Out here in the woods, if you’re going to watch television chances are you’ll get it via a satellite dish.
This has its annoyances — the “local” stations the satellite company chooses are in West Virginia, for instance. I wonder what television news covered there before they had meth lab explosions to lead the newscasts, but never mind. There’s no television at all when it is raining.
Sitting on a back porch in upstate New York, having coffee and enjoying a beautiful morning, it is as if I’m on a different planet.
The story has it that Townes Van Zandt, the folksinger, was asked how many kinds of music there are. “Two,” was his reply.
Asked to name them, he said, “The blues and Zip-a-dee-doo-dah.”
Pity the poor person who doesn’t live in or near a college town. Autumn arrives and all that changes is the weather. In a college town, there is an air of excitement. The energy level increases. It’s exactly the opposite of the normal order of things, where spring is the time of rebirth. For a college town, it is the fall when everything, yes, springs back to life.
As a public service, I would like to let everyone know that the source of all dust in the universe is apparently somewhere near me.
The shape was tiny but unmistakable to anyone who has spent years watching for turtles while driving.
Somewhere, deep in a box someplace, I have an original, unused ticket for all three days of the “Woodstock Music & Art Fair,” held 40 years ago this coming weekend. I think I still have it, though I haven’t seen it for years. I hope I do, because I paid for it.
Every so often it seems as if the universe is sending a little message. You never know when it will happen, nor is it easy at first to recognize. In my case, it all began last week when the car started malfunctioning.
From time to time it is claimed in connection with an event — usually a demonstration of some sort — that “the whole world is watching.” Practically always, the whole world isn’t. But the whole world certainly was watching 40 years ago this week.
The roadside memorial always takes me back to that day. It was a Monday, four years ago, a very hot day. The dew point that afternoon was 81 degrees. Anything above 70 is thought to be — and my experience confirms it — uncomfortable. The air was saturated. Just walking to the mailbox and back left me soaked in sweat.