December 19, 2012

Drove with Jack and DJ to Greenville to sing at the Warehouse Theater with Pride of Greenville. Route 25 at twilight is lovely, even in colorless winter. I like Greenville, and there was a sweet late lunch at Mellow Mushroom, but all in all the trip was more grueling than pleasurable. The Greenville boys sang simple repertoire badly, but with spirit and hometown favor, and I think their audience was pleased. We sang– how should I know? I couldn’t hear us, nor could I barely hear myself in the dead space of the theater. Long drive home with the ragged moon to our left. Drove with my brights on when I could, hoping to see creatures, but there were none. Watched R, who is evenly, tragically divided between a desire to be a Broadway diva and the desire to be a saint.

There was a Christmas miracle, one I had set up but didn’t fully expect to happen. The wind blew many of the red balls which I had hung on the redbud down, and before I had a chance to restore them, someone else did. I smiled and drove on.

Cooking a Brussels sprouts and cabbage slumgullion, listening to Christmas music on the radio, drinking my favorite Spanish white, with the aftertaste of roses.