Now there’s a giant paper airplane that you can walk behind at night and feel trippy. We haven’t heard any bands play there yet, but someone should work up some Grateful Dead tunes and just start jamming when those hallucinogenic lights come on and slowly change…

“…don’t mention my name.” Consider it a request from the King. I totally forgot about this song until I heard it Sunday afternoon. I love the fact that some radio stations replay old American Top 40 countdowns. This one was from 1974. Casey said that this song was Elvis’ 96th song to hit the charts. Just in case you forgot how it goes, here’s the actual song in all it’s 70′s glory.

We met Mom & Jim in Fort Scott on Saturday, The day was gorgeous and so were they! We bought homemade goodies at a farmer’s market, drank coffee on the back patio of Common Grounds, toured the original fort (pictured above), and ate dinner at Luther’s BBQ. Visits like this are bittersweet for me during the pandemic. I don’t know when I’ll feel normal outside of my own zip code again, but we’ll keep working towards it, and my family will keep the home fires burning.

Today I said “see ya” to my Homer’s Coffeehouse co-workers for the last time as a barista. It’s weird to think that I’m really done pulling shots, steaming milk, playing rainy songs on rainy days, listening to everyone’s stories like a bartender, saying “are you getting your usual?” to a regular, kicking out the trouble makers, consoling the wounded ones, and basically keeping the peace. Jim Mathis hired me in 2004 to work the afternoon shift, and everything that happened during those sixteen years has been a source of comfort and torture… but I guess that’s just the human experience for those of us lucky enough to go through it with eyes to see, ears to hear, and hearts that wear holes in our sleeves. Homer’s will open without me next Monday, and that’s ok.