After the A.T.O.N.

Big Wheels Kept on Turning

I should be editing, or hunting for an agent, editor, publisher, whatever. I am not, however. I am fine as frog’s hair watching the groundhog eating Richie’s tasty green leaves. I forgot the name of the plant. I forget the names of things. If the name of that plant comes to me, I will be sure to add it. Yes, the groundhogs love it. Hosta…that’s it. Keep your hostas high, readers and subscribers.

I had to put our potted one up high, early, as I know from previous springs, ground hogs love this thing. He was standing up on his chubby hind legs eating, using the two front ones as hands, no worse than a squirrel or human, looking right at me before I saw him.

In the rear with the gear here is fine. The phone hardly rings, and I can think. I can peck away or play spider solitaire, after reading today's postings and notes. The weather is off, so I feel no guilt about not being out there. I can cook or eat leftovers, today it was Saturday night’s pizza from what was once the Airship Tavern, just down the road from what once was Lakehurst Naval Air Staton. There was a band setting up, Macbeth, the sax player told us. He played the Pink Panther theme as a warmup.

I would have stayed to watch a set, but I had been up early in Princeton for meetings and back here to do the grocery shopping. I told the drummer they should be starting at five pm, and he agreed with me. He had an hour drive to do after breaking down his kit. I put the leftovers in a box and left.

“All Hail, Macbeth,” I brayed to them as they smoked whatever in the parking lot, “All hail Thane of Cawdor”

I continued, as they looked at each other in the fading light, “All hail Kings of Scotland.” And then I was off in the Red Rocket, quite sure I would never see this band of troubadours again. In my defense, I had tipped them and apologized for leaving…It could have been worse for them. They might have had to see me dancing.