Well, we’ve got a lot of it on our hands right now, don’t we? i mean the ones who are doing the right thing and staying sheltered rather than risking becoming a carrier, exposing our friends, loved ones, family, and even the innocent or not so innocent bystander to this thing that could kill some people who need it, but no, it’s killing a whole bunch of us indiscriminately, and unfortunately, not being selective and going after the ones who need killing, except in their opinion of course, but taking down good folks just as well.

Three weeks i announced last night we’ve been holed up here. Honestly, i got a little antsy this morning. Told Maureen it is strange because my longing is not so much to play golf although i would give my left…oops, guy thing almost there, anything to play around at North Island or Bonita, and i miss dining out which is a fabric of Maureen’s and my life, like that’s how it all got started. But no, i wanted to go to walk the beach (they’ve closed them here) but even more i wanted to hit Balboa Park and the museums, especially the San Diego Museum of Art, and i would like to go to the symphony. i find this strange for me. But it was there this morning.

i sort of collected myself and with the help of Sarah straightened out some technical difficulties i had with a number of things, wrote a lot, straightened out some more piles, tossed some stuff, and taken what i call my “power walk” ’cause bones told me i shouldn’t run at my age, and…

Here i am.

On my walk, i turned on my music. Not some cloud generated stuff, mind you. But my music. i have about 4700 songs on my antiquated iPod (how strange we antiquate things so quickly nowadays) and one of my favorite things to do while walking, driving, sitting around, is to turn that old obsolete thing on “shuffle” and enjoy a spectrum of genres. And right after the Ink Spots, Crystal Gayle, and Irma Franklin (Aretha’s sister and i still prefer her version of “Piece of My Heart” to Janice Joplin’s), along came one of my favorites taking me back to the late 1960’s.

The Pozo Seco Singers.

i sang along with them as my heart ached for another lost love. They were “folk” when “folk” was fading from our scene.

And walking up that long hill this afternoon when “Time” came through my earphones, plugs or whatever they are calling them now, i thought, “Man, that sure fits these times.”

And it does:


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