When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
   For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
   That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Wm Shakespeare, Sonnet 29.


Hi, Mom! What a week. Last weekend we drove five hours into the remote fastnesses of West Virginia where a quaint and warm country inn welcomed a gang of folkies seeking respite from the chaos of the Beltway. Lovely long weekend of song. Tuesday night an open mic, Thursday night a song circle, days doing house tasks, painting and such here and there. Next week the Skipper and his lady come down from the remote urban fastness of Portland, Maine to visit for a week. Dani and Janie and we have put our heads together to plan something. On the 11th we will drive plumb across NC to visit Chance and Suzette and Steve Cormier, cowboy singer par excellence. No telling what we might encounter on a junket like that!

Apologies for my absence of late. The days just keep ticking by. You know how it is.

It looks like I may have to repost my "Ballad of the Goddamned Plagiarist" poem for Mom. She always gets a kick out of it.