Yesterday, no writing because after my two spectacularly bad days, Kathryn thought it best I go with her on her round of errands. So, I rode along to Job Lot and Benny's (looking for cheap jigsaw puzzles), then to the post office on Thayer Street (we saw a cardinal), then to Eastside Market and Whole Foods. There were a few green trees. There was a rather cheerful-looking weeping willow. A few splotches of green here and there, and I hope they survive the cold that's coming.
But no writing.
Today, I have to begun a vignette for this illustration by Vince Locke. We used to do this every now and then, reverse the order, so that instead of him illustrating something I've written, I write for something he's drawn:
That could be almost anything at all.
Last night, Spooky made a spectacular lasagna while I watched a documentary about Charlie Company (C Company, 52nd Infantry) in Vietnam. We watched the new Archer.
We also streamed the "Music of David Bowie," live from Radio City Music Hall. The best performances were "Black Star" (Amanda Palmer, Jherek Bischoff, Anna Calvi, and the Kronos Quartet), "Ashes to Ashes" (Michael Stipe and Karen Elson), "Rebel, Rebel" (Perry Farrel), "Cactus" (the Pixies), and "Life on Mars" (the Flaming Lips, with Wayne Coyne riding on Chewbacca's shoulders).
It was a day, and it was a night, on the one-year anniversary of our having decamped from Neil's cabin in Woodstock, after our long, long winter stay.