Recuperating from yesterday. An old Italian man had a 95th birthday party in lovely Springfield, a posh burb. His portrait is over the spinet in the parlor.
I was the roadie for a karaoke guy who sang a lot of Frank, some Dean and some Louie. The food was sumptious, and we had a big picnic in the sprawling back yard. I guzzled Sam Adams and Merlot and lasagna and then cake. What was I thinking?
It was lovely. There was a pool for the kiddies. Midlifers told each other fish stories, and the true geezers recounted tales of the PRT trains and trollies and downtown before WWII.
......pick yourself up...... ......dust yourself off...... ......start all over again...... (my e-mail)