It was a long drive up here yesterday. Eight hours and a little more. I saw a lot of agriculture, a good deal of insanity behind the wheel, and a little irony. The best example was a billboard for a business in Delano, north of Bakersfield. It said, “Se Habla Espanol.” Spanish spoken. I had to laugh. That sign in Delano is like one in Paris, saying “French Spoken.”
Anyway, it’s a beautiful warm late Spring day in the foothills of the Sierras, and here I am, hanging with the kitties. I’ve set up a writing space in the dining room, from which I have this view to the northeast for about 15 miles. The radio station, out of Nevada City, is playing reggae.
I like reggae well enough. Brother Joe and I saw Jimmy Cliff open for Jerry Garcia at the amphitheatre in Berkeley once.
Helluva show, and a very happy crowd.
Speaking of Happy, it seems she accidentally got let out yesterday, and ran like the wind. It took a small task force of Mom, Dad, neighbors and kids to catch her, and my Dad to carry her home. She’s OK. For those who haven’t been following the thread, Happy is our Pomeranian, who has a serious heart condition and a lifelong history of making a run for it. Not to run away, she just loves to run. In my mind, it was a tragedy narrowly averted. But my Mom said the little dog looked Happy, like she was young and free again, like old times. Something to be said for that, no doubt.
I was listening to Me & Bobby McGee, Grateful Dead version, on the way up yesterday.
Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose …
Nothin’ left to lose? Well that’s pretty ironic, isn’t it? … Be at peace in your heart, little friend. We all get a big race to run at the end, and ‘til that day comes, no shame in settling for a good tummy rub.
Metaphor 