Around, around the sun we go;
The moon goes round the earth.
We do not die of death —
We die of vertigo.
Archibald MacLeish, “Mother Goose’s Garland.”
So here we are. The Mad Dog and Mad Doc just headed back toward Knoxville, after a visit that included a trip to the Mondoville football game — we’re now 3-0 for football games with a Mad in attendance — and the latter third of a chocolate cake sits upstairs. Gifts included replacements for the Harry Stoner novels by Jonathan Valin that I had lost over the years, some garage rock and a collection of Translator demos and outtakes, and the new novel from Lawrence Block. The Spawn was inspired to get me a nice edition of Howard Pyle’s version of the Morte D’Arthur, but the best part, of course, was the time spent with friends and family.
So it’s a good weekend, and all things considered, it’s been a better fifty years than most of humanity has ever had a right to expect. My Facebook timeline is filling with well wishers, to a point where I feel a bit like George Bailey in the last scenes of It’s a Wonderful Life. “Hee-haw,” everyone. And while I don’t know how many of the next fifty I’m going to get, I’m looking forward to them as well, and I suspect I’ll keep y’all posted on them, whatever develops.
See you soon!