And oh my. I’m so far behind in everything that responding now would make me early for next year. (Too late for late this year.) OK, a slight exaggeration but not much. Though given to hyperbole, it really is too late to say Happy Thanksgiving.
So for now, some notes in passing, regardless of the time of year.
Kurt Vonnegut was born in November of 1922, on the 11th. His works inspired my generation, more so than the beatniks. Breakfast of Champions was a bible of sorts, coursework for creativity and radicalism. He was one of the many who entertained the life and learning in Iowa City while it swarmed with writers and hippies and those of us who thought we could change the world.
The kid was here for Thanksgiving and our birthdays which made the days warm with love.
We’ve had a grand snowstorm, leaving us covered with at least two feet of snow. It has made the nights bright with the light reflected and held in its folds. During the day the snow sparkles with little diamonds strewn about by magic. Many of the places here have Christmas lights and decorations adding to the feelings of joyous-festive days.
For now then, this is the way things are while I go about attempting to catch up on other corners of my world. Wishing us all snow and sunshine, things that whish and cause us wonder.