Today is the fifth anniversary of an infinite number of curves. Grab a piece of fruit to chomp on; I’m taking a look back at the last 12 months.
Is winter The Best Season? One killer quartet, why not three?
From Blossom to Houston and LA visiting Shepherd and Colburn. She got my blessing. Sure, there’s Jane Fonda, but the real attraction was at Mannes. Meanwhile, the Lincoln Trio was taking no prisoners in the state of Illinois, hitting every conceivable venue across the state in pursuit of their Better Angels. Can you hear it, Mr. Prez?
Musing on the great city. Beyond musing, when it comes to The Infinite Sphere.
Time to brag in triplicate about the accomplishments of others, work hours Through the Night, dig my way out of a fine editorial mess, and wonder about my inability to stop talking through the music.
Finding a cure for shingles, nailing down a flailing Appendage, and remembering the forgotten.
Sessions, sessions, sessions, a marathon, a perle, and what the hell is a crwth?
An auspicious, or suspicious, 350th anniversary, a Voice remembered, hirsute, how to make a Cool Night, the biz.
Things are either better or worse than they seem, and how long is it from Cool Night to Twilights?
How to describe the love of a good man? Ravinia calls; I sit and watch. Not going there.
The youngest daughter unlocks the door, an old friend resurfaces — oops, there’s another one – and talk about pointless fears.
It’s in the genes, say arf, messing with my image, and WORD.
After the nightmare, I’m back! Wait, not yet.
And now, having failed to remove “phone tag” from the contemporary lexicon, I’m ready to ring in the new.