On deep cuts and cleaning up

sometimes you pull up one from the past, and relive it

It’s Sunday morning and my spouse Janyce is standing at the kitchen sink, a sea of dirty glasses before her on the counter from the night before. We had a party. A simple one, but there is no such thing as simple to me when it comes to entertaining. The stereo is blasting out a deep cut on an album from a band called Indigenous. “It’s time to move on,” belts out the singer.

“He reminds me a little of Gregg Allman,” I say, as I walk by the kitchen.

“I can hear that,” says Janyce.

It’s early March and true to form, the skies are gray and the air is raw outside. I’m moving the bunch of party tulips to the bedroom and cracking open the window to get some late winter air into the room. As we go about the business of getting the dishes washed and the rooms back in order, I’m thinking about some of my friends this morning. One of them is on a 14-hour flight to Aukland right now, another is helping her brother move into a new apartment.

“I need to give Dawn a call later and see how it’s going,” I say mostly to myself. Two years ago in March, I wrote a blog with her as the subject. Maybe you missed it? I’m reposting today. As always, thanks so much for reading!