Sunday, November 20, 2011


It was 62 degrees today, November 20th, and we raked oak leaves and cut oak logs. Split oak logs. Piled oak logs. A friend came by for a visit, then took his daily newspapers we receive for him, read first, and then save for his pickup every month. It's called collective consciousness.
We read, save, he pays, and picks up. We make sure not one ad or inner sleeve coupon is lost and I detest those things. He loves those things. Differences can be a wonder. 62 degrees and it may be the last of the good old summer-feel days as winter makes a move in. The mind turns to jelly for a moment or two, despite all the hardship and struggle elsewhere going on. This is the sort of song that comes back to haunt, a song you can still hear in certain grocery store aisles. Gerry Rafferty is the one with the soft spoken voice, a Scotsman, who died this year of liver failure.

and then he'll settle down
in some quiet little town
and forget about everything

Baker Street by Baker Street on Grooveshark

vocals: gerry rafferty
saxophone: raphael ravenscroft
lead guitar: hugh burns

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