Let me clap, sharply
My food hint was simple. I would enjoy a large bowl of seafood chowder. My food hint was rebuffed. This is not a time when we eat bread. I don’t understandd (elither). I’ll figure it out.
The good weather is back. Bright. Dark glasses bright. Since I’m inside, we’ve turned on the chilled air. Again, I’ll figure it all out, some day. Meanwhile, welcome to summer.
I did find my two flutes, downstairs. Not to practice; I needed a name tag, and one of the cases has a great one, recycled from a laptop many years ago. I can tell how many years by the business card. Seems like a very long time ago. BC (before children). The quality stuff doesn’t wear out. Not even name tags. This one came from an early IBM personal computer. Predates Lenovo. Probably belongs in a museum from the last century. I need a tag, now, so I’ve made my decision.
This is festival season. Live music. Will I wander in? Maybe. If I offered the back lawn, I could gather a small crowd. Give an impropty concert. Invite the media. We call that dreaming big, just so you get the big picture.
More apt to whistle in th edark, actually. Keeps the ghosts at bay, I’ve heard. Or causes sailing vessels to founder on shoals. Sad fact: I don’t actually know how to whistle. I’ve been trying ever since that moment on Dennis The Menace. Again, dating myself.
Now that the dog is getting very deaf, we’ve moved past the need to whistle. Now, we clap our hands, sharply. He seems to hear it, and that’s what really matters.
